"Captain, eleven comrades have gone dark. They're likely dead."
"Hmm. Status elsewhere?"
"The portable EMP device worked. All electronics are down. We can't track our comrades' positions."
"Understood. But they knew the risks. No time for grief."
"...Yes, sir."
The reply crackled with suppressed resentment through the earpiece. The captain’s jaw tightened—he was furious too—but as commander, he couldn’t afford emotion.
"Remaining units tighten the perimeter while hunting the killer. Do *not* engage. Relay intel to the Martial Monks."
"ROGER!"
The synchronized response echoed. The captain abandoned cover and moved.
This infiltration was never about his soldiers. Their role was simple: eliminate civilians. Leave the magic-wielders to the Martial Monks.
The custom EMP bomb had blinded surveillance first. Then, core-area guards were silenced without a trace. Finally, the banquet hall was encircled—no escape.
But Ouyang Ge and Ouyang Shi had shattered their plan.
With most assassins dead, the collapsing perimeter forced an early push toward the core zone.
"Location A: Magic-capable guard detected."
"Ability type?"
"Visual intel suggests physical enhancement. Details unknown."
"Copy. I’ll handle it."
The captain pivoted instantly. One hundred meters from the banquet hall, he unzipped the long pack on his back. With swift assembly, a monstrous sniper rifle materialized.
"A Sorcerer? Everyone has weak points!"
Through the scope, he sighted the figure standing arrogantly in the open—trusting magic over caution. He fired without hesitation. The armor-piercing round, forged from hardened alloy, screamed from the barrel.
*Crack.*
The target’s head exploded like a shattered watermelon. Crimson fragments sprayed the crowd—gasps ripped through the air.
But it wasn’t over.
*Crack—crack—crack!*
One by one, every magic-wielder dropped, skulls bursting regardless of their power.
"Location A secured. Resuming encirclement."
"Received."
The captain discarded the empty sniper rifle. From his pack, he grabbed an assault rifle and charged from cover.
Nearby, Ouyang Ge froze at the gunfire. He flattened himself against the ground, motionless.
*That sound... an anti-materiel rifle? Using that caliber on humans—madman.*
Teeth gritted, he inched forward silently.
*But why so few enemies? Did fewer come than expected?*
He’d been hyper-alert, using every stealth technique from his past life. Yet no enemies surfaced. This silence didn’t ease him—it tightened his nerves.
*Do they have better concealment than me?*
Crawling toward the banquet hall, Ouyang Ge focused only on finding his sister. Alone, he stood no chance against the Martial Monk. But with Ouyang Shi’s magic? They might win unscathed.
He didn’t know she wasn’t in the hall—she was frantically searching for him in the Ouyang Clan estate...
Inside the banquet hall...
"Calm down, everyone! It’s just a blackout. Our technicians will restore power shortly!"
Ouyang Long’s voice cut through the darkness the moment the lights died—before panic could spread. His words soothed the wealthy, security-obsessed guests. With guards left outside, the dark had bred terror. Now, silence fell.
"Use your mobile terminals! Set screens to maximum brightness to push back the dark!"
"Eh?"
A chorus of confusion followed.
"My phone won’t turn on!"
"Mine’s dead too!"
"Same here!"
Every device lay inert.
"Hmm?"
Zokilia’s eyebrow lifted in the gloom.
*Trouble brewing. Time to find Miss Ouyang Shi and leave.*
He drained his wineglass, then vanished from his seat without a sound.
Phones failing reignited panic. Ouyang Long’s shouts drowned in the rising chaos—
Then, a beam of light pierced the hall’s darkness, drawing every gaze...
*What...?*
Ouyang Long squinted at the approaching golden glow. A chill shot through his spine.
He understood why instantly.
"Good evening, honored guests."
A bald man stepped inside, palms pressed together around prayer beads. Golden light radiated from his body—magic-made illumination.
"W-WHY IS A MARTIAL MONK HERE?!"
A scream revealed his identity.
Panic erupted. Most guests recognized him.
"How flattering that you know me."
*WHOOSH—CRUNCH!*
The monk’s serene smile twisted into a snarl.
"Let me send you to the Pure Land!"
Golden energy surged around him, forming massive hands that slammed down into the crowd!
*BOOM!*
Four colossal handprints cratered the floor.
Where people had stood—only pulp remained. The grotesque sight amplified the terror.
"Ahhh... this devotion! This fervor! How can I not answer?"
He took a step forward. More golden hands lashed out, crushing another cluster of guests.
"WHERE ARE THE SECURITY PERSONNEL?! WHY IS THIS TERRORIST HERE?!"
A woman’s wail vanished under the din. Everyone demanded to know where their bodyguards were. Courtesy had left them outside—but why hadn’t they stormed in?
"Ah~ Those outside? I’ve already escorted them peacefully to the Pure Land. Rest assured—they’re living blissfully now!"
The monk grinned, golden hands still reaping lives.
"RUN! GET OUT!"
"I DON’T WANT TO DIE!"
Terror consumed every heart. Ignoring the monk, the crowd stampeded toward the only exit—behind him.
"Your passion moves me deeply. But fate is unyielding. Proceed to the Pure Land."
Sacred words dripped from his lips as golden hands kept falling.
*Disaster. Even if we survive this, the Ouyang Clan is finished...*
Ouyang Long watched the slaughter at the door, calculating fallout.
*But why? Why is the world’s 50th-ranked Martial Monk here?*
Guests dying meant nothing to him. Only the attacker’s motive mattered.
No grudges. No debts. The Ouyang Clan and this monk were parallel lines—never meant to cross.
Instinctively, Ouyang Long dismissed every past enemy. *Surely none would dare this...*
As he pondered, the monk slaughtered more. He stood like an unbreakable wall. No one escaped the golden hands. All became pulp.
