Claiming the Throne of Gods, Starting from the Rebirth of Nezha
Chapter 57: On Who is the Idiot in the Temple

Chapter 57: Chapter 57: On Who is the Idiot in the Temple

Watching the look on Nezha’s face that resembled one seeing an idiot, terror rang in Scarface’s heart.

He took a deep breath of the fresh yet damp mountain air, preparing to shout a warning to his companions, but Nezha acted much faster than he could speak. With a slap, he directly shattered Scarface’s crown.

His eyes bulged out, and fresh blood slowly flowed down from the top of his skull.

The world in his eyes gradually blurred, turning pitch black.

He never imagined that after a lifetime of licking blood off his blade, he would die at the hands of a child in such a manner.

With a thud!

Scarface’s hefty body fell to the ground, kicking up a thin layer of dust.

The temple that had been somewhat noisy was suddenly so quiet that you could hear a pin drop.

Nezha once again sensed several gazes fixed on him, but the meanings within those gazes differed from before.

"What’s going on?"

The woman, referred to by everyone as ’Night Master,’ also sensed the subtle change in the air behind her, waking from her previous trance.

Inhaling the faint, fresh scent of blood, the woman felt annoyed, thinking to herself that they were all valiant men who rolled through mountains of corpses and seas of blood. Why are they now silent as lambs when it’s just killing a child?

She turned her head, her gaze meeting Nezha’s pitch-black eyes, and saw the child who should have been dead still smiling. She was taken aback at first, then quickly realized what had happened.

A chill crept up her spine bit by bit.

She thought to herself that she should have known earlier!

Encountering a lone child in the dilapidated temple deep in the old forests, especially in such chaotic times.

Nothing about this was normal!

"Kill him!"

No sooner had the woman issued the command than the remaining eight burly men with steel blades, already prepared, pounced all at once.

In such a confined space, eight razor-sharp blades from different angles—chopping, stabbing, hacking, and slashing—sealing off all escape routes above and around, attacked together. For a moment, Nezha couldn’t think of any sword moves to escape from this desperate situation unscathed.

So he didn’t use a sword, instead, he wielded the Qiankun Ring.

The Qiankun Ring was a Taoist Magic Treasure that shook heaven and earth with its rapid movements. With a series of clangs, it flew around in a circle. Everyone only saw a flash of yellow light before an intense vibration in their hands, their palms splitting open and blood gushing out as all eight steel blades snapped and dropped to the ground.

"Magic Treasure!"

"Cultivator!"

The minds of these men were shaken, but their hands did not stop moving. Their innumerable past experiences told them that these cultivators were not like the military generals of the God Absorption Realm.

While Magic Treasures and Divine Skills were indeed terrifying, if one had not reached a certain Realm, they were still mere mortals in unarmed combat, capable of being killed by the fists and daggers in their hands.

The woman, on the other hand, widened her eyes in shock. She worked under King Wu Cheng and had received the Infinite Longevity Scripture from a military commander. Although she could not embark on the path of Cultivation, she had a certain understanding of the world of Cultivation.

The more she knew, the more stunned she was.

Being able to use a Magic Treasure meant he was a Cultivator in the God Absorption Realm!

Could such a young cultivator of the God Absorption Realm be a favored disciple of a reclusive hermit from the island fairy mountain?

She couldn’t afford to contemplate any longer. In fact, in such a short span of time, even if her thoughts were limitless, she couldn’t think too much.

The pounce of these eight men still could not be underestimated.

Previously when they acted as one, they could rely on years of tacit understanding to coordinate their moves seamlessly—covering every possible angle methodically.

Now, the second wave of their attack, purely instinctual, took turns haphazardly.

One with a balanced and fastest figure was at the forefront. Clutching a black dagger in his hand, hidden under a wide cloak, it was difficult to spot even if one were looking closely.

Nezha did not bother to look.

With a single wave of his hand, and at the same time pulling out a Seven-star Treasure Sword from his Qiankun Bag, his hand was as pale as fish flesh, yet the sword slashed as swiftly as lightning.

Thus, when the dagger in that person’s hand was still a foot away, the sword light in Nezha’s hand had already entangled his neck. A gentle tug on the sword hilt, and the head of the man at the forefront suddenly popped up into the air.

The crowd had no time to be astonished, as they were now the ones empty-handed!

They pressed on against their better judgment, lunging forward only to grasp at thin air. They jostled against one another, armor clashing with armor, yet they didn’t catch a glimpse of that little devil’s shadow.

Only now did a gush of blood spurt from the neck of the man at the forefront, his head crashing to the ground, rolling twice before the blood finally began to fall like raindrops, lightly speckling everyone around.

The blood was warm.

But the heart of every person present was cold!

They had been too careless today. First, they hadn’t expected that this kid named Li Zha was actually a Cultivator. Second, they didn’t anticipate that not only was he a Cultivator, he also possessed extremely adept swordsmanship.

Where was he?

The eyes of the ’Night Master’ opposite had gone wide. Below her flowing skirt, her long, powerful legs continued to shake, but she didn’t dare make a move.

Because the murderous sword had already pressed against her neck.

The Seven-star Treasure Sword was also a Taoist Magic Treasure, exceptionally sharp, cutting iron as if it were mud. With cold light flickering along the blade, it had cut the fine hairs on the woman’s pale neck without even touching them.

She dared not move.

Cold sweat was already trickling down her forehead.

Nezha said with a smile, "Wild boar, oh wild boar, how ruthless of you. I have neither provoked nor offended you, yet you refuse to spare even a defenseless seven-year-old child like me."

"Do you all lack horses so much that you would rob mine?"

"That authoritative air just now, commanding your men to come cut off my head, treating me like an idiot while you turned your back to watch the rain and pose coolly—where did all that swagger go?"

Nezha tapped her face with his sword and continued to sneer, "Why don’t you keep posing? Now that you’ve realized I’m a Cultivator, who can take your heads with a wave of my hand, do you feel like you’re the idiot?"

Amidst these repeated taunts of ’idiot,’ the beautiful wild boar that had just darted out from the woods was feeling a bit dizzy.

In a trembling voice, she said, "Who are you, really? What do you want to do!"

Nezha replied with a laugh, "Does it matter who I am? Ultimately, if you hadn’t provoked me today, I wouldn’t have bothered you. As for what I want to do—haven’t you all already tried to kill me? Does this kind of thing even need to be asked?"

The Night Master was feeling dizzy. She turned to glance at the men around her, like ferocious tigers and wolves. In their eyes, she had seen many desires over these days.

Desires for glory, fears of life and death, the fleeting lecherous looks when they gazed at her—countless expressions of human nature.

But now, she saw something different in these men’s eyes—something she didn’t possess herself.

The realization that they were about to die.

The woman suddenly understood.

They were going to die.

And so her terror intensified.

Afraid to die because she coveted life.

Nezha saw it too; his Chaos Sky Silk wrapped around the woman in an instant, choking her until her face turned purple, gasping for air.

Shi Ji once said that although his East King Sword’s swordsmanship was well-practiced, it lacked the innate spirit of killing. Such a spirit couldn’t be cultivated out of thin air but had to be sought in the midst of blood and gore.

Although the eight men before him were mortals, their Martial Arts were not weak, just the right level to refine his sword skills.

The East King Sword danced with solemn grandeur, gestures upright and dignified. Yet, after Shi Ji’s modifications, underneath the original Sword Intent, each movement was unexpectedly simple and efficient.

Holding the sword single-handedly, he flipped into the crowd; one moment the sword tip facing towards the heavens, pointing down to the earth, and suddenly, the blade had pierced through a man’s throat.

Everyone present saw this scene; they watched as the three-foot blade wove through the cracks in the armor, piercing the throat of a comrade, only to emerge from the back of his head.

But none of them could clearly see how it happened.

Therefore, they were even more fearful, even more desperate.

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