Chapter 322
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Chapter 322: The Tyrant
“In the mountains, where no tigers roam, the monkeys reign supreme…”
Bai Wei stepped forward, and the golden domain around him expanded once more. The pressure radiating from it flattened the land beneath and sent ripples of unease through the two beasts standing before him. Their expressions twisted, betraying their fear.
Even the simplest minds recognized that the world held profound mysteries, and those who mastered these secrets were revered, even more than those holding governmental power.
Witches, shrine priests, and onmyoji—spiritual practitioners of all kinds—understood the importance of innate talent. Yet, the depths they touched were but the surface of the abyss.
The scene unfolding was one of extraordinary awe. Those with mastery over these mysteries had, in many ways, transcended humanity itself.
Heroic spirits were no longer human. Immortals were no longer human. And emperors, unquestionably, were far removed from mortality.
In mere moments, Bai Wei’s mask shattered like glass. What had once made him appear as an ordinary man of the Ming Country now dissolved. No longer did he look like someone bound to Earth—he had become an ethereal being, celestial in form and essence.
Even the foolish would have recognized this transformation as a revelation of his true nature.
Faced with the overwhelming presence of Bai Wei, the wolf monster roared, sending sound waves rippling outward. Yet the golden waves remained undisturbed. Instead, the sound rebounded, injuring the Tengu, whose feathers scattered in disarray.
The Tengu froze, unable to blink or move. Every muscle in its body quivered under the relentless golden pressure. Bai Wei hadn’t lifted a finger, and yet the Tengu’s form seemed on the verge of collapse.
What was now a fraction—a mere thousandth—of Bai Wei’s former power was still enough to render the enemy powerless. Yet, the wolf clung to the faint hope of a counterattack, fueled by remnants of courage or desperation.
But the golden aura suddenly receded, leaving the Tengu puzzled. Was Bai Wei spent?
No—his calm, indifferent expression suggested otherwise. It wasn’t disdain, but an utter lack of concern, as though the Tengu was an insignificant insect, unworthy of his notice.
Bai Wei adjusted his approach, realizing his opponent’s nature. He no longer needed the armor of caution. To him, this enemy was little more than a bug.
Madness ignited in the Tengu’s eyes as it lunged with its Zen staff, swinging it toward Bai Wei’s head.
But before the weapon could land, Bai Wei seized the corpse of a centipede monster, wielding it like a whip. The Zen staff struck the centipede’s shell, shattering it with a resounding clang. Insect blood splattered everywhere, though none of it touched Bai Wei.
The Tengu attacked relentlessly, swinging its staff nineteen times with all its might. Its muscles tore, and blood drenched its upper body. Yet the distorted staff could not breach Bai Wei’s golden defense.
With a roar of desperation, the Tengu gathered its remaining strength for one final strike. Its assault carried the speed and ferocity of a demonic wind—a blow that could unnerve even a skilled swordsman.
Bai Wei raised his arm, a thread of golden energy spiraling from his fingers. He lightly touched the descending staff. In an instant, the weapon shattered. The golden light spread, consuming the Tengu’s arms and leaving them as nothing but ash.
Bai Wei exhaled softly, brushing away the floating dust. His eyes betrayed a deep disappointment.
“Is this all?” he murmured.
Stepping forward, Bai Wei’s voice thundered across the battlefield.
“You challenge me… for this?”
He took another step.
“I summoned my armies, donned the crown of war, and for what? A swarm of insects?”
The golden pressure surged, shaking the heavens as if the sky itself would collapse.
“Where is your king?”
“Bring him to me.”
“Let us wage a battle worthy of kings!”
Bai Wei’s heart burned not with vengeance, but with the desire for war—a true battle. The Hundred Demons Party had crossed the line, offending him beyond measure. If the shogun would not act, he would. Under the banner of his Golden Throne, armies would rise.
Let the incomplete mysteries cower before the wrath of a tyrant.
History remembered Bai Wei as a tyrant.
He had destroyed dynasties, toppled nations, and extinguished countless lives—all in pursuit of righteousness. Yet he never claimed to be wise or virtuous. He embraced the title “Tyrant,” for no other name suited him more.
Bai Wei’s golden might crushed the will of the Hundred Demons Party. Song Lang, watching from the shadows, realized any attempt at rescue was futile.
Faced with the incomprehensible golden mystery, Song Lang signaled a final, desperate assault. The Hundred Demons Party, unafraid of death, ignited their bodies in a last-ditch effort.
Self-destruction filled the air with flames and light. Yet even this ultimate sacrifice failed to pierce Bai Wei’s golden defense. He stood unshaken, confused by the senseless act.
Then, he felt it—a chilling presence.
The Hundred Demons Party had not sacrificed themselves in vain. They had opened a twisted rift, summoning something from the depths.
Bai Wei smiled.
“Let me see what you’ve brought.”
Out of the distortion, a hand emerged, and with a single strike, the courtyard collapsed.
The clash of kings had begun.
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