One by one, martial arts masters were slaughtered.
Even many monks were killed.
Yet to ordinary people, rather than seeing the high priest as cruel, they felt a deep sense of relief.
These martial arts masters—arrogant and aloof—had always looked down on commoners.
They would kill without hesitation.
But the people had no choice but to endure the oppression and swallow their resentment.
Now, watching these so-called masters fall, they couldn't help but cheer inwardly.
Some were even tempted to leap up and applaud.
Murong Fu chanted aloud, his voice echoing across the kingdom.
His followers joined in, and together they filled the sky over the Dali Kingdom with divine resonance.
A divine presence cloaked the land like a mist—though most hadn't yet noticed.
They simply closed their eyes…
…meditating on the dharmakaya of the gods,
…praying for the divine descent.
Though Dali was a small nation with weak political power, its land was rich with dragon qi.
And those who passed through it would find themselves blessed by its latent spirit.
Yet now, dragon qi across the realm was scattered—
—less even than the northern Liao Dynasty.
Silent in the veins of the earth, the dormant energy stirred.
Awakened by an inexplicable presence, it opened its eyes.
The sensation was wonderful—
—it made the dragon vein salivate with desire.
Primitive and instinct-driven, the low-intelligence spirit began devouring the faith energy rising in the air.
Its divine form slowly strengthened.
Its awareness gradually sharpened.
Murong Fu stood beneath the shifting sky, heart racing with excitement.
Success.
As expected, the blood sacrifice was the most effective method.
A state-level sacrifice brought even greater results.
He had observed many sacrifices—
—among them, the whirlwind of Chu was the most powerful, followed by Tanjiro.
While others focused on gathering believers, Murong Fu had been studying a deeper question:
Was the power of the gods amplified by the devotion of their followers?
Now he had his answer.
The sky above bloomed with swirling, colorful clouds.
Even with his eyes closed, Murong Fu could feel his soul ascending.
He didn't need to rise to the heavens—
He could already sense the thoughts and emotions of every believer in Dali:
Excitement.
Devotion.
Fear.
Reverence.
He felt them all.
What overwhelming power.
No wonder Li Shimin could split mountains with a single stroke.
With such divine power, the world was within reach.
But he couldn't afford to relax—not even for a moment.
Pride would be his downfall.
He steadied himself and spoke with reverence:
"Now begins the third stage of the national sacrifice—
—offering pure maidens to the gods."
"They shall represent Dali in service to the divine."
Several women, dressed in white gowns with veils covering their faces, knelt before the altar under the guidance of the priestess.
At the front knelt Wang Yuyan.
Behind her, Zhong Ling and Mu Wanqing.
All three girls recited their prayers in unison, hearts full of anticipation and longing.
Not far away, two men in black robes silently watched Murong Fu from the shadows, their expressions a mix of shock and awe.
One was Qiao Feng's father.
The other—Murong Fu's father.
Both had come after hearing rumors of a massive upheaval within the Grand Directorate.
But what they saw surpassed all expectation—
—celestial phenomena and divine forces beyond comprehension.
Murong Bo pursed his lips.
He hadn't expected his son to achieve such a level… to commune with a god.
Should he reveal himself now?
He hesitated.
They hadn't seen each other in years.
Though he had been hiding all this time, even with his skills, he couldn't compare to Murong Fu's current might.
Worse, he feared his son's concept of "filial piety" might result in a cracked skull if he got too close.
Forget it.
He'd wait a little longer.
Qiao Feng's father, on the other hand, radiated pure killing intent.
Why did someone else's son achieve so much, while his own could not?
It was infuriating.
Still…
He recalled sneaking into the palace a few days ago.
The memory alone made him sigh.
This wasn't the Shaolin Temple.
It was worse.
Far worse.
The guards here were superior to the top monks of Shaolin.
He didn't even know how they were trained.
He reached down and touched his injured leg, which still hadn't healed.
Another sigh escaped his lips.
"Little devil, are you dancing for the gods~?"
An abrupt voice shattered the solemn atmosphere of the ceremony.
Murong Fu opened his eyes.
A gray-haired girl stood nearby, mocking him with a curious yet fierce gaze.
Her presence was strange—unnatural.
He frowned.
"Who are you? Why interrupt my sacrifice?"
"Me?" she laughed.
"I'm the strongest martial artist alive today—Grandma of Tianshan from Lingjiu Palace!"
She said it proudly.
But as her eyes shifted to the blood-stained altar, her expression froze.
Thousands of powerful auras locked onto her simultaneously.
What… what was this?
Had this man truly summoned a god?
Murong Fu's face darkened.
"I don't care whether you're the Tianshan Child Granny or the Tianshan Old Demon—this sacred rite must not be defiled!"
His gaze sharpened.
In an instant, Tianshan Tonglao—so smug only moments before—was sent flying.
She crashed into the ground, stunned.
What just happened?
She hadn't even seen the move.
Such strange power!
She had only come out of curiosity, hearing her subordinates mention the destruction of the Tianlong Temple and rumors of powerful figures gathering.
If someone had interesting techniques, she planned to steal them.
But she hadn't expected this—
Murong Fu's strange and terrifying strength.
A single move, and she was nearly killed.
If she had known, she never would've come.
She tried to get up and flee…
…but her bones were shattered.
Blood gushed from her lips the moment she exerted herself.
She couldn't move.
"Hmph. Stay there. If I run out of offerings, I'll throw you on the altar next."
Murong Fu turned back toward the ceremony.
But just then—
—a buzzing sound cut through the air.
A single leaf, sharpened like a blade, raced toward him.
Murong Fu turned, snorted coldly, and the leaf shattered mid-air—its energy scattered to the wind.
A voice rang out:
"Seems I'll need to clean up the pests before continuing."
The speaker's tone dripped with fury.
"Hmm? You've reached the strength of a land immortal?"
The voice was old—shocked.
He had thought there was only one true divine-level being left in the world.
But now, here was Murong Fu—less than twenty years old—and he'd already reached this level?
Clearly, this trip had been necessary.
Murong Fu scoffed.
He raised his hand, fingers forming a sword shape, and slashed toward a distant building.
The palace crumbled with a thunderous crash.
A figure dropped from the sky.
He moved effortlessly, defying gravity, until he landed across from the altar.
It was an old monk.
His robes were tattered, patched over in many places.
His beard was white and scraggly.
He looked like he belonged in a beggar's alley…
…but his eyes burned with terrifying divine light—like a blade thirsting for blood.
"Who are you?" Murong Fu asked coldly.
"Just a humble Sweeping Monk," the old man replied with a slight smile. "Hardly worth mentioning. However, it truly surprises this poor monk that Donor Murong has broken through to the realm of Land Immortals in such a short time."
Murong Fu narrowed his eyes, his aura thick with killing intent. "Are you here to stop me?"
More people gathered around the altar, their presence signaling support. Thousands of protectors had also encircled the area. At this point, even the old monk would find it impossible to escape with ease.
But he didn't panic.
Instead, his eyes gleamed greedily as he looked toward the altar. Licking his lips, he said, "What a marvelous artifact… You may not know this, but I've searched for countless years—seeking a method to leave this world. I scoured all of Kyushu, but found nothing. In the end, I could only suppress the murderous aura within me using Buddhist scriptures, barely surviving this long."
He chuckled darkly. "Now that I see this altar, I understand… this opportunity was waiting for me all along."
Before his words even finished, nearby masters launched their assault. Each one had innate-level cultivation. But against this old man… they didn't last a single move.
In a matter of moments, the ground was littered with corpses—hundreds of them.
Yet none of Murong Fu's followers faltered. They continued their assault without fear.
Their unwavering zeal made the onlookers tremble. What kind of fanatic devotion was this?
To fight a terrifying opponent without hesitation?
It was terrifying.
"Hahaha! Wonderful! It's been far too long since I slaughtered innate masters like this!" the demon monk roared with ecstasy. "Just drinking your blood is enough to prolong this old man's life by another hundred years!"
His aura was monstrous, demonic. His cruelty was beyond compare.
He fought with mastery—both in martial arts and battle instinct—far beyond what ordinary warriors could dream of.
Murong Fu, of course, couldn't just stand by.
But though he possessed great power, he lacked the combat experience of this ancient monster.
Worse yet, countless onlookers and devout followers were gathered nearby, limiting his movements.
As time dragged on, one innate master after another was thrown like sacks of meat, dying tragically on the spot.
On the ground, still unable to move, the Tianshan Child Grandma stared wide-eyed at the demon monk's martial arts.
She had finally realized something.
Though much of his style derived from Shaolin, the internal energy he used wasn't purely Shaolin.
Shaolin's techniques were known for their righteous, masculine energy.
But this monk's inner power was unstable—alternating between cold and hot, yin and yang.
"You… you're the founder of the Xiaoyao Sect—Xiaoyaozi!" she gasped.
The demon monk turned back and smiled. "Indeed. That's me."
He was Xiaoyaozi, the original founder of the Free and Unfettered Sect.
Using the legendary Beiming Divine Art, he had roamed the world in his twilight years, seeking the secret to eternal life.
Yet despite scouring ancient texts and traveling through countless holy lands, the answer eluded him.
The path to ascension was severed. There was no way forward.
In his despair, he vented his rage by slaughtering sects, ending bloodlines, and severing ancient legacies.
Within the Central Plains, only two inheritances remained—Xiaoyao Sect and Shaolin Temple.
The rest? Worthless. Trash.
With the ancient lineages extinguished, martial arts as a whole began to decline.
Just as Xiaoyaozi thought he would spend his remaining years as a forgotten hermit in Shaolin,
—Murong Fu appeared.
He saw the divine visions in the sky.
He saw the potential.
Tears welled in his eyes.
And then…
He snapped.
He ran out to kill, hoping to steal Murong Fu's position and become the chief priest himself.
After all, gods only needed an agent.
Anyone could serve in that role, right?
"Ding… Your followers have sacrificed a martial arts master to you. A thousandfold amplification has been triggered. You have received the Immortal Technique: [Six-Turn Golden Body Method]."
When Liu Che arrived at the celestial boundary, the prompt echoed in his mind.
The martial artists sacrificed came from various sects, and so the resulting techniques varied accordingly.
The last batch came from Shaolin—
—hence, he acquired a Buddhist cultivation method.
Regardless of style, these new arts would greatly benefit Fang Zhe.
It would allow the diversification of his followers in the future.
Truthfully, Liu Che didn't enjoy killing monks.
But what choice did he have?
They hadn't taught him any techniques.
Even if he claimed to be born from Buddha himself, no one would believe it.
But now… with this Dharma… things were different.
He would proclaim:
"I created the Buddha!"
And Liu Che would become the first god.
The wind howled. Ghostly wails echoed across the altar.
The demon monk's techniques were strange—every strike vicious and sinister.
He targeted Murong Fu's vital points: eyes, lower abdomen… no strike wasted.
Wang Yuyan and the other maidens grew increasingly anxious.
But they didn't dare abandon the altar.
All they could do was close their eyes and pray.
Pray that God would descend soon and vanquish the demon.
The divine clouds above grew brighter, obscuring even the sun.
Holy hymns echoed from the heavens—
—ancient, mysterious, majestic.
Boom!
The ground shook violently.
Earthquakes and hurricanes rocked the land.
In every kingdom, people screamed in terror.
They believed they had angered the gods.
Only in the border towns of the Song Dynasty could anyone see the divine phenomenon blanketing Dali's skies.
A high-ranking official looked up, his face turning pale.
"Hurry! Report this to the Emperor!" he shouted.
"Tell him—auspicious signs have descended upon Dali!"
Such a thing could change the political map.
If the gods had truly come to Dali, it might mean the fall of the Central Plains.
This was no minor incident.
At the altar, Murong Fu heard the divine voice above him and trembled with joy.
"They're here…" he whispered.
"The gods have finally arrived!"
He pointed at Xiaoyaozi, voice fierce.
"You cannot stop me, monk. Once my god descends, not even ashes will remain of you!"
Xiaoyaozi said nothing.
His gaze fixed upon the heavens.
Fear swirled in his heart.
But then he made his move.
Without warning, he turned his blade and launched a furious attack directly at the altar.
He couldn't wait anymore.
If he was going to die, he would at least destroy the altar and force the gods to reveal themselves.
He charged forward, faster than lightning.
Within seconds, he was atop the altar.
His internal energy surged, forming twin forces of yin and yang in his palms.
He struck—!
"You wicked beast!"
A thunderous voice rumbled from the skies.
Xiaoyaozi froze mid-attack.
His entire body went rigid.
Murong Fu arrived at the altar a heartbeat later and dropped to his knees, trembling.
"O Eternal God… Your humble, devout follower welcomes your arrival…"
"You have lifted the veil of ignorance and awakened us. You are the light of wisdom..."
The followers followed suit, chanting fervently.
An endless stream of faith surged toward the heavens.
But the outsiders could only stare, dumbfounded.
That terrifying demon monk… why had he suddenly stopped?
Was he struck by acupuncture?
Impossible.
As they pondered, an overwhelming pressure descended from the sky.
Qiao Feng and the others didn't even have time to react.
Bang—!
They were slammed into the earth, pinned by the divine might.
The force was invisible but undeniable.
None could resist it.
Until finally…
…all lay flat on the ground.
And then, just as suddenly as it had come,
the divine pressure faded into silence.