Supreme Alchemist-Chapter 2441 - 2431 Little Monk

Long Yan felt someone exhaling on the back of his neck, but logically, the breath should be warm. However, Long Yan sensed this exhalation was cold. In a place like this, Long Yan would rather believe it was a ghost rather than a living person.

However, Long Yan did not easily turn his head, not out of cowardice, but because he wanted to know the exact position of the enemy before making a counterattack.

Long Yan gripped the handle of the demon spear with both hands, sweeping it backwards. After all, the demon spear had been Long Yan’s weapon of choice ever since the God Demon Battlefield, always by his side.

The majestic demon spear, carrying the momentum of sweeping thousands of troops, struck towards the source of the sound behind him. But seeing the scene behind him, Long Yan’s hand wielding the demon spear halted abruptly, not because of anything else, but because there was actually no one at the source of the sound.

"Come out!"

Long Yan shouted loudly, partly to bolster his own courage. It’s important to know, being alone in such a place, it would be easier if his strength hadn’t been sealed, but now his strength was sealed, he could only utilize physical power, and the White Tiger’s Secret was only useful in melee combat.

He really had no other means to deal with these ghosts or demonic things. He just picked up a torch from the ground, not knowing what kind of wood it was made of; it wasn’t afraid of burning and even seemed to burn brighter in Long Yan’s hand.

"Benefactor, you are the first to initiate a counterattack." freewёbnoνel-com

As Long Yan bent to pick up the torch, that creepy voice reappeared. This time, Long Yan instantly found the source of the sound. However, having learned from the first attempt, Long Yan decisively let go of the demon spear.

The demon spear turned into a streak of light, disappearing into the darkness. This time Long Yan finally saw the owner of the voice—a young monk in a clean blue monk’s robe stood before the darkness. By the firelight, Long Yan could make out his face slightly, although the torch’s illumination was limited, making it hard for Long Yan to see clearly.

"Come back!"

Long Yan reached out and grabbed the demon spear, staring wide-eyed at the monk whose half-body remained in shadow. He tried to use the White Tiger’s Secret to discern the young monk’s face but ultimately abandoned the effort. The young monk resembled a figure shrouded in mist; even when Long Yan stared intently, he could only see a vague outline.

After achieving nothing, Long Yan gave up the impulse to see the young monk’s features clearly.

"Who are you really?"

"Amitabha!"

With a solemn Buddhist chant, the young monk only shook his head without speaking. From within the monk’s robe came a faint bulge. Long Yan couldn’t comprehend the young monk’s intentions, focusing all his attention on him.

"Benefactor, don’t you understand? I’ve come to deliver you, just like those benefactors lying here."

The young monk seemed to witness something unbearable but endured patiently and said, as countless disgusting black gas flowed out from his azure robe. No, it couldn’t even be called gas—it was a thick black liquid.

Long Yan understood that the young monk before him was certainly no benevolent figure. He lifted the demon spear and thrust it towards the monk.

"To hell with you!"

But the demon spear pierced through, and the young monk’s body seemed to vaporize, merely forming a slit. As Long Yan retracted the demon spear, the wound had already healed.

The young monk was not human; Long Yan took two steps back, moving closer to the doorway. The monk stood still, watching Long Yan planning to retreat without making any movements.

Long Yan tugged hard at the monk’s room door but couldn’t move it at all. The monk’s room had its own space like a hidden door. No matter how much strength Long Yan exerted, the door didn’t budge.

"Let me deliver you, benefactor. That’s how you’ll leave this place."

The young monk calmly walked out of the darkness, revealing that he wasn’t half hidden by darkness but actually lacked a lower body, or more precisely, had no calves.

The empty monk’s robe had only two blood-smeared bone sticks left, yet they supported the monk firmly on the floor. Every step closer, the friction between bone and floor produced a clicking sound that echoed in the dark space, becoming more pronounced in the torchlight. Long Yan noticed a deep cut on the young monk’s neck, from which drops of fresh blood spilled with every step he took.

"Damn!"

Long Yan cursed under his breath. If not for his strength being sealed, he wouldn’t have been driven to this point. He cursed the Old Madman’s ancestors for good measure.

Scolding aside, Long Yan needed to think of a way to escape. Although the monk moved slowly, the friction sound between bones and floor, like a ticking clock, hurried Long Yan, making it difficult for him to think clearly.

"Howl!"

From within the pitch-black darkness emerged a chant of Buddhist scriptures. The young monk, who had a cruel smile, paused upon hearing the chanting, standing still on the long steps. Blood flowed freely from his bright red leg bones.

"Tch!"

The young monk scoffed disdainfully, but the chanting grew louder, and the monk reluctantly returned into the darkness, leaving behind a trail of "footprints" without glancing at Long Yan again.

"Phew!"

Long Yan exhaled deeply. Although he didn’t understand what the Buddhist sound was, he sincerely thanked it. However, a problem arose: Long Yan couldn’t open the sealed door in the space, so he had no choice but to head into the darkness.

"Click...click..."

The sound gradually faded as Long Yan, having no other choice, moved into the darkness, gradually being engulfed by it.

At the doorway, only the scattered skeletons remained, lying untouched. What lay ahead for Long Yan was unknown.

The Old Madman’s life in the town was vastly different from Long Yan’s. Despite people marveling at his arms, they said nothing. This mercenary town was a base for various cultivators and martial geniuses, so even though the Old Madman appeared strange, he didn’t draw much attention.

"Another round!"

The Old Madman downed his strong wine in a big gulp, slamming the white porcelain bowl on the table, embedding it into the surface.

"What a drinker you are, guest! May I ask where you’re from?"

The waiter looked at the stack of empty bowls beside the Old Madman and sincerely praised him. These wines were typically reserved for mercenaries, being quite strong. Normally, even cultivators would be drunk after a few bowls without using inner strength to metabolize them. But this man had already had dozens of bowls, and the waiter had never seen such a person.

This content is taken from fr(e)ewebn(o)vel.𝓬𝓸𝓶