Dharma King Shi Ming let out a few cold laughs before sneering:
"At this point, do any of you have any last words?"
His smile was filled with arrogance and cruelty.
The Baihuo Cult Master Li Ning, a man devoted to easing the suffering of the world and intent on achieving great deeds, remained unafraid despite the dire circumstances. Even with the outcome seemingly decided and death at hand, he raised his voice and declared:
"Our doctrine is to do good and cast out evil. Yet you, a Dharma King, act with cruelty. How can you face the Radiant Lord?"
(Radiant Lord was the title for the Fire God, the chief deity of the Baihuo Cult.)
Dharma King Zhao Ke added solemnly:
"To do good and reject evil—for the sake of the Light."
The other Dharma Kings closed their eyes, silently resigning themselves to fate.
Suddenly, Li Ning began chanting sacred verses:
"Blazing Sacred Flame, Lord of Light.Banish darkness, embrace the light.Do good, cast out evil—for the sake of Light.Eternal Flame, have mercy on mankind!Eternal Flame, have mercy on mankind!"
The gathered Baihuo Cult followers joined him in chorus, their chants echoing across the valley. The altar's Eternal Sacred Flame, which had burned for years, roared higher and brighter.
Seeing this, Shi Ming felt an unexpected chill in his heart. His confidence faltered slightly, but he roared in fury:
"You're at death's door and still playing games with spirits? No one leaves alive today!"
His heart was ablaze with rage. If he let them live, it could come back to haunt him. Better to wipe them all out in one fell swoop.
At that moment, the fluttering of robes heralded the arrival of three figures—a scholar and two attendants—who landed gracefully and stood before the five prisoners.
The scholar declared sternly:
"Who dares make a move?"
Shi Ming's men, startled by this sudden intrusion into the Sacred Flame Hall, erupted in angry shouts and charged.
The scholar raised his hand—his palm struck like a whirlwind. With a whack, one attacker flew several yards. Another rushed in, but the scholar didn't even dodge. He slapped out with his left palm—boom!—the foe slammed into the floor, coughing blood and howling in pain.
The crowd gasped. Even the Baihuo Cult members were taken aback.
Shi Ming shouted:
"Who are you, scholar and brats?"
The scholar raised his brows and said coldly:
"To do good and cast out evil—I am a Messenger of Light."
Gasps rippled through the cult followers.
Shi Ming sneered:
"Another fraud? Tired of living?"
The scholar was Wu Tong.
He replied:
"You, a Dharma King, yet speak so casually of taking lives? Such high rank with so little virtue—don't you know that when virtue doesn't match one's station, disaster follows?"
Shi Ming, seeing only a bookish man, barked:
"Ignorant scholars ruin nations. What do you know of the world? Twin Blade Assassin, send him to meet Confucius!"
The man he called was Hu Mao, known as the Twin Blade Assassin. Hair tied in a warrior's knot, clad in blue with twin blades on his back, he launched himself into action with a savage yell:
"Little brat! You dare speak against Dharma King Shi Ming? You're asking to die!"
Wu Tong calmly pulled out a folding fan from his waist. With a snap, the fan opened. He twirled it elegantly, unhurried as he stepped forward.
"I am a Messenger of Light from the Baihuo Cult. Brother, may I ask your name?"
Hu Mao pointed arrogantly at the blades on his back and scoffed:
"Listen well before you die! I'm Hu Mao, known in the martial world as the Twin Blade Assassin!"
Without pause, he drew one of his blades and thrust it at Wu Tong's chest.
But Wu Tong simply smiled, channeling energy into his fan. With a snap, he closed it and twisted aside with ease. The blade missed. Hu Mao slashed again—Wu Tong blocked it with the fan and said:
"You better look carefully!"
In a blur, Wu Tong darted forward like a black panther, the fan thrusting toward Hu Mao's chest.
Thunk!—it struck dead center.
In that instant, victory was decided. Hu Mao staggered backward, finally collapsing to his knees. The move had been so swift, so unexpected, the crowd was stunned into silence—no one even remembered to cheer.
The sheer surprise of it shocked everyone watching. This "scholar," claiming to be a Messenger of Light, had unfathomable martial skill. With just one exchange, he had forced the Twin Blade Assassin to his knees.
Wu Tong said calmly:
"Aren't you going to use your other blade?"
Hu Mao had tried to circulate his inner energy just before, but Wu Tong's fan strike disrupted his breath. Though the strike didn't kill, it left him winded and in pain. His ribs ached, his breath caught, and though he had the strength of iron and steel, he had no choice but to kneel, trying to regulate his breath.
His face twisted in disbelief—how had a mere scholar bested him so quickly?
Shi Ming, sensing something amiss, asked darkly:
"Boy, who are you really? Who sent you?"
Wu Tong gracefully flicked his fan open with a crisp snap, posture elegant, voice serene:
"Didn't I say already? To do good and cast out evil—I am the Messenger of Light."
He deliberately kept a low profile to avoid drawing attention or implicating the Tang court in the Baihuo Cult's internal strife.
Just then, a figure suddenly lunged at Wu Tong's back—Hu Mao, seizing the opportunity to avenge his humiliation.
Blinded by rage and pride, Hu Mao had bided his time, then rushed in during Shi Ming's questioning, twin blades slashing mercilessly, aiming to butcher Wu Tong into pieces.
But Wu Tong, as if having eyes in the back of his head, evaded with ghostly agility. The whistling of blades cutting air echoed—swish swish swish!—but none touched him. Despite his fury, Hu Mao couldn't land a blow. His blades carved empty space.
Though unwilling to give up, he could do nothing more.