Nightfall

Join the Devil

No matter how strong the cultivator was, once the heart was being stabbed, he should be dead, right?

Ning Que remained alert, because the old monk’s state and potential were way beyond any opponent he had ever met. He was not sure of the survival skill of the other party, who was five states above him.

Hence, he did not remove the blade immediately. Instead, he stared into the eyes of the old monk who was right in front of him. He was searching for any sign of life in the old monk’s frail-looking eyes. He turned his wrist with a jerk, destroying the old monk’s heart directly with his cold, hard blade.

The old monk’s body shook violently as he covered his chest in pain, but he did not die instantly.

Ning Que frowned, as he prepared to pull out the podao to chop off his opponent’s head.

The old monk stared at Ning Que’s waist and suddenly, began to laugh crazily. His laughter was mad but weak, and in the end, he started sobbing as he said breathlessly, “I understand now. Could this be fated?”

This old and strong cultivator had finally understood something from Ning Que before his death, as he mumbled, “Born as a Devil…Die as a Devil…I thought I could…escaped from the three reigns this life. Yet I got to wait till the moment before my death to realize that my whole life…”

“…was bounded within this mountain.”

…

…

Ning Que was not bothered by the old monk’s words. He was not a believer in art, and had no interest in listening to his enemies’ death wishes. All he wanted to do was to kill the other party completely and terminate this horrendous experience.

Yet when he wished to pull out his podao, he realized that the old monk’s body started to turn into mud, causing his sharp and shiny blade to be tightly stuck between the chest.

Luckily, no powerful force was emitting from the blade, neither did his sense of perception experience another wave of attack.

Since he couldn’t pull out the blade, then why not push it in further?

Ning Que hissed as he exerted force with his hands. The podao in his hands had directly penetrated through the old monk’s body as he generously emitted the aura of Haoran Sword from his body into the blade and towards the old monk.

Upon receiving the wave of attack from the sword, the old monk gasped and puked a mouthful of blood.

After being jailed in this place for decades, he could only quench his thirst using the water droplets formed in the cracks of the rock, and fed himself with human bones and dried bodies. Though the old monk was a great cultivator who had broken the rules set by the world, he was eventually being cruelly tortured. Perhaps due to dehydration, the blood which he had vomited was sticky and black in color, like the overused oil from the bottom of the stove pot.

The old monk slowly sat himself up and ignored the fact that the aura from the Haoran Sword was gradually destroying every bit of life in his internal organs. As he gazed at Ning Que’s face, his hands on his knees began to spread open and once again, he created his world’s famous sign, the lotus print.

As he was previously injured by the blade, he was only left with a total of four fingers on both his hands. White bones could be seen from his broken fingers as blood seeped out from the wounds. The scene was horrifying. Yet when the incompleted lotus print appeared, a pure and holy aura suddenly filled his body. The warm and compassionate feeling had gradually spread out across the ground covered in broken bones.