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

Lin Daochen's lips curled slightly as his gaze swept over the surrounding crowd, his expression cold and stern. There was not a trace of panic in his eyes, only a fiercely burning battle intent, like a drawn blade, its sharpness intimidating. One of the cultivators sneered, "Lin Daochen, do you really think you can take on so many people alone?"

His voice wasn't loud, but every word was like a nail: "All of you combined would only result in taking a few more sword strikes."

Before the words were even finished, the cultivators erupted in fury, their attacks suddenly becoming fiercer. But Lin Daochen's figure was both real and illusory, shifting left and right, unpredictable and elusive. Far from being afraid of the encirclement, he fought even more fiercely, his blood surging and his fighting spirit boiling.

He abruptly changed his move, his palm strike tearing through the air, lightning and immense force intertwining into a net. With superhuman reflexes and strength, he knocked away the weapons of three people and shattered two spirit swords, instantly shifting the tide of the battle.

Just then, an old figure broke through the air and arrived, holding the Heavenly River Flowing Map. Starlight surged within the treasure bottle, as if the entire Milky Way was contained within a small space.

The old man bit his index finger, and the blood flowed rapidly as he traced ancient runes on the bottle's rim, summoning the tides of the Milky Way. In an instant, the water surged, mist billowed, and he vanished silently from sight, as if ink had entered the water.

Lin Daochen's pupils contracted, his expression turning solemn—this was no ordinary concealment technique, but rather a technique that used the power of the Milky Way to merge with the real and the unreal, making him impossible to find.

He held his breath, his back straight as a pine tree, his longsword pointing diagonally at the ground, its blade gleaming coldly. The killing intent of the battlefield was like a knife cutting into his face; the move the Wang family patriarch had just made had sent chills down his spine.

A sharp gaze swept across his eyes, but he remained calm, his entire focus already locked onto the floating mist.

"Ancestor of the Wang family, are you planning to become a coward?" Lin Daochen's voice was deep, yet every word was firm and resounding, his gaze piercing the void like a blade.

The other person's face was desolate, and his eyes were unfathomable. He did not utter a word, but his figure once again turned into a fleeting shadow and evaporated into thin air.

Lin Daochen felt a chill run down his spine, but remained completely calm—it was indeed troublesome, but not enough to throw him off balance.

The Wang family members all around him cursed and swore, raining down insults in an attempt to disturb his peace of mind. Lin Daochen, however, laughed loudly, the smile not reaching his eyes: "A bunch of rabble who can't even keep their attack rhythm right, dare to surround me? They're just here to die."

Before he finished speaking, he had already quietly activated the Liu family's secret technique—the Heaven and Earth Cage. His footwork subtly followed the principles of Qimen Dunjia, luring the enemy deep into an invisible net. The sword trembled slightly, the void hummed, and a bluish-gray light curtain rose from the ground, instantly closing in and trapping more than ten people within it.

Everyone suddenly felt their limbs become heavy and their spiritual energy become stagnant, as if they had fallen into a swamp. Lin Daochen approached like a ghost, his sword flashing, severing the staff, splitting the shield, and knocking away the talisman—his movements were so fast that only afterimages remained.

"Heaven and Earth Cage! The Liu family's forbidden technique, lost for a hundred years!" someone cried out in alarm, but the cage was already formed, and it was too late to shout until their throats were hoarse.

His moves were fierce yet disciplined, his offense and defense flawless. The cultivators present were helpless, feeling as if this man were a tiger among sheep, invincible and unstoppable.

The smoke of battle had not yet cleared when Lin Daochen stood alone in the center, his robes fluttering in the wind, half of his body stained with blood. The golden rays of the setting sun poured over him, making his red hair appear to burn as if he had been tempered in blood and fire, aloof, fierce, and unshakeable.

"If any members of the Wang family have any backbone left, come out and fight fair and square—don't try to hide like rats in the ground!" His voice was like tearing silk, and behind him, a blue net hung down, with piles of heads stacked up like hills, emitting a pungent stench.

As night deepened, he continued his ascent without stopping, heading straight for the core of the complex array set up by the Wang family. The Wang family cultivators roared like thunder, but Lin Daochen's eyes burned brightly, his momentum like a bolt of lightning, as he relentlessly crashed into the center of the array.

The battlefield was deathly silent and oppressive. The Wang family hastily formed their array, their spirit flags askew and their runes unstable. But Lin Daochen's sword strike had already arrived—a single sword pierced through the void, aiming straight for the array's core!

A deafening roar erupted, the array's foundation collapsed, and spiritual light scattered. The Wang family members staggered and crumbled in disarray. Lin Daochen strode forward through the rubble and broken flags, his steps steady, his gaze unwavering. In this battle, he had slain seven hundred enemies, leaving corpses strewn across the battlefield. Standing atop the sea of ​​blood, he was like a demon descended to earth, and no one dared to look directly at his might.

The Wang family cultivators were routed and eventually could not withstand Lin Daochen's fierce offensive, so they hastily withdrew from the battlefield.

Lin Daochen stood in the center of the scorched earth, his robes fluttering in the wind, the bloodstains still wet, yet he was as solemn and deadly as a mountain.

He stood silently, his brows furrowed with a chilling aura, his gaze sweeping over the wailing, begging soldiers like an icy blade, without a trace of emotion. Broken swords lay scattered, corpses lay askew; the once arrogant and domineering Wang family members were now nothing but cold bones and broken limbs, silently proclaiming the price of their arrogance in the wind.

Even though the Wang family cultivators were defeated, their ancestor was not invincible. As Lin Daochen turned to leave, the crowd felt not resentment, but a chilling sense of dread—the youth they had once trampled underfoot had become a sword hanging over their heads; and their once-reliable ancestor was now weak and pale, his dantian shattered, his soul burned, even his breathing reeked of blood. This battle had torn the Wang family apart.

People's hearts suddenly lost their anchor.

They instinctively looked towards the mountain peak where their ancestor was in seclusion, hoping he would emerge from the clouds and turn the tide. But the mountain gates were tightly shut, the spiritual mist was thin, and even the protective barriers around the mountain had dimmed somewhat.

Those who had bullied Lin Daochen placed their last hope on the old man they once revered as a god, who now could barely stand.

Humanity twists into bitter wrinkles at this moment: the perpetrator curls up into a victim, waiting for another, stronger hand to lift him up.

Lin Daochen, however, had already shattered the array's foundation and was heading straight for the Wang family's lifeline—the "Nine Luminaries Returning to the Void Array," supported by ninety-nine bronze pillars of the earth's veins. The cultivators' pupils constricted sharply; they wanted to stop him, but their legs felt like lead; they wanted to cry for help, but their throats tightened and became hoarse.

The setting sun, like blood, cast his elongated shadow on the ground, like a slowly drawn decapitation blade.

The core of the formation suddenly lit up, and a spirit formed from starlight rose from the ground, its fingertips drawing chaotic patterns, attempting to drag Lin Daochen into an endless vortex of stars. Instead of retreating, he advanced, swinging his demon-subduing pestle horizontally, the wind from the pestle tearing through the void, scattering starlight in all directions.

The space was layered upon layered, making it difficult to distinguish between reality and illusion; ordinary methods could not even touch the spirit of the array. Lin Daochen flipped his wrist, and a fragment of an ancient map appeared in his palm—a piece of the star map left behind by Wu Gang, its edges gleaming with a ghostly blue light.

This item is specifically designed to counter array patterns; wherever it passes, the laws are as easily extinguished as paper meeting fire.

One strike! The array spirit collapsed, turning into countless scattered silver rays that fell to the ground like a sudden, stopped star shower.

That was the crystallization of the Dao traces that the Wang family patriarch had comprehended throughout his life, but now it shattered cleanly and decisively, leaving not even an echo. The onlookers were pale-faced, their mouths agape, but they could not utter a sound—their proud clan-protecting formation was as fragile as a piece of thin ice in Lin Daochen's hands.

His expression remained unchanged as he raised his hand to absorb the dissipated Dao principles. The Primordial Bell hummed and vibrated gently, swallowing all the strands of silver light. This was a gift from the moment the Great Dao manifested; though it only lasted for three days, it was enough to imprint itself deep within his divine consciousness.

Everyone felt a tightness in their throats and a chill run down their spines. The so-called impregnable fortress was nothing more than a target he could smash with a wave of his hand.

Lin Daochen collected the star map fragments, his gaze sweeping over the mess on the ground, his eyes as indifferent as if he were passing by a few grains of dust. The broken pillars were crumbling, the spiritual fire was about to go out, and he stood there, exuding an imposing aura without anger, and awe without words, as if even after death had shed its armor, a trace of its remaining power still pressed down on everyone's hearts.

He had just stepped out of the ruins of the array's core when a sharp shout tore through the sky:

"Lin Daochen! Where did you get the audacity to trespass on my Liu family's territory and destroy the core of my Liu family's formation?!"

The sound waves rolled on, like thunder crashing against eardrums, and even the remaining array patterns trembled with a buzzing sound.

Lin Daochen looked up and saw an old man with white hair suspended in mid-air, leaning on a jade staff entwined with dragons. His beard and hair flew like dark clouds, and his eyes seemed to hold mountains and rivers inverted. It was the Liu family patriarch, whose aura was profound and imposing. Just standing there, he made it hard for people to breathe.

Lin Daochen's voice was flat: "What we did before was only because the Wang family provoked us first. If the Liu family insists on protecting them, then today—we will add another incident."

The old ancestor's gaze was like lightning, firmly locking onto the aura surrounding him. Suddenly, he frowned: "Your cultivation... you don't practice body refinement, breathing exercises, or blood essence refinement, and you don't even show the slightest trace of yin energy—could it be... you are a cultivator of ghosts?"

Lin Daochen's lips curled slightly, neither nodding nor shaking his head, but keeping that smile hidden in his eyes, like a thunderbolt yet unopened.

Your enigmatic demeanor has truly piqued my curiosity. The Liu family patriarch's gaze darkened slightly, his brow furrowing, and his eyes flashed like drawn blades, sharp and piercing. Since your abilities are so formidable, let me personally assess your worth.

Before he finished speaking, he swept his staff across the room, tearing the void apart and unleashing a violent spiritual pressure that caused the surrounding air to surge like boiling water, even distorting and deforming the light.

Lin Daochen's spine tightened, and alarm bells rang in his heart—that aura was as deep and boundless as the sky, clearly belonging to the Heavenly Sensing Realm! It far surpassed his current realm, making it hard to breathe.

The staff rose again, causing the cage of heaven and earth to tremble violently, bricks and stones to crumble, and a fierce wind to howl, with an aura of destruction sweeping over them. Lin Daochen, however, stood as steady as a pine tree, the Vajra Pestle in his hand humming and vibrating, its golden light surging, like a divine weapon that could cleave through the netherworld.

Lin Daochen, do you have a penchant for taking people's heads? The Liu family patriarch's voice was deep, but his gaze was like a hook, firmly locking onto every inch of Lin Daochen's unusual behavior—the chilling aura emanating from the fluttering of his clothes, the lingering corpse energy at his fingertips, and the ancient, icy pool pressing down in his eyes.

Lin Daochen's lips curled slightly, but the smile didn't reach his eyes: A head? Merely a test of strength. Whether it's worth my effort depends on how tough the person is.

The old ancestor sneered, slamming his staff heavily on the ground. In an instant, heads enveloped in blood mist shot into the sky, each with wide-open eyes and bristling beard and hair. They were all top experts who had once dominated their respective regions.

They were entangled and pulled by invisible threads, twisting in mid-air into a soul-severing rope that sent chills down their spines.

"You really are a ghost cultivator." The Liu family patriarch's voice tightened, and the last trace of doubt in his eyes vanished, replaced by a sharpness that pierced through to the essence of things.

Lin Daochen remained noncommittal, then reached into his robes and retrieved a fragment of a map covered in intricate patterns—the imprint of Wu Gang's lineage faintly pulsating upon it. This item was specifically designed to counter array patterns; wherever it passed, restrictions crumbled like paper.