The Oldest Disciple: Farming Intimacy to Become Immortal

Chapter 236: Fake, It’s All Fake

After a round of intense magical combat, the Supervisor had gleaned a crucial piece of information.

The formation trapping him was exquisite—far beyond the norm—but its actual power output was surprisingly low. It was like a child wielding a sledgehammer; the potential was immense, but the operator could only utilize a fraction of its strength.

This indicated one thing: the cultivator controlling the array was not in the Golden Core realm.

“Fellow Daoist!” the Supervisor shouted, his voice laced with renewed confidence. “Are you truly determined to fight to the death with me?”

He knew what the other party was scheming. They wanted to use the formation to grind him down, to exhaust him slowly. This proved they lacked the means to deliver a decisive, killing blow.

Hidden deep within the mist, Li Meng frowned slightly.

Should I let him leave?

After all, the enemy was a genuine Golden Core cultivator. Even with the Five Elephant Cloud Dream Array and the Grand Geng Qianyuan Sword Array, killing him outright was proving difficult.

It wasn’t that the formations were weak. The issue lay in the components. To unleash the Grand Geng Qianyuan Sword Array’s maximum lethality, he needed thirty-six Top-Grade Magical Artifacts as anchors. Instead, he was forced to use condensed Spirit Swords as substitutes.

If he had real swords, the Supervisor would have been minced meat long ago. The spirit swords looked intimidating, but they were ultimately just compressed energy—tangible but fragile compared to tempered steel.

A cold glint flashed in Li Meng’s eyes.

How could I possibly let you leave?

“Eliminating evil must be thorough”—that was the famous saying of the Supreme Sage. If he let the Supervisor escape now, a single act of merit would turn into a lifetime of karmic debt. The man knew too much.

Half an hour later.

“Pfft!”

The Supervisor spat out a mouthful of vital blood, spraying it onto his Lifebound Dharma Treasure.

The Demon-Gathering Vine, which had been wilting under the relentless assault, suddenly shone with blinding green light. It lashed out in a sweeping arc—”Sweeping Away a Thousand Armies”—shattering the incoming wave of Golden Geng Spirit Swords.

But the counterattack was meaningless.

More swords descended from the sky. The essence of a Sword Array was its inexhaustibility. It turned the enemy into Sisyphus, forcing them to burn finite Mana against infinite attacks until they were nothing but a lamb waiting for the butcher.

“You go too far! Even if I die, I won’t let you off easy!”

The Supervisor’s expression turned ferocious. His Mana was nearing critical depletion. The enemy had refused to show their face, signaling a determination to see this through to the bitter end. Since begging was useless, he would take them down with him.

He formed a series of forbidden hand seals.

Two-colored spiritual light—dazzling green mixed with a faint, sickly yellow—erupted from his body. His skin began to crack as violent, unstable spiritual power radiated outward.

He was preparing to self-destruct his Core.

“Fellow Daoist,” a clear, resonant voice suddenly rang out from the depths of the mist. “Why must it be like this? Dying quietly would be better for both of us.”

From the direction of the voice, golden light pierced the fog.

A massive Golden Dharma Form slowly emerged, sweeping away the mist with its sheer presence.

It was colossal—a thousand zhang tall, resembling an elegant, transcendent sage. It radiated a vast, ancient Daoist charm that made the Supervisor feel as insignificant as an ant.

The giant golden figure extended a hand.

“Swords, come!”

The voice rolled across Heaven and Earth like thunder.

The formation in the sky erupted with blinding light. Thousands of spirit swords converged, flowing like rivers of gold into the Dharma Form’s palm. There, they fused, condensing into a single Golden Geng Spirit Sword the size of a mountain.

The Supervisor’s pupils contracted sharply.

But then, realization struck.

This is an illusion. A hallucination.

Even a Great Vehicle cultivator didn’t possess a Dharma Form of this magnitude. It was impossible.

“Fake! It’s all fake!”

The Supervisor roared at the sky, his fear turning into manic laughter.

He accelerated his self-destruction technique. The Demon-Gathering Vine wrapped around him, forming a protective cocoon as his body prepared to detonate.

“Five breaths! Just five breaths of time!”

If he could just hold on for five seconds, he would blow this entire array to dust.

However, he didn’t have five seconds.

The moment the vine wrapped around him, the mountain-sized sword descended.

Before the blade even touched him, the pressure of the sword energy arrived.

RIP.

The vine cocoon was shredded layer by layer, disintegrated by the violent Golden Geng energy.

Although the Golden Dharma Form was a bluff, the sword it held was very, very real. It was the concentrated power of the entire array, delivered in a single strike.

There was no earth-shattering explosion. Only silent annihilation.

The sword cleaved through the falsehood, through the vines, and through the man.

Lin’an City

The unnatural mist covering the capital began to dissipate at a speed visible to the naked eye.

In less than five breaths, the city was clear. The streets were quiet, the lights in the houses extinguishing one by one as the mortals returned to sleep, unaware of the battle that had raged above them.

The Imperial Astronomy Bureau still stood, towering into the clouds. But the spiritual lights that usually illuminated its floors were gone, leaving the dark monolith silent and dead.

On the roof of the City God Temple, a man in a bright red official’s robe watched the scene with a profound gaze. If anyone saw him, they would notice he looked exactly like the statue in the temple below.

Imperial Palace, Martial God Shrine

Night was deep.

Creak.

The heavy doors of the Martial God Shrine were pushed open. A man in a torn red robe staggered in, his breathing ragged.

It was the Emperor.

“I am the Human Emperor of the State of Zhao!” he shouted, his voice echoing in the vast, empty hall. “I bear the Luck of an entire nation! You are the True Gods of the Five Sacred Mountains, canonized by my ancestors! I command you to protect the mountains and rivers of Zhao and kill the intruder!”

He stopped in the center of the hall, looking up desperately at the five colossal statues looming over him.

Each statue was fifty zhang tall, depicting entities of immense power. There was a terrifying Yaksha, a heroic female general, a rough-hewn giant, and two others obscured in shadow.

Silence stretched for a moment.

Then, a crisp female voice rang out, dripping with mockery.

“Human Emperor? In these times, is the title of ‘Human Emperor’ so cheap?”

“The times have changed,” a deep, rumbling voice answered. “The Human Emperor is no longer the ruler of humanity.”

“What do you plan to do?”

“What can we do? Those bearing the Luck of a State cannot attain longevity. This is the Iron Rule of Buzhou Mountain. He violated the rule; this is his tribulation.”

“What about that person?”

“Don’t ask what you already know!”

“Can’t you all see him?”

“Shut up! Be careful of trouble coming from your mouth. Staying far away from him is the only correct choice.”

The voices of the gods argued amongst themselves, completely ignoring the red-robed man standing beneath them. The Emperor’s expression grew increasingly ugly, shifting from entitlement to horror.

“He’s here!” the female voice hissed.

Instantly, the voices vanished. The hall returned to a dead, stony silence.

Another person appeared in the shrine.

His arrival was sudden, silent, and terrifying.

He simply materialized out of thin air, standing directly behind the red-robed Emperor.