Chapter 1196: Escaping Calamity

Chapter 1195: Escaping Calamity

Under the guidance of Mo Hua—the Grand Shaman—Dan-Zhu and Chi-Feng led their barbarian soldiers to attack another Shugu sub-tribe. At their first clash, Dan-Zhu gained the upper hand.

Clad in the Mystic-Flame Feather Robe, blazing red light radiating from his body, he charged like a heavenly soldier through the Shugu camp, cutting down barbarian cultivators left and right, unstoppable for a time.

The barbarian general Chi-Feng merely held the formation, not recklessly charging.

He knew his mission this time wasn’t to charge and slay the enemy, but to guard from the side and ensure the safety of Young Lord Dan-Zhu.

On the battlefield, blades and swords have no eyes, fire and water are merciless—no one knows when death might strike.

Thus Chi-Feng’s gaze was sharp, fully focused.

With Chi-Feng guarding the formation, Dan-Zhu slaughtered across the field.

After hundreds of exchanges, though they had slain many, they still hadn’t managed to capture this Shugu sub-tribe.

From afar, Mo Hua observed. He saw this Shugu sub-tribe housed nearly a thousand barbarian soldiers.

Among them were six Golden Cores. Though only at the early stage, their cultivation was deep, their auras strange, their faces painted with eerie bone markings.

Three of them were barbarian body-cultivators, three were witch-cultivators.

The body-cultivators charged in front, the witch-cultivators cast spells from behind, their auras linked. Though pressed back, their faces carried cruel smiles, with a hint of evil.

Mo Hua’s gaze narrowed.

He could see faint traces of an Evil God’s aura flowing on these six Shugu Golden Cores.

This meant the Shugu sub-tribe had begun to “fall,” and their barbarian god was becoming “corrupted.”

The aura of the Evil God, in turn, empowered its believers.

These six Golden Cores had clearly grown stronger from it.

Now, though suppressed by Dan-Zhu, they weren’t panicked. Clearly, they didn’t plan to reveal all their cards in the first clash. They were observing Dan-Zhu, seeking flaws.

After several hundred more rounds, Mo Hua ordered a retreat.

The Shugu sub-tribe was stronger than he had anticipated—it could not be taken hastily.

The Vermilion Sparrow Tribe camped thirty li away.

Mo Hua asked Iron Shugu if he recognized those six Golden Cores.

Ordinary Golden Cores were nothing, but those six had their auras linked, clearly cultivating some strange secret art—not ordinary foes.

Iron Shugu’s expression grew heavy, even slightly incredulous:

“Those six… seem to be the ‘Six Freaks of Shugu…’”

“The Six Freaks of Shugu?”

Iron Shugu nodded. “They are six brothers, bound by blood, cultivating the same secret art. Within the Shugu tribe, they’re somewhat notorious—few dare provoke them. But this place isn’t their tribal camp. Why they appear here… I don’t know.”

Mo Hua frowned slightly.

Internal strife in the Shugu tribe?

Were they beginning to devour each other?

If so, that would be troublesome.

Internal strife meant power shifts—sub-divisions and main divisions could no longer be measured by the old rules.

And even divination required knowledge of heaven’s timing, earth’s advantage, and human cause and effect.

If the situation turned chaotic, it became difficult even for Mo Hua to assess the true strength of each tribe.

He suddenly asked Iron Shugu with suspicion:

“Does your Shugu tribe truly have a single Great Chieftain?”

Iron Shugu replied, “This… of course we do.”

Mo Hua asked: “Do you all obey the Great Chieftain’s orders?”

Iron Shugu nodded. “Naturally.”

Mo Hua looked at him indifferently.

Iron Shugu was forced to admit with a touch of “disrespectful” honesty:

“We listen only when the Great Chieftain himself is before us. If he’s not present and we cannot hear him, then naturally, we need not obey.”

Mo Hua’s expression turned subtle. “What if he sends a messenger?”

Iron Shugu said, “If the one giving orders isn’t the Great Chieftain himself, then his words are not the Chieftain’s words. If not the Chieftain’s words, then they needn’t be obeyed…”

Mo Hua thought Iron Shugu was truly a “talent.”

Full of twisted logic, yet sounding reasonable.

Rather like himself… (Mo Hua, himself)

But it showed the Shugu tribe was indeed loose in structure.

The Great Chieftain’s authority was neither broad nor centralized.

Even a roaming sub-tribe like Iron Shugu’s dared to obey only “direct orders,” not “transmitted ones.”

Yet despite this, the Shugu tribe still maintained a façade of unity without splintering apart—Mo Hua was somewhat shocked.

He asked, “Have you never considered breaking away, carving out your own domain, ignoring the Great Chieftain?”

Iron Shugu quickly said, “We dare not.”

Mo Hua asked: “You dare not, or you do not wish to?”

Iron Shugu bowed. “Both—we dare not, and we do not wish to.”

Seeing Mo Hua’s surprise, Iron Shugu explained devoutly:

“To defy tribal law, to betray the Great Chieftain, would bring the ‘divine punishment’ of the Barbarian God.”

“Within the Shugu tribe, we may kill each other, rob each other, seize land from one another.”

“But the Great Chieftain is unique, chosen by the Barbarian God. The will of the Barbarian God cannot be doubted.”

Mo Hua remained calm outwardly, but thought deeply.

So the Shugu tribe, though also a third-rank great tribe like the Vermilion Sparrow Tribe, had very different structures of power and governance.

The Vermilion Sparrow Tribe did not worship a Barbarian God, but a divine beast totem.

Their core was power, and their faith was loyalty to the Great Wilderness Royal Court.

The Shugu tribe’s core was faith.

Though their strength wasn’t top-tier among third-rank tribes, though their cohesion was weak, their vast lands, diverse people, and scattered divisions were bound together by faith in their Barbarian God—keeping the outward unity of the Shugu tribe.

Of course, their “faith” was in fact fragmented, only self-perceived as unified.

A disunited faith, holding a tribe together.

Even Mo Hua found it remarkable.

Mo Hua asked again: “Does your Shugu tribe have any origin?”

Iron Shugu shook his head. “The name ‘Shugu’ means stray bones—referring to barbarian cultivators without lineage or origin gathering together to form a tribe…”

“So that’s it…” Mo Hua muttered.

The so-called alliance of Shugu was of this nature.

Mo Hua asked again, “Then surely you must have ancestors? Where did they come from?”

“Ancestors…” Iron Shugu hesitated, ashamed, reluctant to say, but finally admitted:

“They say in the beginning, the ancestors of the Shugu tribe were those exiled to the edges of the Endless Abyss—surviving only by scavenging monster bones and licking the scraps of flesh left upon them. They were lowly slave-people.”

Mo Hua’s pupils shrank suddenly. “What did you say?!”

Iron Shugu panicked, unsure what he’d said wrong. “I… what did I say?”

Mo Hua realized he had lost composure, and restrained himself, slowly asking:

“You mean the ancestors of the Shugu tribe… were exiles at the edge of the Endless Abyss… slaves?”

Iron Shugu thought, then nodded reluctantly. “They committed crimes, were exiled—naturally they were lowly slaves.”

Mo Hua’s gaze sharpened. “Have you ever been to the Endless Abyss?”

Iron Shugu shook his head. “I only know it is a land of great disaster, the source of calamity in the Great Wilderness. How could I dare go?”

Mo Hua nodded faintly. Looking at Iron Shugu’s humble expression, he felt some pity, and chose not to press further.

“You may leave.”

Relieved, Iron Shugu bowed. “Yes, Grand Shaman.” Then he withdrew respectfully.

Watching his retreating back, Mo Hua’s brow furrowed.

That strange feeling arose again.

Something about Iron Shugu felt wrong.

But where? He could not tell.

He set aside the doubt for now, turning his mind to the troubling “Six Freaks of Shugu.”

Six Golden Cores, brothers, bound by a secret art, their divine sense corrupted, tinged with evil aura.

A troublesome foe indeed.

At least with his current strength, Mo Hua could not kill them.

And with Fate-Bane upon him, he was in no position to kill at all.

“Let’s just test them for now…” Mo Hua thought.

The next day, the two sides clashed again.

Dan-Zhu led the assault, the Six Freaks of Shugu defended.

Mo Hua pondered how to deal with the troublesome Six Freaks—yet soon realized the battle wasn’t as he feared.

The Six Freaks were completely suppressed by Dan-Zhu.

Even as six Golden Cores, even with their secret art, fighting in unison, their bodies shrouded in sinister blood-qi—they still weren’t Dan-Zhu’s match.

Dan-Zhu alone, like a Vermilion Bird reborn from fire, fought ever more fiercely as the battle went on.

Mo Hua’s heart jolted—then he rejoiced. Suddenly, he understood.

He had underestimated Dan-Zhu.

Dan-Zhu was truly powerful.

His talent was exceptional, his Golden Core top-grade, his treasures supreme.

Even within Qianxue Prefecture, he would be among the very best.

Mo Hua had subconsciously overlooked Dan-Zhu’s brilliance—because he had “tricked” him before.

But Dan-Zhu could be “tricked” not because he was foolish, but because his heart was kind, and he was willing to believe in Mo Hua.

Dan-Zhu himself was no ordinary man.

At first, his lack of battle experience made him clumsy.

But after campaigns against Shugu wanderers, fighting Iron Shugu, holding the Stone Hall, dueling Bi Fang Tribe’s prodigy Bi Jie, and enduring round after round of killing—Dan-Zhu was transforming.

His strength was being tempered.

True combat is the sharpest whetstone.

And Dan-Zhu’s growth was now visible to the naked eye.

Now, although the Six Freaks of the Shugu were strong and well-known both within their tribe and among the surrounding tribes—considered real “formidable foes”—they were still utterly incomparable to the genius Dan-Zhu.

Even Mo Hua found it absurd when he looked at Dan-Zhu.

Good family background, handsome looks, heaven-defying talent, forming a Golden Core at only twenty—and not just any Golden Core, but a top-grade one, wielding the finest Vermilion Bird treasure. Whereas Mo Hua himself had middle-to-lower spiritual roots; as for the quality of his own core, he dared not even hope. His magic treasure, when finished, might not even be recognizable.

Truly, comparisons will kill a man with envy…

Mo Hua couldn’t help but feel a tinge of jealousy.

But then again, that was a good thing.

Dan-Zhu was on his side; the stronger Dan-Zhu became, the stronger Mo Hua would be.

Thinking this way, his heart immediately broadened.

That made his plan very simple.

Just three words: “Protect Dan-Zhu.”

As long as he kept Dan-Zhu safe, free from disaster, allowed him to grow steadily, then Dan-Zhu himself would be able to resolve most enemies. When Dan-Zhu reached true power, many matters wouldn’t need Mo Hua’s involvement at all.

As a hidden “expert” behind the scenes, the most important skill was recognizing and employing talent.

Mo Hua nodded in deep agreement with himself.

Meanwhile, the battle still raged.

Dan-Zhu was mighty, unstoppable like a god of war, yet the Dan Sparrow Tribe was still outnumbered, and the Six Freaks of the Shugu were no weaklings. In the end, although they held the advantage, they couldn’t turn it into a “decisive victory,” and the enemy camp wasn’t breached.

Mo Hua estimated that it would take more “grinding” and thus ordered a retreat.

Afterward, he didn’t say much, only telling Dan-Zhu to rest well.

Back in his room, Mo Hua began divination.

He calculated whether in the next day’s battle Dan-Zhu would face ambushes, sneak attacks, injuries, or even signs of death.

To calculate an entire battle—including weather, terrain, troop deployment and shifts—was complex, exhausting, and risky, with danger of divine sense backlash. Mo Hua dared not do it daily.

But calculating for just one person—Dan-Zhu—was far easier.

So long as every time Dan-Zhu went to battle, the result was an “Auspicious Omen,” or at least “Slightly Auspicious,” that was enough.

This broadened his use of karmic divination and deepened his grasp of human destiny and fate.

With his Heavenly Secret arts, he shielded Dan-Zhu’s life and karmic thread.

Once done, Mo Hua gave the result. The next day, he told Dan-Zhu to attack again, and to go all out without concern. Dan-Zhu happily nodded.

Chi-Feng, however, worried.

On the battlefield, one must not be careless or overconfident—one fights with full strength even against a rabbit. Letting Young Master Dan-Zhu attack recklessly seemed dangerous. Yet, glancing at Mo Hua, he ultimately said nothing.

The Shaman Lord always had divine guidance; his words rarely proved wrong.

Besides, with himself present to steady the battle formation, he could surely keep Dan-Zhu safe.

So the battle began anew.

This time, with Mo Hua’s permission, Dan-Zhu fought even fiercer, charging alone into the Shugu ranks like a tiger among sheep.

The Six Freaks grew furious, but couldn’t pin him down.

Their camp was thrown into chaos.

Several times, Dan-Zhu nearly smashed open their gates.

But in the end, he was blocked by the Six Freaks jointly unleashing a sinister, greenish bone-dissolving art.

Dan-Zhu retreated, but the morale of the Dan Sparrow Tribe soared.

The next day, however, Mo Hua forbade him from attacking.

His divination had shown that if they attacked, Dan-Zhu would fall into ambush, encircled by the Six Freaks, and though he might not die, he would certainly be wounded.

Such a trade-off wasn’t worth it.

Mo Hua would not allow Dan-Zhu to suffer at their hands.

Even if the Six Freaks all died, it would never make up for Dan-Zhu’s injury.

So he ordered: “Rest today. No battle.”

Dan-Zhu was surprised but obedient: “Yes, Mister Wu.”

The ambush the Shugu had painstakingly prepared went to waste.

The pot was boiling, but the duck never came.

The Six Freaks were left bewildered.

For two more days, Mo Hua ordered Dan-Zhu to “rest.” Then, on the third day, he finally nodded:

“Now. Continue the attack.”

Overjoyed, Dan-Zhu led the charge again.

And just as the Six Freaks had relaxed, dismantling their traps—he struck.

They were caught completely off guard.

This time, not only were they enraged, they were terrified.

They fought back in haste, clashing with Dan-Zhu for hundreds of exchanges, their bodies scorched by Vermilion Bird flames. One by one, they were wounded, fleeing back to camp. The same scene repeated for several days.

Mo Hua divined before each battle.

If no danger appeared, Dan-Zhu attacked.

If danger loomed, Dan-Zhu fought defensively.

If grave danger, they rested entirely.

Thus, all the sinister schemes of the Six Freaks were dismantled invisibly. Their ambushes and assassinations never even saw daylight.

Meanwhile, every one of Dan-Zhu’s strikes landed at their most vulnerable points.

The Six Freaks grew terrified.

From their perspective, Dan-Zhu was the true “villainous overlord”—young, arrogant, dazzlingly gifted, terrifyingly strong—and now blessed with heaven-defying “luck.”

No danger touched him; calamities turned to blessings.

He was clearly a man of “great fortune.”

The Six Freaks, cowed, were finally broken when, seven days later, Dan-Zhu—clad in his Mystic-Flame Feather Robe—killed one of them outright.

The remaining five paled and fled, abandoning their camp.

The leftover barbarian soldiers were no match.

Some knelt before Dan-Zhu in surrender.

Others scattered like monkeys from a fallen tree.

The Shugu branch camp was officially broken.

Dan-Zhu asked Mo Hua: “Mister Wu, should we pursue those Shugu Golden Cores?”

Mo Hua divined again, the results uncertain. He shook his head. “Never pursue a cornered foe. No need.”

Dan-Zhu nodded. “Understood.”

Chi-Feng, standing by, looked even more respectful.

He had witnessed how the Shaman Lord’s decisions had guided the war. His admiration grew, his faith that Mo Hua’s judgments were unerring now unshakable.

Thereafter, Dan-Zhu led the Dan Sparrow Tribe to occupy the camp.

But the sight within made Mo Hua frown.

It was far too poor, far too wretched.

These people must have lived badly even before. After the Six Freaks seized their land, the oppression was even worse.

The slaves lived worse than dogs and pigs; even the low-level Shugu cultivators wore rags, treated worse than cattle.

Many bore traces of cannibalism.

But not because they killed intentionally—it was sheer starvation, gnawing scraps of flesh clinging to discarded bones.

Barbaric, cruel, and yet pitiful.

Worse still was the local barbarian god.

It had indeed “fallen,” but shallowly—and was only of the second grade.

When Mo Hua “ate” it, it barely filled a crack in his teeth. His divine sense improved only slightly.

“Not every branch can provide a third-grade barbarian god…”

Mo Hua sighed inwardly.

But since he had taken the territory, he could not simply abandon it.

After all, these were still “human lives.”

Mo Hua could only think of ways to let those Shugu Tribe barbarian cultivators and slaves—who still retained a trace of conscience—live a little better.

For matters of leadership on the surface, naturally, Dan Zhu was in charge.

As for the small details, Mo Hua left them all to Iron Shugu.

After all, Iron Shugu had once been a leader of the wandering Shugu sub-tribe. For him to handle the resettlement of the lower-level Shugu cultivators was quite appropriate. Every command Mo Hua issued afterward, Iron Shugu executed without the slightest disobedience, handling everything in an orderly and fitting manner. Mo Hua was very satisfied.

But the more satisfied he felt, the stronger that sense of discord in his heart grew.

He always felt that something about his attitude toward Iron Shugu was wrong.

It was something unspeakable, difficult to pinpoint, yet almost an instinctive intuition.

Iron Shugu bent his back, standing respectfully below.

Mo Hua looked at the “obedient and sensible” Iron Shugu, his divine sense turning inward for reflection. He pondered for a long time, then suddenly his heart trembled slightly, realizing the issue:

“Why… didn’t I kill him?”

No…more precisely…

“Why did I never even think about killing him?”

“Not once, from beginning to end, did the thought ever arise?”

Not killing him wasn’t the issue—after all, he really couldn’t kill recklessly right now, and Iron Shugu was still useful.

But to not even consider it—that was a very big problem.

Mo Hua’s gaze gradually deepened.

(End of this Chapter)