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墨書 Inktalez
No! I cannot just sit back and wait for my doom!
The thunder tribulation was still ongoing, and who knew when it would end? If caught up in it, he could only endure a few strikes, and his soul would surely not withstand it.
But that Qilin, for some reason, was completely different from others who ascended. While they would lose half their lives after being struck once, he seemed to glide effortlessly through the lightning, as if he felt no pain at all.
At this moment, Misha truly felt little pain. Without the protection of the golden light, the inscriptions left by it actually made the thunder tribulation wary, causing it to miss a few strikes. Although it looked severe, he could still endure it. Misha decided to stop dodging and fully unleashed his fists and feet to chase after the Cursed Dragon.
The Cursed Dragon fled desperately but still took a few hits. Amidst the flashes of lightning and thunder, he seemed to see his father, the dragon, who had died long ago.
Despicable ants! They had forced him into such a corner!
He had thought that after nine strikes it would be over and was about to counterattack when he was struck directly by the tenth bolt. Now, he had endured seventeen strikes.
The ascension of a divine beast was indeed extraordinary. Looking at the oppressive dark clouds above, could it be that there were truly eighty-one strikes?
Not to mention how he would evade the remaining sixty-four; once that monk truly ascended, how could there be any chance for him to survive?
Facing this alone meant certain death; perhaps he should seek outside help.
With this determination, the Cursed Dragon turned around and dashed southward. Finally, dragging his battered soul, he spotted a secluded courtyard built halfway up a mountain.
The owner of the courtyard heard the commotion and emerged with a cane, trembling with age. He looked like an old immortal from Fuxing Shou but lacked the prominent bump on his forehead.
A smile lingered at the corners of his mouth as he faced the approaching storm without fear, even taking a few steps forward to greet it.
An abnormal dwelling, an abnormal old man, and his strange calmness put Sang Qingxiao and her companions on high alert.
Misha slowed down his pursuit, circling not far away.
Just when everyone thought the old man would help the Cursed Dragon, he indeed moved. In close proximity face-to-face, it was unclear what brief exchange occurred; all they saw was the old man slapping a piece of yellow paper onto the Cursed Dragon's forehead.
Was his soul just gone like that?!
Sang Qingxiao and her companions searched frantically but found no trace of him.
In that moment of divine clarity, a voice whispered in her ear: "Stop looking; he's dead—never to be reborn."
Sang Qingxiao turned her head to see the old man silently appearing beside her, smiling kindly. "You are pure-hearted; we are kindred spirits. They are demons and monsters and Buddhas; while I do not discriminate against them, I feel more comfortable with you."
Seeing Sang Qingxiao's wary and questioning expression, the old man chuckled again. "He really is dead; I'm not lying."
"Then you killed him quite easily."
A piece of yellow paper solved the problem, unlike them; without the Old Vine to replenish energy, they would surely be left with nothing but ashes. But was the Cursed Dragon truly dead? Could it be that this old man had hidden it away?
Since the old man was willing to talk, Sang Qingxiao asked him, "Who are you?"
"I am a forgotten cultivator," he replied. "As for my name, having lived too long, I no longer remember it. You may call me Elder Tong."
Elder Tong looked towards Misha, who was enduring the tribulation. During this period of tribulation, she could skillfully wield the Divine Script. Though the tribulation was fierce, the Divine Script was sufficient to protect her. However, it would still take some time for all eighty-one bolts of heavenly lightning to strike down completely.
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