Grandpa Mark's chest heaved, clearly unable to keep his emotions in check. He said coldly, "I severed my own arm and sent it to Great Thunderclap Temple, returning the temple’s divine abilities. So why did you still hunt me down, leaving my family broken and scattered? If you were so set on my death, why shouldn’t I pass on Great Thunderclap Temple’s divine arts to others?"
The old monk shook his head. "Junior brother, a single arm does not represent all the divine abilities."
Grandpa Mark let out a low, cold laugh. "Not all the divine abilities I have come from Great Thunderclap Temple. Are you going to cripple the rest of my abilities too? I was born in the temple, but I fought my way out with my own hands. Back then, none of you dared stop me. Only after I had a wife and child did you come after me. For their safety, I willingly severed my own arm, returning your temple’s divine abilities!"
His expression grew dark. "And then? You hunted me down, destroyed my family, left me with nothing!"
The old monk’s white brows twitched. "Rules are rules—change them, and they’re no longer rules. The mortal world disrupts cultivation, junior brother. In truth, we never meant to kill you, only to save you from the bitter sea of worldly suffering, to bring you back to Great Thunderclap Temple so you could reach true enlightenment. If you hadn’t become attached to mortal life and left the temple by force, the seat of Tathagata would be yours today. If you’re willing to return, the old Tathagata would be overjoyed, and the position would still be yours." (Note: In folk usage, 'Tathagata' refers to Shakyamuni, but in Buddhist terminology, it means any Buddha—one who has attained Buddhahood. Sutras say, 'Thus come, thus gone,' hence the name Tathagata, signifying the Buddha’s realm.)
"Return?"
Grandpa Mark said woodenly, "I fought my way out back then. If I ever return, I’ll fight my way back in."
The old monk’s face darkened. He sighed, "The Tathagata will be very disappointed. That boy on the platform—is he your disciple? You taught him the Thunder Chant Eight-Form, but not our temple’s heart-method, the Grand Buddha Mahayana Scripture."
He looked toward the platform, where Quinn Shepherd was battling a young man. "The Grand Buddha Mahayana Scripture is a demon-subduing method. Without cultivating this scripture, no matter how strong the Thunder Chant Eight-Form gets, it’s just empty show. Today I’ve brought my disciple—Brightheart, come greet your martial uncle!"
A tall, thin young monk stepped forward from behind him, prayer beads dangling from his hand. He pressed his palms together and bowed. "Martial uncle."
The old monk’s white brows fluttered. "Brightheart is also a Spirit Embryo–realm fighter. My meditation staff is wagered here—will you take the bet, junior brother?"
Granny Sue raised her eyebrows, about to speak, but Grandpa Mark said expressionlessly, "Rules and precepts are all bullshit. I’ll take your bet—how does my head compare in weight to your discarded meditation staff?"
The old monk nodded. "Not much difference in weight."
Grandpa Blind, Granny Sue, and Apothecary all frowned, about to intervene, but Grandpa Mark cut them off: "If Quinn loses, you can take my head back to Great Thunderclap Temple to see the Tathagata. If he wins, the staff stays, and you get out of here—far as you can go."
"So be it."
The old monk turned to Brightheart. "Today, as your master, I want you to reclaim the Great Thunderclap Temple divine abilities from this traitor. If you win, it will be your merit."
Brightheart answered and strode toward the challenge platform.
On the platform, the young man fighting Quinn Shepherd was a sword master, following the path of Senior Brother Kurt, one of the Five Disciples of River Lee. His sword never strayed more than three feet from his body. Unlike Kurt, his sword was small—more like a dagger, just eight inches long, but all the more dangerous for it!
This little sword would stab out from odd places—under the armpit, from the crotch, even slipping into his clothes, only to dart out from his sleeve when clashing with Quinn’s palms!
His sword-control by qi was so refined that he was nearly a match for any River Lee disciple, and far surpassed Senior Brother Kurt.
Moreover, this young man was also highly skilled in battle techniques—his palm strikes were deep and powerful, their force as grand as a towering mountain. When he unleashed his strength, mountain-like patterns would flash across his palm.
But by now, the outcome on the platform was clear. Quinn Shepherd fought with overwhelming strength and swift footwork; in their very first clash, his yuanqi crushed the young man’s qi outright!
Quinn unleashed Nine-Dragon Thunder Rush—though he only stacked three of its nine power layers, it was enough to injure the opponent’s organs. No matter how exquisite his sword technique, defeat was inevitable.
Quinn’s footwork darted and twisted like hundreds of wild snakes weaving through grass—sudden shifts, unpredictable angles, making it impossible for the young man to anticipate the next attack. In a flash, pain shot through his back as Quinn struck him with a palm, sending him flying.
The young man landed, stunned, then bowed to Quinn on the platform. "Thank you, little brother, for holding back."
Though Quinn’s palm had struck his back with great force, it wasn’t brutally harsh—his heart and lungs were unharmed. Otherwise, with Quinn’s strength, he could have shattered the man’s organs completely!
"Do you need to rest, junior brother?" Brightheart had been quietly waiting, and only spoke after Quinn defeated the young swordsman.
Quinn looked him over—this monk was young, dressed in spotless white robes, even his shoes were white, and his skin was fair and clean. Though his head was shaved, he was strikingly handsome, inspiring goodwill at first sight.
He was about to answer no, but Granny Sue’s voice rang out: "Rest! You must rest!"
Quinn didn’t understand, but followed Granny Sue’s advice, sitting down to recover his breath. His Overlord Three-Core Art was suited for cultivation even while moving; though he’d already faced more than ten fighters, his yuanqi was still at its peak, only his body felt a bit tired.
Granny Sue brought a cup of water onto the platform and handed it to Quinn, whispering, "Quinn, no matter what you have to do, you must win this time—you cannot lose! Grandpa Mark has wagered his life against that old bald thief!"
Quinn’s heart skipped a beat. He quickly looked to Grandpa Mark, who remained calm and said, "Quinn, an Overlord Body never loses! I believe in you."
Even so, Quinn was rattled. Though the villagers were all his family, besides Granny Sue, Grandpa Mark was closest to him. Years ago, Grandpa Mark had carried a stone statue with one arm and, together with Granny Sue, left the village to rescue Quinn from the riverbank—saving his life!
If he lost now, wouldn’t that mean dooming Grandpa Mark?
At this, Apothecary also frowned deeply. Grandpa Mark believed Quinn was truly an unrivaled Overlord Body and had faith in him—but Quinn wasn’t really an Overlord Body.
Now Apothecary regretted helping the Village Chief keep that well-intentioned lie. If only he’d told the truth sooner, Grandpa Mark wouldn’t have staked his life.
It was only Grandpa Mark’s trust in Quinn that made him wager his own life against the old monk.
Suddenly, Apothecary’s eyes flashed with murder. "If Quinn loses, we’ll kill that old bald monk and his disciple. We can’t let Grandpa Mark die!"
On the platform, Quinn desperately tried to steady his mind. But with his closest kin’s life on the line, how could he possibly calm his heart?
Mute Smith gestured, making a few sounds, but Grandpa Blind leaned on his cane and said leisurely, "No need to remind him. This fair is a test—if he passes, he’s grown up. If not, he’s still a child."
After a while, Quinn slowly rose to his feet and looked at the tall, thin young monk opposite him. He spoke softly, "Monk, do you have Buddha in your heart?"
Brightheart pressed his palms together solemnly. "Buddha is always in my heart."
Whoosh—
Quinn exhaled a breath of turbid air; his yuanqi surged, suddenly wild and fierce, a lawless aura erupting from his small body.
"Me!"
He stepped forward, his tiny body radiating such heroic, unyielding spirit it seemed as if a god stood there. His voice thundered, shaking the crowd: "In my heart, there is no god, no Buddha, no demon! I am god, I am Buddha, I am demon!"
The old monk sitting across from Grandpa Mark was stunned, whipping his head around to stare at Quinn!