In that instant, everyone broke out in a cold sweat, their bodies turning ice-cold as they sensed an overwhelming sense of foreboding!
The direction was unmistakable—it was precisely where the desolate land had been discovered. Without a doubt, something catastrophic had occurred!
“Bloodlight surging into the heavens—this is a calamity. Typically, such a phenomenon only appears when numerous powerful beings perish simultaneously,” someone remarked, their voice unnaturally strained.
No explanation was needed. Everyone’s hearts sank.
“Go! Find out what happened—see if disaster has truly struck!” an elder urgently commanded.
If another tragedy unfolded, they dared not imagine the consequences. One misfortune after another—did this portend something sinister and ominous? Legends had long warned that the Beast Forest was not to be tread lightly, for calamity lurked within.
When they first arrived, they had clung to hope, believing their overwhelming numbers and the presence of Supreme Beings would render them fearless.
But now, it was clear—this place was far more terrifying than the legends, more malevolent than they could have imagined!
“Report! It’s confirmed—that very location! Blood mist fills the air, and terrified screams echo endlessly. A great disaster has struck!” Soon after, a panicked messenger delivered the news.
A dull roar filled the minds of the gathered experts as their heads throbbed with pressure. The news was devastating.
Never had they encountered such an eerie and ill-fated situation. They had mobilized so many powerful cultivators for the sake of a single youth, only to unwittingly lead them to their doom.
The situation had escalated beyond control. Thousands had entered—what could have happened? Even if not all had perished, it seemed the majority had.
“Are you certain… an accident occurred there?” An elder’s lips trembled, his words faltering. His heart was gripped with dread—the losses this time far exceeded expectations.
“Yes, disaster has struck there!” the messenger affirmed.
“Heavens! What has happened? Why must it be this way? Is this truly a cursed land, forbidden to tread?” someone wailed in anguish.
These were all seasoned experts, usually composed and taciturn. Yet now, they had lost their composure, some even abandoning decorum.
The events of the day had shattered them. Upon their return, they would face condemnation from their clans, their competence questioned.
After all, those who had perished were elites handpicked from various factions. To die so senselessly—how could their clans possibly let this go?
“Elders, we beseech your intervention!”
A group of experts kowtowed toward the void, gazing skyward with hope—and fear.
There, shrouded in chaotic mist, were several indistinct figures—Supreme Beings from the foreign realm, stationed here in silence.
Now, gripped by terror and unable to fathom what horrors the Beast Forest held, the crowd pleaded for the mighty ones to intervene.
Yet, one Supreme Being opened his eyes and sighed softly. “This mountain forest is not for us to tread. You know the legends—if we enter, the danger may only escalate.”
“But such chaos has erupted…” an elder murmured helplessly. They were at a loss, unable to comprehend why a second tragedy had unfolded.
Deep within the Beast Forest.
Near the withered tree, blood mist swirled. Countless lives had been lost. The desiccated branches stretched out, faster than lightning, piercing one powerful cultivator after another.
None who struck escaped—all were impaled.
Unaware of the cause, they struggled violently, resisting with all their might, unleashing their most potent ancestral arts. Some exploded on the spot.
With a mere tremor, those branches tore through the strongest of warriors as if they were rag dolls—utterly defenseless.
Many perished, while others, after being skewered, had their bodies preserved and sent into the cycle of reincarnation, descending through a spatial passage into the Pool of Rebirth!
The survivors could only watch in horror.
Even those who had not initially attacked now struck out in self-preservation, activating artifacts and secret arts in a dazzling display.
But this only sealed their fate. More black branches surged forth like spears of death from the underworld, slaughtering them all.
Amidst the rain of blood and interwoven dark light, groups of foreign beings fell, their deaths gruesome.
Of the thousands who had marched in, only a handful—those who had stayed far enough and were petrified into inaction—survived.
In the end, devoid of will or courage, they turned and fled. Only these few lived to tell the tale.
The Golden Lion witnessed it all, its heart and gall trembling, its face pale with terror. This massacre surpassed even the horrors of the Pool of Rebirth.
So many powerful beings, lost in vain—slaughtered the moment they struck!
The Golden Lion saw it clearly, the tragedy unfolding before its eyes, its fur standing on end in primal fear.
An immeasurable time passed. The blood mist lingered, and silence reigned. Only then did the Golden Lion snap out of its petrified dread.
It stole a glance at Shi Hao—only to freeze in stunned disbelief, its expression twisting with indescribable complexity.
Throughout it all, Shi Hao had remained undisturbed, never once awakening. He sat in serene meditation, utterly oblivious to the carnage outside.
In that moment, the Golden Lion pitied the fallen warriors. They had come with such arrogance, swearing to slay their foe—yet in the end, the youth known as “Desolate” had not even opened his eyes, unaware of their grand second assault.
What a tragic farce! The foreign army had died in vain, failing even to rouse Shi Hao from his tranquil state of enlightenment.
The contrast was absurd beyond measure.
The Golden Lion sighed. If those fallen souls knew the truth, they would surely weep in the afterlife—what a damned joke this was!
Yet Shi Hao was not as serene as the Golden Lion imagined. Beneath his calm exterior, a fierce battle raged within.
His silence stemmed from his mind being drawn into a world of dao principles, shaped by the imprints of the Blood Bodhi.
Here, golden temples stood grandly, yet their tiled roofs bled, shrouded in black mist as eerie winds howled.
Shi Hao fought desperately within that darkness.
The corrupted Bodhi tree, the bloodstained golden temple—this was no longer sacred ground. The moment he pushed open the scripture hall’s doors, golden-bodied warriors rushed out to engage him in battle.
Later, the golden monks vanished, replaced by pitch-black monks who roared like demons, lunging to kill him.
The void trembled, fissures tearing open—each revealing glimpses of battlefields, as if witnessing the immortal wars of the previous era.
Shi Hao glimpsed many scriptures but could not unlock them. Each attempt triggered bizarre phenomena, forcing him into life-or-death struggles.
After countless battles, teetering on the edge of death within his own mind, he finally unlocked an ancient scripture—
*Scattered Buddha Eight Forms!*
This was its name, imbued with an esoteric power. It was the only scripture he could access.
Why had this scripture chosen him? Shi Hao did not know.
Only upon reciting it did he understand—this was the foundation of the *Ancient Buddha Eighteen Strikes*, from which those techniques had been derived.
Earlier, before the six gates beneath the Pool of Rebirth, he had seen stone carvings—eight of which depicted hand seals that had captivated him, though their accompanying heart techniques were missing.
Now, he had obtained them.
He realized why—his prior mastery of the *Ancient Buddha Eighteen Strikes* and his study of the stone carvings had paved the way for this revelation.
Yet reading this scripture proved perilous. Shi Hao nearly perished.
The yellowed ancient tome suddenly bled, spewing black mist as he faced a terrifying assault—the corrupting power of the Blood Bodhi!
**Boom!**
In reality, a violent tremor shook the air.
The Golden Lion stared in shock as Shi Hao’s body convulsed, blood trickling from his lips. Then, eight colossal black hands emerged from his back, striking toward him.
The corrupted *Scattered Buddha Eight Forms* had manifested in reality!
This was the crisis Shi Hao faced—a battle within his mind, mirrored in the physical world.
His hands moved, forming the *Scattered Buddha Eight Forms* seals, clashing against the eight black hands in a series of earth-shaking impacts.
The Golden Lion was baffled—why hadn’t the withered tree slain Desolate immediately?
“Remnants of Buddha-nature!” it concluded.
Shi Hao had passed the Pool of Rebirth’s trials and now comprehended the scripture here. Though the Bodhi tree was corrupted, traces of its sacred nature remained, resisting the killing intent.
Time became irrelevant. At last, Shi Hao opened his eyes, his bearing solemn and majestic. The eight black hands vanished as he formed sacred seals, radiating the aura of a battle Buddha!
His heart was anything but calm. The *Scattered Buddha Eight Forms* was no ordinary technique—it was one of the Ancient Monks’ supreme guardian arts, unparalleled in offensive might.
And now, it was his.
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