286 Join the Devil XV (1/2)

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.

In the west, a lotus had fallen onto the earth. It was born with 32 Petals. Each petal was different, representing the different worlds.

Now that only four petals remained, they had combined to form a world. Yet this made the world peaceful.

Since he was unable to escape from the three realms, since he could only stay within the mountain, then what was the point of creating numerous worlds in order to overtake the three realms? Then what for insisting to let the petals fly with the wind when blooming in this mountain quietly could emphasize more on its beauty?

...

...

Master Lotus watched Ning Que's eyes quietly.

Then Ning Que heard his voice.

He wasn't controlled by Master Lotus' mental power to be absorbed nor was he being sucked into his enemy's world. Instead, both of their souls met each other in the mental world. From there, they could sense each other's presence, or intention.

The moment they met, Ning Que could clearly sense that his opponent's intention was peaceful. There was no joy, but more of a serene feeling from realization. This piece of intention seemed to be familiar for him.

...

...

Master Lotus' eyes seemed as warm as the lake in spring, as he quietly looked at Ning Que.

”What was I seeking for actually? What exactly were we seeking for? Could it be that there is another new world that is different from the past under Heaven's Way? I don't know, and I don't know if Ke Haoran knew it as well eventually.”

He then gazed at the motty sword marks on the rock wall. His pale-looking face revealed a smile.

”In the end, you won. Your successor won. Is he the final winner? The Devil's Doctrine was destroyed because of you and I, but will it be revived again due to him? My revenge to you, perhaps, begins from now. Yet I'll never know how it will end. Perhaps this is the beginning of my revenge on Haotian?”

Master Lotus drew his attention back to Ning Que's eyes.

A buzzing sound was heard within Ning Que's mind. He felt that many things had been passed to him from the old monk's stare. Those things were not exactly cultivation knowledge, but just some intangible feelings.

”You have already joined the Devil. If you want to practice the Devil's skills, you got to practice Buddhism first before you start walking into the darkness. Though you have little chance of success, and perhaps you'll die shortly after you start on this journey, but I still wish you luck. And I will curse you.”

Master Lotus quietly observed how he said his last piece of words in this world before he slowly closed his eyes. Both his hands on his knees were spread open and relaxed, like a wilting lotus.

Ning Que's hands gripped tightly onto the hilt of the blade, as he stared blankly forward.

A light breeze with a soft hissing sound blew towards them and the old monk's body, which was still hanging by the blade, suddenly cracked and dispersed with the breeze, like a soil statue. What remained were his broken bones that shattered onto the ground.