Martial Arts Crossover: The Sweeping Monk of Wudang? That's our patriarch!

boom--!

A deafening explosion ripped through the air, cracking the void inch by inch, with spiderweb-like fissures spreading wildly, as if a corner of the sky had collapsed.

The onlookers gasped in disbelief, their eyes nearly popping out of their sockets. No one had expected that a mere Blood Cultivator could withstand a full-force attack from a Heavenly Sensing expert!

The Grand Elder thought this move would surely kill him, but he saw Lin Daochen grit his teeth and hold on, blood and foam constantly oozing from the corner of his mouth, yet he did not retreat even half a step.

He was covered in blood, his skeleton seemed to be groaning, and his body swayed like a candle flickering in the wind; but his eyes were terrifyingly bright, burning with an inextinguishable flame.

His right hand was completely shattered, his skin and flesh torn open, but his unyielding determination kept him rooted to the spot, like a broken halberd pointing towards the heavens.

The arrogance on the Grand Elder's face first froze, then cracked, and finally turned into undisguised panic. He never expected that Lin Daochen would not only withstand the Heavenly Sense attack, but also counterattack with such a world-shaking palm strike amidst the excruciating pain!

Lin Daochen stopped three feet away from the Grand Elder, his gaze sharp as frost. An aura of dominance that swept across the entire realm suddenly spread, even causing the pressure of the Heavenly Sensing Realm cultivator to falter.

In dire straits, he used blood as a catalyst and his thoughts as a blade to carve out a path to survival that defied the heavens.

The elder's throat bobbed, and he remained silent for a long time. A chill ran through him; the eyes before him were unfathomable, their darkness churning with a ferocious, all-consuming power and an unshakeable resolve.

Lin Daochen stood quietly, a smile as sharp as ice on his lips—a declaration of certainty, and a silent judgment.

The Grand Elder's pupils constricted, and his whole body went cold. He had watched as the very essence of the Blood Mist Technique he had activated was swallowed whole by Lin Daochen, and fed back into a raging demonic flame!

"Absolutely impossible!" he hissed, his voice trembling. He thought victory was assured, but little did he know he would become a sacrifice for his opponent's breakthrough.

At this moment, Lin Daochen was emaciated, his skin withered like an ancient corpse, but the fierce aura emanating from him was enough to terrify anyone.

That was the most original source of the Blood Mist Technique, the true intent of slaughter that he had refined by chewing up the blood essence of his opponents bit by bit.

"Not a single member of the Wang family will survive."

His voice was low and hoarse, each word like a nail. His eyes gleamed with bloodlust, his hatred burning fiercely, no longer restraint, but a naked act of reckoning.

He leaped up, charging straight at the Wang family cultivators! With each step he took, the ground cracked and the air surged, like a bloodthirsty beast breaking free of its shackles, rushing towards the perpetrators of his past violence.

The Wang family cultivators were terrified. With the source of the Blood Mist stolen, Lin Daochen was no longer a Blood Cultivator, but a Blood Fiend Incarnate! They frantically formed hand seals and frantically channeled their magic power, hoping only to block this deadly figure.

Lin Daochen's attacks were like thunderclaps, devoid of any fancy moves, yet each strike severed tendons and shattered bones. His control over flesh and blood had reached a level of subtlety; with each grab and pull, he precisely tore open the weak points in the defenses. Six cultivators fell to the ground one after another, their throats shattered, blood splattering everywhere.

Six sharp auras suddenly approached—six experts who had transcended the ninth level of the Transformation Realm had arrived.

What came into view was Lin Daochen stepping over the mangled corpses, his steps stained with blood. The sight sank their hearts and sent chills down their spines.

……

He was no longer the weak blood cultivator who could be trampled on at will. After swallowing the Great Elder's blood mist, what surged within him was a violent true essence powerful enough to burn mountains and boil seas.

The six of them shouted in unison, joined forces to form a formation, unleashing sword energy, talismanic fire, and poisonous miasma, determined to stop this out-of-control ferocious beast.

But when Lin Daochen's fist struck, their formation crumbled like paper. They retreated step by step, unable to even touch the hem of his clothes.

Lin Daochen's figure flashed past like a blood-red blade tearing through the air. Before the six cultivators could even unleash their moves, their bones were broken and they collapsed to the ground.

The onlookers around felt their throats tighten and their breaths catch in their throats; the Wang family cultivators felt a chill run down their spines, a bone-chilling cold rising from the soles of their feet to the top of their heads.

"Could it be that he... has broken free from the shackles of blood cultivation and become the supreme being who controls the bloodline?" someone whispered, their voice trembling, as if in awe of an ancient demon that had just broken free from its seal.

The Wang family gritted their teeth and stepped forward to meet the enemy, but as soon as they met, they were crushed by Lin Daochen's raging offensive.

Each of his strikes was imbued with a chilling, bloodthirsty aura. His fists were like knives, his palms like hooks. When they struck a person, they didn't break bones, but rather caused flesh to roll back and blood to surge backward. Before the opponent could even think of blocking, blood would seep from all seven orifices, and he would stagger to the ground.

The remaining cultivators retreated in panic, but five people from the Long and Wang families bravely charged forward, heading straight into the bloody light.

In the center of the battlefield, Lin Daochen transformed into a crimson afterimage, instantly tearing apart the last five people.

He showed no mercy in his attack; wherever his fingertips touched, the blood vessels automatically peeled away and surged back, burrowing into his palm like living things.

The person struck turned ashen instantly, their life essence drained away, and they withered like dry twigs in the blink of an eye.

Blood surged and roared around him, as if it had come alive, flowing endlessly. After devouring the blood and marrow of the five people, his aura suddenly surged, his robes fluttered without wind, and blood flames burned brightly deep in his eyes. His thirst for blood became more naked and more frenzied.

But the last vestige of clarity in his heart remained like an unextinguished candle—he knew that once he stepped onto this path, there would be no turning back.

"Hahaha! The true meaning of blood is so vast!" He roared to the sky, his voice shaking the heavens, as if the pulse of the entire divine city was resonating and booming in his veins.

But the killing intent did not subside. Seeing that he was unstoppable, the nearly two hundred cultivators not only did not retreat, but accelerated their encirclement, with the sounds of swords being drawn rising and falling like a tidal wave pressing in.

Lin Daochen neither dodged nor avoided the crowd, but instead stepped forward to meet it.

With each step, blood mist rose from the ground, and a stench filled the air. The cultivators felt their hearts race, their legs go weak, and even their sword-wielding hands trembled.

The fighting resumed. His attacks were so fast they were nothing but a streak of crimson, each strike aimed straight for the throat, the heart, and the vital points—a burst of blood signified the end of life. Before the fallen had even breathed their last, their life force was already being drained away, thread by thread.

He grew more and more excited as he fought, and more and more lucid as he killed, like an ancient blood beast awakened, born only to drink blood.

At this moment, inside the celestial palace in the center of the divine city, the Heavenly Dragon Prince sat on a golden jade throne, looking relaxed with a hint of amusement in his eyes.

The palace walls were inlaid with shimmering gemstones, which made his face appear as pale and white as porcelain.

The Wang family patriarch and others knelt at the foot of the steps, their necks slightly bowed. Their gazes swept over Tianlongzi's indifferent profile, and their hearts turned cold: What kind of savior is this? He is clearly a cold-eyed demon lord in a celestial robe.

"I implore you, senior, to take action and capture Lin Daochen!" The Wang family patriarch's forehead touched the ground, his voice hoarse.

Tianlongzi lazily raised his eyes, a slight smirk playing on his lips, but the smile didn't reach his eyes: "Seclusion is important, so I can't leave my seat. Since you invited me here, you should trust your own abilities—why bother me personally with a mere blood cultivator?"

The old patriarch and the others froze, their Adam's apples bobbing, but they dared not speak further. The reinforcements they had summoned had been used as a testing ground.

"Senior brother..." The Wang family patriarch finally couldn't hold back and asked in a low voice.

Tianlongzi lightly tapped the armrest with his fingertips, his tone gentle: "Lin Daochen is a person born to face calamity."

How much blood he drinks, how many tribulations he endures, is all predetermined by fate. I am in seclusion, also waiting for the moment he breaks through—perhaps he is stepping on a threshold we cannot see, knocking on the true door of the Blood Path.

As soon as he finished speaking, he closed his eyes and remained silent.

The crowd below could only silently rise, turn around and leave, their backs desolate, as if walking towards a doomed and tragic death.

Lin Daochen was still fighting fiercely. He was like a crimson lightning bolt that cleaved the heavens and earth, piercing through the ranks of nearly two hundred cultivators. Wherever his fists struck, the sounds of bones cracking, screams, and spurting blood mingled together.

All that remained in the eyes of the human cultivators was despair—it wasn't a battle between people, but a sea of ​​blood taking shape, a manifestation of calamity.

"It's Lin Daochen!" A shout pierced the clamor. Behind him, hundreds of cultivators surged like a tide. The Long family disciples held heavy halberds with dragon patterns, and the Wang family cultivators held long banners of black iron. Everyone's eyes were burning with fervor, regarding him as the only sharp blade to cut through the dead end.

Lin Daochen's eyes blazed with bloodlust, making it impossible to distinguish whether it was fighting spirit or madness.

He was completely immersed in the rhythm of surging blood, becoming the sharpest, most greedy, and most unstoppable bloodthirsty lord in this hellish arena.

Wherever his figure passed, a blood-red wind howled, the entire city's bricks and stones hummed, and the earth trembled faintly, as if the whole city was drumming up support for him.

Lin Daochen's figure appeared both real and illusory on the battlefield, his body surging with dazzling, almost violent, blood-red light.

He charged alone into a battle formation composed of more than two hundred Transcendent Realm cultivators, his speed so fast that he tore through the air, and wherever he passed, figures shattered one after another.

At first, everyone regarded him as their mortal enemy, but when figures exploded into blood mist under his sword, that hostility melted away like thin ice meeting fire, turning into heartfelt awe—the cultivation world has always believed that force can prevail over words, and the sword in Lin Daochen's hand is a living law.

The Liu family patriarch and the others did not rush forward rashly, but quietly gathered together. They exchanged glances and understood each other without saying a word: fighting alone would surely lead to certain death, and only by joining forces could they have a glimmer of hope.

In an instant, dozens of figures took to the air and formed a battle array, each wielding their magical treasures and unleashing their supernatural powers, as if a divine general's cloud platform had suddenly opened in the sky.

The middle-aged man from the Long family exuded an aura as restrained as an ancient well. He held a dragon-shaped magic weapon in each hand, one blazing and the other icy. His left palm spewed forth raging flames that could burn mountains, while his right wrist condensed earth-shattering frost. Elders from other clans who had been hiding for many years also quietly appeared. This battle was no longer a private feud between the Liu and Long families, but a collective hunt for alien forces by the entire cultivation world of the Eastern Region.

Beneath the vast sky, the fighting spirit surged like a tidal wave. The spectators held their breath, afraid to even breathe for fear of disturbing this battle that shook the mountains.

Lin Daochen had gone mad, his blood sword sweeping across, limbs and mangled bodies flying like snowflakes, waves of blood surging and engulfing the scorched earth. He was like an ancient blood beast breaking free from its seal, every move aimed straight for the vital points, every inch a death sentence.

The monks fell in droves, their blood cascading down like a waterfall, turning the entire wasteland a dark red.

"This... is he even human?!" someone cried out in a low voice. The power Lin Daochen displayed had already shattered all reason, sending chills down the spines of the cultivators and making their Dao hearts tremble.

But the Liu family patriarch and his men remained inactive. The more they watched, the more alarmed they became, and the less they dared to act rashly—this man was not only not weakening but growing stronger with each battle, clearly using the blood and energy of living people to temper himself!

So the crowd silently formed a formation, their energy intertwined, and they wove an invisible giant net in mid-air, waiting to tighten and strangle this fiend.

A middle-aged man from the Long family hovered at the edge of the clouds, his arms slightly outstretched. Two dragon-shaped artifacts stood tall, their red scales gleaming and their blue armor gleaming. His expression was calm, yet he possessed an air of power that seemed to swallow the clouds and spit out the moon.

Flames transformed into a dragon, lunging and devouring; icy air condensed into a blade, slashing swiftly. One forceful, the other yin, intertwined to form a soul-locking, deadly trap, aimed directly at Lin Daochen's vital point.