Just A Daoist Who Occasionally Kicks Ass

The vast cavern, once filled with layers of corpse miasma and deathly yin qi accumulated over countless years, was now completely purified, with every trace of it absorbed and gone.

Within the mysterious Daoist temple, only a few remained: the Daoist youth from before and several paper effigies in the form of female Daoists.

The middle-aged Daoist, who had earlier invoked the spirits and begged his ancestral master for aid, now stood frozen in shock. Everything he had just witnessed seemed utterly beyond his comprehension.

“This young man... is he a Yang Spirit cultivator of the third realm?” He took a deep breath.

Only someone who had reached the realm of the Yang Spirit could wield such heaven-defying, creation-altering power.

However, his gaze fell upon the bronze gate lying nearby, and his lips twitched involuntarily. He had long cultivated arts of raising, refining, and summoning ghosts, and to him, Fengdu, the Ghost City, was the sacred land of the Ghost Dao.

Yet today, not a single ghost had emerged from Fengdu... and even worse, the gate itself had been taken apart! He stood there in a daze, as though trapped in a dream, everything before him feeling utterly absurd.

Who am I?Where am I?What am I even doing!?

Unfortunately for him, Li Yanchu had no interest in pondering a heretic’s inner turmoil. With a casual flick of his golden mace, the middle-aged Daoist collapsed like a deflated balloon, instantly shriveling up. Then, a vague black shadow burst out of his body and was shattered on the spot!

The heretic who had relied on Immortal Summoning Art was struck down brutally, his three souls and seven spirits grievously wounded, his consciousness scattered.

Li Yanchu stepped forward, and in an instant shattered the man’s meridians and bones. A surge of fierce, domineering spiritual power surged into his body, sealing the heretic completely.

Then, with a faint motion of his heart, Li Yanchu turned and smiled slightly at Zuo Qian and the others.