Chapter 41: Battle with the Evil Monk

"Just focus on the ritual, leave everything else to me."

"Then... be careful."

With those words, Zhang Xuan simply closed his eyes and blocked his ears, his lips chanting the incantation, feigning blindness and deafness.

The monk outside the window slowly entered the room, his gaze fixed on the ritual altar laden with incense and candles, the ceremonial attire, and the shadowy hundred-foot deity looming at the end of the bridge of incense.

His eyes were filled with terror, but that terror gradually shifted to relief.

Relief at having stumbled into such a place by accident.

If that fat Daoist summoned the true gods, there would be no hope for a thousand-legged parasite to survive in Jinjiang County.

But just then, a graceful figure blocked the altar, severing the monk's line of sight.

This monk was unlike any other black-robed figure—more akin to He Shan.

Aside from his height, far exceeding that of any normal human, his movements, facial expressions, even the smallest gestures, were nearly indistinguishable from an ordinary person.

Yet it was clear he had eaten more than a few people...

"Amitabha. Please, lady, step aside."

Bai Xian regarded him quietly.

Not only did he retain his sanity, he even possessed memories from his human days?

Her crimson lips parted, as if questioning, or perhaps murmuring to herself.

"You've eaten quite a few people, haven't you?"

"Nineteen souls from a family in the South Market—they're all reunited in my belly, enjoying bliss and heavenly peace together."

The nine-foot monk smiled faintly, revealing rows of blood-red teeth, as if recounting something trivial.

He even shook his head, as though apologizing for his inadequate digestion.

Were it not for the need to digest each one, he could have consumed many more.

"Do you know how much I've craved for half my life of fasting? Do you know how fragrant human—or river crab—meat is?"

"Children are tender, women soft, men robust... Even those old folks, boiled into a soup for half an hour, were incomparably delicious..."

Bai Xian listened in silence, her fingers gripping the alloy spear so tightly they had turned white.

She had crossed over three times, believing herself accustomed to monsters and death.

Yet hearing such words spoken aloud still filled her with rage.

It was in this moment she truly felt that this world was neither a game nor a mere side quest. Humanity was in decline, demons ran rampant.

This was an age of chaos, a bloody, tumultuous era.

"...Did you know, you are what you eat? If you wish to rise above others, hardship won't suffice... You must eat humans!"

Suddenly—

A glint of cold steel flashed, the spear launched like a dragon.

The nine-foot monk sprang backward, staring in disbelief at the deep, bone-revealing wound in his chest.

For any ordinary person, such a wound would be fatal.

He had intended to provoke the woman with words, to unsettle her with his cruelty.

Yet, in his excitement, he let his guard down and paid the price.

Bai Xian stood where the monk had been, her beautiful eyes reflecting the brilliant moonlight, the spearhead gleaming coldly.

The foul, yellow blood of the parasite sizzled on the spear tip.

With a flick of her wrist, Bai Xian shook off the contaminated fluid onto the ground.

Unlike Yang Xian’s red-tipped spear, there were no spots of corrosion.

Instead, the oxidation layer on the spearhead had been stripped away, revealing three exquisite alloy patterns beneath.

"Enough with the nonsense."

A red glow shimmered as a layer of magical force enveloped the spear: "Since your belly is paradise, let me slice it open and see what wonders lie within."

The monk gradually shed his false smile.

He stamped his foot, his massive body moving with unnatural agility, charging into the room.

Bai Xian’s legs were anchored to the ground like steel spikes; her spear twirled at her waist, and the Six Harmonies Spear Technique struck straight for the monk’s brow.

"Clang!"

The monk’s fist met the spear, producing the sound of iron against stone.

A tremendous force traveled through the shaft.

Bai Xian used the momentum, turning a thrust into a sweeping strike, the spear’s tail whipping toward his neck.

The monk had no choice but to halt his attack, pulling his fists back to defend, blocking the spear’s handle.

Bai Xian pressed her advantage.

Her spear executed collapse, pull, press, cover, pick, and thrust—the six forms of the technique in relentless succession.

The nine-foot monk was driven steadily backward, retreating all the way into the courtyard.

Human and parasite, attacker and defender, exchanged dozens of blows.

With each move, Bai Xian’s spear and her mastery of the Six Harmonies Technique grew ever smoother, her assault fiercer and faster.

At last, the monk was cornered against the wall, unable to retreat further.

He raised his fists in desperation and struck the spearhead aimed at his throat to the ground.

A dull thud—three alloy spearheads clashed against the stone, igniting a shower of sparks.

Bai Xian leaped up, her hands barely shifting, the spear spinning half a turn in midair.

The spearhead descended from above, stabbing at the monk.

The monk was filled with dread, his bloodshot eyes wide with terror and despair, bracing himself to block the powerful thrust.

Yet flesh, no matter how strong, could never withstand the alloy forged by modern machines.

Though he had seemed unharmed through the previous rounds, his fists were already torn and bleeding yellow fluid.

This time, his hand could not stop the spear.

The spear pierced through both arms, the hard forearm bones wedged against the shaft, the blade only a fist’s breadth from his brow.

A fleeting relief crossed the monk’s face, quickly replaced by a savage grin.

With her weapon trapped, how could she fight him now?

Once he subdued her, he vowed to devour her, toe by toe, without leaving a trace.

But just then, the red glow on the spear, barely a fist’s distance away, began to flicker like a serpent’s tongue.

A light, feminine voice reached his ears.

"Release the dragon!"

The monk froze, his eyes crossing to stare at the spear tip before his brow.

A dragon’s roar echoed.

The six-foot spear extended an extra half-foot.

The spearhead, wrapped in red light, sliced through his brow like a hot knife through butter.

The red glow faded, and the nine-foot monk crashed to the ground. On the spear tip, the unusually robust thousand-legged parasite writhed, then went limp and lost its life.

...

Bang!

The window shattered. Covered in blood, Yue Wenying crashed into the hall like a cannonball, slamming into the floor and upending a swath of tiles.

Cai Wei hurried forward to help him up.

"Captain Yue, are you alright?"

"I'm fine..."

Yue Wenying’s face was ashen, forcing himself to swallow the metallic taste in his throat.

He was sustained only by a single breath in his chest—if it escaped, he feared he would never rise again.

But before he could rest, the broken window exploded, and a nine-foot monk barged through, stepping into the hall.

Now, barely a handful of bailiffs could stand, and the patrol soldiers outside the door were barely holding on, ready to collapse at any moment.

Yue Wenying’s heart sank. Gritting his teeth against the pain, he managed to stand.

He saw that his tempered blade, forged by the Bureau, had been snapped in half by the monk’s fist.

Only a fragment remained in his hand.

"Fall back to the altar; leave this to..."

Yue Wenying spoke each word with unwavering resolve.

Cai Wei stepped in front of him.

"Captain Yue, now’s not the time for heroics. With everyone together, there’s still a sliver of hope."

Yue Wenying’s throat tightened, then he managed a bitter smile.

He stood shoulder to shoulder with Cai Wei.

"Do I look that wretched?"

Cai Wei nodded solemnly. "You’re half a step from death."

"Heh."

Yue Wenying said, "If I must die, to fight alongside Miss Bai and Chief Cai is no regret—come!"

The demon hunter raised his broken blade, pointing it at the nine-foot monk.

His tiger eyes blazed with killing intent.

If death must come, let it come standing—it would be the death of a hero.

But just then, the nine-foot monk, who had entered with a sinister grin, suddenly showed a look of shock.

Gradually, panic turned to fear.

Under Yue Wenying’s bewildered gaze, the dominant monk turned and fled toward the hall’s exit.

"What..."

Before Yue Wenying could make sense of it, a hand tapped his shoulder.

He turned, his pupils dilating in astonishment.