82: The Devil Lord Descends

Jiang Lan looked at Bao Jing.

He had already learned a lot about Bao Jing from Qiu Rang.

Two years ago, when Bao Ping Temple was invaded by demons, all the monks died at the hands of the demons; only Bao Jing survived, no one else.

But ever since Bao Ping Temple was destroyed, Bao Jing had been staying in the Demon Suppression Division and had never had a master.

Bao Jing cried out in astonishment, but the monks completely ignored him, all facing the Buddha statues and chanting scriptures.

For a moment, the atmosphere in the hall was somewhat eerie.

Inside the main hall, an Old Monk was leading a group of young monks in chanting, half of the back hall door was kicked down, two monks stood at the entrance, and in the middle was a black-clad man with a long saber across his back.

The atmosphere in the hall didn't last long before it was suddenly broken.

The monk Huijue, who had originally been standing to Jiang Lan's left, his eyes gradually becoming hollow, walked forward step by step.

He walked to the side of the last row of monks, sat on an empty prayer mat, then clasped his hands together and began chanting the scriptures that Jiang Lan couldn't understand.

Jiang Lan frowned.

Before entering, he had imagined many possible scenarios.

But this one, in particular, was so bizarre it was beyond his comprehension.

Just then, footsteps sounded in Jiang Lan's ears.

He turned his head and saw that at some point, Bao Jing's eyes had also lost focus, and he took a step, seemingly about to go forward and chant.

Without much thought, Jiang Lan reached out and pressed down on Bao Jing's shoulder.

Bao Jing's steps halted, and some clarity returned to his eyes.

But very quickly, in the blink of an eye, his gaze changed again.

It was no longer hollow.

Jiang Lan had seen this look in Bao Jing's eyes before.

It was exactly the same as when he encountered a Tiger's Accomplice on the way to that village.

Gloomy, cold, and with a hint of brutality hidden deep within his eyes.

Jiang Lan looked at Bao Jing, then suddenly struck like lightning.

His right hand, originally resting on Bao Jing's shoulder, transformed into a palm-saber and chopped down on the back of Bao Jing's neck.

“Bang!”

Bao Jing didn't even react before his eyes rolled back, and he slowly collapsed to the ground.

Jiang Lan twitched his lips.

In the face of absolute power, even being possessed was useless.

No matter how strong Bao Jing was, he was still just a Bone Refinement initial-stage martial artist; against him, let alone resisting, if Jiang Lan wanted to, he could press him to death with a single finger.

No longer looking at the unconscious Bao Jing, Jiang Lan took large strides and walked directly towards the Old Monk closest to the Buddha statue.

At this moment, the chanting seemed to reach a crucial point, and the monks' chanting speed grew faster and faster, blending together to make Jiang Lan feel a little flustered.

“Clang!”

The long saber was drawn.

Jiang Lan stepped through the gaps between the prayer mats and walked in front of the Old Monk.

Along the way, the monks seemed not to notice him, still chanting scriptures to themselves.

Jiang Lan lowered his head and saw the Old Monk's face.

The Old Monk had a kind and benevolent face, a bald head, but his two white eyebrows hung very long, almost reaching his cheeks.

He closed his eyes, his mouth opening and closing, seemingly completely unaware of Jiang Lan's arrival.

Jiang Lan didn't know what trick they were playing, nor did he want to know.

He swung the long saber in his hand, drawing a cold white light through the air, and brought it down on the Old Monk's neck.

“Sizzle—”

The sharp blade cut into flesh, and a head fell to the ground.

“Puff—”

The Old Monk's body tilted forward, blood gushing out and staining the three Buddha statues, adding a touch of eeriness to the originally gilded, majestic divine statues.

The sound did not stop.

Jiang Lan looked down at the Old Monk's head, which had rolled to the side.

The head's mouth was still opening and closing, chanting scriptures.

Jiang Lan's expression was somewhat uncertain with surprise.

He was genuinely shocked.

Head separated from body, yet the head could still chant scriptures—it was only because he had slain many demons recently that his courage had been tempered.

If it were anyone else, seeing this scene would probably scare them so much they couldn't stand steady.

The buzzing sound continued in Jiang Lan's ears.

Accompanied by a heavy note, all chanting stopped at the same time.

Before him, the gold lacquer on the massive Buddha statue peeled off, revealing the purplish-black clay inside.

Although the peeling was not complete, Jiang Lan could still see at a glance that the purplish-black clay inside the gold lacquer was identical to what he had seen behind the three Buddha statues earlier.

Behind Jiang Lan, a group of monks said in unison, without any emotion:

“Welcome the Lord of the Turbid World to descend.”

Jiang Lan looked at the monks and found that after saying this, they fell down in disarray, seemingly unconscious.

“Crack—”

Jiang Lan turned his head again to stare at the Buddha statue.

In less than ten breaths, the gold lacquer on the Buddha statue had completely peeled off, revealing three complete purplish-black clay figures, identical to the three Jiang Lan had seen before.

The clay figures seemed to be coming to life, surrounded by an unsettling Evil Qi.

Suddenly, a wisp of black Qi shot out from the middle clay figure, rushing into the Old Monk's headless body with lightning speed.

The head that Jiang Lan had just severed flew up and astonishingly returned to the Old Monk's neck.

The Old Monk opened his eyes, which held no trace of the peace a monk should possess, but instead were filled with resentment, hatred, and anger.

“Disturbing this Lord's cultivation, you have quite the nerve.”

“Heh heh…” Jiang Lan raised his saber, his face filled with surging Battle Intent, “I also think I have quite the nerve.”

After a few moments of adjustment, Jiang Lan's state of mind had returned to equilibrium.

No matter what this thing was, he felt it shouldn't be too strong.

At the very least, it definitely hadn't reached the Mortal Shedding stage.

Jiang Lan also realized that this so-called Lord of the Turbid World must have used some unknown method to control this group of monks, then used the incense offerings of Bao Ping Temple to fuel his own cultivation.

Based on this alone, Jiang Lan could confirm that this so-called Lord of the Turbid World was definitely not strong.

After all, currently, the entire Great Yan had no Mortal Shedding stage cultivators; if he were truly a Mortal Shedding stage great demon, there would be no need for such troublesome stealth.

Wouldn't it be much faster to simply erect a temple in the imperial palace, have all the city's common people offer incense and kowtow daily, and kill those who disobeyed, rather than secretly stealing incense offerings here at Bao Ping Temple?

“Since you've lived enough, then die!”

The Old Monk's eyes were blood-red, and at the same time, a massive purplish-black ethereal shadow made of mist appeared behind him, nearly ten feet tall, identical in appearance to the clay figure, baring its fangs and claws as if about to pounce.

As the shadow stepped, the Old Monk's body followed suit.

He did not at all resemble a frail old man, moving with great speed, directly lunging towards Jiang Lan.

The ethereal shadow behind the Old Monk waved its large hand, grabbing at Jiang Lan.

Around Jiang Lan, True Qi surged wildly.

The long saber in his hand also became covered in a golden-red glow at the same time.

Blazing Sun Demon Suppression Blade!

The long saber collided with the giant hand.

“Sizzle!”

The sound of burning flesh rang out, and the hand of the giant black mist shadow was directly split into two.

The long saber continued to descend, severing half of the Old Monk's withered arm as well.

“Awooo!”