Chapter 1195: Campaign

Chapter 1194: Campaign

In just the blink of an eye, sword-light flashed, and some creature’s head rolled to the ground.

Iron Shugu had no idea what this “thing” was.

But one thing he was sure of—anything that could be decapitated in a single stroke could never be Lord Barbarian God.

Lord Barbarian God was Lord Barbarian God precisely because of his boundless divine might—mighty beyond compare, undying and immortal.

Beheaded in one stroke—how could that possibly be the Barbarian God?

Could there exist someone in this world who could lop off the Barbarian God’s head in a single slash?

Iron Shugu himself found the thought laughable.

But while he thought so, his body still trembled uncontrollably, his head pressed against the floor, eyes tightly shut, not daring to look up.

He was dreaming.

In reality, he was a Shugu chieftain, a Golden Core cultivator feared and respected.

But in this bizarre dream—in the Divine Realm—he was nothing more than a frail, pitiful, helpless little “Golden Core.”

Moments later, searing heat washed over the surroundings, as though someone had unleashed divine powers, manifesting a sea of fire to burn and refine something.

Then Iron Shugu heard a sound of “inhalation.”

It was as if the vast mental force pervading the area was being swallowed whole by some terrifying “monster.”

Even his own soul seemed in danger of being “sucked” away.

Terrified, Iron Shugu curled himself up, wishing he could bury himself into the ground.

Fortunately, the fear didn’t last long.

The master of the dream was slain—“eaten”—and with its death the dream shattered.

Everything blurred, the scenery twisted, turning into a vortex of illusion and reality, making his head feel like it was being torn apart.

When he opened his eyes again, the great hall remained before him, offerings dim and dull.

Iron Shugu turned his head toward Mo Hua, only to see Mo Hua’s face radiant with excitement and satisfaction. Fair and handsome though he was, his eyes gleamed with a vicious light, like a “ferocious god of the mortal world” draped in a harmless human skin.

Iron Shugu shuddered instinctively.

Mo Hua’s gaze turned to him.

Yet within just a few breaths, every trace of fiendishness vanished from Mo Hua’s face, once more becoming refined, gentle, and sacred.

This shift frightened Iron Shugu all the more, and he hastily lowered his head, not daring to meet Mo Hua’s eyes.

Mo Hua said nothing.

Nor did Iron Shugu dare speak.

Even the air in the great hall seemed frozen with cold, each moment an unbearable torment.

At last, after an indeterminate time, a clear youthful voice rang out:

“You’ve done well. You may withdraw.”

Iron Shugu felt as though he’d been granted amnesty. His voice shook, “Y-yes… Lord Shaman.”

He bowed and retreated.

Mo Hua silently watched his departing figure until Iron Shugu vanished from the hall—then suddenly furrowed his brows.

A strange sense of discord welled up inside him.

He felt as though he had overlooked something.

But the sensation flickered away in an instant, leaving him baffled as to why he felt such unease.

And why did this discord stem from Iron Shugu?

“Could it be I tormented him too much, and now I feel guilty?”

“No… impossible…”

Mo Hua shook his head and put the thought aside.

He had no leisure to dwell on it—he had far more important matters to attend to.

Sitting cross-legged, Mo Hua sank his consciousness into his sea of awareness, summoned the Dao Stele, and used the Catastrophe-Lightning Runes to erase the Barbarian God’s will—proficiently “detoxifying” it.

The Shugu sub-tribe’s Barbarian God had not actually “fallen to evil.”

But Mo Hua, cautious as ever, used Catastrophe-Lightning to scour it anyway, in case of hidden tricks.

Every loss carves wisdom.

Ever since suffering a major setback at his martial uncle’s hands, Mo Hua had grown increasingly wary of matters concerning divine will and karmic cause-and-effect.

Better to kill ten thousand wrongly than let a single one slip by.

Afterward, Mo Hua opened his mouth wide and swallowed the refined, purified mental force with a single “howl.”

As he devoured and digested the Shugu sub-tribe’s Barbarian God, a sudden thought struck him:

“…What did that Barbarian God I just ate even look like?”

He strained to recall—something like a bull’s head, rather frightening, with bone armor.

But he’d slain it in a single blow, then burned it away, and now refined it into vapor. He couldn’t remember its exact appearance. Frowning, he shook his head.

“Forget it—once it’s in the belly, its looks don’t matter.”

“No point being picky about appearance when eating…”

“As long as it nourishes my divine sense!”

He continued refining with focus.

The Barbarian God’s will was gradually absorbed, strengthening his soul, while his divine sense pressed against the bottleneck of the twenty-second rune peak.

Mo Hua’s divine sense Avatar-Body surged and trembled with waves of power.

This divine might—akin to that of a deity—was vast and profound.

But despite the long effort, the bottleneck refused to break.

His divine sense remained at the twenty-second rune peak, only more condensed than before.

Mo Hua slowly exhaled, opening his eyes, his gaze clear and bright—not discouraged, but shining even more resolutely.

This was what he had expected.

A Barbarian God that hadn’t degraded into a “semi-evil god” was just a larger version of a “Evil spirit,” only nourished by incense—better for cultivation, yes, but not enough to break through the bottleneck.

Yet he could feel his divine sense had grown much stronger.

The bottleneck itself had loosened.

This showed his divine sense had increased—only the “quantity” had not yet amassed enough to transform into a “qualitative” breakthrough.

But Mo Hua felt a strong premonition.

Two or three more Barbarian Gods of this size, and the accumulated quantity would force a breakthrough.

He would reach twenty-three runes!

Twenty-three runes—the peak divine sense of early Golden Core!

It was already close, almost within reach.

Mo Hua’s eyes gleamed.

At twenty-three runes, he could do something even more important:

He could study the unknown, rank-two, twenty-three-rune Taotie Formation inside the Shugu Barbarian God’s skull!

Of all recent matters, this was what Mo Hua longed for most.

A brand-new Absolute Formation.

Even more precious was that this twenty-three-rune Shugu Taotie Formation seemed to differ entirely from the twenty-four-rune, rank-two Twelve-Meridian Taotie Spiritual-Skeleton Formation he had obtained from the Great Wilderness Evil God statue.

Both were Taotie Formations, yet they felt vastly different.

The rune structures, practical applications—both were distinct.

Different as they looked, both nonetheless employed “Taotie Runes,” falling under the category of the same Four Fiend Taotie pattern.

This was bizarre—and enlightening.

A single Taotie Formation was hard to comprehend.

But two differing Taotie Formations—cross-verifying one another, connected—would certainly deepen his understanding of Taotie arrays and of the primordial ferocious-runes themselves.

Whether he could master the Taotie Formation was directly tied to whether he could forge his life-bound array and smoothly condense his Golden Core.

Thus Mo Hua yearned all the more for the twenty-third pattern divine sense realm.

He longed to one day glimpse the true essence of the Taotie Formation.

He longed to know how powerful he could become in formations if he mastered it.

“Twenty-three patterns…”

To reach it, he would need to eat again.

The governance of the tribe he had left to Dan-Zhu, who managed it well without his interference.

Thus his current priority was feeding himself to twenty-three runes.

But the problem was—he couldn’t do it alone.

The only place to find more Barbarian Gods to consume was within the Shugu Tribe.

The Shugu Tribe was chaotic enough already—after the famine, even more so.

He would have to seize the chance amid chaos to break through other Shugu settlements, capture their temples, and devour the Barbarian Gods they worshipped. The outer and minor branches were too weak, unable to sustain a rank-three “Great God.”

He needed at least a Shugu sub-tribe or higher, a roaming division, to feast properly.

But such powers would surely be guarded by Golden Core cultivators and many barbarian soldiers.

Alone, he couldn’t storm temples or sack tribes. He needed allies.

After consideration, Mo Hua sought out Chi Feng, a mid-Golden Core warrior.

Chi Feng was a barbarian general, and among their group, the strongest in cultivation and combat.

Dan-Zhu was highly talented, wielded supreme treasures, but in terms of cultivation, age, and battle experience, still fell short of Chi Feng.

Yet Mo Hua also knew that this kind of “risky” endeavor might not gain Chi Feng’s approval.

…

Inside the Shugu branch’s temple, Mo Hua spoke openly, directly laying out his intentions before Chi Feng.

Chi Feng frowned. “Mister Wu… you wish to continue campaigning against the Shugu Tribe?”

Mo Hua nodded. “Lord Chi Feng, do you have concerns?”

Chi Feng hesitated for a moment, then could only remind him:

“The Great Chieftain ordered me to accompany Young Master Dan Zhu for the sake of his safety, so that he could smoothly complete his mission and gain some experience. It was not to… do these kinds of things.”

Mo Hua countered: “And what could be more tempering than warring against the Shugu Tribe?”

Chi Feng gave a bitter smile. “That’s not what I meant…”

This wasn’t something Young Master Dan Zhu should be doing at all.

“And besides…”

Chi Feng paused, then spoke slowly: “Mister Wu, the young master has already been away from the Vermilion Sparrow Tribe for quite some time. By now, he should be returning to the main tribe.”

Mo Hua thought to himself: If I let you all return, how could I coax Dan Zhu out again to help me seize territory?

Calmly, Mo Hua replied: “No rush.”

Chi Feng frowned. “Mister Wu, didn’t you say this famine disaster was extremely dangerous? The situation is urgent. If we don’t return to the main tribe soon, we might encounter unforeseen calamity…”

Mo Hua had said that. The famine was indeed dire.

But precisely because it was dire, they couldn’t return yet—otherwise it would only be sitting and waiting for death.

So Mo Hua said, “The Divine-Lord will guide Young Master Dan Zhu, and will bless him. He will turn misfortune into fortune.”

Chi Feng looked at Mo Hua, silent for a moment, then suddenly asked: “Mister Wu, do you mean… to cultivate and put forth the young master as the next Great Chieftain?”

That question, touching upon tribal power struggles, was a sharp one.

Mo Hua gazed at Chi Feng with a calm expression, neither affirming nor denying, but instead asked:

“The Great Chieftain has four children. Lord Chi Feng, which do you favor?”

Chi Feng’s eyes grew solemn. “I am the Great Chieftain’s man. I serve only the Great Chieftain.”

In other words, he would not take sides. Whoever became the next Great Chieftain had nothing to do with him.

He only needed to fulfill his own duty.

Mo Hua’s gaze grew penetrating, a faint smile on his lips.

“Is it really that simple? Do you truly believe you can remain untouched?”

Chi Feng said nothing.

Mo Hua’s voice lowered, persuasive and magnetic:

“Don’t you realize? The Great Chieftain sent you to guard Young Master Dan Zhu—he has already placed a label upon you. Even if you are loyal to the Great Chieftain and think yourself neutral, what of the First Young Master and Third Young Master? What will they think?”

“Will they not believe you stand with Dan Zhu?”

“And if one day they become the Great Chieftain, will they trust you?”

“Can you really withdraw from this quagmire?”

Chi Feng’s face darkened, his expression growing heavier.

But he was, after all, a battle-hardened general. He did not truly follow Mo Hua’s logic, but suddenly lifted his head, eyes like blades as he stared at Mo Hua. “These matters… do not seem to be the concern of a Shaman.”

His gaze was sharp as a sword, filled with killing intent, enough to make most men tremble—even a Golden Core cultivator might not dare meet it.

Yet the instant his fierce gaze met Mo Hua’s eyes, it was as though it plunged into a deep pool, vanishing without a trace.

Mo Hua’s expression remained calm, his gaze fathomless, his voice steady:

“To serve Heaven’s oracle above, and understand human hearts below—that is what it means to be a Shaman. Lord Chi Feng, surely you don’t think our role is only to serve the Divine?”

“The Divine-Lord cares for all living beings. But the Great Chieftain holds power over life and death—his choice matters greatly.”

“If the Great Chieftain chooses rightly, the tribe will flourish, and earn more of the Divine-Lord’s blessings.”

“If he chooses wrongly, bringing endless wars and rivers of blood…”

Mo Hua’s face turned cold. “The Divine-Lord will not bless him, but may instead descend with thunderous divine punishment—dooming the tribe to annihilation.”

Those stern words made Chi Feng’s heart tremble.

And within Mo Hua’s eyes, that faint, sharp force of vast divine consciousness, made him feel a momentary dread—as though that will contained the power to erase him.

Chi Feng was shaken.

This is… the might of one blessed by the Divine? Clearly only at Foundation Establishment, yet in his gaze rests the wrath of the Divine-Lord, enough to make even Golden Cores tremble?

Is this truly divine power—or merely my illusion?

Frowning deeply, Chi Feng finally sighed and said slowly, “I understand. I will help Young Master Dan Zhu in the campaign against the Shugu Tribe.”

But Mo Hua shook his head, expression solemn.

“Not to help Young Master Dan Zhu—help the Vermilion Sparrow Tribe.”

“Your loyalty should not be to Dan Zhu, not to any one young master, not even to the Great Chieftain—but to the tribe as a whole. Use your own eyes to see.”

“See who represents the tribe’s future, who can bring prosperity, who earns the Divine-Lord’s recognition—that is who you should follow. If it is Dan Zhu, follow him. If it is the First Young Master, follow him. If it is another, follow them. Your loyalty is to the tribe. To no one else.”

Chi Feng froze, then gave Mo Hua a long, deep look, and slowly nodded.

“All shall be as Mister Wu says.”

In the end, Mo Hua persuaded Chi Feng, planting in his heart the first seed of a new concept of “loyalty.”

Afterward, Mo Hua summoned Iron Shugu.

Iron Shugu was the leader of the Shugu Tribe’s wandering branch.

If they were to attack the Shugu Tribe, naturally his cooperation was needed.

This too was within Mo Hua’s plans.

Iron Shugu came before Mo Hua.

Mo Hua revealed his intention.

Of course, he did not say it so “plainly,” only asked Iron Shugu to guide them to nearby Shugu branches or other medium and small tribes.

This request was in truth a little “excessive.”

After all, it was tantamount to asking Iron Shugu to betray his own tribe.

And everyone knew, in barbarian tongue “Tie Shugu (Iron Shugu)” meant “unyielding as iron.”

Yet to Mo Hua’s surprise, Iron Shugu agreed without hesitation, bowing low:

“I am willing to guide the way for Lord Shaman.”

This caught Mo Hua a bit off guard.

Did this Iron Shugu, from the bottom of his heart, truly acknowledge him as “Lord Shaman” and sincerely submit?

Or was the Shugu Tribe’s internal state so chaotic that there were no real bonds among them, and Iron Shugu actually wanted his so-called allies dead?

Mo Hua felt some doubt.

But no matter the reason, Iron Shugu’s “good sense” was convenient. It saved Mo Hua effort, spared him from using Heart-Demon Seeding.

Using that technique on a Golden Core was both taxing and risky—success rate low, with the chance of “losing control.”

Unless absolutely necessary, or unless everything was thoroughly prepared, Mo Hua preferred not to use it.

After all, he hadn’t forgotten—he had secretly stolen that technique from his Martial Uncle.

Mo Hua nodded and told Iron Shugu:

“Very well. The Divine-Lord will remember your loyalty. Prepare a map marking all the surrounding Shugu forces. We set out in two days.”

Iron Shugu cupped his hands. “Yes, Lord Shaman.”

Two days later, after roughly finishing their preparations, Mo Hua’s group set off on their campaign.

Their force numbered about three hundred.

There were three Golden Core cultivators: Chi-Feng at mid-stage, Dan-Zhu at early-stage, and Iron Shugu, also at early-stage golden core, who served as their guide.

In addition, there were one hundred barbarian soldiers from the Vermilion Sparrow Tribe.

Some had been lost in the earlier conflict with the Bifang Tribe—a regrettable loss.

Fortunately, Mo Hua had used the Yin-Wood Rejuvenation Formation to save many, so casualties weren’t heavy. Later, more recruits were added, bringing the Vermilion Sparrow troops back to exactly one hundred. The remaining two hundred or so were the so-called “elites” of the Shugu Tribe.

Strictly speaking, these Shugu “elites” weren’t all that elite.

They were only from a branch division, with most of their cultivation at early Foundation Establishment; even mid-stage Foundation Establishment was rare.

Still, among the Shugu forces, these two hundred were the best they had to offer.

Mo Hua brought them along for several reasons. First, to lessen the casualties the Vermilion Sparrow Tribe would suffer in the coming battles.

Second, to raise a batch of “defectors” he could mold into his own.

And third, to reduce the risk of unrest breaking out in the Shugu branch stronghold.

With Mo Hua, Dan-Zhu, and Chi-Feng away campaigning, the Shugu branch was left in the hands of Elders Ba-Shan and Ba-Chuan.

Although the deterrence of Golden Core cultivators was considerable, there simply weren’t enough of them.

If the Shugu Tribe decided to rebel, it would still create chaos.

So by pulling away the so-called “elite” barbarian soldiers from the branch, the risk of an uprising was reduced.

That also lightened the burden on Elders Ba-Shan and Ba-Chuan.

And with Iron Shugu—the former Shugu leader himself—serving as their guide, the other Shugu “elites” harbored little will to resist. After all, Mo Hua had never treated them harshly.

In fact, under Mo Hua’s “rule” these past days, the Shugu barbarian cultivators were living better than before.

To them, whoever fed them was as good as a father, whoever gave them milk was as good as a mother.

At least for now, rebellion wasn’t on their minds.

Thus, this band of three hundred marched forth mightily. After three days of travel, they arrived at the nearest Shugu branch stronghold.

This branch too worshiped a barbarian god.

Mo Hua could already faintly catch the fragrance of barbarian divine thought.

He felt that the step toward his twenty-third rune had drawn closer…

Mo Hua cast a look at Dan-Zhu.

Dan-Zhu nodded, swept his hand forward, and shouted in a stern voice:

“Kill!”

(End of this Chapter)