Chapter Sixteen: I Am Here to Kill You (Second Update)

As the saying goes, those who come with good intentions do not come, and those who come are rarely benevolent. The Spring Sun Shrine dared to throw open its gates to meet the enemy, clearly possessing confidence in its own strength.

Before Chen Hongxu could even speak, his companions charged forward with fierce cries, exuding the spirit of Zhao Yun charging the Long Slope seven times. Though none of them could summon wind and rain back in China, each was considered a prodigy in their own right. Their first mission in Japan had ended in failure—an unlucky start they reluctantly accepted. But the subsequent days of wild, savage living atop the mountain had left this group of extraordinary individuals simmering with pent-up frustration.

Chen Hongxu narrowed his eyes, watching as more than twenty blades, spears, and cudgels swept toward the priests at the gate. Yet something felt off.

Sure enough, just as the weapons were about to strike, the four priests standing at the shrine's entrance suddenly withered away, as if devoured from within by ravenous worms. In the blink of an eye, they were reduced to four shriveled skeletons, mere bags of skin and bone.

A clatter rang out, but the anticipated carnage never came. The weapons tore at the skeletons, stripping away bits of the skin clinging to bone, but nothing more.

Seeing the faint white glow emanating from the bone fragments, Chen Hongxu spoke calmly, “Those who rely on speed, fall back. Those with strength, step forward.”

Those who had attacked withdrew in an orderly fashion, as if maneuvering on a battlefield. They were unfazed by this eerie turn of events; after all, they had encountered this very trick during their last assault on the Spring Sun Shrine. What once was strange had become familiar, and familiarity breeds contempt.

If they had continued to brute-force their way through, they could have destroyed the skeletons, but it would have taken too long. Though they held the advantage of timing and unity, lacking control of the terrain might prove critical to their success. Knowing these abominations could be defeated with sheer strength, Chen Hongxu wasted no time.

Bear, his ever-loyal henchman in this makeshift team, did not hesitate at the command. He twisted his neck, clasped his hands, and grinned menacingly before launching himself forward.

With a thunderous boom, the ground beneath Bear's feet cracked like a spiderweb. He shot toward the skeletons, spinning like a top bristling with blades. His outstretched arms and locked fists whipped up a gale, the force of his attack unstoppable.

Chen Hongxu paid no heed to the outcome, signaling his team to scale the surrounding walls and enter from the flanks. They weren’t here to flaunt their prowess but to murder and burn, and none voiced objections to such ungentlemanly conduct. Notably, Fan the Coward, usually known for self-preservation, had unexpectedly chosen to remain with the main assault force rather than go on lookout.

Vaulting up the wall, Chen Hongxu cast a glance at Fan, who appeared as composed as if he were sipping tea. For a moment, Chen Hongxu reconsidered his assessment of Fan as a highway bandit—perhaps the fellow was a thief instead?

Shaking off the thought, Chen Hongxu leaped lightly into the shrine grounds.

The courtyard was vast and empty. At each cardinal point stood a tree—not cherry trees, which seemed odd to Chen Hongxu.

“Those are trees of remorse,” Fan explained, standing at his side and reading his thoughts. “It’s said they can attract the souls of the dead. In a place neither wholly sacred nor profane, they're the perfect choice.”

As Fan spoke, more and more of their allies climbed over the wall, all at ease and clearly well-versed in such operations. Then, a clamor arose from the four arched stone gateways surrounding the courtyard. A flood of priests in robes wielding wooden swords poured in, mingled with figures clad in ancient armor.

Once these defenders entered the courtyard, the rain that had been falling from the sky was abruptly cut off, as if by an unseen hand. A thin, transparent barrier shimmered into being, separating the courtyard from the world outside.

“A barrier?” Chen Hongxu asked flatly, nodding to Fan. “It’s yours to handle.”

Fan wiped away his previous levity and nodded gravely. “Be careful.”

Thirty to forty skilled fighters had entered the shrine, not to admire the scenery but to confront their foes. To everyone’s surprise, Fan—usually the most cowardly—fought with unmatched ferocity, darting forward with a pair of short blades. None who came within his reach lasted a single bout.

Of course, he seemed to cleverly avoid those clad in ancient armor. Meanwhile, Chen Hongxu’s gaze was drawn to another shirtless figure—the man fearlessly targeted only the armored warriors, suppressing them with ease.

Watching as his allies began to be surrounded, Chen Hongxu, guided by his martial intuition, found a gap and slipped through.

Now he was alone. Bear remained outside, holding off the skeletons; Fan led the charge within; and Gu Jisong, assigned to suppress the Hanatori clan, was elsewhere. Each role was vital—without trusted people in place, these unruly allies might cause chaos.

The power of example is limitless. With Chen Hongxu’s companions leading the way, the rest followed with vigor. Their mission ended here; whether the operation succeeded depended on whether Chen Hongxu could defeat the High Priest.

A faint “pop” barely audible amid the chaos drew the attention of two priests, who moved to intercept Chen Hongxu. Fan noticed, dispatched a priest with a sharp blow, then dashed to Chen Hongxu’s side, engaging the two pursuers and calling back, “Be careful on your own.”

Whether Fan saw him or not, Chen Hongxu nodded firmly, then slipped through a ripple in the air that seemed ready to settle.

Outside the barrier, rain still fell. This time, Chen Hongxu wasted no energy, simply shaking the water from his hair as he wandered the shrine’s eerie, tranquil grounds.

He passed through at least a dozen courtyards, encountering not a single soul. Clearly, the Spring Sun Shrine had gathered all its forces in that first courtyard, knowing its fate hung in the balance.

After another five or six minutes, the pervasive mist that had hovered since his arrival suddenly vanished, replaced by a brilliant clarity that pierced the soul. Before him stood a great hall, different from those before. Its massive structure resembled a gaping beast, and the thousands of wind chimes and talismans hanging from the eaves swayed, exuding a hypnotic power. Even the towering stone tablet at the entrance, inscribed with the four characters for Spring Sun Shrine in flamboyant calligraphy, radiated an imposing presence.

Chen Hongxu exhaled, frowned at the path behind, then entered the hall with a faint, enigmatic smile.

There, seated cross-legged on a mat, was an old priest who appeared to be in his forties, his face kind but his seemingly clouded eyes gleaming with unmistakable intelligence.

“The High Priest?” Chen Hongxu asked uncertainly. This old priest exuded no threat, and even after consulting his martial spirit, Chen Hongxu learned he was, in fact, an ordinary man with no hidden power.

“Successor?” The High Priest nodded and replied with a question of his own.

The abruptness of the exchange startled Chen Hongxu, who had been bracing for some hidden attack. Only two people had ever used that term before: his martial spirit and now this seemingly ordinary yet extraordinary old priest.

The old priest, seeing Chen Hongxu’s surprise, made no move to attack. Whether from lack of strength or disdain, he simply smiled with complex emotions and gazed around the hall with deep nostalgia.

“I’ve come to kill you,” Chen Hongxu said, his eyes narrowed, stating his purpose.

“I know.” The High Priest nodded, murmuring, “China is vast and rich, its lineages deep. There are thirteen known successors, and you are clearly not among them. The Palace Master has always warned us: never fight a successor. But I still want to try.”

As he finished, the priest bowed deeply to Chen Hongxu, then straightened, drawing a peachwood ritual sword from behind him and muttering an incantation under his breath.

Suddenly, black mist welled from the unremarkable sword, streaming into the priest’s eyes, nose, mouth, and ears. His figure, once merely shoulder-height to Chen Hongxu, grew rapidly, reaching nearly two meters in an unnatural transformation.

Chen Hongxu regarded the transformed priest coolly. “Is this your method?”

The priest gave a bitter, helpless smile. “Members of the shrine can summon spirits to fight, but from your calm and pride, and the message from the wind chimes at the gate, you must be a successor of the Martial House—those who bow neither to Heaven nor ghost, who cultivate only the energy of slaughter. It would be pointless to summon wraiths against you.”

“Your Chinese is fluent, and we have no personal enmity. I truly do not wish to kill you. But too many have pinned their hopes on me, so I must apologize.” Chen Hongxu resolved to have a long talk with his martial spirit after this, as so much now lay beyond his understanding.

“To earn an apology from a Martial House successor is an honor. Allow me to do one last service for the shrine.” As the priest spoke, black mist swirled in his eyes, and he began to utter guttural, inhuman sounds.