In the world of Heavenly Dragon, Murong Fu finally arrived at the Dali Kingdom.
Without delay, he led his forces straight to Tianlong Temple.
At the mountain gate, a young welcoming monk spotted the group of martial artists approaching with clear hostility and immediately rushed to block their path.
"Honored guests, this is a sacred place of the Buddhist faith. It is not a place for martial conflicts!"
Despite his youth, the monk stood firm, undaunted even in the face of Murong Fu's oppressive aura.
After all, in Dali, the emperors themselves often came from Tianlong Temple. Buddhism here was not just a religion—it was the very backbone of the state.
The monks had grown used to living without fear.
But the young monk had no idea that Murong Fu's goal today was to destroy them.
"A mere novice dares raise his voice against Murong Fu? Get out of my sight!"
Murong Fu roared in fury.
The force of his voice alone made the monk spurt blood from every orifice and collapse unconscious on the ground.
At the same time, Murong Fu's voice carried up the mountain like a clap of thunder.
Inside Tianlong Temple, a group of old monks seated in the main hall all opened their eyes in unison.
"An intruder approaches! Sound the alarm!"
One of the elders barked urgently.
Another monk's expression turned grim. "That voice just now—it sounded like Murong Fu. But when did he attain such terrifying internal strength?"
To project one's voice from the foot of the mountain all the way to the temple above—it was beyond first-rate mastery.
The monks' faces turned grave.
Master Ku Rong quickly instructed a disciple, "Go, summon reinforcements immediately! Something is very wrong today."
Before long, the alarm bells rang.
Explosive sounds echoed from the mountain gate.
The monks rushed outside, and there, standing casually in front of the shattered stone Buddha, was a young man in black robes—Murong Fu himself—smiling as if he owned the place.
The once-proud stone Buddha, the temple's sacred protector, had been reduced to a pile of rubble.
The sight made the monks' hearts turn cold.
"Hmph. So you bald rats finally dare show yourselves," Murong Fu sneered.
He reached out and grabbed the crumbling remains of the Buddha with a casual motion.
Under his fingertips, the stone cracked and crumbled to dust.
Such terrifying brute strength was unheard of.
Master Ku Rong swallowed nervously, forcing himself to step forward. His voice trembled slightly as he asked,
"Murong donor, what brings you here today? Why destroy the sacred Buddha of our mountain gate?"
"Our young master's purpose is simple," said Feng Bo'e, stepping forward with a mocking smile. "You monks spend all day chanting and seeking the Western Paradise. Since you can't find it yourselves, we've come to bring you the grace of the Eternal God."
Grace?
Had they joined the Daoist sects?
Ku Rong's tightly furrowed brows relaxed slightly.
If this was merely a sectarian dispute between Buddhism and Daoism, it would not be the end of the world.
"Donor, the disputes between Buddhism and Daoism have existed since ancient times. If you insist, we will concede. We will seal the mountain and abstain from worldly matters for twenty years."
Ku Rong's offer was sincere.
Sealing the mountain for twenty years meant surrender in all but name.
Murong Fu sneered.
"Thieving monk, who said anything about Daoism? We are envoys of the Eternal God. We have come to cleanse false gods and false Buddhas like you!"
He pointed at the shattered Buddha, voice like ice.
"When you led people to eat fasts and chant prayers, did your Buddha ever once show himself?
But our Eternal God is different.
The moment we call, He descends!!"
Murderous intent surged in his voice.
There would be no negotiation.
The monks' faces darkened.
One old monk stepped forward, shouting, "What Eternal God? You're nothing but evil demons! I'd rather die than bow to you!"
Murong Fu turned his chilling gaze to Ku Rong.
"And you? Is that your answer as well?"
"If the donor is determined to act with violence," Ku Rong said solemnly, "then we monks will defend ourselves to the end. Please, enlighten me!"
He raised one hand, preparing to unleash his Shaolin martial arts.
But before he could move, a figure blurred past Murong Fu's right side.
"I'll handle it. Bao Butong, a humble follower of the Eternal God, challenges you!"
With a flash of movement, Bao Butong shot forward like a bolt of lightning.
Ku Rong thrust his finger forward, launching a formidable Shaolin Yang Finger technique, confident that it would pierce the opponent.
But Bao Butong didn't even try to dodge.
Instead, he slammed his foot forward.
Too fast—Ku Rong had no time to react.
With a heavy crack, Ku Rong was kicked flying a hundred meters, crashing into the ground with a sickening thud.
Bones shattered, blood gushed from his mouth.
"Master Ku Rong!"
The monks of Tianlong Temple cried out in terror.
They had thought their Master was invincible within the mortal realm.
But now even he had been crushed like a leaf in the wind.
Murong Fu's smile turned mocking.
"I'll give you one choice—surrender, or die."
In truth, he preferred they chose death.
Destroying Tianlong Temple would be a symbol—one that would send fear into the heart of the Dali Kingdom.
But just when he thought they would resist, Ku Rong, coughing blood on the ground, gasped out one final instruction before fainting:
"Surrender..."
With those words, the spirit of Tianlong Temple collapsed.
One of the two great Buddhist holy sites in the Heavenly Dragon world had fallen in less than an hour.
By the time Emperor Duan Zhengming arrived with his soldiers, the temple had been desecrated, the Buddha statues smashed to pieces, and the monks stripped of their robes, looking no different from commoners.
"This... what happened here?"
The emperor's voice trembled with disbelief.
Less than an hour—how could Tianlong Temple fall so completely?
"You must be Duan Zhengming," a voice drawled from above.
A figure floated down lightly from the mountaintop, landing without a sound.
"Our master would like a word with you. Come quietly."
Before Duan Zhengming could react, he was seized and carried away like a sack of grain.
The emperor of Dali, the proud descendant of Buddhist kings, had been captured without even the chance to resist.