Volume One: The Useless Sets Out, Blazing Demon-Slaying Chapter Fifty-Seven: Summoning Heavenly Thunder, The Half-Bodied Wraith

Chen San had already performed the summoning ritual, and sat down heavily with Monk Sui Chang, gasping for breath. Lu Qichang, now without an opponent, went to help Monk Sui Chang up; the master nodded, indicating he was fine. At that moment, Yang Chengzi sensed that Chen San had successfully completed the summoning, and glanced back at him.

Just as Chen San opened his eyes, a gaze that seemed to pierce through the heavens and earth fell upon the black-robed figure before them. An elderly voice sounded, “Judging by your attire, you don’t look like a decent person. Such evil energy—no doubt you’ve committed many heinous deeds.” He glanced at Yang Chengzi and asked, “Child, who are these people?”

The sorcerer who had yet to draw his magical instrument was now clenching his teeth so hard they clicked audibly. He took out his Soul-Slaying Dagger—the very blade that had nearly ended Chen San’s life. Though its sinister spirit was sealed, it still drew the ancestor’s attention, who frowned at the black-robed man.

Yang Chengzi clasped his hands and replied, “Ancestor, these are all sorcerers. A few months ago, they slaughtered an entire village to practice some wicked art, and who knows how many they’ve harmed before. Tonight, they came to massacre this village, but we encountered them. We must end them here and now.”

The Daoist ancestor nodded. “Beasts will always be beasts; you can tell at a glance. Watch out for the knife in his hand.” With that, he began to weave hand signs, his feet never idle, rushing toward the three black-robed men.

Yang Chengzi was shocked—how could he fight at close quarters without a magical instrument? He prepared to throw the Supreme Clear Sword. Just then, thunder rumbled overhead. Unlike heavenly thunder, this storm was dense, not just a single bolt. As expected, a booming crash resounded.

The Daoist ancestor charged the black-robed man wielding the Sparrow Feather, and lightning instantly struck down upon him. The black-robed man summoned his magical instrument to block, but it was knocked aside by the thunder. He managed to withstand the strike, but he underestimated Chen San before him.

Yang Chengzi didn’t know the true strength of this Daoist ancestor; he was about to toss the Supreme Clear Sword when another bolt of lightning followed Chen San’s hand, as if he wielded a silver whip. It lashed onto the black-robed man, and in an instant, he was struck by thunder—without resistance, his soul was obliterated, his body torn apart.

A ghostly servant beside them swung a blade at Chen San, but another bolt of lightning followed his finger, striking the ghost and shattering its soul.

Seeing this, Yang Chengzi quickly retrieved the Supreme Clear Sword.

The other two black-robed men were entangled by the Spirit Tiger and couldn’t break free, but another thunderclap sounded. From the sky descended only scraps of black robes. The leading black-robed man no longer concealed his strength; he pulled out a black-purple talisman and hurled it into the air, while the other retreated rapidly.

The Daoist ancestor did not pause, darting forward with fluid movements like a dragon, his right hand pointed downward. Lightning, like a silver whip, struck at the sorcerer weaving spells.

Monk Sui Chang opened his eyes wide in disbelief; he had never seen ordinary thunder incantations wielded with such mastery. Bolts fell one after another, yet at such close range, the ancestor remained unscathed, as if the lightning obeyed his hand, striking wherever he directed.

Yang Chengzi was already stunned. Although he didn’t see the incantation marks, the thunder revealed its nature—he realized this ancestor could command thunder, a feat that spoke to an incredibly powerful soul and agile, ethereal movements rivaling those of any Daoist ancestor he’d witnessed.

The Spirit Tiger saw Chen San charging over, let out a roar, and transformed into a silver-white streak disappearing into the distance, perhaps not wishing to be caught in the thunder’s path, fleeing faster than a rabbit.

Thunder fell, targeting the black-robed man. Calmly, he raised his fingers and recited an incantation. Just as the lightning was about to hit him, a full ghostly hand emerged from the black-purple talisman, covered in dense red runes. The thunder struck the ghostly hand with a roar.

The black-robed man stared coldly at Chen San, the dagger sliding along his arm toward him. The Daoist ancestor swiftly retreated, frowning as he studied the talisman and the ghostly hand.

“Child, if those two in the back make a move, handle them yourself; leave this ghost to me.”

Yang Chengzi nodded, now daring not to intervene—he didn’t dare approach the thunder, lest he be struck and lose his soul. Yet, hearing the ancestor’s words, and seeing the ghostly hand emerging, he guessed the ancestor would not use thunder again, and his anxiety eased. Eyeing the black-robed man hiding behind, Yang Chengzi’s gaze turned murderous. Tonight, none could escape; he would see their souls scattered here.

Thunder had already fallen, but the black-purple talisman still hovered in the air. The ghostly hand was unharmed, and now its shoulder emerged from the talisman. Soon, half a body appeared before them.

The black-purple ghostly body was covered in dense red runes, its forehead marked with a protruding lotus-like symbol, eerily strange. The claws on the ghostly hand were as sharp as beasts’, with a fist-sized hole through its abdomen embedded in its body. Under the moonlight, its face was unclear, but from the form it was obvious: a human soul refined into this monstrosity. Suddenly, the talisman ignited with a roar.

Yang Chengzi was astonished; why did the talisman burn just as half the ghost had emerged? Could it be the talisman couldn’t contain this ghost?

He dared not pursue this terrifying thought. Whether Daoist, Buddhist, sorcerer, or any other art, internal energy, external power, magical instruments—all differed, but talismans were the same. He knew well the nature of black-purple talismans.

If this talisman couldn’t contain the ghost, it meant the ghost had become something beyond the natural order—not something a Daoist could slay. Perhaps that’s why only half emerged; even the sorcerer couldn’t fully control such evil.

The Daoist ancestor, seeing only half the ghost emerge from the talisman, breathed a sigh of relief.

Monk Sui Chang grabbed Lu Qichang. “Come, help me back. We can’t stay here.”

Lu Qichang, terrified, helped Monk Sui Chang into the house. When they came before Chang Yu and the others, Chang Yu looked surprised—they hadn’t finished fighting, why had they returned? Before he could ask, Monk Sui Chang formed a hand seal, and the golden bell’s shadow vanished.

The two sat cross-legged, and Monk Sui Chang continued weaving seals. Scriptures began to appear around them, rising like dragons, and the golden bell’s shadow descended from above with a resonant thud, covering their heads. The scriptures entwined the bell’s shadow like living things, wrapping it completely.

Chang Yu and the youths lacked spiritual sight, but the sealing sensation from the scriptures rendered the outside world utterly imperceptible. Not a sound could be heard, and even their vision became hazy. Chang Yu, frightened, clung to Monk Sui Chang’s robe.

Monk Sui Chang did not turn. “Don’t be afraid, girl. Yang Chengzi and Chen San will surely slay the ghost outside. Let’s wait for their return.”

Chang Yu nodded tearfully. In truth, Monk Sui Chang also sensed the terror of the ghost outside. His wrathful Vajra and successive spells had drained his soul power, and he was already wounded. Now, he could barely maintain the sealing barrier, ensuring no opportunity for the ghost to slip in, so Yang Chengzi and Chen San could fight without worry.

The ghost had only emerged halfway from the talisman, but as it burned away, its evil energy surged outward, condensing. Soon, the ghost formed a complete body, and though its strength was halved, the black-purple corporeal form suggested ordinary magical instruments would be useless.

Only two sorcerers remained—the tallest and the shortest had already been destroyed, leaving one tall and one short who had yet to reveal themselves. The tall one wielded a dagger, which the Daoist ancestor warned to beware, while the short one had yet to display his strength, but was at least equal to the others.

This ghost, refined by unknown evil methods, exuded a suffocating aura of despair and oppression. Yang Chengzi’s grip on the Supreme Clear Sword was slick with sweat; he might have to face both sorcerers at once, and was far from confident.

Regardless, he’d made up his mind: as long as the Daoist ancestor dealt with the ghost, he would use swordsmanship against the other two. The Supreme Clear Sword, longer than their magical instruments, gave him some advantage. If he could hold out until the ancestor destroyed the ghost, they might eradicate their foes entirely.

The ghost’s body was now fully formed. It flexed its fists, raised its hands, and its evil aura surged like a tsunami behind it, enveloping the two black-robed men so completely their figures disappeared.

The ghost slowly lowered its head and stared at Chen San, then suddenly charged at him, its aura crashing down as well. The Daoist ancestor retreated to increase the distance, biting his finger midair and forming hand seals.

Seeing the ancestor retreat, the ghost spun and lunged at Yang Chengzi. Yang Chengzi was shocked—though he saw it coming, his body couldn’t react in time. As it was about to grab him, he could only raise his sword in defense. At the instant the claws struck the Supreme Clear Sword, a dull thud sounded as the claws embedded themselves in the blade.

The Supreme Clear Sword trembled violently in Yang Chengzi’s hand; he could feel the sword’s soul fracturing. There was no time to worry. Though the force struck the sword, Yang Chengzi was hurled several steps back, crashing into a tree and falling to the ground, the impact shaking down many leaves.

His mind was dazed, feet scraping at the earth as he tried to stand, but it was difficult. He stabbed the sword into the ground, blood spraying forth and staining its blade. He thought it wasn’t so serious, but his vision blurred, and his hand trembled as he gripped the sword.

This ghost was vicious and bloodthirsty, giving Yang Chengzi no time to breathe. It flashed forward again, claws like twin blades crossed before its chest, charging at him, the evil aura behind it swirling around. This blow would be even deadlier than the last.

Yang Chengzi’s vision was fuzzy; he didn’t even notice the ghost’s movements. When he finally looked up, the claws were already before him. His mind went blank—his body didn’t move at all. Against such unnatural speed and force, there was no time to react, let alone employ any spells.

At the moment he was about to meet his end, a golden-glowing Chen San flashed over with a resounding thud, striking the ghost away with a single palm. The ghost crashed through two trees before coming to a halt.