Chapter 184 — The Mantis and the Oriole

Zuo Lie wasted no words. He raised his hand and cast forth the Wukong Banner.

From a dark iron banner-pole hung a great flag black as ink, and the two scarlet characters for "Wukong" were stroked like swords, straining to tear themselves free of the cloth and fly!

The moment the Wukong Banner appeared, a dense aura of sword-intent surged out, as though an invisible giant hand had stirred a calm pool of spring water. The air around them turned bitterly cold, and hidden currents churned beneath the surface.

Zuo Yan watched the cultivators drawing nearer in the sky and rapidly worked a series of hand seals.

Overhead, the Wukong Banner suddenly blazed with dazzling light. Countless sword-glows of every hue flew from the flag's body, like a school of fish in myriad colors swimming and circling around Zuo Yan.

Shielded by those sword-glows, Zuo Yi's courage swelled.

The Wukong Banner was the sect's token, forged jointly by several Golden Core elders, and sealed within it were the sword-glows of many Golden Core masters. Limited by his cultivation, he could not draw out the banner's full might—but for a cultivator of the Condensed Meridian stage, the sword-glows of Golden Core masters remained a lethal and terrifying killing art.

Thank heaven none of these people were Golden Core masters!

Zuo Yan fixed his eyes on the cultivators flying closer and closer, and could not help feeling tense. It was the first time he had faced so many cultivators alone, and their ill intent was plain.

Yet despite the tension, his mind held few distracting thoughts; his spirit was extraordinarily clear and empty, and he waited only for the slightest hostile move to launch a thunderous strike without hesitation!

The cultivators in the sky halted and faced him from afar.

Zhang Hao stared at the black banner, his face full of hesitation.

Zou Han's features were twisted and hideous, his single eye burning with bone-deep hatred, his fists clenched so hard they creaked.

Wei Rong's small face had gone pale, and his beanpole body trembled. The others, seeing that banner, looked as though they had seen a ghost, deep fear written across their faces as they unconsciously shrank back.

For a moment the whole band of seventy-odd souls fell into an eerie, deathly silence, not a sound to be heard.

"Boss, I've followed you ten years. You know my temper. I don't want to drag the rest of you down. My grudge is mine to settle, boss—don't stand in my way!" Zou Han's voice seemed to well up from the depths of the ninth underworld. Everyone's expression changed at the sound, and the timid ones like Wei Rong turned ashen.

Not long ago, the rampaging Crow-Wind Bandits had run into Wukong Yan—and into Wei Sheng's company, at that—and been routed and badly mauled. Zou Han had lost an eye and a leg to Wei Sheng's hand.

Wei Sheng's Wukong Sword Art had now reached minor mastery, and its sword-intent invaded the body. Zou Han had tried every spirit pill and elixir, all to no avail, and his hatred for Wukong Yan had sunk into his very marrow. He had long schemed for revenge, and the only way to get it was to catch a Wukong Yan disciple alone and kill him for the satisfaction.

Who would have thought they would truly run into a Wukong Yan disciple?

Zhang Hao said nothing, staring at the great banner. He could see plainly enough that this banner was no ordinary thing, and that this disciple was beyond doubt a core disciple of Wukong Yan. If they killed him today, Wukong Yan would never let the matter rest.

Having so nearly been killed by Wukong Yan before, how could Zhang Hao hold no resentment? But he knew how to read the situation: for the Crow-Wind Bandits to go picking a fight with Wukong Sect was to court death. If they could swallow this anger, nothing would come of it. He knew full well that in Wukong Yan's eyes the Crow-Wind Bandits were nothing at all; so long as he did not provoke them, Wukong Yan would never even remember they existed.

But if he let Zou Han go seek revenge alone, what would the other brothers think? Zou Han was an elder of the Crow-Wind Bandits, ten years at his side, with countless deeds to his credit. If Zhang Hao proved so cold-blooded, the others would be utterly disillusioned.

Scatter the hearts of the men, and the Crow-Wind Bandits would scatter with them.

Besides—the secret realm...

The secret realm was a heavy weight indeed, and the scales in Zhang Hao's heart tipped sharply.

This was the Boundary River. Kill this disciple and flee far into the Little Mountain Realm, and no matter how powerful Wukong Yan was, they could not touch them. And with these brothers at his back, wherever they went, there would be a way to survive.

It never even crossed his mind that he might lose. After all this time, the other side had sent out only one man—and a Foundation Establishment cultivator at that.

Fierce as the Wukong Banner was, if a whole gang like theirs could not finish off a single Foundation Establishment cultivator, they might as well go home and suck at their mothers' teats.

A pity about that banner...

He knew it was no ordinary thing, but he dared not take it. Sect treasures of that kind always bore a unique mark; carry it, and you might as well tell the world where you are. One Golden Core elder from Wukong Yan would be enough to wipe out their whole band.

Zhang Hao drew a deep breath, a flash of ruthlessness crossing his eyes, and said savagely: "What kind of talk is that? We're a band of brothers, through wind and rain—we're one family, damn it! Wukong Yan is fierce! We can't beat them! But we can't be cowards either, damn it! After the beating we took last time, if we turn tail at the sight of a mere boy, who the hell could live with that shame?"

Zhang Hao looked around, and shame showed on many faces. Yes—fierce as Wukong Yan was, if they fled at the mere sight of one of its disciples, the word would spread, and the shame would be unbearable!

Zhang Hao's tone eased a little: "Where is this? This is the Boundary River! Cross it, and you're in the Little Mountain Realm! Fierce as Wukong Yan is, what—do you think they can run wild in the Little Mountain Realm? Heh heh, we just hole up somewhere, anyplace at all, and can they find us?"

At that, the others all nodded.

Zhang Hao piled on more fuel, his words full of incitement: "The secret realm, brothers! Catch those three, and we're rich! With spirit stones, where can't we live like kings? Anywhere, we're lords!"

In a few words Zhang Hao had roused the greed of the whole band. Every eye went fierce and murderous, and each man itched to level Wildwood Reef on the spot!

Sensing the killing intent thicken by the moment, Zuo Huan knew a great battle was unavoidable and harbored no hopes of luck. He did not know who these people were, but if they did not flinch at the sight of the Wukong Banner, they were no ordinary cultivators.

One against seventy—he knew his chances of victory were slim indeed.

But in this vast, boundless ocean there was nowhere to flee. And the junior brothers he had brought were all production cultivators; if he abandoned them and fled, they had only one fate.

He cut off every other thought, fixed his eyes on that murderous band in the sky, and a fierce spirit surged abruptly in his breast.

What was this but war!

I'll smash your teeth down your throats and make you spit blood!

He felt his blood boil through him, his breast surging with the will to fight.

Just as he was about to activate the Sky-Ring Moon-Chime Formation, he suddenly gave a soft cry of surprise, a flicker of delight showing in his eyes.

The Sky-Ring Moon-Chime Formation...

The Wukong Yan disciples had gathered together, every face ashen, and the calmest among them was perhaps Gongsun Heng; even Chunyu Cheng's face had gone rather white.

"Who are these people? They dare attack our Wukong Yan! Aren't they afraid the sect will hunt them down?" Chunyu Cheng's voice trembled.