Chapter Eight: The Unyielding Warrior
The blood moon still hung high in the sky, over a certain place in Black Mountain. Within a hundred miles, the land looked as if it had suffered some cataclysmic blow—nothing grew, not a single blade of grass. All ancient trees and living creatures were utterly annihilated, and amid this devastation lay a solitary figure, unconscious upon the ground. It was none other than Luo Hao, who had fainted due to the ancient corpse.
It was unclear how much time had passed when Luo Hao began to stir, a groan escaping his lips. Upon waking, he was stunned by the scene before him. Shaking his head, he muttered, “What happened? How am I still alive? Where is that ancient corpse? Why do I have no memory at all?” Luo Hao tried desperately to recall how he had escaped, but not a single fragment returned to him.
“Never mind. It’s fortunate enough to be alive. The real question is, where am I in Black Mountain?” Unable to remember how he had fled the ancient corpse, Luo Hao did not dwell on it. Yet, after his frantic flight through the mountain, he now had no idea where he was.
Rising to his feet, Luo Hao was astonished to find that the severe injuries he'd suffered from the ancient corpse’s blow had completely healed. Though full of doubts, he knew his top priority was to find a way down the mountain—Meng Li was still waiting for him.
Instinctively, he glanced up and saw that the blood moon had not yet dispersed. He resolved to find a safe place in the mountain and wait until dawn before descending, knowing that the dangers lurking in the mountain at night were unpredictable. He had no desire to encounter another terrifying creature like the ancient corpse.
As a martial artist, Luo Hao used spiritual power to sense his surroundings, so the darkness posed little hindrance. The terrain of Black Mountain was inscrutable, and after his chaotic escape, Luo Hao could only proceed step by step, uncertain of the path ahead.
Under the night’s veil, Black Mountain resembled a ravenous beast. Roars echoed from every direction, reaching Luo Hao’s ears, and he could even distinguish the sound of blood spilling and anguished howls—the laws of the jungle in action.
Now, having brushed death at the hands of the ancient corpse, Luo Hao had drawn a line between himself and his former world. He had shed all superficiality, his heart now harboring a tiger that gently sniffs the rose.
Alone, Luo Hao sought a temporary refuge, waiting for dawn. The lair of a beast was undoubtedly the safest place.
“You’ll do, Blood-striped Tiger.”
He chose the Blood-striped Tiger’s den, now waiting like a shadow prowler in the night for his chance, his opponent none other than a Blood-striped Tiger.
The beast’s ferocious head was like a massive iron ball, its body nearly four meters long, golden fur marked with swirling blood-red stripes, as if cursed. Its thick limbs concealed claws that glinted like blades.
No one would doubt that anyone who dared approach would be instantly slain by those claws. The Blood-striped Tiger exuded a pungent stench of blood—it had clearly fought other beasts not long ago. Yet Luo Hao remained vigilant, not underestimating it for a moment.
When the Blood-striped Tiger turned, Luo Hao’s eyes flashed with fierce intent. He launched himself like a cannonball, tearing through the air with a whispering wind, followed by a thunderous roar that shook the mountains.
“Tiger King Worships the Moon!”
Merciless golden dragon power surged skyward like a tornado. From the golden radiance came a tiger’s roar of overwhelming ferocity. Within the light, an enormous tiger’s paw, dozens of yards across, struck the Blood-striped Tiger without mercy. Golden dragon power poured forth, the massive tiger’s paw unmatched in strength, rending the night sky with five deep claw marks.
Bang!
The giant paw descended so swiftly that the Blood-striped Tiger had no time to react. With a wail, its body was flung like a rag doll, crashing hard against a boulder beside its den. The boulder shattered instantly, fragments flying and burying the beast beneath.
Roar!
From the rubble came a savage tiger’s roar, causing Luo Hao’s heart to tremble. This was a true tiger’s roar; his own Endtime Tiger Arts produced only sound, not spirit. The debris exploded, and a blood-streaked shadow, brimming with murderous intent, lunged at Luo Hao. Where its claws passed, the air vibrated and split, producing explosive sounds.
“Tiger King Worships the Moon!”
Focused on refining his Endtime Tiger Arts, Luo Hao refused to retreat. Pale gold dragon power surged, and behind him a vast golden sea roiled. Anyone witnessing this would be shocked—a martial artist of the first Qi Spirit Realm possessing such vast spiritual power, comparable to those of the sixth or seventh level. If not seen personally, none would believe it.
“Kill!”
“Roar!”
Luo Hao’s black hair streamed, a peerless god of slaughter in the night. His war cry thundered to the heavens, echoed by the Blood-striped Tiger, whose roar was like rolling thunder, radiating sovereign might. Blood markings on its body emitted a faint crimson glow.
Bang!
The tiger’s paw, heavy as ten thousand pounds of divine iron, smashed Luo Hao’s chest, caving it in with the sound of bones shattering—a crisp, chilling crack echoing through the silent Black Mountain.
Splurt!
A blood-red claw nearly tore Luo Hao’s body in two, white bone exposed as endless blood sprayed forth. He was flung like a broken kite, crashing through several ancient trees before finally stopping.
The Blood-striped Tiger showed no mercy to intruders, especially not one who dared attack it.
A flash of blood vanished, and the Blood-striped Tiger’s stripes seemed to come alive. Blood light burst from its head, gathering into a crimson cloud, and a blood-red tiger’s paw emerged, descending upon Luo Hao with overwhelming force. The paw reeked of blood, nauseating in its intensity.
“Kill!”
A thunderous cry rang out. Luo Hao, though fallen, leapt to his feet, blood still dripping from the deep claw wound on his chest. Yet his fighting spirit soared to its peak. His black hair hung, eyes dark as chaos, their electric gaze stunning the Blood-striped Tiger—for anyone who met such eyes would feel fear.
“Tiger King Worships the Moon!”
Pale gold dragon power surged skyward, stirring an endless golden tide. Behind him, two indistinct dragon heads appeared. Vital energy from all directions poured in like a torrent.
Then a simple, ancient fist punched through everything. Ordinary to the extreme, no complexity—simply a fist. Yet this fist made the Blood-striped Tiger sense impending death.
Roar!
A deafening tiger’s roar thundered from behind Luo Hao. In that instant, aged eyes opened—ancient, weathered, as if able to see across millennia. Behind him, a vast scene unfolded like a scroll: beneath a silver moon, moonlight gleamed. An immense white tiger gazed piercingly, as if transcending time. It looked up at the moon, and a paw covered in golden runes leapt from the scroll, merging with Luo Hao’s ancient fist.
Bang!
Within the fist, stars seemed to rise and fall, nine stars trembling. The fierce tiger’s roar reverberated like the chant of gods, deafening. The Blood-striped Tiger was terrified; its blood-red claws dissolved into nothing. The crimson cloud above its head was shattered by the blow.
Splurt!
The ancient fist pierced the Blood-striped Tiger’s skull in an instant. Shining white bone and blood splattered as its head was blasted apart.
The power of this punch was unimaginable—even Luo Hao himself hadn’t expected such terrifying force. In truth, had there been an expert present, they would have seen that Luo Hao had just attained the “Spirit Entry” stage in his martial arts.
In all martial arts techniques, comprehension is divided into “Micro Entry,” “Spirit Entry,” and “Soul Entry.” Most martial artists remain at the initial Micro Entry, some never achieving even that. It is an elevation of the mind, unrelated to cultivation.
Luo Hao, pale-faced and clutching his wound, endured the pain—it was no mild scratch inflicted by the Blood-striped Tiger. He cleaned the beast’s corpse, eliminating the blood scent, then hid in its lair.
The lair was large and dry, its corners scattered with human and beast bones—victims of the Blood-striped Tiger.
Sitting cross-legged in the lair, Luo Hao began his cultivation. The Twin Dragon Supreme Arts circulated within him, dragon roars sounding inside as two indistinct dragon heads appeared. Vital energy gathered like pillars of light pouring into him, even the earth beneath feeding power into his body. The embryonic spiritual infant in his dantian spun wildly, absorbing golden mist.
Boom!
A roar sounded in his dantian, and Luo Hao felt his body lighten. The claw wound on his chest seemed to heal, leaving only a faint scar. Power surged within him, explosive as a tyrannosaurus.
“This is the fifth Qi Spirit Realm—four minor realms crossed at once! Excellent, my strength has finally risen. Truly, battle is the best cultivation.” Luo Hao was excited: his strength had reached the fifth Qi Spirit Realm. With the dragon power from his Twin Dragon Supreme Arts and the might of the Endtime Tiger Arts, he could challenge even those at the eighth realm.
Through the night, Luo Hao consolidated his newfound strength, never leaving the cave. When dawn broke, he finished his meditation and left the Blood-striped Tiger’s den. He had to hurry down the mountain to find A Li; the thought of her spending a fearful night alone in the ruined temple filled him with guilt.
“Star Ghost Taoist, where do you think you're going?” A divine shout shattered the dawn’s silence. Luo Hao instinctively looked up to see two streaks of light chasing each other across the sky, too fast for his eyes to follow.
Boom!
Dust flew as the two streaks crashed to the ground, sending waves billowing for miles. By coincidence, they landed at the very spot where Luo Hao had battled the Blood-striped Tiger last night. Truly, the gods' fight brings calamity to mortals. As the dust settled, two figures stood facing each other.
One was a young man of no more than twenty, his face like white jade, eyes bright as stars. His shoulder-length black hair flowed with his long, elegant cyan robe, which bore not a speck of dust.
The other was an old Taoist, his hair wild and unkempt, clad in a tattered fiery-red robe, holding a whisk with sparse bristles. His face was wrinkled like an old tree, eyes sunken and gleaming with chilling ferocity. Around him, faint black mist constantly rose.
The old Taoist sneered, “I never thought that today I, Star Ghost Taoist, would be cornered by a mere junior of the Sky Sea Sect.”
The young man gazed calmly at the ragged Taoist. “Star Ghost Taoist, hand over my master’s possession, and I, Zhan Wuji, swear by martial honor to let you leave unharmed.”
His words rang out with strength and conviction, revealing a steadfast, unyielding resolve for the martial path.