Chapter 585 1/2)

Li Xuanfeng waited for a while; the two monks had already begun to quarrel amongst themselves.

Ever since E Wu pretended to be of the Situ Family, Li Xuanfeng understood that eight or nine times out of ten, a fine spectacle was in store. He stood upon the Golden Shuttle in midair, calmly waiting.

Watching as both monks flew northward, clashing fiercely in the sky, Li Xuanfeng lifted his left hand, pulled the longbow from his back, gripping it with one hand, bowstring controlled with the other, casting a cold glance—without hesitation, he chose Mutuo as his target.

"This one is easy to kill, but also prone to being startled and fleeing back into the formation; kill him first."

He exhaled and spoke, wild beard bristling, eyes wide, his Black Gold Armor gleaming with radiant light—a Golden Mysterious Arrow forged of pure gold leapt from the quiver at his waist, obediently settling onto the bowstring.

The Jin Geng Longbow in his hand had long since been reforged in Yi Shan City; today, it was not what it once was. Eight feet six inches in length, horn three feet five inches long, even longer than in years past; its dark golden surface shimmered with a flowing, brilliant light.

If planted on the ground, it would stand taller than an ordinary Zhao person by an entire head; now held horizontal, it seemed like a siege crossbow.

This Golden Mysterious Arrow was likewise a Magic Artifact, about four feet long, without complex engravings—smooth and sharp, lines elegant, forged and tempered by Southern Border Refiner Masters, heavy as an iron ox.

"Da da da…"

Li Xuanfeng slowly drew the bowstring; the Golden Bow in his hands shifting from horizontal to diagonal, fully eight feet long—seen from afar in the sky, it resembled a Great Eagle spreading its wings.

"Splash!"

The golden light grew thicker and thicker; Li Xuanfeng narrowed his brows, gaze spanning a hundred miles, coldly fixing on Mutuo's ugly face.

"Go!"

Li Xuanfeng suddenly let go— the golden mysterious arrow in his hands vanished abruptly in the air; not even glancing at the result, he nocked a second Golden Mysterious Arrow and aimed once more.

...

Mutuo had just wiped the blood from his face when an intense panic seized him—fresh blood, like dewdrops, spurted successively from his face; he screamed in agony:

"Help…!"

He had only uttered one word; the four Guest Elders had already noticed his odd condition, forced to fall back and join forces to save his life. But then came a buzzing sound.

"Buzz buzz…"

They looked closely—Mutuo's pale head had disappeared.

The cut at his neck was smooth as a mirror, and from the edge of his neck, countless thin, thread-like strips of flesh whipped about in the air, seemingly trying to regrow the severed head; but as soon as they extended past the cut, they snapped off at the root.

Zhao Shi's vitality could only be rivaled by Devil Cultivators; Mutuo waved his hands frantically in the air, more terrified than when he had been crushed to pieces beneath Kong Tingyun's Gold Mountain years ago. He staggered two steps in midair, both hands groped for his neck, and at the moment his fingers touched the wound—an audible pop, they all broke off at the root.

"Buzz…"

The second buzzing sound arose, Mutuo vanished entirely, leaving only a few clouds of blood mist in the air.

Almost at the same time, the statues of several temples on Jindou Island exploded in unison, crumbling into powder; babies burst into blood mist out of nowhere, leaving the ground smeared in gore.

The Guest Elders in the air, along with E Wu, froze; Mutuo perished, body and soul together, in front of five Foundation Establishment Cultivators. In that instant, the fighters forgot to fight, the runners forgot to run.

E Wu felt an invisible connection slowly climbing up his body—Senior Brother Mutuo had perished, body and soul, before his very eyes; the Qin Ling Temple's inheritance naturally shifted to him. What he'd craved for days and nights, he acquired without effort—yet his face betrayed not a hint of joy, only a dazed expression as he muttered:

"What is it… What is this… It's an arrow… an arrow…"

He coughed, spat out blood froth, felt as if his face were being sliced by blades; tiny Blood Pearls oozed out densely from his left cheek, no time to cry out—he formed hand seals and cast a spell, releasing a hundred streaks of golden light.

His own power was greater than Mutuo's; now, having received the temple's inheritance, he was even stronger by three degrees. But his courage had long since fled; the hundred streaks of golden light circled his body—like a fugitive, he rode the wind and fled across the sky.

The Jindou Island Guest Elders, shocked and terrified, having failed to protect their charge before their very eyes, felt an unfathomable mix of emotions. Staring at the blood mist in the air and E Wu fleeing desperately eastward, one said:

"This monk has many life-preserving techniques… Perhaps he's already resurrected somewhere on the island."

Another, face full of dread, shook his head and said:

"Do we still pursue?"

They exchanged glances, glimpsing the terror in each other's eyes; silently, they rode the wind northward, their speed so slow it appeared they were merely admiring the scenery.

E Wu, having just fled two miles, felt a chill envelop him completely; suddenly, a buzzing sounded near his ear—he dodged desperately to the side, an agonizing tearing pain in his arm. Looking down, he saw a bloody hole in his palm.

For Buddhist Practitioners, such an injury was nothing; they cared little for the flesh—bodies could be swapped and shaped at will, and usually, a gentle touch was enough to close a wound like that.

But now, blood dripped profusely and endlessly from the wound; E Wu only felt a stabbing numb pain, with no sign of healing—his pupils dilated, heart frantic.

Li Xuanfeng's attack was immensely powerful; E Wu was not ignorant of such enemies—typically, the Spells mastered by Immortal Sect Direct Lineages took this form… But what truly terrified E Wu was:

"Where is he?"

This attack was so swift it was absolute, as if traversing from The Great Void, boundless and endless; E Wu could not even guess the enemy's direction—fleeing so desperately, was he escaping farther away… or moving closer?

The unknown was more dreadful than power itself; not a shadow of the enemy could be seen—how much energy did he spend? What was the interval between strikes? How vast was the attack range? E Wu knew none of this; only that a chilling dread crept upon him, blood beginning to seep from his chest drop by drop.

"He's toying with me. Damn it!"

E Wu felt a flash of understanding, formed seals and cast another spell—behind him appeared the figure of three heads and six arms, he shouted:

"Empowering Technique—Jati Golden Body!"

His skin suddenly radiated a bright light, changing from red to a gleaming gold, as though cast from brass, peerlessly resilient. Tiny Incantation Scripts danced and jumped across his skin.

"Pu!"

Yet the next instant, he spat out a mouthful of pale gold blood; golden mist spread through the air, looking fantastical under the sunlight.

E Wu's chest was hollowed out, a hole as thick as a forearm revealing the turquoise-red seawater behind him. With the Dharma Body's protection, he finally caught a glimpse of the golden shadow:

A golden arrow, slender as a phoenix bird, gleaming and translucent… radiance swirling.

He forcibly suppressed his panic, gently touched the wound, at last gaining some certainty:

"So this is its power; if it were before Maha's demise, this Dharma Body might have been some defense… what a pity."