Chapter 1200: Counter-Devour

Chapter 1199: Counter-Devour

Outside the Great Wilderness, the Dao Court’s Dao soldiers were locked in battle with the barbarian armies.

Inside the Great Wilderness, famine spread unchecked, and the seeds of large-scale civil war had already sprouted.

War and famine marched side by side.

The Dao Court and the Royal Court, locked in relentless slaughter, likely had no knowledge of what was unfolding within the Great Wilderness.

The tribes within the Wilderness, closed off and narrow-minded, also had little grasp of the outside situation.

The two regions were relatively isolated.

But Mo Hua had come from the Dao Court, crossed Lìzhou, traversed the Sand Sea, passed through Desert City, reached Storm-ridge, crossed Red Cliff, entered the Wilderness’s heartland, and infiltrated the barbarian tribes as a shaman, starting out from the Dao Court soldiers’ camp.

From the Nine Provinces, into the Wilderness.

From Dao soldier, to shaman.

He had personally walked this path, seen more than others, and become more deeply involved than anyone else.

At this moment, Mo Hua faintly sensed that this matter was far from being just a simple “Great Wilderness rebellion.”

The rebellion was only the beginning. What followed was famine, barbarian infighting, tribal wars, the deaths of countless living beings, the birth of evil thoughts between Heaven and Earth… while all the Royal Court’s and Dao Court’s attention was fixed almost entirely on the frontline battles.

As for the internal turmoil of the Wilderness, they would not bother to intervene—indeed, perhaps they would not want to intervene.

To them, it was nothing more than some savage tribes fighting and killing each other. Some dying of hunger, some falling in battle—it posed no threat to the rule of the Royal Court and the Dao Court.

But a wise man perceives disaster before it takes shape.

Mo Hua could feel that once the current calamities truly developed further…

It would inevitably mark the beginning of a genuine “worldwide upheaval.”

In his eyes, it was as though he could already see war and famine spreading across the land, terrifying evil gods descending into reality, preaching amidst a despairing world of men…

And from beginning to end, none of this could possibly be mere coincidence.

Most likely, someone was using the Great Wilderness as a chessboard, playing a vast game.

Who could that person be?

“It couldn’t possibly… be…”

Mo Hua’s pupils trembled, and he instantly cut off the thought.

He looked up at the Bi Fang Tribe’s full army arrayed before him, then silently withdrew.

He had his suspicions, but dared not pursue them further.

For now, everything was still only the first signs—perhaps even only his conjecture.

How the situation would evolve, whether it would step by step descend into an abyss of no return, was something a mere Foundation Establishment cultivator could neither calculate nor control.

The urgent matter was to first resolve Dan-Zhu’s omen of “Great Misfortune.”

Surrounded by the Bi Fang Tribe like this, even though Dan-Zhu was a genius, it would be hard for him to escape unharmed.

Mo Hua knew well that while Dan-Zhu’s combat power was strong, his means of survival were pitifully poor.

He was a young master, a genius—taught only orthodox inheritances.

He could never have studied like Mo Hua, grinding daily on concealment and life-preserving techniques.

The Vermilion Bird Mystic-Flame Feather Robe was sturdy, yes, its defense strong—but precisely because of that, it was prone to breaking from excessive rigidity.

A cultivator’s methods were always limited by their realm.

Before the difference in cultivation, there was no such thing as absolute strength.

Dan-Zhu was still only at early Golden Core. No matter how tough his artifact, he could not hope to withstand head-on the killing moves of multiple Golden Core barbarian cultivators, some of them already at mid- or late-stage.

Moreover, unlike Mo Hua, Dan-Zhu was not alone—he had people he had to protect.

Mo Hua concealed himself, slipped out of the valley, rejoined Chi Feng, and returned to Dan-Zhu’s camp, where he roughly explained the situation.

Everyone’s expression grew far more grave.

Ba Shan, furious and bewildered, said:

“Has the Bi Fang Tribe gone mad? They actually dare mobilize their main force to encircle and kill the young master of our Vermilion Sparrow Tribe?”

Normally, grudges between tribes would never deliberately target another tribe’s young master.

Even if fights broke out, they were not large in scale—often mere “duels.”

Even when leading troops, it was just a few personal guards or small squads of barbarian soldiers.

To mobilize the main force for a massive encirclement—that was sheer shamelessness.

“Could it be Bi Jie?” Ba Chuan frowned. “He suffered a crushing defeat at the young master’s hands, and fears his talent. So he wants to finish it in one stroke, eliminating future trouble?”

Mo Hua stayed silent.

Chi Feng, with his battlefield experience, spoke solemnly:

“I fear it’s not that simple. Even if they wanted to kill Young Master Dan-Zhu, they wouldn’t need to mobilize the main force. Their aim may be to seize him, threaten the Great Chieftain, and then… strike directly at the Vermilion Sparrow Tribe…”

Ba Shan’s face changed drastically. “The Bi Fang Tribe—they mean to start a war? Then…”

Chi Feng shook his head. “It’s only a possibility. Who knows what their true intent is?”

“What should we do now?” Ba Shan asked.

Ba Chuan pondered: “We… protect the young master, fight a bloody path through, break the encirclement, rejoin the Vermilion Sparrow main force, and report Bi Fang’s movements to the Great Chieftain as soon as possible?”

Chi Feng was inclined toward the same thought.

Though it would certainly cause heavy casualties, seasoned barbarian generals like them had long since put aside fear of death, and knew war never came without sacrifice.

But instead of answering, Chi Feng turned toward Mo Hua.

He was already used to: “When in doubt, ask Mister Shaman.”

After all, the shaman’s “oracles” had proven uncannily accurate.

Dan-Zhu, too, looked to Mo Hua.

A good young master knew how to listen—knew whose words to heed—and did not cling to pride where obedience was needed.

Mo Hua was deep in thought.

He had no shortage of methods.

But which, if any, was truly the best?

With solemn face, Mo Hua said: “I will pray to the Divine-Lord, beseech his blessing, and seek his guidance.”

Dan-Zhu and the others grew even more respectful, honoring Mo Hua as though he were the Divine-Lord himself, bowing their hands together:

“Many thanks, Mister Wu…”

“Our gratitude, Shaman…”

Mo Hua nodded slightly, then withdrew to his own quarters. There he laid down formations to isolate sound and sight, knelt upon his cushion, and outwardly appeared to pray to the Divine-Lord—while in truth he pondered on his own.

After all, there was never truly a “Divine-Lord” to give him guidance.

Every so-called revelation had always been the result of his own analysis and calculation.

Now too, he could only rely on himself.

If he were alone, slipping past the Bi Fang blockade would be simple.

His divine sense was sharper than ever. Concealed, and with a little care, the Bi Fang people might as well be blind.

He could walk boldly right through their lines, and most of them would never notice.

Even bringing Dan-Zhu along posed no problem.

As long as he crafted an invisibility cloak or mantle for him, Dan-Zhu could simply follow at his side.

Even taking a few others would still be feasible.

But the problem was, Dan-Zhu now had five or six hundred men under him. To cloak them all with concealment arrays and invisibility cloaks was too costly—Mo Hua couldn’t afford it.

Not now, at least.

More importantly, he did not wish to reveal his mastery of concealment techniques.

Dan-Zhu seemed kind-hearted—but in truth, he was clever.

If Mo Hua displayed concealment so profound that even Golden Cores could not detect him, Dan-Zhu might well connect it to that night when “the Divine-Lord” had whispered to him at his bedside.

That would damage his dignity as a shaman.

Besides, concealment experts were always distrusted. No one easily trusted someone who could hide unseen in the dark, perhaps committing misdeeds without being noticed.

As a shaman, he needed reverence—not suspicion.

Thus, stealth was out of the question.

So… force a breakthrough?

He did have a method: use formations to blast open a path, then let Dan-Zhu’s forces charge through.

The thought tempted him—he hadn’t blown anything up with formations in a long time, and his hands itched for it.

But blasting mountains with large-scale arrays would inevitably kill people—staining the hands he was trying to “wash clean.”

Even if no one died, after blasting and breaking through—what then?

With a twist of his fingers, Mo Hua could already foresee the outcome.

The mountains shatter, Dan-Zhu and Chi Feng lead the charge through the breach.

The Bi Fang soldiers swarm to pursue.

Their main force’s Golden Core cultivators—easily a dozen or two—would join the hunt.

Chased by them, Dan-Zhu might survive, but the five or six hundred followers who had grown alongside him would be cut down one by one, mere cannon fodder for the Bi Fang Golden Cores.

Even if Dan-Zhu escaped, the loss would be ruinous.

“Is there no way… to save everyone from dying?”

Mo Hua’s brow furrowed tightly.

He pondered, calculated—but whichever choice, the outcome seemed bleak.

If they stayed put, they risked being consumed by the spreading famine disaster…

“Famine…”

He paused, then suddenly his heart skipped a beat, his expression sharpening with gravity.

He had overlooked one critical factor: The Wutu Tribe!

He had left the Wutu Tribe for the Vermilion Sparrow Tribe more than a year ago.

During this year, he had to pose as a Shaman, “deceive” Dan-Zhu, gather intelligence about the tribe, deduce the situation, comprehend formations, crusade against the Shugu Tribe, devour the Barbarian God, strengthen his divine sense… and so on and so forth.

There had been too much, Mo Hua had always been endlessly busy, his divine sense ceaselessly running, with almost no pause.

This led to him nearly forgetting everything about the Wutu Mountain Realm.

But now, the famine disaster was spreading, catastrophe was coming.

What would become of the Wutu Mountain Realm?

Were they also suffering under famine?

How was Elder Zhamu, how was little Zha Tu? What about those children he had taught under the name of “teacher”? Were they in danger? The more Mo Hua thought, the heavier his worry grew.

Famine had no mercy, reality was cruel. If Wutu and Wusha Mountain Realms were also shrouded by famine, then all his past efforts would vanish into nothing.

Those children too… might not escape, all starving to death.

Mo Hua’s heart chilled. Without hesitation, he immediately cast another divination, calculating the safety of the Wutu Mountain Realm, and the life or death of little Zha Tu and the rest. But the omen was subtle.

It couldn’t be called good, but neither was it wholly dire.

And since he had left the Wutu Mountain Realm too long ago, knowing nothing of the exact situation, he couldn’t deduce the detailed causes and effects. Mo Hua couldn’t help but feel deeply anxious.

He very much wanted to return and take a look.

But here with Dan-Zhu, he couldn’t simply leave either.

If he didn’t go back, and little Zha Tu suffered misfortune, Mo Hua would never find peace, carrying lifelong guilt.

But without using karmic arts to protect Dan-Zhu, if Dan-Zhu died in the tribe’s internal struggles, then all his future plans would dissolve into empty talk. These two choices left Mo Hua caught in a painful dilemma, the more he thought, the more anxious he felt.

Suddenly, a flash of inspiration struck him—an imperfect solution:

“What if I just ‘take’ Dan-Zhu to the Wutu Mountain Realm?”

That way he could both protect Dan-Zhu and see the state of the Wutu Mountain Realm. Wouldn’t that be the best of both worlds?

But after a moment of thought, Mo Hua shook his head. The idea was a bit wishful, unrealistic…

The Wutu Mountain Realm was only a second-grade realm. Dan-Zhu was a Golden Core cultivator; it was nearly impossible for one like him to go to a mere second-grade realm.

Moreover, he was the young master of the third-grade Vermilion Sparrow Tribe—what business would he have in such a small place?

But…

After pondering for a moment, Mo Hua suddenly realized: wasn’t Dan-Zhu safer in a second-grade realm?

In a third-grade realm, as an early Golden Core, Dan-Zhu had to face threats from mid and late-stage Golden Cores.

But in a second-grade realm, Dan-Zhu’s cultivation would already be “the peak”—he would be “the strongest.”

As long as he restrained his cultivation a bit, avoiding the use of Golden Core power, it would be fine.

And since the Bi Fang Tribe was mobilizing so aggressively, it couldn’t just be against Dan-Zhu. Inevitably, it would mean a large-scale war.

That war could very well engulf the entire third-grade Vermilion Bird Mountain Realm, dragging most Golden Cores into deadly battle.

In such circumstances, the second-grade realms would actually be safer.

As for what Dan-Zhu would do in a second-grade realm…

Mo Hua thought for a moment, then suddenly remembered Mister Tu, and the Arhatian Blood-Sacrifice Grand Formation.

(TN: There are two different formations used by Mr. Tu?

蛮荒古阵 (Mánhuāng gǔ zhèn) – Great Wilderness Ancient Formation.

荒天血祭大阵 (Huāngtiān xuèjì dà zhèn) – Arhatian (lit: Desolate Heaven) Blood-Sacrifice Grand Formation)

Mister Tu’s conception of the Arhatian Blood-Sacrifice Grand Formation was to link together low-grade realms using a blood-sacrifice evil array, constructing a great evil formation, thereby sealing off a fifth-grade realm.

This was a strategy: under the constraints of the Heavenly Dao, connecting low-grade realms to blockade higher-grade ones.

Although Mister Tu had died, his line of thinking could still be borrowed.

He could have Dan-Zhu lead troops to a second-grade realm to “develop,” using it as a base, forging armor, raising soldiers. When strong enough, they could then counterattack and “encircle” the third-grade realm.

Use a small realm as a stronghold, then swallow a great realm.

Mister Tu had done it—and had actually succeeded, only ruined by Mo Hua himself.

Among three traveling together, one must be a teacher.

Now, Mo Hua could completely follow that same strategy.

The more he thought, the more reasonable it seemed—perhaps the most suitable path for the present situation, and the best path for himself. Of course, the specifics still needed careful thought.

Mo Hua pondered all night, calculating all night, making every route and plan ready.

At dawn the next day, Mo Hua gathered Dan-Zhu and the others, his tone utterly solemn:

“Divine-Lord has given me revelation. We cannot return to the Vermilion Sparrow main tribe. Ahead… lies only a road of no return!”

Dan-Zhu and the others were shocked.

“A road of death?” Chi Feng’s expression was grim.

“Yes,” Mo Hua nodded, voice low, “according to Divine-Lord’s revelation, if we press forward, forcing our way through the Bi Fang Tribe’s blockade, the entire army will be annihilated. Not a single barbarian soldier will survive, even Young Master Dan-Zhu… would be slain by Bi Jie.”

Everyone’s faces turned pale.

Ba Shan in particular was terrified, his voice trembling: “Lord Shaman, then… what should we do?”

“Following Divine-Lord’s guidance, only by avoiding the calamity of death can we seek survival…”

Mo Hua spread out the map, pointing to a corner in the southeast: “This direction is the ‘road of life’ indicated by Divine-Lord, the only path to wrest life from death.”

Dan-Zhu and the others followed Mo Hua’s finger, frowning in puzzlement. “This… is a second-grade realm?”

Mo Hua nodded.

“But… if we enter a second-grade realm, how can we settle there?” Ba Chuan asked. “And according to the Great Wilderness ancestral precepts, Golden Core cultivators never enter second-grade realms.”

Mo Hua declared firmly: “Precisely because the ancestral precept is thus, we must go against it. Only by acting contrary can we escape death and seize life.”

Dan-Zhu and the others looked at each other.

To enter a second-grade realm—it was truly unexpected. Before this, they had never even thought of such a thing.

But “Mister Wu’s” words did seem to make sense.

What’s more, this was the guidance of the Divine-Lord.

Along the way, Mister Wu had already proven to them time and again: the Divine-Lord’s guidance was real and unfailing, without exception always correct.

This time, it should be no different.

Of course, they didn’t know that this time the “Divine-Lord” had told a little lie.

The situation was not as dire as Mo Hua had made it out to be.

They weren’t absolutely required to enter the Second-Grade Mountain Realm.

It was their “Divine-Lord” Mo Hua who had deliberately guided them this way.

And after spending so much time with them, Mo Hua already possessed enough “prestige.”

Dan-Zhu pondered for a moment, then nodded. “We shall follow the Divine-Lord’s guidance in all things. Please, Mister Wu, lead the way.”

Chi-Feng and the others also voiced no objections.

Mo Hua nodded with satisfaction. With this, the two forces under his command could now officially “merge.”

And so, the Bi Fang Tribe blocked the front.

Mo Hua, with Dan-Zhu and the others, made a turn, leading the army southeast.

After half a month of trudging through perilous terrain, they finally left the Third-Grade Vermilion Bird Mountain Realm and entered a place Mo Hua was far more familiar with—the Second-Grade Wucha Mountain Realm.

Seeing the landscape before him, Mo Hua quietly let out a breath of relief.

Fortunately, the famine had not yet spread here.

That meant the true “upheaval” had not yet reached Wucha and Wutu Mountain Realms.

But Mo Hua felt no joy.

For the current state of the Wucha Mountain Realm was hardly good.

Wucha Mountain Realm was originally a remote Second-Grade mountain realm on the eastern edge of the Great Wilderness.

This realm had no fixed name before.

After it was conquered, Mo Hua, the Lord Shaman, had specially allowed the chief of the Wulu Tribe to name it after himself, “Wucha,” as a reward for his many military exploits.

Though called Wucha Mountain Realm, its true “master” was still none other than Mo Hua, the Lord Shaman.

Under Mo Hua’s governance, the realm should have developed according to his plans.

But now, a year later, Wucha Mountain Realm remained the same as before—perhaps even worse.

Mo Hua released his divine sense, sweeping across the surroundings. He saw tribes still in hardship; countless lower-class barbarian cultivators still starving; children wandering by the roadside, still deprived of cultivation inheritance and education.

Meanwhile, the realm’s barbarian soldiers, clad in barbarian armor, swaggered about, oppressing others and extorting wealth.

In many tribes of the Wucha Mountain Realm, though the people were impoverished, clothed in rags and starving, they were nonetheless forced to exhaust manpower and resources to carve fine stone, erecting exquisite statues.

The statues towered high, their faces carved into the likeness of the Wulu Tribe’s chief—“Wucha.”

Any barbarian cultivator passing by had to kowtow and bow before Wucha’s statues, a display of rigid and oppressive power.

Mo Hua’s gaze grew gradually colder.

(End of this Chapter)