An unexpected encounter with the sleeping Little Dragon Girl leads to the annihilation of the Quanzh

It was clearly a collision between a hand and metal, but it produced a loud, booming sound.

Darba felt an overwhelming, spiraling force emanating from the Vajra Pestle.

He felt as if he had not been smashed on a fleshy palm, but on a huge, rapidly spinning millstone.

His immense force was instantly deflected, neutralized, or even rebounded!

"What?!"

Darba's tiger's mouth trembled violently, blood gushing out. The demon-subduing pestle, weighing over a hundred pounds, flew out of his hand and crashed diagonally into a stone pillar in the main hall with a "boom," burying half of it. The entire stone pillar was covered with spiderweb-like cracks.

He himself was also shaken back seven or eight steps by the force of the impact, each step leaving a deep footprint on the hard bluestone ground.

His chest heaved with rage, his face turning a deep purplish-red. He barely managed to steady himself, and the look in his eyes as he looked at Guo Jing had changed from anger to shock and bewilderment.

Guo Jing's palm strike not only shattered his full-force attack but also sent his weapon flying.

But he himself only slightly fluttered his sleeves, without moving an inch.

"What a brilliant 'Dragon Tail Swing' move!"

Qiu Chuji couldn't help but cheer.

"It's not simply about releasing force."

Ma Yu's eyes were solemn as he slowly said, "While Jing'er was releasing the force, she also injected her spiraling internal energy. Darba may have only been knocked back, but in reality, his internal organs have been shaken."

Just as Ma Yu said, Darba felt as if his chest and abdomen were being churned, and he couldn't catch his breath. He was so uncomfortable that he almost vomited blood.

However, he grew up in the harsh, cold mountains, and his body is much stronger than that of ordinary people.

More importantly, his loyalty to his master and fellow disciples outweighed his physical pain and fear of death.

"Wow!"

Darba roared and charged again.

Having lost his weapon, he used his own body as a weapon.

A pair of iron fists, accompanied by a whooshing sound, were like two giant hammers, smashing wildly at Guo Jing.

He has completely gone mad; his moves are chaotic and unorthodox, reduced to nothing but primal brute force.

Faced with this frenzied attack, Guo Jing's eyes flashed with pity.

But he showed no mercy.

Mercy to the enemy is cruelty to one's own country.

He had already deeply ingrained this principle in his mind after witnessing too much bloodshed on the walls of Xiangyang.

This time, he didn't use any clever tricks.

He stepped forward half a step and delivered a simple, unadorned palm strike, meeting Darba's punch head-on.

The Eighteen Subduing Dragon Palms - Flying Dragon in the Sky!

If the previous palm strike, "Dragon Swings Its Tail," was agile and skillful "softness," then this palm strike, "Flying Dragon in the Sky," is upright and unparalleled "hardness"!

"roar!"

This time, the dragon's roar was no longer a mental pressure, but a real and undeniable howl!

Everyone saw that a golden dragon phantom truly rose into the sky from Guo Jing's palm, baring its fangs and claws, and collided violently with Darba's enormous fist.

"boom--!"

An unprecedentedly loud bang, like a thunderclap rising from the ground.

A violent shockwave erupted from the two of them!

The tables, chairs, cushions, and scriptures inside the main hall were swept up by this shockwave and scattered like fallen leaves in a gale.

The few real people standing in the front row had to use their internal energy to resist, their robes fluttering in the wind.

The disciples standing in the back row were blown about and their formation was thrown into chaos.

Darbana's fist, as big as a clay pot, shattered inch by inch the moment it touched Guo Jing's palm.

From the finger bones to the metacarpal bones, then to the wrist bones, arm bones...

That invincible, masculine palm force utterly destroyed his proud iron fist, then surged into his body with unstoppable momentum.

"Click...click click..."

A series of teeth-grinding cracking sounds rang out in rapid succession.

Darbana's massive body arched backward in a terrifying arc, as if struck head-on by a battering ram.

His eyes bulged out, and his eyeballs were bloodshot.

The next second, his massive body shot backward like a cannonball, crashing heavily into the two heavy wooden doors of the Sanqing Hall.

"Boom!"

The solid palace doors were smashed to pieces by his massive body!

Wood chips flying everywhere!

Darba collapsed in the courtyard outside the main hall, spitting out a jet of blood mixed with shattered internal organs.

He struggled twice, trying to get up, but ultimately collapsed to the ground, completely unconscious.

Two palms.

Just two palm strikes.

Darba, a Mongolian master renowned for his strength and defense, was critically injured and on the verge of death.

The Sanqing Hall was in complete disarray, both inside and out.

But at this moment, no one cares about any of this.

All eyes were on the man who had withdrawn his hand and stood quietly.

Guo Jing.

He stood there, an unchanging mountain since ancient times.

The atmosphere inside the main hall was frozen solid.

The Mongol warriors who came with Huodu were all ashen-faced, and their legs were trembling uncontrollably.

Looking at the demonic figure inside the hall, then at Darba outside, whose fate was unknown, and at Huodu groaning under a pillar, their last shred of hope was utterly crushed by fear.

"roll."

Guo Jing finally spoke again.

It's still that one word, plain and simple, yet carrying an undeniable authority.

The Mongol warriors, as if granted a pardon, scrambled out of the hall. One lifted the unconscious Darba, while the other two frantically lifted the crippled Khodu.

They didn't even dare to look at Guo Jing, and in a disheveled state, they fled down Zhongnan Mountain as if escaping.

Watching their disappearing figures, the Seven Masters of Quanzhen had different expressions.

Qiu Chuji's face was flushed, a mixture of excitement and relief.

He strode over to Guo Jing and patted him heavily on the shoulder: "Good! Good! Good! Jing'er, well done! These Tartars deserve to be taught a lesson!"

Wang Chuyi also looked delighted: "That's great! Truly great! Let them know that not just anyone can run wild in the Central Plains martial arts world!"

Meanwhile, Tan Chuduan, Liu Chuxuan, Sun Bu'er, and others exchanged complex glances.

They were both awestruck by Guo Jing's divine power and worried about the impending storm facing the Quanzhen Sect.

Ma Yu sighed deeply, walked up to Guo Jing, and said with an extremely solemn expression, "Jing'er, you... alas, do you know that with this palm strike, our Quanzhen Sect will have no way out?"

His words implied a sense of resentment.

The disheveled figures of the Mongol warriors disappeared at the end of the mountain path, and the deathly silence in the Sanqing Hall was finally broken by Qiu Chuji's suppressed "good" after "good".

The flush of excitement had not yet faded from his face, but Ma Yu's cold sigh was like a bucket of snow water poured over his head, freezing the atmosphere in the hall that had just warmed up again.

"Is there no way out?"

Qiu Chuji frowned, his fiery temper flaring up again. He turned and glared at Ma Yu, his voice filled with disbelief, "Senior brother! What are you saying? Are you just going to stand by and watch these Tartars swagger around in front of our patriarch, injure our Quanzhen disciples, and expect us to swallow our pride and grovel as we send them down the mountain?!"

Wang Chuyi chimed in, his temper equally volatile, spitting as he spoke: "Exactly! Senior Brother, Brother Guo Jing is avenging our Quanzhen Sect! He's bringing glory to the Central Plains martial arts world! How come in your mouth it's become a bad thing?"