Spirit Immortal

The Kori Federation. Shaolin Temple. The Sacred Peak of Buddha.

Autumn. The best weather possible for the inhabitants of the holy mountain. The blistering heat of summer was nowhere to be found while the finger-breaking cold of winter had yet to descend. Breathtaking views of red, breaking leaves trickled down alongside the gentle breeze, giving a feel of life to the stone walls of the temple. Monks wearing different coloured robes or all ages interacted in harmony within the walls of the Sacred Peak, not one person willing to step out of line.

The Shaolin Temple was one of history's oldest organisations. For generations now, the Shaolin Temple had been producing faithful arhats, each one serving the Buddhist cause without any complaints. Some might even say, due to the number of people that pay their respects to the Buddhist faith, the Shaolin Temple held even more influence than any of the three superpowers and with billions visiting their temples every year, it may as well be the wealthiest organisation in the world.

However, the monks of the Shaolin Temple never saw wealth or fame as something significant. And it wasn't that there weren't any corrupt or black monks. It was just that… Those monks would have been weeded out the moment they climbed the hierarchy of the Shaolin Temple. The Shaolin's cultivation system wholly relied on one being pure in the heart and to seek Nirvana, not mortal pleasures. Should a monk lose their way and seek personal glory instead of practising the Buddha's teachings, their cultivations would be automatically crippled from the inside.

Therefore, most of the money being spent on the Shaolin were funnelled back to the poor or to rebuilding ancient monasteries that had been broken down. In fact, due to the recent worldquake, the Shaolin was forced to empty their coffers to help rebuild the communities that had been destroyed by the Black Masks.

Still, that didn't mean that one of the oldest organisations in history didn't have any extravagant buildings. Many iconic places were erected in the Shaolin's name, further increasing their influence within human history. The Dharma Hall where annual cultivation lessons were held freely for anyone to attend. Devaraja Palace Hall, the morgue that held some of history's greatest Buddhists. The Forest of Steles held monuments that were littered throughout history, making it a treasure trove for all historians. And many, many more.

The list was endless, and just counting them all would make any mathematician faint-headed. However, there was no question which one of the buildings was the most famous, the most culturally significant and most importantly… The most revered place of the Shaolin.

The divine shrine of the Shaolin Temple… The Sacred Peak of Buddha.

The founder of Buddhism, the Buddha himself, was widely considered to be a transcendent being, even before he ascended into the Immortal Realm. To put it in perspective, even Shin's current status couldn't beat the Buddha in his heyday. He was the being who had brought a new cultivation system into the world and rewrote everything that humans knew about cultivation. Using Buddhism, one didn't have to cultivate their Spirit. Instead, they used a series of martial arts and enigmatic cultivation dharmas to increase their overall power.

So long as one had a pure heart and the willpower to walk the arduous path to Nirvana, they could practice Buddhism arts. It didn't matter if they had a Sword-type Spirit or a Flower-type Spirit. All are created equal in the Buddha's eyes.

Therefore, it was not a surprise that all monks that had ever lived paid eternal reverence to their founder, and... The Sacred Peak of Buddha was the epitome of everything that Buddha represented.

It was his home since birth. It was the place he'd spent his a.d.u.l.t life. And finally… It was the place where he ascended into heaven. The Buddha had transcended his mortality for the final time and breached the Gates to the Immortal Realm, becoming history's first Golden Immortal.

To the Shaolin Temple, there was no greater sacred ground. They could relinquish their control over all of their monasteries, their vaults in other palaces, their Immortal-Grade Spirit Armaments protecting their temples… but they would never in a hundred million years, abandon the Sacred Peak of the Buddha.

Thousands, if not millions, of Buddhists from all walks of life, take the pilgrim each year to visit the mountain. The many monks that lived in the holy mountain were mostly younglings who have come here to meditate and seek enlightenment from being within Buddha's home. They would tend to the pilgrims' requests for food and shelter all while cleaning up the sacred place hourly. However, it wasn't just the younglings that lived on the mountain...

A towering monk wearing the signature orange robe and red sash, brisk-walked through the silent corridors of the hallowed halls. He was about two-metres-tall with a sizeable build that could easily choke a man with his presence. Muscles that were built like rocks and a suffocating aura that pulsated out from his veins... Evidently, the monk wasn't some small fry that had been sent to clean the monastery.

It didn't take long for the monk to reach his destination. A simple wooden cottage, situated just below the peak of the mountain. Compared to the lavish ornaments that decorated the holy temple, this cottage looked far too impoverished. It was as if, a beggar had decided to move into the holy mountain without consulting the High Monks of the Shaolin Temple.

Naturally, that wasn't the case. Once reaching the door of the cottage, the bulky monk instantly fell to his knees and slammed his chest with a salute. "Holy Abbot, the Alliance has sent a message."

"..." The cottage was silent.

Once again, the monk repeated himself: "Holy Abbot! We have received urgent news from the Alliance! May I enter?"

"Mmm..." This time, a response.

A lazy voice, one that felt like the person within had just woken up, gave the affirmation and the monk quickly pushed open the feeble doors. The monk looked to his left, and then right. The cottage was as simple as it seemed. There was a small walkway, a place to wash one's feet, a bamboo floor with a mossy carpet, and a bed. It was nothing extravagant. Just a genuine, humble abode. However, the man that stayed in this cottage was anything but unassuming.

Taking a peek at the bed, the red-sashed monk found his target. Without a single prompt, the monk fell to his knees once more and bowed his head in reverence. An old man, one that looked far older than ninety, sat in a lotus position on the bed. His wrinkles were far more defined than the jagged rocks of the mountain he slept on, and his white hairs were far paler than the snow that fell in winter. And most importantly… The elderly man's white robes with a golden sash made the towering monk feel completely breathless.

"I greet the Holy Abbot!"

"Mmm, please rise." The elderly man on the bed smiled and gestured for the monk to stand.

Once again, the younger monk observed the Holy Abbot with complete adoration. The Shaolin Temple didn't really care about hierarchy, they really didn't. A Rank 70 Spirit Emperor could easily blend in with a Rank 7 Spirit Practitioner as they discussed about Buddhist Dharmas in the communal dining hall, and still be the best of friends. After all, in the eyes of the Buddha, all beings were equal.

However, there had to be some segregation, particularly when it came to advancing into higher cultivation levels. For instance, there was no way that a new monk could gain access to the greatest works of the Dharma Temple during their first years. The spies throughout history would have wiped the coffers clean if that was the case.

Normal monks beneath the Rank 40 Spirit Spectre realm were given the humble orange garb, synonymous with the Shaolin Temple. Those that transcended their mortality once were allowed to wear the red-sash that made them seem ever more holy. Those that reached the Rank 80 Spirit Venerate realm and had extended their mortal lives twice were able to switch out their orange robes with the even more sacred ivory white.

On paper, that was the highest level of garb that a monk could obtain. White robes with a red-sash. Shaolin Monks with that combination of attire would be given worldwide acclaim and would be treated with the respect that they deserve. People would run to them just to touch their hands while devouts would dream of those monks blessing their children.

However, there was one more level of attire that could be obtained during a monk's quest to reach Nirvana. It wasn't written down in the nomenclature since it was just far too difficult for any monk to reach it. But make no mistake, throughout history, there had been many prodigal monks that had gained that garb.

And one of them… was seated right in front of the bulky monk.

"Holy Abbot, the Alliance had sent word! The Abyss had started to move! The Black Masks that had been hibernating for a decade… are about to emerge!"

"I see," the old man nodded. "Are they asking for help again?"

"No, Holy Abbot! The Alliance had just sent out a warning, asking for all of the allies to be wary about the Black Masks!"

"Mmmm… That's better..." The old monk smiled. "Our Shaolin Temple has been wiped clean of our gold. Our monks are now busy aiding the homeless and powerless. We don't have any manpower or resources to spare..."

The elderly monk… The man whom everyone referred to as the Holy Abbot… Was none other than the Shaolin Temple's own Saint Suhavis Prakshringavant. Saint Suhavis was a practitioner of the Buddhist arts, and the only one of the modern-day to reach the Spirit Saint realm.

"Is that all you've come to tell me? You should know that all mortal matters are now handled by Abbot Yajnabahu?"

"T-That… I..." The muscular monk's mind turned blank. Yes, he should have known that Spirit Saints aren't allowed to meddle in mortal affairs. Yes, he should have known that the Holy Abbot was not to be disturbed under any circ.u.mstances. Yet… Why did he feel so compelled to come to the cottage? Why did he feel the need to rush here with everything that he had?

"I see… Amitabha..."

Saint Suhavis placed his palm up vertically and chanted out in solidarity. Almost instantly, a golden light covered the Holy Abbot's entire palm, and an illusion of a peach tree appeared in the background. Mesmerised, the monk's body turned limp, and his mind was entranced. There was nothing he could do as Saint Suhavis sent a flying palm right into his chest.

SSSSSSSSSSTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTT!!!

A dark mist was exorcised out of the brainless monk's body, as a holy light purified every single cell that the monk had. With yet another palm strike, Saint Suhavis sent a shockwave flying at the dark mist, forcing it to escape out the door. Knowing that his peace couldn't be restored, the Holy Abbot sighed as he placed the unconscious monk onto his bamboo bed.

"Rest. I'll be back soon."

Saint Suhavis leisurely chased the dark smoke, which had already started to coagulate into a foreign lifeform. It didn't take long for the mist to take the form of a black-haired man with a familiar blade that was used in the legendary fight ten years ago.

"... As expected of a Spirit Saint. You are different than the other humans. You noticed me right away."

"Amitabha… How could I ignore such a strong killing intent?" Saint Suhavis scoffed.

"Ah, monks with pure hearts really are a nuisance." Kuro wryly smiled. "No matter… Once we take you down, I'm sure that their hearts would all shatter with grief!!!"