The Salamanders - Chapter 223 - 12.15

One day, Yoichi who grew up while not knowing his parents has received the news of his father’s death. His father left behind a testament——which said he is to pick only one out of five ‘little sister candidates’?!

In the rural northeastern mountainous regions stands a tiny Buddhist temple, named One Finger Temple. It isn’t a large one but it is extremely miraculous.

The temple has rice that emanates an aromatic fragrance.

The temple has sweet and refreshing water that rivals ambrosia.

The temple has Buddhas that grant wishes to the sincere.

The temple isn’t large but it has everything. The temple isn’t large but it has flourishing incense offerings that far exceed all temples. The temple isn’t large but it attracts both citizens and foreigners that line up overnight…

The temple has a bald but handsome monk. Every day, he would bawl, “I want to renounce asceticism! I want to marry a chick that’s not too pretty, have a cute baby, and lead a stable life!”

Collecting legendary antiques, retracing the mysterious martial arts. From the moment he activated his cheat, Casio knew that he was no longer ordinary.[Legendary Antiques: Wind Elephant Ivory Pendant]Seventy years ago, in the North Flow Country of the Hong Li Federation, at the Wind Elephant Gate Youth Training Camp.“Li Wei, you are a coward! On the day your sister was brutally murdered, you were trembling in a corner! On the night of the Sect Destruction War, you disgracefully fled! During the many long years of revenge, you missed the opportunity again and again!”“Now let me teach you what bravery is, let me tell you how to turn suffering into your power. I hope at the moment you behead your enemy, you will remember: you are a man, an upright man!”The taboo era, hidden legends. A Foggy continent paralyzed by the sealed land. Countless brilliant antiquities wail in the ruins.I will witness your lost legends in the mist, the knights in the sky, the ghosts in the desert, the rats in the mud. The direction of sword fights points to the light, and flowers will grow where bullets fall. The winds of history will eventually sweep away the rubbish from the era's gravesite.