Chapter 133: The Divine Being Beats the War Drum

Ancient texts record that during the great war between the Yellow Emperor Xuanyuan and Chiyou, a divine being passed by while riding a flying sword. Seeing the Xuanyuan army faltering, the being produced a massive drum and instructed the Yellow Emperor to gather ten strong soldiers to beat it using human bones as mallets.

The Yellow Emperor was overjoyed and took the lead himself, gripping two human bones to strike the drum and rally his troops.

In an instant, the world turned turbulent; beasts prostrated themselves, storms raged, and thunder roared. Across the vast earth, the human soldiers felt their blood boil, their roars shaking the heavens. With renewed courage and a single, unstoppable surge of energy, they broke the ranks of the demon army led by Chiyou, sending them fleeing in disarray.

This was the "Divine Being Beats the Drum."

It is said that the drum was crafted from ten-thousand-year-old paulownia wood from the immortal mountains east of the sea, bound with ancient refined iron, and stretched with the hide of the Kui beast from Liubo Mountain. When struck, its thunderous sound could incite the wrath of heaven itself.

Of course, these are myths and legends, hardly to be believed.

Yet, a later king of the human race created a set of "Ancient Fist Techniques" inspired by the spirit of "the divine being beating the drum, an unstoppable surge of energy, pressing forward, and crushing all resistance."

When He Chang'an had chosen this manual—which had been gathering dust in the Demon-Slaying Bureau’s library—he was moved primarily by this legend, which is why he began practicing it without hesitation.

The divine being beats the drum, crushing all resistance.

Blow after blow, it felt just like the Yellow Emperor gripping those bones, striking the Kui-hide drum, shaking the very soul.

Now, He Chang'an was using his own fists to treat Ying Shiyi’s body as that drum, pummeling it with the fury of a tempest.

Never mind what Ying Shiyi felt; He Chang'an himself was stirred by the thunderous rhythm of the strikes. His blood surged, his fury reached the heavens, and he felt as though he could beat this rhythm until the end of time, smashing until the sky and earth crumbled.

Under his relentless, accelerating barrage, what did the Demon Imperial Court, the Eleventh Prince, or some half-breed demon matter? They were all nothing but passing clouds.

In He Chang'an's eyes, there was only that miraculous drum. Every punch he landed stirred deep waves within his soul, driving him forward.

...

Ying Shiyi failed to catch his breath, and he soon regretted it.

His internal energy had been breached by He Chang'an’s first strike. Under normal circumstances, this would have been a minor injury, easily resolved with a few moments of focused breathing.

But He Chang'an’s technique was too bizarre. Punch followed punch, leaving him no room to recover.

What terrified him most was that hidden within the boy’s fist intent was a cold, insidious sword intent. Once it entered his body, it darted about, specifically targeting his mysterious acupuncture points and piercing them at will.

In less than ten breaths, Ying Shiyi’s meridians and acupuncture points were riddled with holes.

With his energy unable to solidify, his peak sixth-rank martial artist cultivation was forcibly suppressed, leaving him capable of exerting barely one or two tenths of his true strength.

In other words, after being outmaneuvered by He Chang'an, Ying Shiyi’s combat power had effectively plummeted to match He Chang'an’s—roughly that of a peak ninth-rank martial artist.

Moreover, as He Chang'an continued his frenzied, non-stop "Divine Being Beats the Drum" assault, Ying Shiyi’s energy continued to decline rapidly.

Most terrifying of all was that the threads of sword intent, entering with every blow, were stacking upon one another, coalescing into a piercing, bone-chilling force that made Ying Shiyi groan in despair.

Pale-faced, he let out a furious roar, intending to transform once more. Even if it cost him a century or two of cultivation, he would annihilate this human.

No, he would grind him to dust! He wanted to tear He Chang'an’s soul apart.

How many years had it been since he had suffered such a defeat?

However, He Chang'an would not grant him the chance to transform again.

Once the first strike of "Divine Being Beats the Drum" lands, as long as the practitioner’s momentum does not falter, they can unleash dozens or even hundreds of blows, leaving the opponent no room to maneuver.

Unless Ying Shiyi risked grave injury by intentionally allowing his own energy to be shattered to dissipate the stacked fist intent, he was trapped. But doing so would cost him dearly, potentially leaving his meridians shattered by the rampaging intent.

Of course, the demon race had their own advantages. Beyond their meridians, blood, and hardened bones, they possessed the Demon Core—the very core of their cultivation.

...

At the critical moment, a flicker of hesitation cost Ying Shiyi his only chance.

The small figure deep within He Chang'an’s heart suddenly exerted force, causing the stacked sword intent to surge forth. Borrowing the momentum of his fist, the intent forcibly pierced into Ying Shiyi’s meridians and internal organs.

It was an illusory short sword, seven or eight parts similar to his little black sword. Though it lacked the power to devour blood, demon energy, or yin-sha, it was exceptionally tenacious.

The sword energy, now a short blade, acted like a venomous dragon, thrashing wildly through Ying Shiyi’s acupuncture points, meridians, and organs.

After only a breath or two, Ying Shiyi let out a shrill, miserable cry.

The sword energy, having ravaged his physical body, had surged directly into his sea of consciousness, stabbing at his very soul.

With his soul damaged, Ying Shiyi clutched his head and screamed.

Above his chest and abdomen, He Chang'an’s fists landed like thunderclaps.

Ying Shiyi’s form began to shrink, his half-demon guise failing. Disheveled and bleeding from his seven orifices, he could only curl up, emitting wails that sounded like those of an infant.

Only then did his four attendants and the town residents realize what was happening.

Ying Shiyi had been defeated by a human.

And if this continued, he might be beaten to death on the spot.

The four attendants roared in fury, drew their blades, and charged, slashing at He Chang'an simultaneously.

He Chang'an sent Ying Shiyi flying with a punch, then followed like a shadow, dodging the four blades and continuing his relentless assault on Ying Shiyi’s body.

The attendants were shocked and lunged forward again, intent on killing.

He Chang'an, suspended in mid-air, had no way to evade the four blades coming from behind.

Ying Shiyi forced himself to mobilize his Demon Core, summoning one last spark of clarity to throw a punch, hoping to knock He Chang'an away.

He Chang'an remained silent. He performed a mid-air flip, grabbed Ying Shiyi’s fist, and used a deflective maneuver, borrowing the force to send the blow into empty air.

Simultaneously, he exerted force, his hands drawing a circle to trap Ying Shiyi’s arm, throwing the prince off balance and sending him crashing toward the ground.

This was not a martial artist’s move, but the "Small Grappling Technique" He Chang'an had mastered in his past life.

As he descended, he caught Ying Shiyi’s wrist and threw him onto the ground like a rag, a move from the "Small Grappling Technique" known as "The Antelope Horns Hanging in the Void."

"The Antelope Horns Hanging in the Void" leaves no trace; it relies on borrowing force to achieve its end, causing Ying Shiyi to slam himself into the ground.

Even with his tough, demon-forged hide, Ying Shiyi was left dazed and disoriented by the throw.

He Chang'an dodged another volley from the four attendants, grabbed the hair on top of Ying Shiyi’s head, and swung him again—using the Eleventh Prince of the Demon Imperial Court as a massive weapon to block the incoming blades.

While swinging, he landed seven or eight heavy blows onto Ying Shiyi’s ribs.

In mid-air, Ying Shiyi let out a low moan, vomiting blood as his bones snapped with a sickening crunch.

He Chang'an’s voice rang out like a thunderclap. With a flip of his right hand, a black sword less than five inches long appeared, and he drove it downward toward the center of Ying Shiyi’s brow.

He, He Chang'an, a Yellow-Rank Demon-Slayer of the Great Tang Demon-Slaying Bureau, was about to slay a demon.