The True Lord Maitreya broke into a cold sweat, then suddenly bellowed, his voice booming like a great bell that shook the entire hall:
"Eight Vajra Guardians! Four Ten-Abode Bodhisattvas! Prepare the formation!"
At once came the thunderous response: "Yes!"
From the shadows stepped ranks of white-robed warriors, blades in hand, their eyes lifeless yet glimmering with cold malice. These were no common devotees, but death-sworn fighters—the secret legion Maitreya had forged through years of brainwashing and drugged conditioning. They had been stripped of will, molded into soulless war machines that obeyed without hesitation and never knew fear.
The True Lord's gaze swept the chamber like fire. His tone was solemn, fanatical:
"A new Buddha is born, the old demons must perish! This man is evil incarnate—if he lives, the people will suffer. Did not Śākyamuni himself, in his past practice, slay one brigand to save five hundred merchants, and thereby gain supreme merit? Today we shall enact that same righteous law!"
His voice thundered through the hall, reverberating against the high beams. The cultists' faces shone with zeal; to them this slaughter was Heaven's will, unshakable destiny.
"Eight Vajras! Four Ten-Abode Bodhisattvas! Swallow the Maitreya Elixir! Fear not ghosts nor gods!"
The death-soldiers roared in unison: "Take the Maitreya Elixir, fear not ghosts nor gods!"
Each drew forth a dark crimson pill and swallowed it. In moments their pupils contracted, their eyes glowed with a feverish light, faces flushed with a demonic red. Muscles bulged taut, breath came in ragged gasps. A murderous frenzy surged like a tide, filling the hall with suffocating dread.
Wu Tong's heart clenched. He saw at once this madness was born of the drug—men turned into zealots who no longer valued life, worshipping slaughter as creed. If I cut them all down, the blood-debt would be boundless… No. To quell this horde, I must summon Heaven itself to awe them. Only a miracle can shatter their faith.
Even as the thought formed, the skies roared. Out of nowhere, thunder cracked across what had been a clear sky. Dark clouds churned, lightning ripped the heavens, wind lashed the earth. Wu Tong's spirit surged. This is the moment! Heaven aids me—its power shall be my ally.
His bearing shifted, and once more it seemed the spirit of Li Wenzhong, Master of the Wolong Sect, had descended upon him, the soul of the saber awakened. His voice deepened, rolling with ancient authority:
"I bear a treasured blade—the Wolong. It has ever been my companion, in wind and battle, through life and death. Now I pass it on, that it may strike down demons and save the innocent. May its bearer uphold its virtue, and never shame its name."
And as though sealing the omen, Wu Tong intoned verse:
The godly pill tempts even immortals,The True Lord proclaims himself Buddha reborn.Lightning rends clouds, winds arise,Heaven's thunder echoes, answering the blade.
The hall fell deathly still. Even the zealots faltered at the storm outside, at the blade gleaming with ghostly light.
Zhao Rou stepped forth, voice like a clarion:
"It is the spirit of Li Wenzhong made manifest! Today, with the Wolong Saber, we purge demons and destroy evil! All who are not of this cult, depart at once—or else face the wrath of the sacred blade!"
The cultists quailed, shaken by thunder and omen. Fear rippled through their ranks.
The True Lord Maitreya cried out desperately:
"Do not be deceived! This is but a trick! I am Maitreya reborn! Eight Vajras, Four Ten-Abodes—slay this pretender, and you shall become Buddhas on the spot!"
But even as he roared, Constable Li Lu seized the moment, his voice firm and cutting:
"If this 'True Lord' is truly Buddha, let him fight with his own hand! Why hide behind pawns? Followers—flee now, while you still can, or meet certain death!"
Already some of the shaken believers began slipping away.
"Kill them!" Maitreya shrieked.
The Eight Vajras and Four Ten-Abodes surged forward, encircling Wu Tong in a double ring. Inner circle four, outer circle eight—forming the fearsome Four Symbols Qimen Array, drawn from the mysteries of the Book of Changes. Each Bodhisattva took a cardinal post—east, south, west, north—cycling attack and retreat, endless as the seasons. The Vajras wove around them in the eight mystical gates—Rest, Life, Injury, Obstruction, Illusion, Death, Fright, and Opening. Together, the formation was said to be impenetrable, a secret weapon honed by months of training.
Wu Tong stood in the center, saber held across his chest, left hand gripping the scabbard. With a roar, the formation sprang to life, blades flashing from four sides.
"Strike!"
The first Ten-Abode Bodhisattva lunged. Wu Tong's eyes blazed. The Wolong Saber erupted in dazzling light.
"Two Faces, Three Blades!"
Steel sang. Before the foe's blade could touch him, Wu Tong's saber split the air like lightning. A scream split the hall—the man crumpled, lifeless. Wu Tong's body turned, saber spun. In four strokes, four corpses lay sprawled at his feet. The vaunted Four Symbols Array had shattered like paper.
The Eight Vajras howled in rage, charging in.
Wu Tong drew a deep breath, voice erupting in a clear whistle.
"Clouds Rise, Rain Falls!"
The Wolong Saber whirled, its storm of light like torrential rain and roaring gale. The hall rang with screams, steel clashed, blood sprayed. With each sweep, men fell broken, their dying cries piercing the night.
In less than the time it took to drink a cup of tea, the secret legion—the True Lord's proud army—was annihilated. Corpses littered the hall, blood ran like rivers.
Wu Tong leveled his blade at Maitreya, at Gao Jie, at Mo Xiang, his voice resounding:
"The spirit of Li Wenzhong has descended, bearing Heaven's will to slay demons and purge evil! All who are not with these three—leave now, or when I count to three, you shall face my saber!"
His shout rang: "One!"
Already, panic rippled through the ranks. Blades clattered to the floor, men turned and fled.
"Two!"
The hall erupted. Cultists bolted like startled dogs, trampling each other in their haste to escape.
And when silence fell, only three figures remained: the True Lord Maitreya, Gao Jie, and Mo Xiang—alone beneath the flickering torches, facing the storm of the Wolong Saber.