From a Martial Arts Sect to an Immortal Cultivation Sect Chapter 73
When he heard Wu Dingbei’s words, Perfected Changming truly could not recall who he was.
But as far as the current situation was concerned, past matters had long turned to smoke and clouds—no longer of importance.
“Xuandang stands in Guzhou, revered by its people. Even if we must walk into eternal damnation for their sake, we have no regrets.”
Perfected Changming spoke in a deep tone. He raised his left hand and tapped his arm three times.
At once, strength returned to his right arm. Grasping his long sword, he strode forward, ready to fight once more.
Wu Dingbei turned his head toward him, the eyes beneath his mask filled with anger.
“Since you don’t know what’s good for you, then I’ll let you experience what true purgatory is!”
With a furious roar, Wu Dingbei raised his spear and leapt toward Perfected Changming.
On another street, the Taixing Divine Monk from Chan Meditation Temple was surrounded by dozens of Demonic Cult martial artists.
The street was already littered with corpses—some of the Demonic Cult, others monks of Chan Meditation Temple. Blood stained the streets and courtyard walls.
The Taixing Divine Monk had been fighting fiercely for some time. His kasaya was torn, and he no longer had the strength to lift the great bronze bell. He could only circle around it, using it to block the relentless attacks coming from all directions.
The monks of Chan Meditation Temple were far fewer in number than Xuandang’s disciples, and more and more found themselves outnumbered.
Yet not a single one showed fear.
All glared furiously at the Demonic Cult martial artists, unafraid of death.
Jiang Kuotian and the group of prisoners continued to be escorted away.
They looked toward the distant figures locked in battle, even catching sight of former friends—so near, yet so impossibly far.
Their martial arts abolished, they were powerless to aid them, able only to watch helplessly as those heroes of the martial world fell one after another.
“Don’t stop. Instead of worrying about them, you should worry about what awaits you.”
A mounted expert of the Demonic Cult cracked his whip as he spoke, his voice brimming with killing intent, sending chills through the prisoners’ spines.
But the prisoners no longer cared about his threats. They trudged forward numbly, their gazes drawn irresistibly toward the distant figures still locked in battle.
Suddenly—
Jiang Kuotian faintly heard shouting and killing from afar. He raised his head. The sounds grew louder and louder, even accompanied by the blare of war horns.
That was…
The sound of an army?
Jiang Kuotian’s spirit lifted instantly.
The shouts from afar filled him with an intense will to survive—a hope that neither Xuandang nor Chan Meditation Temple could give him.
How could martial sects possibly compare to the might of the imperial army?
Not only he, but the other prisoners also had their fighting spirit rekindled. They realized this might be their only chance—their chance to escape alive.
The Demonic Cult martial artists around them were also startled by the war cries outside the city.
They too thought the imperial army had arrived.
Occupying a prefectural capital and fighting against the entire Great Li Dynasty—that was an entirely different matter.
Just then, a figure rushed out from a nearby alley—it was a young monk.
Wielding a wooden staff, he charged like a startled swan, striking down the mounted Demonic Cult expert with one blow, horse and rider tumbling together.
“Run!”
The young monk shouted lowly, then swung his staff toward the other guards escorting the prisoners.
Each strike of his staff crippled an opponent—his skill clearly that of a top master.
The prisoners snapped out of their stupor, quickening their steps toward the city gate.
Though they were injured and weak, they forced themselves forward as fast as they could.
After only ten steps, Jiang Kuotian saw the young monk had already felled all the nearby Demonic Cult experts.
He turned back to look at him—he remembered this person.
When White Emperor Manor had once invited the Five Sects, this young monk had accompanied Chan Meditation Temple. His name, Jiang recalled, was Xu Hong, who had followed the abbot at the time, showing no hint of martial prowess.
Jiang Kuotian sighed inwardly—so this was Chan Meditation Temple indeed.
Among the younger generation of White Emperor Manor, none could compare to such ability.
He turned back and continued forward, while Xu Hong, wooden staff in hand, began escorting them.
The Demonic Cult martial artists leapt over courtyard walls and rooftops like vengeful spirits, only to be struck down one after another by Xu Hong, losing all ability to fight.
He used no overwhelming internal energy or outer techniques—only pure movement and staff skills. None could withstand three of his strikes.
His display of strength filled the prisoners with greater confidence—they moved faster and faster.
As they passed through one street after another, Xu Hong had already defeated more than two hundred enemies. His breathing grew labored—after all, those he fought were no ordinary men; none stood still to be struck. Each blow of his required complete focus.
The closer they got to the city gate, the more feverish the prisoners’ gazes became.
The torment they had suffered made their very memories ache.
That gate, once breached by Xuandang’s assault, now seemed like a stalk of rice in the water to drowning men.
Two figures dropped down onto the street ahead, each wielding a broad sabre. The blades were heavy and gleamed coldly under the sunlight.
Xu Hong frowned—he could tell these two were not simple opponents. But he had no choice—he could only face them head-on.
The staff in his hands would sweep away all demons and evils of this world!
……
At Clear Sky Sect, within a new courtyard, Yang Jueding was instructing over a dozen disciples in martial arts.
Their movements were uniform—clearly well-practiced.
A disciple couldn’t help asking, “Elder Yang, it’s been half a month since the Sect Master and the others left the mountain. Shouldn’t they have reached the prefectural city by now?”
Li Qingqiu had taken nearly three hundred disciples, leaving only Yang Jueding and a few new disciples to guard the mountain.
During this time, they had hired farmers from below to tend to the sect’s crops.
“By my reckoning, they should be arriving about now.”
Yang Jueding answered calmly.
He bore no resentment toward Li Qingqiu for leaving him behind—after all, he was the eldest and most suited to stabilize the sect’s rear.
Hearing this, the disciples began whispering among themselves, worrying whether the Sect Master and the others were safe.
Yang Jueding didn’t stop them; he himself felt uneasy.
Their current foes were not like the Seven Peaks Alliance—they were far more dangerous.
“Something’s wrong! Something’s wrong!”
A female disciple rushed into the courtyard, panic written across her face.
Yang Jueding’s heart skipped a beat. He frowned and asked, “What is it?”
Could it be that the Demonic Cult had come up the mountain?
Li Qingqiu had taken most disciples away partly to save the people, and partly to prevent the Demonic Cult from flanking them to attack Clear Sky Sect.
Li Qingqiu had also warned Yang Jueding—if anything seemed amiss, he could take the disciples and flee.
The female disciple, gasping for breath, said, “Senior Brother Zhao Zhen… Senior Brother Zhao Zhen turned into a dragon!”
“What nonsense?”
Yang Jueding nearly exploded in anger, thinking she was joking.
The others also looked at her in confusion.
The female disciple hurriedly said, “It’s true! He really turned into a dragon! Even Senior Ku Yi and Senior Ku Er couldn’t stop him!”
Seeing that she didn’t seem to be lying, Yang Jueding immediately told her to lead the way.
Zhao Zhen was Li Qingqiu’s most treasured disciple—he absolutely could not allow anything to happen under his watch.
……
Bang!
Xu Hong crashed into the city wall beside the gate, spitting a mouthful of blood. His staff slipped from his hand, but even as he fell, he caught it again, landing half-kneeling rather than collapsing completely.
A dozen paces away, Jiang Kuotian and the other prisoners were blocked by several Demonic Cult experts.
The gleam of their sabres barred any advance.
They could only stare at Xu Hong, panic filling their eyes.
All along the way, Xu Hong alone had defeated enemies they thought invincible. Yet just as they reached the city gate, he was now gravely wounded.
Ahead stood a man with a sabre, facing Xu Hong alone.
He stood tall, wearing a bamboo hat.
A red scarf was tied at his waist, armor draped over his robe, and murderous intent radiated from him. His blade still dripped with fresh blood.
Xu Hong’s chest was torn and bloody, his vision swimming.
The man in the bamboo hat appeared double before his eyes, and despair sank into his heart.
“Is this… all I can do…?”
He clenched his teeth, forcing himself to rise, though his trembling hands barely held the staff steady.
He saw the bamboo-hatted man approaching step by step. Xu Hong blinked rapidly, trying to clear the blood from his eyes and steady his vision.
“The Demon Emperor wants talents for alchemy, doesn’t he? This youth’s strength at such a young age is rare. Killing him would be a waste!”
Jiang Kuotian shouted through gritted teeth.
Once, he might have preferred death—but now, with the sound of the approaching army, he again believed that righteousness would triumph over evil.
The bamboo-hatted man seemed not to hear him, continuing forward toward Xu Hong.
Whoosh—
A sound tore through the air, and a sword dropped from the sky, striking the ground before the bamboo-hatted man, blocking his way.
He lifted his head and saw a figure standing atop the city wall—a young man in blue robes, handsome, with a cold expression and eyes that looked down upon him like a blade.
Jiang Kuotian and the prisoners all looked up as well.
When they recognized the figure, many cried out in joy.
“It’s Jiang Zhaoxia of Clear Sky Sect! He’s here!”
Some of them had attended the Martial Arts Tournament years ago and remembered Jiang Zhaoxia vividly.
Jiang Kuotian, too, felt elated—but soon his expression turned grim.
“That boy… why is he here? Don’t tell me the others came too…”
He frowned deeply.
He knew that Clear Sky Sect had already risen, but in his heart, those people were still the disciples and grand-disciples of his old brother.
He didn’t want these young ones to throw themselves into this calamity.
He felt both anger and pride.
Lin Xunfeng’s disciples had not shamed his name or his spirit!
Xu Hong shook his head, seeing the sword before him. He realized someone had come to help—but he dared not relax his guard.
The bamboo-hatted man looked up at Jiang Zhaoxia and said, “Jiang Zhaoxia of Clear Sky Sect? Perfect. Saves me the trouble of going to Clear Sky Mountain to slaughter you all myself.”
To the higher-ups of the Demonic Cult, the Clear Sky Sect was a name that thundered in their ears. Since the Cult’s reemergence, many of their experts had fallen to the Clear Sky Sect’s hands. Naturally, they regarded it as a mortal enemy. If not for other pressing matters, they would have already flattened Clear Sky Sect.
Jiang Zhaoxia ignored him, his gaze sweeping over the ruined prefectural city below, his brows furrowing.
Seeing Jiang Zhaoxia still daring to look elsewhere, the bamboo-hatted man grew enraged and prepared to leap up—when another whoosh rang out.
This time, the sound came from the city gate passage.
A longsword shot through the tunnel like lightning, stabbing toward him.
The bamboo-hatted man instantly raised his blade to parry, attempting to cut the sword apart.
Clang—!
With the resounding clash of steel, the bamboo-hatted man was forced backward several steps.
The sword pressed against his sabre, the terrifying force behind it preventing him from shaking it off. His eyes widened in horror beneath the mask.
Before he could recover, he saw a figure blur toward him like a ghost.
Xu Hong only felt a violent gust of wind surge past the city gate tunnel—and then saw a figure charging toward the bamboo-hatted man with inhuman speed.