Returning after 10000 Years Cultivation - Chapter 109

This onslaught could flatten a small hill—let alone a mere mortal like Jiang Tian.

The martial artists, unwilling to be outdone, unleashed their own techniques.

Peak Hua Jin masters condensed qi into weapons, striking from a distance—spears, sabers, iron fists, and steel whips materialized from pure energy, tearing through the air with deafening shrieks as they hurtled toward Jiang Tian.

Minor Hua Jin practitioners controlled objects with qi—long blades, short swords, meteor darts, and hidden arrows shot forth in a deadly barrage. Some even curved mid-flight, arcing around to strike from behind or above, weaving an inescapable net of lethal trajectories.

This indiscriminate bombardment left no room for evasion. Even a Shen Jing master might struggle to survive, let alone an Inner Strength or Hua Jin fighter.

The attacks blanketed a vast area—not just Jiang Tian, but Shen Man’ge beneath his foot, Mai Shilong, Han Yan’er, and Old Lu were all caught in the crossfire.

As weapons and qi surged toward them, Han Yan’er and Mai Shilong dropped to the ground, faces bloodless. This is a battle of gods. How can we possibly survive?

“Senior Sister!”

“Elders, have mercy! Sister Man’ge is still with them!” Some disciples cried out in despair.

The Silver Moon True Man sneered, sleeves billowing like an immortal’s robes. “Jiang Tian, even if you’re a peak Hua Jin master, you can’t withstand the combined might of Shennong Sect’s elites! Your corpse will paint these grounds red!”

His gaze flickered toward Shen Man’ge and the others. A necessary sacrifice to eliminate Jiang Taichu.

This was Shennong Sect’s creed—honor above all. Even at the cost of heavy losses, the enemy must pay.

Jiang Tian had dared defy them. That alone warranted his death—even if it meant sacrificing Shen Man’ge.

“Good! Decisive and ruthless—fitting for a major sect!” Jiang Tian chuckled, utterly unperturbed. Then, with a stomp, he roared:

“But do you really think this can harm me?”

The Silver Moon True Man’s eyes bulged.

A golden dome, ten meters wide, erupted around Jiang Tian and his group. Ancient runes shimmered across its surface, rotating like molten gold, radiating blinding light.

Under that glow, Mai Shilong and Han Yan’er’s pale, terrified faces were starkly visible.

Every spell and qi strike dissolved upon contact. The dome didn’t even ripple—its resilience defied comprehension.

At the peak of Qi Refining Level 2, Jiang Tian’s abilities rivaled seasoned Hua Jin masters. His divine arts allowed him to cast formations with a thought, weave talismans in an instant.

This barrier was no ordinary technique—it was a cultivator’s defense, impervious to mortal spells and martial arts.

Not even dozens of qi attacks and enchanted weapons could scratch it.

“He uses spells!”

“Martial and spellcasting dual-cultivation!”

“Impossible! How can his barrier withstand so many spells?!”

The Shennong Sect disciples shrieked like scalded cats, some even leaping in shock.

The Silver Moon True Man’s jaw nearly hit the ground. “Martial and spellcasting—dual mastery?!”

In modern Huaxia, both paths were esoteric, demanding immense dedication. Mastering one was rare enough to command respect. Dual cultivation? A myth.

Jiang Tian flicked his wrist.

BOOM!

The golden dome expanded like an inflating balloon—then detonated.

Spell backlash erupted. Qi scattered like shrapnel. Weapons shot backward.

“Ah—!”

Three spellcasters vomited blood from recoil. Two Inner Strength warriors were impaled by their own blades. Dozens were sent flying, tumbling off rooftops.

“Defensive formation!”

The Silver Moon True Man bellowed—just as a figure loomed in his vision. Jiang Tian was airborne, charging straight at him.

“Arrogant fool, DIE!”

Cang Ao Nian roared, stomping down so hard the roof caved in.

“Fierce Tiger Divine Fist!”

Three fist-sized projectiles of condensed qi shot out, trailing white vapor. Each strike could crumple steel plates.

Jiang Tian flicked a finger.

A blade of pure true essence slashed horizontally.

CRACK!

The qi fists—bullets couldn’t pierce—shattered like clay.

The blade continued its arc—

SPLAT.

Cang Ao Nian split cleanly down the middle, his halves thudding to the ground in a spray of blood.

Silence.

Then—terror.

Cang Ao Nian, Hua Jin grandmaster, former patriarch of a northwestern martial family—slaughtered in one move.

Back in his prime, he’d nearly died in a clan war. Sect Leader Zuo Zimu had saved him with legendary医术 and elixirs. Out of gratitude, he’d stayed as an elder.

Now? Dead. Just like that.

“T-too strong! What is he? A Shen Jing master?!” Disciples trembled, voices breaking.

If a Hua Jin grandmaster fell so easily, what hope did the rest have?

“Don’t engage directly!” The Silver Moon True Man barked. “Martial artists, defend! Spellcasters, long-range attacks!”

Until reaching Daoti realm, spellcasters’ bodies were frail. Sending martial artists forward was suicide—it’d just let Jiang Tian butcher the casters unimpeded.

Martial artists formed a shield wall as spellcasters prepared their second volley.

“Frozen Wasteland, Arrow Barrage!”

The Silver Moon True Man’s sleeves billowed as he wove hand seals.

Temperature plummeted. Snowflakes swirled. The ground iced over.

Dozens of glacial spears materialized, jagged and gleaming, shooting toward Jiang Tian.

“Vajra Bowl—SUPPRESS!”

A monk elder hurled a purple-gold alms bowl. It expanded mid-air, radiating Buddhist light, aiming to crush Jiang Tian.

“Fire Dragon’s Wrath—BURN!”

A Tongxuan Daoist swung a peachwood sword, flinging talismans.

WHOOSH!

A three-zhang fire serpent coiled through the air, its heat warping vision.

Jiang Tian didn’t flinch. He strode forward—on nothing but air.

“Ants daring to challenge the heavens.” He sighed, then slashed a finger sideways.

CLANG! CLANG! CLANG!

The Silver Moon True Man’s ice spears shattered like rotten wood. He choked blood, collapsing with severe internal injuries.

PIERCE!

Jiang Tian pointed. A qi-spear materialized, punching through the Vajra Bowl—and the monk’s chest behind it.

“Immortal Martial Art 18th Form: Embrace the Void!”

As the fire dragon closed in, Jiang Tian’s hands cupped an invisible sphere. Darkness swirled between his palms—a black hole that devoured the flames whole.

“H-he stole my fire?!” The Daoist gaped.

Then—Jiang Tian thrust his palms forward.

A miniature sun bloomed between them, so brilliant it illuminated every crevice of the valley.

“Is he… a god?” Han Yan’er whispered, trembling.

Jiang Tian hovered mid-air, cradling that blazing orb like a deity passing judgment.

Mai Shilong’s face drained of color. If I’d attacked him in the woods… I’d be dead.

Old Lu kowtowed. “A peerless master of both paths… Unfathomable!”

The fireball detonated.

The Daoist and over a dozen elders disintegrated. Those not instantly vaporized writhed as flames consumed them, their screams short-lived.

“TOO STRONG! FALL BACK!”

Shennong Sect’s forces broke ranks, scrambling for cover.

“My slaughter has only just begun.” Jiang Tian’s laughter was icy as he lunged onto a rooftop.

A finger-slash. A two-zhang sword beam.

Eight disciples fell in halves.

“RUUUUN!”

Elders and protectors fled like panicked locusts, leaping across rooftops.

“Where’s your courage now? Weren’t you bold when ambushing me?”

Jiang Tian gave chase.

A palm strike—a three-meter rockery exploded, three Inner Strength elders inside reduced to paste.

BOOM!

He leapt ten meters, landing with enough force to pancake two spellcasters into the earth.

A flick of his wrist—talismans became fire serpents, reducing entire halls to ash, their hiding occupants incinerated before they could scream.

The massacre had truly begun.