Chapter 61: The Corpse Taoist

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Muyu Island had been shrouded in ceaseless rain these past days, casting a somber pall over the peninsula. Faces were grave, steps hurried; the atmosphere on Muyu Island grew heavier by the hour.

"Another person has died."

In a secluded courtyard, several chieftains of the River-Roving Bandits had gathered. With Zhao Meng's defection, Jiang Chen keeping to Jinsha Valley and not returning, the Second-in-Command Zhou Quan suspected missing, and several major leaders having fallen in battle one after another, the upper ranks of the bandit gang were caught in a dire predicament, their fighting strength rapidly waning.

At these words, every face present darkened. It seemed that not long after Zhou Quan's departure, strange happenings began to plague Muyu Island—people kept vanishing.

"The monster is still on the island. Its appetite grows ever larger. At least eight people died yesterday—and the most critical thing is, among them was the lesser chief, Green-eyed Leopard."

The speaker’s tone was laced with chill as he gave the grim tally.

Upon hearing of Green-eyed Leopard’s death, the others could no longer keep their composure. Most of them were only as strong as he had been. If he died yesterday, would it be their turn today or tomorrow?

"We must petition the Chief to come out and take charge. If this continues, the River-Roving Bandits will be destroyed."

Hearts pounding, someone immediately spoke up.

His suggestion received unanimous support.

Not long ago, after issuing the order to seal off Muyu Island—barring entry or exit—the Chief, Ironman Tu, had once more shut himself away in solitary cultivation, seeking a higher breakthrough and forbidding all disturbance. But now, with death stalking their ranks, the leaders could not afford to wait any longer. If they delayed, their lives would truly be forfeit. The monster must be eliminated, or at the very least, the Chief must lift the ban on leaving the island.

Yet, amidst the uproar, someone quietly lowered his head, lost in private thoughts.

Meanwhile, in a residence atop Muyu Peak, an icy, bone-chilling aura spread silently through the air. Ironman Tu was secluded in his private chamber, cultivating. Before him sat a bronze lamp, but upon its dish was not a wick, but a blackish-red, uncanny stone—the An Family’s Heart-Refining Stone.

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Through meticulous plotting and relentless pursuit, relying on the blood-refined artifact Mist-Chasing Banner, Ironman Tu had finally captured An Yuxuan and seized the Heart-Refining Stone. This treasure, once the foundation of the An Family, was small enough for An Yuxuan to carry at all times.

"Divine Intent! I've finally touched Divine Intent—I've succeeded! At last, I’ve done it..."

His massive form cast a vast shadow in the lamplight. The moment he sensed the essence of Divine Intent, Ironman Tu burst into boisterous laughter. Yet now his body was inscribed with green-black patterns like copper coin spots, making him look even more grotesque as he laughed.

"Next, I only need to unify my vital energy with Divine Intent, transform it into True Power, and I will become a true Grandmaster."

"True, martial grandmasters are not the equals of Daoist cultivators, but with my exceptional gifts, once I break through, even common Qi Refining adepts may not be my match. At that point, even the Gao Family will have to reconsider my worth."

As these thoughts flickered through his mind, a violent burst of martial Divine Intent erupted from him. Ironman Tu was about to forge his True Power, remold his body, and elevate his copper skin and iron bones to new heights.

But just then, as if roused by his surge of martial will, a dark force erupted from the depths of his soul—an undercurrent that engulfed everything. Simultaneously, the yin energy that had always lingered around him went berserk, surging inward to invade his organs and even his spirit.

Assailed by this torrent of darkness, his consciousness grew hazy.

"I..."

Sensing something amiss, Ironman Tu struggled, but it was useless.

Years of practicing the Iron Armor Technique had already allowed the sinister yin energy to seep into his very bones. Now, once unleashed, it was as unstoppable as a raging flood. Moreover, his soul had long ago been branded with a mark by another.

Time passed—how long, none could say. At last, Ironman Tu lost all sense of self. Under the dual scourge of yin energy and True Power, his body underwent a monstrous transformation. The coin-like markings deepened, acquiring a metallic sheen; claws and fangs grew, bestial in form; the light in his eyes was utterly extinguished, replaced by swirling black vortexes.

With a ghastly, inhuman howl, the last vestige of humanity left Ironman Tu.

And as his body mutated, in a distant mountain valley far from Muyu Island, an old Daoist opened his eyes. His hair was snowy white, frame gaunt, skin like aged bark, his face pitted with warts, garbed in gray, and wreathed in a frigid aura.

This was the Corpse Daoist—the very cultivator who had once captured Ironman Tu as a test subject.

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"It’s done! The Daoist has succeeded at last!"

The ritual bell at his side rang out with no wind. Sensing what had transpired, the Corpse Daoist looked toward Muyu Island, his face alight with glee. He had waited twenty years for this moment.

"Heaven has not forsaken me, heaven truly favors me..."

He thought back to twenty years ago, when Ironman Tu had come seeking him out, begging to learn cultivation. The memory made the Corpse Daoist burst out laughing, his warty face now tinged with flush.

Ninety-nine percent of all corpse-refining arts in this world rely on the dead, but his lineage possessed a rare method for refining the living. The requirements for a suitable subject were harsh, and he had not dared hope for success—until Ironman Tu came to him of his own accord.

At first, he regarded Ironman Tu as just another expendable material, but repeated drug trials revealed something unique about him. In time, he confirmed that Ironman Tu possessed the exceedingly rare Martial Bone.

Those with such a trait advance in martial cultivation by leaps and bounds—a true prodigy of the martial path. For them, reaching the realm of Grandmaster is but a matter of course. Yet not all Martial Bones reveal themselves early, and with their rarity, few even know of their existence.

Indeed, were it not for the Corpse Daoist’s lineage specializing in such research, he might not have recognized it either.

"The Battle Corpse is finally formed, but it still needs a baptism of blood to temper its savagery. The people of Muyu Island will serve nicely as sacrifices. If I go now, all will be perfect."

Pleased by his own cunning, the Corpse Daoist could not help but smile.

The Battle Corpse was a rare variant among the undead, born solely for war—peerless in slaughter. Had he moved too soon, Ironman Tu might have sensed his presence, making future control impossible.

For this reason, he had remained hidden all these years, never confronting Ironman Tu directly, gradually erasing his own presence from the man’s mind.