Martial Arts Crossover: The Sweeping Monk of Wudang? That's our patriarch!

In a short while, the direct descendants of various clans arrived one after another, stepping into Nangong Piaomiao's residence. Some wore brocade robes embroidered with pythons, others had their hair tied up with jade crowns; their statuses varied, but at this moment, they all held their breath and stood quietly in front of the hall—everyone was an honored guest, and everyone carried a heavy burden. This small space had become the eye of a storm, and the advances and retreats of the various families were quietly tied on a thread.

The air inside the room grew heavy, like leaden clouds. The monks exchanged glances, their brows furrowed with a burning eagerness mixed with unfathomable trepidation.

This room is no ordinary hall; it is the pivotal point upon which the lifeblood of the divine city rests. Before the wind rises, the momentum is already boiling.

On the other side of the battlefield, the city envoy was still fighting desperately against Lin Daochen. Lin Daochen's sword strikes were like a startled swan cutting through the air, sometimes to the left and sometimes to the right, so fast that only afterimages remained; the city envoy, on the other hand, unleashed a blazing golden light that leaped out from his sea of ​​consciousness—it was a divine seal unique to the Heavenly Sensing Realm, specially designed to protect the spiritual platform from destruction, extremely rare and precious, which showed how deep his roots were.

His anger surged: This brat dared to confront him head-on, without a single ambush or scheme! In this critical moment, golden light burst forth in response, shining like the rising sun. Such a secret protective technique was a rare sight in the Divine City, perhaps only seen once in a hundred years; how could it be something an ordinary official could handle?

Lin Daochen remained unmoved, a faint smile even appearing on his lips. With a flick of his wrist, a dark, heavy demon-subduing pestle materialized out of thin air, then swept out with immense force—in an instant, the heavens and earth fell silent, all eyes were fixed on the two of them, and even the wind forgot to move.

The Vajra Pestle tore through the sky, tracing a jet-black arc, and smashed straight towards the city envoy's chest. Before the deafening roar even erupted, a collective gasp of astonishment filled the air.

Everyone's pupils contracted sharply: This wasn't a life-or-death struggle, it was a table-flipping! The intensity of their fighting spirit and the ferocity of their courage sent chills down their spines.

Immediately afterward, black flames erupted from Lin Daochen's palm, swirling and roaring like a living creature, instantly entangling the golden light. The flames licked at the divine light, the golden light hissed and disintegrated, and crackling sounds filled the air as the crimson flames and golden radiance mingled into a chaotic mist.

Lin Daochen's eyes were like blades as he stepped into the fire, pouring all the black flames into the blood sword. The sword hummed and trembled, as if it wanted to drink the blood of the eight wastelands.

The scorching waves crashed against his face, and the veins on the city's envoy's forehead bulged—the golden light was peeling away inch by inch in the black flames, like snow meeting boiling water! Lin Daochen's gaze pierced through the flames, cold and sharp, his voice low but each word piercing the heart: "Your little bit of divine light cannot stop me."

Before the words were even finished, the blood sword had already transformed into a crimson lightning bolt and struck down. The city envoy hurriedly tried to block, his spiritual power surging wildly within him, but Lin Daochen's figure had already slipped through the gap like a ghost, so fast that even his afterimage couldn't catch up.

A flash of sword light, and his right arm was severed at the shoulder, hot blood splattering like a waterfall, turning the scorched earth a dark brown. The city envoy roared to the sky, staggering backward, each step kicking up a cloud of stench. Lin Daochen, however, approached through the blood, his eyes filled with a murderous intent as thick as ink.

He gritted his teeth and swung his green-scaled whip, the whip's shadow like a venomous snake biting a throat—Lin Daochen slashed back again, the blood sword grazing his neck, his head flying into the sky, hot blood gushing from his chest like a spring, the entire arena falling silent amidst the billowing mist.

Everyone stood frozen in place, their throats tightening. This wasn't a contest; it was a crushing defeat! Speed, timing, ruthlessness—he had the upper hand in every aspect. Victory or defeat was decided in the blink of an eye, so fast that no one dared to blink, let alone believe it.

Just then, the Liu family patriarch arrived, his hair and beard disheveled, his eyes filled with astonishment. He never expected that Lin Daochen could kill the city guard with such swift and decisive means—far exceeding his expectations, almost supernatural.

But Lin Daochen did not accept the challenge. He merely glanced at him coldly and said in a voice as cold as iron, "My game has only just begun."

Just as the Liu family patriarch was about to speak, Lin Daochen had already pressed forward, his face looming over him! Every onlooker's heart skipped a beat: Was this a full-scale attack? Or a feint? No one could tell.

The next instant, his figure vanished without a trace, not even a scrap of clothing remained. The Liu family patriarch abruptly stopped, looking around in bewilderment—before him lay only a pool of blood, severed bodies, and the wind passing silently.

A whisper, sharp as a knife, suddenly reached his ear: "Ancestor of the Liu family, I am not used to being chased and hacked." The tone was calm, yet it was as if a crack had appeared in the ancient ice, revealing the surging determination and chilling coldness beneath.

As his voice faded, his figure had completely disappeared into the twilight at the city gate's outline, leaving only a patch of still-warm blood and a frozen, suffocating atmosphere.

The Liu family patriarch frowned, his mind filled with swirling doubts. What exactly was Lin Daochen plotting?

Just how deep is his true cultivation? And who is the powerful figure standing behind him? The moment this young man appeared, he made the back of this 300-year-old ancestor feel heavy, and his breathing became slightly labored.

Lin Daochen slew the city's envoy, and the news of his victory rolled across the divine city like thunder. His movements were as swift as a waterfall, as light as the wind, and he easily shook off the shackles of the Liu family patriarch. Although the patriarch was startled, he remained confident of victory—even the fastest fledgling eagle cannot shatter a mountain made of iron.

But Lin Daochen had no intention of engaging him in a prolonged fight. If he wanted to establish his authority, he wanted to do so in full view of everyone, standing tall on the backs of the cultivators of the Divine City. Before he finished speaking, he had already transformed into a white rainbow, rushing straight towards the group of cultivators behind him.

His gaze was like a cold blade drawn from its sheath—cold, precise, and ruthless, without the slightest hesitation—this battle was not a fight, but a declaration.

The Liu family patriarch's expression suddenly darkened, his sleeves fluttered violently, and he caught up in an instant. But Lin Daochen touched the ground with his toes and spun around, his figure suddenly dispersing, and when he solidified again, he had already bypassed the patriarch's shoulder and plunged straight into the heart of the crowd.

The cultivators had no time to form an array and were thrown into chaos. Lin Daochen raised his hand and summoned the Hunyuan Bell, and the Tianfan Seal crashed down! The shockwave exploded, bricks and stones flew, and all those who blocked the way were overturned to the ground, the sounds of breaking bones, muffled groans, and spitting blood mingling together.

Almost simultaneously, lightning erupted from the Primordial Bell—the Lightning Leopard burst forth! It leaped like thunder, its claws like tempered steel, tearing through the air with a piercing shriek. Wherever it passed, cultivators suffered broken tendons and torn skin, limbs flying everywhere, their screams cut short.

The battlefield instantly transformed into a carnage. Blood mist rose, and the stench was pungent. Lin Daochen's eyes held neither sorrow nor joy, only an icy resolve. He strode forward, each step treading upon wailing cries, each step etching death deep into the pupils of onlookers.

The fleeing cultivators scattered like ants, but he didn't let them go; instead, he plunged into the depths of the chaotic formation. Wherever he went, no one could stop him, no one dared to hinder him. Cultivators were as fragile as thin ice in his hands, shattering at the slightest touch, dying instantly upon contact.

Souls screech as they left their bodies, their shrill cries piercing the sky. The ground was a scene of utter devastation, broken blades soaked in blood, and mangled bodies piled upon each other—this was no contest of magic; it was a one-sided crushing defeat. Only then did everyone realize: Lin Daochen hadn't come to claim fame; he had come to rewrite the rules of the Divine City.

But some people are blinded by greed. As Lin Daochen walked along the blood-soaked path, a cultivator with bloodshot eyes, seemingly out of his mind, rushed towards him, as if the Hunyuan Bell truly held a heaven-reaching opportunity, and he was willing to die to snatch it.

The Hunyuan Bell hummed and trembled in his palm; each shake was like the knocking of death. Before the bell's sound had even faded, men had already collapsed in droves. Wailing cries rose and fell, blood vapor rising like mist; across the entire battlefield, only one word roared silently: Death.

But madness ultimately breeds fear. Some staggered backward, some crept along the wall, some gritted their teeth and made hand seals, trying to escape—the more arrogant Lin Daochen became, the more afraid they were. It wasn't the courage of a reckless man, but the absolute control that came from licking blood off a blade, chilling them to the bone.

The siege suddenly intensified. Greed overwhelmed reason, and the cultivators no longer saw any geniuses or rising stars, only a walking treasure cave. The shouts of killing were mixed with cries of "Treasure hunting," "Bell snatching," and "Core extraction," and countless eyes burning with green flames were all fixed on Lin Daochen.

He slowly raised his eyes, sweeping over the distorted faces, a barely perceptible twitch at the corner of his lips. His aura, no longer restrained, overflowed like a tidal wave—heavy, chilling, and undeniable. No matter how many ants there are, they cannot shake a mountain in the slightest; and he, precisely, is that mountain.

Those who stand in my way will be reduced to ashes.

The Primordial Bell suddenly swung, unleashing a surge of black mist, thick as ink, chilling and bone-deep. This was not mist, but living killing intent, a tangible domain of death. Before the mist dissipated, the Asura Bees had already burst forth from the bell!

The black tide swept in, the cold light of the tail needles connecting in a continuous line. Before the buzzing sound arrived, the excruciating pain had already pierced the heart—the attackers fell one after another, convulsing, spasming, spitting out black blood, and even struggling became a luxury.

Lin Daochen's eyes flashed with a cold light. With a flick of his wrist, the Hunyuan Bell hummed loudly, and the swarm of Asura bees surged through the air like a black tide, heading straight for the enemy formation. Each piercing swarm of stingers was accompanied by a piercing wail, spraying blood mist and splattering everywhere, the stench of blood filling the air. Where the swarm swept past, the wailing ceased abruptly, leaving only convulsing bodies and a frozen, deathly silence.

In the midst of the chaotic battle, his figure suddenly tore through the air, transforming into a dark afterimage, leaping and maneuvering amidst the flashing blades, instantly penetrating the heart of the enemy formation. He felt a slight chill—the number of Heavenly Sensing Realm experts within the Divine City was far fewer than expected. This abnormal situation was most likely a feint set up by the Blood Palace Master.

But his mind was made up. This time, he would return and let the entire divine city hear the sound of his footsteps shattering mountains and rivers.

The Liu family patriarch's pupils constricted sharply, and his knuckles clenched so tightly they turned white. He had long known that Lin Daochen was no pushover, but he had not expected his bloodlust to be so intense; a slight misstep could lead to the destruction of the entire city.

But things had come to this point. With a stomp of his foot, the bluestone shattered, and he shot out like an arrow, determined to stop this demonic blade that drank blood as soon as it was drawn.

Lin Daochen didn't even glance at the Liu family patriarch; a cold, icy smile played on his lips. Wherever his sword struck, lives crumbled like grass. Cultivators didn't even have time to parry before their necks snapped and blood gushed from their throats.

His fighting spirit burned ever brighter, and his swordplay became increasingly unpredictable, as if it could cleave through the skin and strike straight into the depths of the soul.

Corpses littered the ground, blood soaking the blue bricks. His gaze swept over the devastation, his eyes devoid of sorrow or anger, only utter indifference. Cultivators of the Divine City? Merely a pile of withered bones he crushed on his path to the pinnacle. He lived only for his own desires, willing to shatter even the rules of heaven and earth.

He stepped back onto the main street of the divine city, his murderous aura almost tangible, forcing passersby to retreat. That undeniable, sharp will, like a blade scraping against eardrums, made the entire city hold its breath.

Overnight, this name was etched into everyone's spine, becoming the hottest, fiercest, and most unspoken mark in the city.

The stench of blood had not yet dissipated, but the cultivators of all races were already blinded by rage. Greed overwhelmed fear, and countless burning gazes were fixed on Lin Daochen—his robes and the storage pouch at his waist must hold a treasure powerful enough to rewrite his destiny!

With each wave of his hand, a group of people collapsed to the ground, their thick blood gradually permeating the entire Zhuque Street.

In a private room on the second floor of Feixian Teahouse, cups clinked softly, and discussions rippled through the air. The direct descendants of each family wore solemn expressions, repeatedly deducing the deeper meaning behind Lin Daochen's actions.

Nangong Piaomiao lightly tapped the sandalwood table with her fingertips, a slight smile playing on her lips. She nodded in approval of Lin Daochen's strategy, then brought up the matter of exploring the secret realm, her tone as confident as if she held a chessboard in her hand. Ni Yun lowered her eyes and sipped her tea, the tea reflecting the lingering cold fire in her eyes, waiting for an opportunity to turn the tide.