Journey to the West: Starting with the True Lord of the Pure Land

The heart and stomach generate yang energy.

Chen Jiao clenched his right palm, and crimson lightning swirled and condensed within it, transforming into a crimson true yang lightning spear.

Its color is like cinnabar soaked in dark blood, deep and restrained, yet it faintly reveals a luster like flowing lava.

When still, it is like the edict of the Red Emperor; when it erupts, it is like a crimson rainbow piercing the sun.

The thunder spear left his hand with a deafening explosion.

It transformed into a streak of crimson light, swifter than lightning, leaving a scorching, blackened trail in its wake, as if it had cleaved the sky in two.

"boom!"

The Crimson Sun Thunder Spear and the Mysterious Water Demon-Suppressing Palm clashed violently in mid-air.

A crisp, piercing cracking sound rang out first.

The giant hand shattered like fragile glass, and countless spiderweb-like cracks instantly spread from the point of contact between the palm and the object.

The surrounding clouds cleared instantly, and the rocks and trees below were crushed into dust.

The incomparably powerful Demon-Suppressing Palm, under the bombardment of this lightning spear, began to disintegrate inch by inch from its center, exploding into countless blue-green light fragments flying everywhere.

The anger on Zhang Qingyang's face instantly froze, turning into incredulous astonishment.

"What... what kind of lightning magic is this?" he cried out in his heart in horror.

This fiend is merely a Golden Core cultivator from the lower realm, yet his lightning magic is so precise that it finds gaps and enters with incredible power.

However, what angered him even more was yet to come.

With a single, successful strike, the crimson lightning spear instantly multiplied, its arcs of lightning leaping and surging, yet it did not dissipate.

Guided by Chen Jiao's thoughts, the Crimson Demon Lightning Arc exploded outwards.

The thunderbolts, sometimes receding and sometimes swirling, instantly wove together into a vast, all-encompassing net of lightning, resembling a crimson lightning prison that had suddenly closed in.

They covered Zhang Qingyang's head and imprisoned him inside.

The lightning net contracted, and the electric snakes bit.

"ah--!"

Zhang Qingyang let out a shrill scream, his illusory body twisting and flickering violently in the lightning net, like a moth caught in a spider web!

He felt his divine sense being rapidly consumed and eroded.

This method of directly eroding one's spiritual power is simply unheard of.

Zhang Qingyang's figure became transparent at a speed visible to the naked eye, and the phantom of the immortal official's robe shattered inch by inch.

"You wicked creature! How dare you destroy my divine will! You..."

He was both shocked and furious, and shouted at them sternly.

How could a mere Golden Core demon cultivator from the lower realm possess such a bizarre supernatural power that could suppress divine sense?

The lightning net tightened, and Zhang Qingyang's figure grew fainter and fainter, on the verge of being completely annihilated.

Knowing he could not escape, before his final dissipation, he sent out a last wisp of divine thought, filled with murderous intent, which spread in all directions:

"You monstrous demon from the lower realm! You slaughtered my sect and destroyed my divine will! The Heavenly Court... will never let you go!"

Finally, with a soft, faint sound like a candle flame going out, the Crimson Demon Lightning faded away.

Zhang Qingyang's divine thought manifestation was completely annihilated, leaving not even a trace of its aura.

Inside the Ancestral Hall, an old man with white hair lay slumped on the ground, his face ashen.

Chen Jiao's gaze was indifferent, and he didn't even linger for a moment at the spot where the celestial official's avatar had vanished.

He turned and looked towards the Ancestral Hall behind the main peak, where incense smoke swirled, and struck out with his palm.

A gigantic dragon claw covered in fine black scales appeared out of thin air, as large as a roof, carrying immense demonic power as heavy as a mountain, and slammed straight down towards the Ancestral Hall.

Before the wind even arrived, the solemn hall groaned under its own weight, with rubble flying everywhere and beams twisting.

The ancestral tablets enshrined in the hall were all shattered and toppled in the face of this pure violence.

"Boom—!"

The giant claw slammed solidly onto the Ancestral Hall.

The green bricks and jade tiles, the beams and pillars, and the memorial tablets collapsed layer by layer under the dragon's claws, like crispy cakes.

The protective light flickered for only a moment before bursting like a bubble.

Amidst a deafening roar and billowing dust, the entire Ancestral Hall, along with its foundation and surrounding rocks, was smashed to pieces by a single claw, turning into a massive, several-meter-deep crater of ruins.

Only a few wisps of incense smoke remained, twisting and rising before being blown away by the gale.

The spiritual symbol of Jian Ge, which had been passed down for hundreds of years, was completely razed to the ground at this moment.

Not a single tile was left.

Chen Jiao retracted his dragon claws and calmly gave an order.

"Yes, sir!"

Behind them, the three cave masters, including the Azure Ape, were already trembling with fear from the thunderous methods of annihilating the immortal officials and crushing the ancestral court.

Upon receiving the order, they dared not hesitate in the slightest and responded in unison.

The three Foundation Establishment demon cultivators unleashed their full power, causing astonishing destruction. Coupled with the loss of the Sword Pavilion's main force, they offered no resistance whatsoever.

In just a short while, the once magnificent Xuan Guang Sword Pavilion was completely reduced to a desolate ruin.

Chen Jiao stood with his hands behind his back in the air, coldly looking down at the rapidly collapsing scene below.

Only when the last grand hall, symbolizing the authority of the Sword Pavilion, collapsed under General Tieshan's heavy hammer, turning into rubble and broken wood, did he nod slightly.

The green ape respectfully handed over three storage bags, which Chen Jiao casually put away.

"Walk."

As soon as he finished speaking, his figure transformed into a faint ray of water and drifted away towards Yunmang Mountain.

The three cave masters immediately stopped, rode the demonic wind, and followed closely behind, not daring to overstep their bounds in the slightest.

The four figures quickly disappeared into the horizon.

All that remained behind were the desolate, ravaged mountain peaks and the ruins of the Ancestral Hall in the deep pit.

It silently tells the story of the complete annihilation of a sect or lineage.

In the distance, several mountain peaks are shrouded in mist or hidden behind ancient trees and gnarled branches.

Those cultivators who had been observing the battle from afar using secret techniques and magical artifacts remained frozen in place, unable to recover their senses for a long time.

They witnessed Master Xuanguang being killed by a sword that traveled a thousand miles, and saw the divine incarnation of a celestial official being obliterated by a bolt of lightning.

They also witnessed the Xuan Guang Sword Pavilion, a sect with a history spanning hundreds of years, being wiped out of the world in the blink of an eye.

That kind of absolute power and ruthless nature that treats the Golden Elixir as nothing, grinds the Immortal Thoughts as a duster, and destroys the Immortal Sect as a sweeping courtyard.

It left a deep imprint on the hearts of every bystander, bringing unparalleled fear and shock.

The mountain wind whistled through the gaps in the forest, carrying the faint scent of blood and scorched earth from afar, adding to the chill in the air.

An old monk dressed in a linen robe had his magic tool, the Clear Mind Jade Mirror, used for observing qi, slip and fall to the ground with a "thud".

He was completely unaware of this, staring blankly at the ruins, his lips trembling and moving repeatedly, but unable to utter a sound.

The young disciple beside him was deathly pale, his hands gripping the hem of his clothes tightly, his knuckles turning white from the force.

His cultivation level is still shallow, and he has not yet been able to see all the details clearly.

But the ruthlessness of the Water Sword Pavilion disciples, their domineering ability to obliterate the thoughts of immortals and gods with a flick of their fingers, and their brutality in crushing palaces with their dragon claws.

But it pierced his tender soul like an ice pick, leaving an indelible mark.

The deathly silence lasted for a long time, as if even the wind had stopped flowing.

Finally, the young disciple seemed to have exhausted all his strength, squeezing out a faint, trembling whisper from deep in his throat.

It was as if it wasn't his own voice, but rather an instinct born of some kind of fear:

"Demon King! What a... truly a formidable Flood Dragon Demon King!"

The sound was extremely soft, yet it was like a drop of cold water falling into boiling oil, instantly shattering the stalemate of fear.

The old man in the coarse robe suddenly jolted back to his senses, his face drained of color, and his eyes filled with lingering fear.

He did not reprimand his disciple for his slip of the tongue; instead, he subconsciously nodded heavily, as if to confirm the title that had involuntarily come to mind.

"The Flood Dragon Demon King..."

Old Xiu repeated the three words in a low voice, and the words carried a strange weight, making his heart feel heavy.

"Jiao... Demon King..."

In another hidden cloud, a minor sect elder subconsciously repeated the title, nearly dropping his whisk.

It is not "Mountain Lord", not "Fellow Daoist", not "Demon King", but rather the title "Demon King", which is filled with bloodshed and fear.

Only then can one describe the black-clad figure who just now regarded the golden elixir as worthless and the immortal thoughts as dust.

This title was forged from the cruel reality of the destruction of the Sword Pavilion, the fall of the Golden Core cultivators, and the defeat of the Immortal Officials.

In the direction of Yunmang Mountain, the clouds and mist remained, yet it seemed as if a giant dragon was coiled within them.

Its shadow covers the four fields; its name is Jiao Mo Wang (Dragon Demon King).