Chapter 1700 - 861: The Calamity of Japan

"Hahaha..."

The laughter of the Sea Moon Monk echoed above Kyoto, manic and mournful, piercing through the curtain of the Hundred Ghosts’ wails.

He stood atop the ruins of a burning townhouse, his Kasaya flapping in the Yin Wind, yet his face wore an expression of near-liberation and tranquility.

Below, the resentful energy of the Earth Vein, pried open by him and the Hai Cang Team using the Secret Spell of the Danzu and the Buddhist True Words, boiled over like a beast freed from a thousand-year shackle.

Countless twisted phantoms poured out from dark corners, filthy rivers, and abandoned residences, merging into visible filthy torrents.

The Yakawa Kappa crawled ashore with algae-draped wet hair, while the Resentful Spirits of Jule Mansion roamed the streets, dragging the wails of old court; Iron Rats gnawed at the granary roots, and countless nameless Wandering Ghosts, died of famine, war, Evil Skills, greedily absorbed the dense resentful energy in the air, their forms quickly solidifying...

"It worked... it worked! Hahahahaha!"

The laughter of the Sea Moon Monk abruptly stopped, and a mouthful of black blood mixed with chunks of organs spewed out, staining the Buddha Beads on his chest.

Forcefully prying open the Earth Vein and detonating this sea of resentment accumulated over centuries came at the cost of his body, long since eroded by hatred and Secret Techniques, full of holes.

Life swiftly ebbed away, vision began to blur, spin...

In a trance, he could smell the icy sea breeze and pungent scent of blood, not the Yin Wind of Kyoto, but the salty, frigid wind off the southeast coast of the Great Ming decades ago.

Fragments of memory were chilling and bone-piercing.

A small figure cowered in the fishy-smelling ship’s hold, through the cracks of the broken boards, he saw hell:

Burning fishing village, familiar thatched huts collapsing in the firelight; Pirates’ ferocious laughter; Father stabbed through the chest and nailed to the door panel with a spear; Mother’s shrill cries brutally silenced; Sister dragged into the shadows behind the coastal rocks...

He bit his own arm hard, not daring to make a sound, tears mixed with blood flowed.

As the sole survivor, too young, he was deemed worthless "cargo" stuffed into the ship’s hold, shipped to the "Land of the Rising Sun" a den of evil...

Time flowed on.

An elderly monk, with a gaunt face but deep eyes, looked at the young monk kneeling on the prayer mat, newly tonsured and ordained.

The young monk, Dharma name "Sea Moon", was extraordinarily gifted and quickly stood out in Japan’s Buddhist Order within a few years, with great expectations placed upon him.

The old monk spoke slowly, his voice calm yet full of worldly weariness: "Sea Moon, deep is the hostility in your heart, like a boulder pressing upon it. Buddhist Law is like a boat, it can ferry one across the sea of suffering, or be capsized by the Heart Demon."

"Let it go, for it is not liberation, but another shackle."

Sea Moon hung his head low, fingers clawing into the woven grass of the prayer mat, knuckles turning white. He was silent for a long time before he slowly spoke, each word squeezed out through clenched teeth: "Master... Disciple... cannot let go."

"The blood feud of my whole family, carved deep into my bones. Every time I chant scriptures, a sea of blood surges before my eyes, the cries of my kin echo in my ears."

"Buddhist Law teaches me Compassion, but this Compassion... cannot ferry me across the hell in my heart. I... just want to ask, why?!"

The old monk sighed deeply, no longer speaking.

He knew, some karmic debts, cannot be resolved with words.

The head of the Sea Moon Monk lowered even more, his shoulders slightly trembling, not from crying, but from a voiceless rage of hatred deep within the soul.

He had acquired status, fame, cultivation, seemingly possessing everything, yet that heart had long died in that blood-colored winter.

"Finally... I can let go..."

The Sea Moon Monk murmured to himself, taking one last look at Kyoto below, now a true realm of evil spirits, rampant with the Hundred Demons, a contented smile playing on his lips.

He no longer resisted the rampant backlash of the Yin Sha within, allowing the enemy to attack, his body like a puppet whose strings were cut, plummeting from the heights...

Just as Sea Moon Monk anticipated, Kyoto’s "Hundred Ghosts Night Parade" soon affected the core of power in all of Japan—Da Ao City.

Deep in Da Ao, the originally solemn and heavily guarded palace complex was now shrouded in an invisible layer of fear.

Not because the Hundred Demons directly breached here, but that all-encompassing, even spreading to surrounding areas, massive evil resentful energy made the nobles of Da Ao feel an unprecedented threat.

"Baka! What in the world is the Yin Yang Hall doing?! Where’s Kamo Tadayuki?!" The roar of a high-ranking minister echoed in the secret chamber.

The chaos in Kyoto made these nobles realize the situation was far beyond control. Even more terrifying, the legendary entrance to the High Heaven, where the Ancient Fierce Gods and evil spirits were imprisoned, was near Kyoto, if by any chance...

"Immediately! Mobilize all available forces! Banner Samurai, Imperial Court Guards, elite of the Divine Path... all of them! Quickly reinforce Kyoto! Make sure to suppress the Hundred Demons, repair the Earth Nail, and find the source before the situation spirals completely out of control!"

The orders were issued layer by layer, the elite forces guarding Da Ao, like a disturbed beehive, with a large number of elite Samurai, secretive Ninjas, and high-ranking Shen Guan urgently dispatched, rushing to the already Purgatory-like Kyoto City.

The defensive forces of Da Ao inevitably suffered a massive, turmoil-induced void.

Meanwhile, outside the ruins of Monk Soldier Hall on Anma Mountain.

Wang Daoxuan, Sha Lifei, Long Yan’er, Wu Ba, Lv San, and Kuai Dayou, were struggling against the suffocating pressure emanating from the depths of the ruins, relying on the makeshift magic platform hastily set up by Wang Daoxuan.

A dozen or so "dried-up old men" like wind-dried jerky, were scattered like stone sculptures across the ruins, exuding a decayed yet incredibly powerful aura, a mix of dense Yin Sha and some ancient Divine Power, firmly locking onto the hillside where the magic platform stood.