Tycoon War God-Chapter 734: Do I, Lin, Dare Not Kill?

"Make way, or die!" Lin Mu’s garments fluttered, his gaze icy cold. If someone sought death, he did not mind obliging.

Rahman’s arm was broken, his previous arrogance gone. His gaze toward Lin Mu was now filled with a new level of fear.

Inside the Divine Temple, Habi’s legs trembled and his teeth chattered. Only now did he realize how lucky he had been. If that last blow had been any heavier, his body would have been torn to pieces.

Eastern Martial Artists are indeed terrifying. Du Le stared at the ethereal Lin Mu, his heart filled with envy and resentment. The True God is so unjust. Why show such favoritism to that Eastern nation? First, there was the Divine Sword Saint Shen Lang of the Divine Continent. Then came Lin Wudi, the living myth. And now, another mysterious Eastern powerhouse has appeared. Every single one of them is a peerless talent.

And yet, the Sanctuary faces a future with no successors. After the supreme Rui, no one has been able to bathe in divine grace. The Sanctuary is doomed to decline.

CRACK!

Lin Mu took a step forward. The stone steps of the temple shattered beneath his foot, and fissures spiderwebbed over ten meters until they reached Du Le’s feet.

Du Le sighed. "Shu!" He once again called upon the divinity.

Wind Blade, Wind Blade, Wind Blade! Countless wind blades converged around Du Le, as if the wind god himself had descended.

CRACK! CRACK! CRACK!

The wind blades howled as they sliced through the air, shattering the massive stones nearby.

"Elder Du Le..." Rahman’s eyes filled with sorrow. This was Elder Du Le’s final chant. He was sacrificing his own life—exchanging the indestructible body he had honed over ninety years of harsh cultivation for a single, devastating attack.

"Wind, roar!" Du Le’s already withered body grew even more emaciated, yet his eyes blazed with divine light. At his command, all the wind blades swept toward Lin Mu.

The sound of them tearing through the air was like the shrieks of vengeful spirits, shredding the very atmosphere. One by one, the wind blades, each bearing a green divine seal, hurtled forward.

"Merely a False God." Lin Mu remained perfectly still. With a twist of his fingers, he cast a spell, and a golden shield materialized from thin air, protecting him and Qin Luoli.

BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG!

The wind blades slammed into the shield. Though powerful enough to rip through steel, the divinely sealed blades could not penetrate the barrier. Ripples spread across its surface, but the two people within remained completely unharmed.

"That’s not how you use wind blades." Lin Mu flicked his finger, and a tiny vortex appeared at its tip. The vortex spun rapidly, its whistling sound growing louder as it coalesced into a wind blade.

The wind blade, initially no larger than a fingernail, began to expand. One inch. One foot. Ten feet. Then, just as suddenly, it began to shrink. Compressing, compressing, and compressing again. The ten-foot blade shrank back down to a single inch. The blade, which should have been green, was now an inky, jet-black color.

"Go." With a flick of his finger, the wind blade shot out.

"Elder Du Le!" Rahman roared. The phantom image of a pyramid appeared around his body as he charged toward Du Le, positioning himself between the elder and the incoming blade. "Aton!" A dazzling disk materialized above Rahman’s head and collided with the wind blade.

Inside the Divine Temple, the terrified Habi finally regained a sliver of confidence. A semi-Holy Artifact! I can’t believe Saint Rahman refined his Disk of Aton into a semi-Holy Artifact. He truly is a prodigy of the Sanctuary! No matter how strong that Eastern Martial Artist is, he can’t possibly withstand the might of a semi-Holy Artifact.

CLANG!

The Disk of Aton struck the black wind blade.

CRACK!

The bizarre sound made the confidence on Habi’s face freeze. It filled Elder Du Le’s eyes with horror. It sent Rahman flying backward, spitting blood, his energy completely drained.

The semi-Holy Artifact, the Disk of Aton, trembled and wailed as cracks began to splinter from its edges. Finally, the Disk of Aton disintegrated. The semi-Holy Artifact couldn’t even block a wind blade that Lin Mu had created so casually.

SPURT!

As the semi-Holy Artifact shattered, the wind blade passed through Rahman’s body, kicking up a spray of blood without any resistance. After piercing Rahman, it shot through Du Le’s head as well.

Infinite compression... So this is the true secret of the wind blade? This final thought surfaced in Elder Du Le’s mind as his body slowly collapsed.

"Du Le!" On the brink of death, he heard a familiar voice but could not respond.

BOOM!

A fiery meteor descended from the sky, landing beside Du Le and catching his body just before it hit the ground.

"Du Le." A flash of grief crossed the newcomer’s eyes. He gently laid Du Le down and looked up at Lin Mu.

"I had intended to let you leave if you just left the Holy Relics behind," he said. "But you were ungrateful and killed an Elder of my Sanctuary. You deserve to die."

"Why waste words? This is just a robbery," Lin Mu replied. The Nine Tripod’s Base was a gift from heaven and earth, meant for those fated to possess it. Besides, he had obtained the White Tripod Foot from the Miraculous Squad after killing True God Adam. If the people from the Sanctuary wanted it, they would have to pay with their lives.

"I am Praka, a Saint of the Sanctuary. Easterner, leave your name. I will use you as a sacrifice to commemorate Elder Du Le." Praka, the one who had once knelt before the supreme Rui like a humble lamb, was also the Sanctuary’s strongest warrior.

"Lin Mu," he replied, his voice as calm and still as water.

"Lin... Mu... Lin Wudi!" The Saints of the Sanctuary practiced asceticism and paid little mind to worldly affairs. Others might not recognize the significance of the name "Lin Mu," but Praka knew it all too well. It was a battle between this living myth and the Divine Sword Saint of the Divine Continent that had once disturbed the supreme Rui’s meditation. He never expected that today, this god-like figure, Lin Wudi, would be standing right before him as an enemy of the Sanctuary.

"Leave the Holy Relics of the Divine Temple, and our Sanctuary will not interfere with your affairs." Even the proud Praka no longer dared to speak of killing Lin Mu. A living myth was not to be offended.

"An ownerless object goes to whoever is fated to have it." How could Lin Mu possibly hand over something he had already acquired? Furthermore, the Nine Cauldrons were creations of heaven and earth. What did they have to do with the Divine Temple’s Sanctuary? Expecting him, Lin Wudi, to surrender the Nine Tripod’s Base over mere words was a joke.

"A fine ’whoever is fated to have it.’ It seems, Lin Wudi, that you have no intention of coexisting peacefully with our Sanctuary," Praka said, his gaze turning icy. Now that the Holy Relics had returned to the Divine Temple, they would not be allowed to be lost again.

Lin Mu smiled. "Your so-called Holy Relics were with the Miraculous Squad this whole time, yet I never saw any of you dare to retrieve them. Now that they are in my hands, you confront me with weapons, trying to seize them by force. Is it because you think I dare not kill? Or do you believe my blade isn’t sharp enough to behead your Saints?"

Praka was left speechless.

"The Holy Relics were in America, and we did not retrieve them because we knew their location and could take them at any time," a weathered voice drifted in from the distance, drawing nearer. "Now that they are in your hands, Lin Wudi, you might refine them with your Cultivator methods. Therefore, I must ask you, Lin Wudi, to return our Divine Temple’s Holy Relics."

The wind and sand fell silent. All was quiet except for the figure approaching from afar.

"The supreme Rui!"

"The supreme Rui!"

Praka, Habi, and all the surviving mercenaries immediately prostrated themselves on the ground in worship, completely unconcerned about a potential sneak attack. Perhaps, in their eyes, bowing to this old man was more important than their own lives.

"I am Rui, the Temple Sacrifice, here to greet the living myth, Lin Wudi." The old man clasped his hands in a formal greeting. His bearing was extraordinary, ancient, and pure. His voice was like the tolling of morning bells and evening drums.

This was the Temple Sacrifice, the living god of the Pyramid Nation, the Sun God, the supreme Rui.