Chapter Sixty-Seven: Transcending the Divine (Final)-Bandit Road(Dream of Insects)

The mist began to undergo an uncanny transformation; like sand sifted through a sieve, it settled on the skin with a tingling, prickling sensation, while the viscous vapor clung incessantly around the body.

Half real, half illusory; half illusion, half reality.

A buzzing sound rose at Kou Li's feet. The blades set into the training stake began to tremble, as if about to spring forth at any moment. The vibration grew frenzied, then with a sharp hiss, one blade shot upward, point flashing for his throat.

Kou Li’s eyes narrowed. He twisted his waist, coiled his arms, shoulders driving elbows, elbows driving hands—almost simultaneously, both hands clapped together upon the blade.

Yet where his hands met, there was nothing but emptiness. The blade that should have launched was still firmly embedded in the boiling broth.

A chill surged through him. What was real before his eyes, and what was but illusion?

“Holy Mother descends, Divine Eye awakens, sweeping away all demons and monsters from the world.”

Low chanting echoed by his ears, as if a viscous tongue endlessly slithered from his face to his feet. Even the wooden stake beneath him began to writhe, and faces—contorted in agony and ferocity—emerged from its surface and sides: his parents of a previous life, the familiar figures of this one—Zheng Xiaobao, Zheng Laotie, Yan Feiniang, Lin Su’e…

Beneath his soles, he could even feel the bulging mouths and eyes.

Instinctively, Kou Li activated the insight ability of the Wordless Diagram. This time, however, the streams transformed into rivers of blood—a crimson expanse in which countless entrails, heads, and arms floated.

Among those heads, every single one was his own. Maggots crawled from nostrils and mouths; eyeballs spun crazily in their sockets. Kou Li’s eyes itched—he reached up, and from the sticky pus, he pulled out a living eyeball with little legs that stared unwaveringly at him.

Cold sweat poured down his back. He hastily cut off the ability. At that moment, wind roared by his ear—a great mottled python erupted from the mist, a stench-filled gale swirling as it struck down at him.

With a drop of his tiger stance and a whip of his waist, Kou Li lashed out—a crack sounded as the snake recoiled, unwilling to retreat.

But at his back, the mist surged as two more one-eyed serpents shot out. This time, Kou Li struck only empty air.

“What on earth is Lao Ba doing?” Yue Wuhuo said urgently. In their eyes, Kou Li stood alone upon the stake, eyes glazed, throwing punches and chops into nothingness, while five yards away stood Diao Fengsheng.

But Iron Guts Zhong Quan observed that Diao Fengsheng’s lips moved slightly, an unnatural excitement on his face. With a cold snort, he muttered, “A heretic cultist indeed—such audacity.”

The serpents multiplied, coiling everywhere—in the mist, in the boiling broth, atop the wooden stakes. Each snake’s mouth held seven or eight forked tongues, eyes gleaming red, a single eye atop its head.

They swam in the water, coiled upon the stakes, and burrowed into Kou Li’s body; skin and vessels bulged inch by inch with a slimy sensation.

Several snakes slithered in and out between his flesh and bones, hissing, while one became lodged in his throat, writhing to force its way out, nearly rupturing his neck.

From the mist, countless serpentine bodies as thick as barrels emerged, winding together to form a colossal figure—three heads, six arms, serpent-headed and human-bodied—its presence tenfold more fearsome than when the Red-Eyed Emissary had once invoked it.

Shura Blade, White Bone Hammer, Yaksha Arrow, Blood Demon Fork, Demon Banner, Serpent Demon Spear.

As the leader of the Diao Clan cult, Diao Fengsheng seemed able to commune directly with spirits and demons. Not only his form, but the very aura of gods and devils magnified without limit.

To onlookers, the seething vapor rolled endlessly inward, shaping a vague, immense figure. Even the most seasoned martial artists present could not help but feel a touch of madness rise in their hearts.

Divine Fist—Hundred Serpents Sacrificing to the Gods!

At the heart of this demonic force field, the mental pressure bearing down on Kou Li was unimaginable—ten times more terrifying than the tiger’s murderous intent entering his mind.

“Serpent Rite Dance!”

Countless small snakes wriggled from Kou Li’s face, neck, chest, and belly, some still trailing bits of flesh or swallowing hunks of his skin.

Within his organs, the one-eyed serpents devoured voraciously; thick trails bulged under his skin, a pain like seeds planted in his heart, rooting, sprouting, blooming into dark flowers.

“Is this all the gods can do?”

Since leaving the martial hall, Kou Li had been gathering his spirit, and now, amidst this hellish vision, his face remained serene as the moon—unsullied, unangered, neither increasing nor diminishing.

That single utterance seemed to enrage not only Diao Fengsheng, but the presence lurking behind him. The violent demonic field convulsed, pressing in upon the center.

Outside the illusion, the cult master strode like a flying eagle. Every limb, every joint radiated a whirling force. Right hand poised as a blade, his movements began the Great Twining Hand; his body wound with invisible silk.

If Kou Li endured the first move, the lethal attacks would follow—grand elbow, eye pierce, throat and face seal, Flower-Picking Fist, waist-blocking downward strike.

He guarded above and struck below, his back arched like a turtle, arms cradled as if holding the moon, ready to throw down at any moment.

Harnessing the might of Divine Fist to shatter the form of loose-hand fighting—this was the true unity of form and spirit!

His opponent’s spiritual and physical oppression reached its peak.

Just then, Kou Li’s hands formed a swastika—not the wan, but the true symbol, embodying the past.

The rhythm and insight contained in the amber prayer beads flowed through his body; essence, spirit, blood, sinews, skin, even marrow—all gathered into his palm imprint, the heat reddening his hands as if they were glowing irons.

When the frequency of vibration converged to a single point, something within him was triggered. The unique sensation in his mind magnified, then rapidly contracted.

In what he drew back, he swept in the countless one-eyed phantom serpents from mist, stakes, and water—dragging them from the realm of demons into his own spirit.

In the instant those serpents were absorbed, Diao Fengsheng’s vision nearly went dark.

Why can the Buddha save all beings? Because Buddha is the multitude, and the multitude is the Buddha. To save all is to save oneself.

His mind plunged into a kaleidoscopic sea; a world of steel and concrete, of immortal demons and martial arts, all blended and compressed to the limit.

Without madness, there is no survival!

Boundless, exuberant, striving—what the world of myriad wonders ultimately seeks is but one thing: to be bound by nothing under heaven.

This is the spirit of the dragon!

At this moment, the essence of life gathered and burst forth.

From the ocean of serpents, a fierce tiger leapt forth, and below its feet, a dragon of immeasurable length broke the surface.

His form became that of a tiger, arms transformed into fangs, spine into a dragon—dragon’s movement, tiger’s bite!

With a thunderous eruption, Diao Fengsheng was flung backward. Both his arms twisted grotesquely, his face sickly pale. Kou Li followed with a tiger’s pounce, flipping him down onto the stake, seizing his hair, and dragging his head across the blade.

The cult leader thrashed in terror, jaw working, drool streaming, but no words emerging.

“What’s this? Even the gods know fear?”

“Thank you—for letting me grasp the dragon form. Do you know what the dragon’s essence truly is?”

“I am the divine. Besides me, there can be no other gods!”

With a flick of his dragon-tiger claw, the head slid along the edge of the stake, a line of blood trailing from the blade’s tip. The body tumbled into the water with a hiss, deflating and shriveling like a punctured balloon—shrunken and withered, more so than any elderly man.

As the dissipating aura faded, Kou Li sensed something strange—a presence he inhaled like a tonic, instantly easing his pain by half.

This, perhaps, was the legendary human essence—and not from Diao Fengsheng’s true self.

Kou Li looked up to see the Wolf Prince, face dark as storm clouds. He smiled slightly, and in the eagle’s eyes shone a vitality never seen before.