Why do I have so many masters?

He raised his hand with fingers slightly spread and snatched toward Wang Anfeng.

First to cripple his martial arts.

Then to break his limbs, gouge out his eyes, slice off his ears and nose.

On top of the wounds, he would cultivate poisonous insects, so he'd miserably wail in this city for ten days and nights before finally breathlessly dying!

This sudden turn of events occurred in the blink of an eye, and Wang Anzhong had no idea what the man before him was thinking. However, the toxicity around was so intense that his body felt scorching hot, and a burning sensation arose when he operated his Mixed Yuan Skill, indicating its out-of-the-ordinary nature.

Nevertheless, even if the man before him was a Sixth Rank expert and his poison skill was fiercely toxic, the outcome would not differ in the slightest.

Wang Anfeng's eyes lifted slightly, with a flash of lightning darting through them.

Today, this man must die.

It was for the sake of the citizens poisoned today.
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It was also for Chuan Lian.

He had seen the extreme madness of the Immortal Pavilion today. If he were to flee with Chuan Lian, they would undoubtedly face numerous difficulties on the road to Fufeng County City.

Chuan Lian's body was already feeble, and now that she was poisoned, her life was flickering like an extinguishing lamp, unable to withstand the slightest disturbance.

In such a situation, Wang Anfeng could only think of one method.

A method that was insane and bold, but indeed feasible.

The youth's right hand rose slowly, grasping the hilt of the Heavy Blade on his back.

In his eyes, a sharp divine light shone like a sword, firmly locking onto Zhao Guang, who, in his arrogance and pride, was rapidly advancing to attack him.

Since the Immortal Pavilion had so much energy, it would suffice to make them lose any interest in Chuan Lian.

The Heavy Blade lifted slightly, its edge cold and sharp, with a chilling howl echoing solemnly.

With this thought, the vigor of his Mixed Yuan Skill accelerated, and although the poisons were strong, they were nevertheless restrained by Wang Anfeng.

All distracting thoughts in his heart shattered.

The weak, the gentle, the merciful, the slaughter-averse—all such facets of himself were 'slashed' away one by one by the youth. Now, with each step he took as if treading upon "his own" corpse, his heart reflected a clear mirror, and his resolve was unwavering.

And at the same time, unlike the past when his mind was empty, something else burned within him like a flame.

An invincible self-confidence.

A determined resolve to kill.

Gathering the calmness of a martial artist in the midst of slaughter, his experiences in countless battles had enlightened his mind. Underneath him, the red lean horse sensed the intense murderous aura from Wang Anfeng and kept whinnying, its speed increasing ever faster, even showing visible streaks of fire to the naked eye.

Man borrowing the horse's might, fast as a raging wind, the killing intent in his heart swelling ever more.

A chill inexplicably rose in Zhao Guang's heart. The manic intent that had surfaced for the first time in thirty years involuntarily subsided as he raised his palm, summoning the Bagua Poison Formation, and fiercely struck toward Wang Anfeng.

The wind whinnied, the clouds raged.

Above this sky, the clouds transformed, even the weather changed in response, and the rich poison gas took the form of a dark green Poison Dragon, scales shining brightly, baring its fangs and claws as it entangled toward Wang Anfeng.

Seemingly formed from various deadly poisons, the Poison Dragon appeared almost jade-like in its purity, and it was precisely because of this that it underscored the ferocity of the poison.

Mei Feng couldn't help but retreat dozens of feet.

A very heavy intent to retreat rose in his heart. Possibly witnessing such mastery of poison controlling technique and witnessing the essence of a previous generation's evil Jianghu expert's life's work was a great fortune for him as well, tempting him to stay despite wanting to leave.

The scale of the clash he was currently witnessing was almost unprecedented for him.

The Poison Dragon hissed furiously.

Heaven and Earth became dim.

Yet one man rode through on his horse.

The poison tides surged, Mei Feng saw exquisite changes he had never imagined before, watching in rapt attention. The poison mist enveloped Wang Anfeng, while the speed of his Mixed Yuan Skill operating beneath his body neared its limit.

Every vein and flesh transmitted an unbearable stabbing pain.

Yet Wang Anfeng's expression did not change in the slightest.

The hand holding the blade was as steady as forged iron.

In his ears, it seemed he could still hear the painful cries of the townspeople.

How to convince evil people to turn back?

Three years ago, Master's answer was to fight until they were convinced.

Beneath Wang Anfeng's Vigorous Attire, his skin cracked and blood flowed, colliding with the poison fog, entwining thick mists around his body.

Yet he stubbornly refused to draw his blade.

The horse neighed loudly, and around it, tangible flames rose up, spreading the fire to Wang Anfeng's body. Together, man and horse dashed furiously through the toxic mists, flames ascending.

Zhao Guang employed his Qinggong to retreat, angrily shouting as he did so,

"You dare compare the light of a firefly with the brilliance of the sun!"

"Die, old man!"

Amidst his furious shouts, the Poison Dragon roared and surged toward the young man, who didn't activate his Golden Bell Body Protection but just bore the increasingly terrifying toxin with his body.

The Mixed Yuan Skill ran wildly, turning the poison of the Bagua Poison Formation into Vital Energy, which poured into Wang Anfeng's Dantian and then was transmitted entirely into the blade.

The blade trembled and hummed, reluctant to remain silent, yet the young man held it tightly in his grip.

The sound of horse hooves grew more urgent.

Wang Anfeng's eyes shone brighter, and suddenly, with a loud neigh from the horse, it fiercely sped forward about thirty feet, quickly closing in on the retreating Zhao Guang. In his astonishment, Wang Anfeng leaped up with his Heavy Blade in both hands, plunging forward with a descending slash.

Zhao Guang's expression changed drastically as he shouted in anger. The already diminishing dark green poison, accompanied by a strange shriek, suddenly converged into a giant dragon that opened its mouth to swallow the young man whole.

There was a moment of silence.

"Huff, huff, huff..."

Zhao Guang extended his right hand, his face already deathly pale, his breaths quick and uneven, with a hidden fear in his eyes; he had felt like he was on the verge of being killed.

Luckily...

It was over now.

Zhao Guang murmured to himself, his right hand's fingers clenching tightly, ready to make the poison dragon's Vigorous Qi collapse inward and directly melt Wang Anfeng. But just then, a resolute and tyrannical aura, without any hesitation, rose from within the Poison Dragon.

With a sharp blade's glow piercing through, accompanied by a loud cry, Wang Anfeng appeared atop the dragon, steadied his feet on its back, held the blade diagonally, and madly ran toward Zhao Guang.

How should one convert the wicked to righteousness?

Wang Anfeng's eyes slightly opened, his hairband broken, so his black hair danced wildly.

If one is indeed wicked, how can they be converted?

Immortal Pavilion...

This round, I'll make the first move.

Please!

With heavy footsteps on the dragon made of converging poison mist, the young man leapt high, spun in midair, and with the blade slanted, he slashed across.

The poison gas moved earlier, inducing changes in the weather for miles around, with clouds steaming and a bleak green light, as if a demon had come into the world, causing disquiet in people's hearts.

But now, there was a cold gleam, like a white rainbow,

splitting the dark clouds asunder.

Atop the mountain peak.

Zhao Guang opened his mouth but could no longer speak; a bitter laugh escaped him as his head severed from his neck, falling at his feet, his eyes wide open, even in death.

The sound of fluttering garments followed.

Wang Anfeng landed firmly on the back of his warhorse, with flames surging majestically from the steed. In his hand, he held the Mo Blade, an imposing and fierce aura surrounding him. Around him, all the Immortal Pavilion disciples, whom he had spared before, were now dead, no survivors under the edge of his blade.

How does a Bhikshu convert the wicked to goodness?

The young man closed his eyes.

The wicked need not be converted.

Under the Heavy Blade,

lies mercy!

PS: I have some matters to attend to today, so I am offering a two-in-one chapter (clasped hands)

The term Bhikshu is a monastic title; it's used here for smoothness of expression, and besides, Anfeng is a Shaolin disciple...