Chapter Eighteen: Facing the Warrior Once More

“No matter how skilled, you were still discovered, weren’t you?”

Hearing such a question, Liu Chen did not attack immediately. For the moment, he could not discern whether this Daoist was merely bluffing or truly had some hidden confidence.

“As for the rebels, I hold no rank among them. I simply know Zhao Qian, that’s all.”

After watching for a while, Liu Chen sensed that the Daoist seated solemnly atop the ritual altar possessed a profound and powerful presence—far greater than what he’d sensed during the day. Yet when he activated his spiritual sight, he realized that most of this increased aura emanated from the black banner at the summit of the altar.

“So that’s how it is. I suppose you must be a veteran general from Annam of old. Might I ask from which commandery you hail? I recall that each of the two armies and four commands of Annam was accompanied by disciples of the Lingbao Sect. Have you had close acquaintance with any such disciples?”

As Liu Chen continued to shift his posture and observe his surroundings, the Daoist remained motionless, merely continuing the conversation as if he intended to talk endlessly.

“What if I have? What if I haven’t? Are you trying to recruit a rebel like me?”

At these words, Liu Chen—having already discerned the flow of aura from the black banner atop the altar—looked up and asked with a smile.

“And why should I not recruit you? The Mystical Sect holds the highest Dao: it can grant life, it can bestow peace. One possessed of your talents is surely exceptional among men. The Orthodox Lingbao Sect offers salvation to all; we do not refuse even the most ordinary folk, so why would we turn away someone like you?”

In response to Liu Chen’s half-mocking retort, Lu Changcheng straightened his posture and replied in a sonorous voice.

Hearing this dignified speech, Liu Chen felt something was amiss. Along his journey, he had not met many people, but among the Daoists of the Lu family, there had been three. The first, Lu Qingtai, was vicious and cruel, refining corpses from the living—pure evil. The second, Lu Qingzong, bullied the weak and feared the strong, not resembling a good man in the least.

Yet this Daoist before him spoke with such grandeur, appearing every inch the upright gentleman. But when matching these words with the deeds of the former two, the contrast was farcical.

Liu Chen had no intention of debating further. His goal was to kill Lu Qingzong, not to concern himself with rebel scouts. Perhaps this Lu Changcheng could magnanimously accept a rebel who had fought against him, but he would never tolerate someone seeking to kill his kinsman.

Since that was the case, there was nothing more to say—only a fight would settle things.

Having seen through his opponent’s strengths and weaknesses, Liu Chen no longer hesitated. He stamped his foot and charged straight up onto the altar.

“What a pity, what a pity—so stubbornly ignorant!”

Seeing Liu Chen make his move, Lu Changcheng shook his head, feigning regret. But though he lamented with his mouth, his actions were swift; the guardian strongman standing at his side instantly manifested in full form and struck out at the incoming Liu Chen with his hammer.

This blow was nothing like before. Empowered by the altar’s spiritual artifacts, the eight-sided hammer whistled through the air, no weaker than if wielded by a living giant. Even with his dulled senses, Liu Chen could feel the force of the swing, and his sixth sense, sharper at night, screamed with alarm at the threat. If he tried to withstand it as he had done during the day—relying on his zombie-like body—he would likely be done for.

But with such a vivid warning, how could Liu Chen foolishly charge headlong into the hammer’s path?

His body tensed and he leapt vertically, soaring a full ten feet above the strongman, bringing his palm down upon the Daoist.

His palm, as sharp as a blade, was a simple move, yet with the force of his undead strength and the advantage of height, it could shatter stone.

Faced with this sudden and dangerous attack, Lu Changcheng showed a flicker of surprise, but did not panic in the least. He even found time to smile at Liu Chen, as if to compliment his performance.

Seeing this, Liu Chen felt something was wrong. Sure enough, just as his palm was about to strike, the strongman’s figure shifted from insubstantial to solid, appearing once more.

A slap rang out—like striking bamboo or wood. Liu Chen easily shattered the golden armor on the strongman, then pressed forward. But then, the strongman set aside his hammer and swung his massive palms like giant fans toward Liu Chen’s head.

“Damn it!”

Liu Chen wanted to curse. During the day, he had quickly dispersed the strongman and hadn’t realized the trouble he could cause. Now, with the altar’s support, he saw just how formidable and troublesome these guardians could be.

Much like Liu Chen’s own undead body, they felt neither pain nor fear. In fact, they were even more formidable; Liu Chen still had to protect his head, which housed his consciousness, but these strongmen had no such weakness.

With no other choice, Liu Chen kicked off the altar, using the recoil to retreat swiftly and disengage.

“Quick as the wind in advance or retreat, rising as if flying—your martial skill is truly impressive! Yet my strongman is the perfect counter to martial arts. Why not stand down? Even if there have been misunderstandings between you and the disciples of Lingbao, surely we can talk it over now, can’t we?”

Seeing Liu Chen withdraw, the Daoist did not order the strongman to pursue. Instead, he let the guardian remain by his side and continued speaking to Liu Chen.

“How irritating. I want to kill Lu Qingtai—what’s there to discuss?”

His strike having failed, Liu Chen was irked, and the Daoist’s incessant prattling grated on him, as relentless as a pushy salesperson who couldn’t read the mood. He tossed out this reply to silence the man.

“So that’s how it is. What a pity! Qingtai has always acted without regard for consequences. If not for… Ah, never mind.”

At the mention of Lu Qingtai, Lu Changcheng was momentarily taken aback, then shook his head and fell silent.

Liu Chen cared not what the Daoist wished to say—the matter held no interest for him. In those few exchanges, he had noticed that, with the black banner atop the altar feeding it spiritual energy, the strongman’s injuries from his palm strike were restored in an instant.

Far from feeling troubled, Liu Chen sensed he had found the key.

At first, when the strongman had not chased after him, Liu Chen thought the Daoist might genuinely wish to recruit him. But seeing the restoration, he realized the strongman’s empowerment was confined to the altar.

This made sense, for ever since he’d discovered the patrolling restless spirits, Liu Chen had been pondering what Lu Qingzong had concealed from him. Now he had seen patrolling wraiths and a black banner that could enhance a Daoist’s power.

And in witnessing the banner restore the strongman’s wounds, Liu Chen discerned yet another secret Lu Qingzong had kept from him—something called the spirit mist.