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

NetSword collided with the core of light, causing a tremendous shock! The force of the recoil was like a heavy hammer hitting his chest, the ground beneath his feet cracked inch by inch, his knees sank slightly, but he stubbornly held on without taking a single step back.

His jaw clenched, blood surged beneath his skin, and his entire right arm instantly glowed with an eerie crimson light, his veins bulging as if a vengeful ghost was roaring and surging within his blood vessels.

"The wrath of the heavenly demons is about to begin!" he roared, his five fingers clenching tightly—the blue net twisted, stretched, and became stained with blood, turning from blue to red, from soft to hard, and finally transforming into a vast, all-encompassing blood net!

He raised his arm, and the blood net shot out with a whooshing sound, engulfing the light core. The net's force caused ripples in space, and the entire light core was forcibly dragged into the center of the vortex, where it was frantically devoured!

In an instant, all the opponents were struck dumb, their limbs stiffened, their blood stagnate, and even blinking became a luxury.

Lin Daochen roared to the sky, his body wreathed in ghostly flames, his black hair danced wildly, and blood nets wrapped around his arms. He walked step by step through the air, heading straight for the heart of the formation. At this moment, he was not a cultivator, but a deadly ghost; not a human, but a demon of the battle formation!

"Lin Daochen... he's a damn ruthless character!" The bald, burly man's throat bobbed, his voice hoarse. His earlier slight disdain had long been burned away by the burning will of the body before him.

At the center of the formation, Lin Daochen's figure ripped through the sky like thunder, each move ruthless. The power of the Heavenly Ghost surged and roared in his palms, each strike like an iron hammer smashing into the bone, tearing the opponent's flesh and bones apart.

The blue net opened like a giant maw, swallowing heads in an instant. Blood mist exploded, spreading into a crimson swamp.

Time stretched out thinly, an hour felt like a snap of the fingers—he stood atop the pile of corpses, his robes fluttering, like a god of war who had just stepped out of a battlefield of carnage, leaving behind only severed limbs and deathly silence wherever he went.

The formation suddenly changed, and eighteen beams of spiritual light converged, forming a powerful figure with snow-white hair and an otherworldly aura.

His eyes were as dark as an ancient well, yet a strange silver light flickered in the depths of his pupils. When his gaze swept over, it was as if an ice pick had pierced Lin Daochen's brow, causing a dull ache in his skin.

"Lin Daochen, today is the day you die!" The voice of the extraordinary and powerful figure was like a bell, clear and resonant, yet filled with an undeniable killing intent.

Lin Daochen let out a low chuckle, his lips curving into a cold, sharp smile. Far from retreating, his fighting spirit surged within him, burning fiercely in his eyes.

"Skill? I'll have to test it myself." His voice was deep, and the blue net in his hand trembled violently, like an ancient ferocious beast that had been thoroughly enraged.

Eighteen cultivators stepped forward in unison, their spiritual light surging from the tops of their heads and pouring into the jade slip. The array patterns flowed, each step exuding power, as they surrounded Lin Daochen. The experts who had been hiding in the shadows also revealed themselves, their sleeves fluttering as they revealed their magical artifacts, and they all stood in the Wang family's camp.

The entire battlefield fell into a deathly silence; even the wind seemed to hold its breath.

Lin Daochen ran his fingertips along the edge of the array patterns, clearly sensing the immense pressure lurking within this grand formation. Yet, his expression remained calm, and he already had a plan in mind—though this formation was dangerous, it was precisely the trial ground he had personally set up.

Victory means breaking through obstacles and ascending the steps; defeat means utter ruin.

"Lin Daochen, you have nowhere left to retreat!" Lightning surged in the white-haired powerhouse's palm, crackling with purple electricity, poised to strike.

Lin Daochen suddenly looked up, his tone as light as if he were asking about the weather: "Are you really going to make a move?"

Some spat, accusing him of bluffing and urging him to finish the battle quickly; others roared and charged into the formation, their various magical treasures shining brightly, and their spiritual pressure crashing down like a mountain.

At this moment, Lin Daochen was no longer the demonic madness he had shown earlier; only the calmness and alertness unique to a young man remained, his gaze sharp as he swept over every face.

He suddenly hummed a nonsensical tune, as if mocking the carnage. Blood slid down his forehead, soaking his long hair, hanging down his back like a wisp of crimson silk.

These people had no prior grudges against him, but they came out in droves for the spirit stones and secret manuals promised by the Wang family—Lin Daochen looked at them with the indifference of someone looking at a few pieces of rotten wood.

"Would you risk your life for a little personal gain?" His voice was icy cold, but a burning flame remained in his eyes.

The blue net rose again, its shadow sweeping across like a ghost. Before the three people in front could even unleash their magic weapons, their heads had already turned into blue smoke and been swept away.

He touched the ground with his toes, his body moving like a willow catkin, with swords flashing past him, yet not even the hem of his clothes got wet.

"Since that's the case..." He lightly touched the roof of his mouth with his tongue, and the power of the Heavenly Demon within his body suddenly erupted, transforming into a reverse spinning black hole that frantically devoured the surrounding spiritual energy, even causing the air to distort and collapse.

A figure flashed, so fast that only a trace remained—he had already closed in on a cultivator. The blue net suddenly taut, like venomous fangs biting, and before the cultivator could even see the movement, his head had vanished without a trace, leaving only a fountain of blood gushing from his neck.

He was just an ordinary boy from the mountains, living a mundane life of daily necessities. But he was repeatedly driven to the brink of despair, swallowing humiliation and tears time and time again, until he finally carved out a blood-stained path.

Fate is not a gift, but a contract handed to him on the edge of a knife—once he signed it, there was no turning back.

This battle marked a turning point in his life. All the forbearance, patience, and broken and rebuilt backbone he had endured in the past were now manifested before his eyes as flashing blades and raining blood.

Two cultivators at the first step of the Heavenly Sense suddenly harmonized their voices, the sound waves like shattered glass, clear and melodious, yet wrapped in a killing intent capable of crushing the soul.

Lin Daochen's internal organs trembled violently, a sweet taste rose in his throat, and blood splattered onto his lips; his heart pounded wildly, almost shattering his ribs. This was the first time he had been so thoroughly wounded by music.

But as he wiped away the blood, his eyes shone even brighter, like a blade tempered in a cold pool.

The blood kept flowing, yet he seemed to have lost all feeling of pain, his face calm to the point of being almost unrecognizable. He walked step by step toward the two men, his steps steady, his back straight, his eyes devoid of any emotion, only a clear, unwavering clarity that had extinguished all hesitation.

……

"Lin Daochen! You're still standing?!" someone exclaimed in surprise.

Another person sneered, "Nothing special—can't even withstand sound attacks, yet dares to call himself a prodigy?"

Lin Daochen's tone was calm, yet it carried an undeniable chill: "The sonic attack is indeed fierce, but on me, it's nothing more than a tickle."

The two cultivators felt a chill in their hearts and their throats tightened slightly—this person seemed to disregard even the aftershocks of the sonic attack, far exceeding their estimated limits of endurance.

……

He leaped up, so fast that he was just a blur, instantly closing in on the two. The blue net in his palm suddenly taut, like a venomous python spitting its tongue, shooting out a cold light, instantly shattering the protective magic artifacts that the two had hastily conjured.

The sound wave stopped abruptly, and before the aftershocks could even rise, the two men staggered backward, their chests caved in, killed by a single punch.

But the slaughter did not stop. Lin Daochen's figure suddenly disintegrated, and when he re-formed, he was already standing behind the two. His palms slashed down like guillotines, skulls exploded, and red and white blood splattered everywhere.

The moment the blood mist rose, a glint of malice flashed in his eyes, and his aura suddenly inhaled—the pervasive stench was completely drawn into his body. As the mist gradually dissipated, he stood alone in the crimson afterglow, his breathing as steady as ever.

At that moment, a cold wind suddenly rose, and a withered figure silently appeared. He was emaciated, his robe sleeves fluttering, like an old corpse that had just crawled out of the cracks of the underworld, his dry fingers aimed straight at Lin Daochen's crown.

The situation suddenly tightened. Standing before Lin Daochen were the most ferocious henchmen of the human race, the guillotine hanging over the heads of all cultivators.

"Lin Daochen, do you really think you can break free of these chains?" The messenger's voice was hoarse, each word filled with bone-chilling hatred.

Lin Daochen's lips curled slightly, but two unquenchable flames ignited in his eyes: "If one comes, I'll chop one down; if ten come, I'll slay ten pairs."

The claws tore through his shoulder armor, and blood droplets exploded like rain. He stood bathed in blood, his spine straight as a blade, as if he had stepped out of a pool of blood to become a Shura warrior.

Seeing this, the onlookers, all grinning maliciously, rushed forward, thinking he was at his last gasp and were about to beat him while he was down.

Little did they know that their unsteady gait and dim aura were nothing but bait.

He had long anticipated his opponent's greed for glory in every breath—the stronger the enemy, the more they believed in the signs of impending doom; and today's ambush was a trap within a trap set by the enemy.

His rage surged, and his battle power exploded. He transformed into a streak of crimson lightning, moving unimpeded through the clash of swords and spears.

The blue net rippled like waves of blood, and wherever it passed, the attackers' necks gushed blood. Before their bodies even fell to the ground, the killing intent was already overwhelming—the real battle was only just beginning.

The powerful members of the Long family watched coldly. One of them sneered, his sleeves fluttering slightly: "Youngster, how many bones are broken? You still have the energy to put on airs?"

Lin Daochen remained silent, his eyes surging with an unfathomable fighting spirit.

Blood cultivation techniques surged and roared through his meridians, his blood and qi boiling, as if his entire being was forged from scalding essence and blood, standing tall in the center of the torrent of blood and qi, resembling a living war god.

The man in black rushed forward again, his movements as swift as ink-black wind, aiming to kill with a single blow. Lin Daochen sneered and shouted, raising his hand to summon a cloud of blood. A blood-red arm shot out from the air, its five fingers spread wide, aimed directly at the man's face.

The Long family burst into laughter: "This meager fighting spirit dares to call it supernatural power?"

His face was ashen, but his eyes held a sharpness like an ice blade.

The man in black dodged to the side with lightning speed—but this played right into Lin Daochen's hands. Lin Daochen clenched his fingers, and five blood-red blades shot through the air like a cascading silver river, sealing off all escape routes.

Just as his opponent was halfway through his maneuver, he had already pinpointed the location. The Netherworld Claws were unleashed in response to his command; five blood-red blades suddenly twisted and changed direction, like living creatures gripping the throat, piercing straight into the black-clad man's back!

This strike was not a brute force crushing blow, but rather a crushing blow that nailed the enemy's instincts, escape routes, and inertia to the palm of its hand—a double strangulation of intelligence and strength.

Even with his unpredictable movements, the man in black was forced to abruptly stop his momentum, tumbling in a sorry state. Lin Daochen's pupils contracted, his cold gaze lingering, his knuckles taut, ready for a second round of strangulation at any moment.

The sneak attack wounded him physically, but it did not break his spirit. On the contrary, the cold rain became his best nourishment.

He stirred the raindrops, drawing in the remaining blood essence within. The mist rose, enveloping the wounds and seeping into his muscles. As the blood mist swirled, the cracks healed, his muscles bulged, and his aura surged, growing ever stronger with each battle.

After consuming the black-clad man's essence and blood, Lin Daochen's combat power suddenly surged. His legs tensed like a bow again, and his blood energy surged like a turbulent river.

The ferocity that had been unleashed was beyond human control—it was clearly an ancient beast that had broken free of its shackles, raising its head and roaring, wanting to tear everything in front of it to shreds.

The other cultivators swarmed forward, seizing the opportunity when Lin Daochen was injured, attempting to crush him in one fell swoop.

Lin Daochen's brows remained unmoved as the Lightning Leopard from his sleeve pounced out fiercely, followed closely by the Heaven-Turning Seal, which crashed down with a deafening roar. The two weapons, one swift and the other heavy, combined strength and gentleness, and shattered into fragments upon colliding with the enemy's magic weapon. Electric snakes danced wildly, mountains crumbled, and the crowd was shaken and forced to stagger backward, their formation thrown into chaos, and for a moment they dared not take another step forward.