Chapter 1214: Divine Name

Chapter 1213: Divine Name

Lu-Gu was seething with rage.

The other barbarian soldiers of the Shugu Tribe’s main force were equally dumbfounded.

They couldn’t understand what had just happened. Why was the ancestral heavy armor—left behind by their forefathers, symbol of the Shugu Tribe’s supreme glory, indestructible and unmatched—now being worn by their enemies?

And now, they themselves were forced to fight against powerful foes clad in the heavy armor of their own ancestors?

The Shugu Tribe’s morale was shaken to its core.

Dan-Zhu seized the opportunity, waving his hand and shouting: “Kill!”

The great battle began.

Dan-Zhu charged at the front, followed by the Abyssal-Bone armored soldiers of the Vermilion Sparrow Tribe.

The Shugu Tribe’s Abyssal-Bone Heavy Armor was indeed formidable. This fact was plain to see, even when worn by their own barbarian soldiers.

Blades and spears could not pierce it. Fire and water could not invade it. No force could break through its protection.

Against this nearly “absolute defense,” even the Shugu Tribe themselves were helpless.

Never had they imagined that one day their enemies would wear their own barbaric armor against them.

What was worse, their enemies had nearly 50% more sets of Abyssal-Bone Heavy Armor as they did.

The battle held little suspense.

After a brutal clash lasting one full hour, the Shugu Tribe was defeated.

General Lu-Gu led his men thirty li back, set up camp, and wore a face as black as iron.

It was not his first defeat, but it was certainly the most “incomprehensible” loss in his life.

He had lost to his own “ancestors.”

Never in his life had he imagined such a way to fail.

Lu-Gu’s first thought was treachery.

That Dan-Zhu had bought off traitors from the Shugu main force, stealing away a great number of Abyssal-Bone armors.

But after thinking it over, he realized it was impossible.

The amount of Abyssal-Bone Heavy Armor in Dan-Zhu’s possession wasn’t some small batch.

Even he himself could never “steal” so many ancestral armors—nor would he even know where to steal them from.

Lu-Gu conducted a thorough inspection of his troops, yet found not the slightest trace of a traitor.

The ancestral armor was a sacred taboo of the tribe. Anyone who dared to leak information would be guilty of an unforgivable capital crime—condemned to death by a thousand cuts, their bones ground to dust, sacrificed to the ancestors.

No one in the Shugu Tribe would ever have the courage to endure such torment.

Lu-Gu turned the matter over and over in his mind, yet no explanation surfaced. He simply couldn’t understand.

Why did Dan-Zhu possess the heavy armor passed down from the ancestors of the Shugu Tribe?

His expression grew ever darker.

One sharp-minded subordinate whispered, “My lord… could it be… that Dan-Zhu and the others made it themselves?”

Lu-Gu’s face grew ugly. “Made it themselves? Who could possibly make it? The Sacred Abyssal-Bone Runes have long been lost. Other than our forefathers, who could forge such armor?

“Are you suggesting that our own ancestors crafted armor for Dan-Zhu?”

The subordinate paled in fear, stammering into silence.

Lu-Gu fumed, unable to calm himself for a long while.

But anger alone could not solve the problem—the war had to be fought.

The entire Shugu Tribe now faced a nightmare: their once-proud ancestral heavy armor had become the enemy’s weapon. And they had to endure the humiliation of seeing their forefathers’ legacy worn by outsiders.

This battle, too, ended in defeat for the Shugu Tribe.

Even though General Lu-Gu was a late-stage Golden Core cultivator, it was to no avail.

In a Grade-Two Mountain Realm, heavenly restrictions limited the difference between Golden Core and peak Foundation Establishment.

Once a peak Foundation Establishment barbarian donned a Grade-Two, twenty-rune Absolute Formation Abyssal-Bone Armor, their combat strength inside such a realm nearly rivaled Golden Core. Fifty such soldiers in Abyssal-Bone Heavy Armor were nearly equivalent to fifty Golden Cores.

In fact, in some ways they were even stronger.

For Golden Core cultivators could not fight without restraint.

Nor could they break the heavy armor.

But those wearing the armor could wound a Golden Core. The wounds might not be fatal at once, but once injuries accumulated, the outcome would be grim.

This was war, not one-on-one dueling.

The law of war was clear: accumulation overwhelms the strong, the weak can wear down the mighty.

Over the next three days, after several battles large and small, the Shugu Tribe suffered defeat after defeat and were forced fifty li back from the Wutu Mountain Realm. During these battles, Lu-Gu noticed something: the Abyssal-Bone Heavy Armor worn by Dan-Zhu’s troops was not the same as theirs.

The Vermilion Sparrow Tribe’s armor was more crudely made, with cheaper materials, and the forging marks were unmistakably new, with no trace of age or wear.

This meant the armor had likely just been forged recently.

Rushed, hurried work—details carelessly done.

Lu-Gu could hardly believe it.

“Is there really someone in this world… who can still forge my tribe’s ancestral battle armor?!”

“Who is it?!”

“Dan-Zhu? Chì Fēng? Some elder armor-smith hidden in these small mountain realms? Or perhaps another tribe’s inheritance?”

“Or could it be… that human-skinned, pale-faced demonic shaman?”

Lu-Gu’s gaze grew vicious and grave.

To confirm his suspicions, he tried repeatedly in subsequent battles to “capture” a set of Abyssal-Bone Armor for study. But such tricks were already old news to Mo Hua.

The Shugu Tribe lacked Mo Hua’s strange array methods.

Thus, though Lu-Gu tried many times, he could neither restrain nor capture any Vermilion Sparrow soldier clad in Abyssal-Bone Armor.

He had no choice but to set aside his suspicions and focus on the battlefield.

The Shugu main force was not without strength.

As its general, Lu-Gu was no ordinary man. With years of battle experience, he knew many tactics to counter heavy-armor soldiers. After some thought, he turned to guerrilla strikes and lightning raids to harass Dan-Zhu’s army.

The Shugu Tribe gathered nearly all their strength.

Lu-Gu himself fought head-on against Chì Fēng and Dan-Zhu.

Other Golden Core barbarian generals of the Shugu Tribe, including the Five Freaks of Shugu, more than ten in total, also charged into the front lines.

They used numbers of Golden Core experts and overall manpower to offset the Vermilion Sparrow Tribe’s advantage in Abyssal-Bone Heavy Armor.

In head-on battle, even Dan-Zhu could not easily gain the upper hand against Lu-Gu.

Thus the two sides fought bitterly for over ten days, the situation locked in stalemate.

The Shugu Tribe was regaining stability, and Lu-Gu was preparing for a long war.

But then, in the middle of a campaign, one scene nearly shattered his dao-heart.

Dan-Zhu, as always, charged in front. But behind him, among his armored troops, another fifty Abyssal-Bone Heavy Armors suddenly appeared.

In total: one hundred suits of Grade-Two, twenty-rune Abyssal-Bone Heavy Armor!

One hundred armored soldiers!

Lu-Gu was stunned, furious—and then deeply horrified.

In half a month, another fifty armors had appeared out of thin air?!

Could this truly be… the work of demons?!

Were ancient demons aiding Dan-Zhu in battle?!

Mo Hua’s white, solemn, immaculate face—so pure it seemed inhuman—rose vividly in Lu-Gu’s mind.

Even late-stage Golden Core General Lu-Gu felt a shiver of terror.

One hundred Abyssal-Bone Heavy Armors, worn by peak Foundation Establishment cultivators, were almost equal to one hundred Golden Cores in this Mountain Realm. The pressure was unbearable.

Such power was simply absurd.

Every suit of ancestral battle armor had once been an “heirloom,” priceless beyond compare.

And now they were lined up like cabbages at the market.

Even the Shugu Tribe had never fought such a “luxurious” war.

The entire Shugu Tribe was breaking down—faith itself beginning to waver.

They began to wonder: were their ancestors truly their own ancestors anymore?

Dan-Zhu too found it hard to believe the “barbaric armor reinforcements” Mo Hua had given him.

But he already expected the shaman’s wonders. Whispering “The teacher is wise,” he led his armored army in a counterattack against the Shugu Tribe.

From then on, there was no suspense.

The Shugu Tribe lost again and again.

Though Lu-Gu was experienced, even the best cook cannot make a meal without rice. With such a disparity in heavy armor, he could only retreat again.

After half a month of fighting, the Vermilion Sparrow Tribe and the Wutu Alliance reclaimed most of the Wusha Mountain Realm.

Lu-Gu withdrew westward, until once again both sides faced off at Wufeng Ridge.

The situation returned to what it had been before.

Only now, roles were reversed.

Previously, Lu-Gu attacked while Dan-Zhu defended.

Now Dan-Zhu attacked with his armored might, and Lu-Gu was forced to defend.

Dan-Zhu could press forward and even win, but crossing Wufeng Ridge to occupy land was pointless—he could not hold it.

Though strong, his armored forces were still fewer in number than the Shugu Tribe.

If he spread them thin to garrison land, they would be cut down piecemeal.

Meanwhile, the Shugu Tribe could not retreat further.

Any further back would leave the Wusha Mountain Realm entirely, returning them to the Grade-Three Vermilion Bird Mountain Realm.

But that realm was already ravaged by famine and war. Returning meant fighting the other Grade-Three great tribes while suffering starvation—a dead end all the same.

Thus, Lu-Gu could only hold his ground.

Mo Hua, after consideration, did not push Dan-Zhu to press further. Forcing the Shugu Tribe into a corner could provoke a desperate fight, where no one would benefit.

Moreover, having the Shugu Tribe entrenched in Wusha Mountain Realm was, in truth, to Mo Hua’s advantage.

For in doing so, they became a “buffer zone.”

From now on, any tribe wishing to invade Wusha or even Wutu Mountain Realm would first have to break through Lu-Gu’s Shugu forces.

Thus, the Shugu Tribe became Mo Hua’s first “defense line”—the meat between the bun.

And so, with Mo Hua’s tacit approval and Lu-Gu’s reluctant acceptance, the Shugu Tribe and Vermilion Sparrow Tribe established a balance, facing one another across Wufeng Ridge.

Mo Hua gave Lu-Gu breathing space.

And Lu-Gu, daunted by the Vermilion Sparrow Tribe’s armored soldiers, dared not launch another major offensive.

The tense warfront settled into this delicate standoff.

But even in this eased atmosphere, Mo Hua never stopped forging Abyssal-Bone Heavy Armor.

This war had shown him firsthand the immense importance of “barbarian armor” in the Great Wilderness tribal conflicts.

Especially the Abyssal-Bone Heavy Armor, legacy of the Shugu Tribe’s ancestors.

With the empowerment of the twenty-rune Absolute Formation, every additional suit of heavy armor could transform a peak Foundation Establishment barbarian soldier into a “Golden Core.”

That was practically a qualitative shift in military strength.

Formations were the first productive force of the cultivation world.

Armor empowered by formations would inevitably determine the future of wars.

Thus, Mo Hua poured immense costs and effort into forging heavy armor.

Most of the barbarian armor materials he had seized earlier from the Shugu Tribe’s secret division were now used to forge this secret ancestral Abyssal-Bone Heavy Armor.

This matter also caused Dan-Zhu and the others to harbor mixed thoughts.

They did not question the act of forging heavy armor itself.

They only wondered deeply—why could “Mister Wu” forge the ancestral heavy armor of the Shugu Tribe?

This was a forging method that had already been lost within the Shugu Tribe itself.

To any tribe, it was an irreproducible secret.

Yet Mo Hua seemed to have effortlessly stolen this secret…

What was the connection between Mister Wu and the Shugu Tribe?

How had he learned this method of forging heavy armor?

Could it really be that he just captured someone to study and research, and that was enough to master it?

When it came to such tribal secrets, no tribal cultivator could remain insensitive or unwary.

Even Dan-Zhu now looked at Mo Hua with a trace of misgiving in his eyes.

(TN: The word used here is 顧慮 (gùlǜ) which can mean: misgiving/wariness/apprehension/doubt)

At a tribal council meeting, Chi Feng could no longer resist and openly raised this doubt:

“Mister Wu, how did you know…the forging method of the Shugu Tribe’s ancestral heavy armor?”

Chi Feng’s expression was somewhat solemn.

For this shaman Mo Hua had already become “powerful” to a degree he could not comprehend.

This kind of power was not the direct, visible strength of cultivation, but something subtle, inexplicable, even eerie.

He (Mo Hua) knew the Heavenly Secrets, could see through human hearts, feared neither evil spirits nor life and death.

And now, even the ancient forging method of ancestral barbarian armor, long buried in the history of the Great Wilderness, could be “restored” by him.

Did that not mean the secrets of other tribes could also be peered into by him?

Would the Vermilion Sparrow Tribe…be spared?

This left Chi Feng feeling deeply unsafe.

Mo Hua’s answer was simple: “I don’t know.”

Chi Feng was stunned. The others were equally shocked.

Mo Hua, however, wore a serious face: “I have already said, my personal realm, cultivation, shamanic arts—they mean nothing.”

“I am one who has received the ‘blessing’ of the Divine-Lord. All of my methods come from the Divine-Lord’s gifts. They are the manifestation of His might… If I do not understand something, I need only ask the Divine-Lord.”

“If I cannot resolve something, I need only seek resolution from the Divine-Lord.”

“If I desire a method, I need only pray to the Divine-Lord for it.”

“So long as my faith in the Divine-Lord is devout enough, so long as He favors me, He will grant me all things.”

“Devout faith is the source of all my abilities.”

“Other than that, even if I were a ‘useless man,’ it would not matter—for the Divine-Lord would still bestow upon me all might.”

“So…”

Mo Hua’s expression grew solemn as he looked at Chi Feng. “You ask me how I know the forging method of the Shugu Tribe’s ancestors’ armor… All I can tell you is that I do not know.”

“It is because the Divine-Lord let me know, that I know.”

“I am only a shaman. My cultivation is but Foundation Establishment. What I convey is solely the prestige of the Divine-Lord…”

“Because the Divine-Lord is omniscient, omnipotent… therefore I can know secrets I ought not know, therefore I can display miracles beyond my own ability…”

“All of this is the Divine-Lord’s gift.”

Mo Hua’s tone carried an undeniable authority and piety.

Chi Feng and the others were shaken to the core.

They now understood the truth they could not grasp before, and the essence of being a shaman.

That was faith.

With faith alone came boundless power.

The eerie, unfathomable aura surrounding Mo Hua in their eyes gradually faded.

Replacing it was the image of a devout, pure believer in the Divine-Lord—a “common” cultivator who could walk the world as the Divine-Lord’s representative. His abilities were not his own.

They were but the “gifts” of the Divine-Lord.

The wariness in Chi Feng and the others’ hearts gradually dissolved.

After all, in terms of personal ability, without the Divine-Lord’s blessing, Mo Hua was merely an “ordinary person.”

This made his image feel far more approachable.

Yet it did not diminish their respect for him.

For if a monstrous genius received divine blessing, that was nothing remarkable.

But if an ordinary cultivator, by virtue of unwavering faith, received the blessing of the Divine-Lord and gained divine might—that was truly admirable. That was “greatness” forged from the “ordinary” through faith.

Not only Dan-Zhu, but Chi Feng, the tribal chieftains, and the elders—all looked at Mo Hua with newfound reverence. Even Iron Shugu and A Da Gu, the two clansmen of the Shugu Tribe, after hearing Mo Hua’s words and seeing his saintly, solemn countenance, felt for a fleeting moment a surge of self-doubt.

As if their tribe’s faith was wrong.

As if what they worshiped was false.

Only Mo Hua’s faith was true.

Only Mo Hua’s Divine-Lord was the real deity.

The two froze, then quickly shook their heads, casting out such “blasphemous” thoughts.

But neither realized that deep within their hearts, the faith they held in the Shugu Barbarian God had already gained a faint crack.

In that solemn atmosphere.

Mo Hua, his face grave, sighed helplessly in his heart.

As expected, no matter where you go, it is always the outstanding beam that rots first.

Even as a shaman, it was the same.

One had to learn to conceal one’s brilliance, to feign clumsiness—never let others know your true strength, never let others grow jealous. One had to let others believe you were weak. At the same time, let them know you were under great fortune, blessed by the “divine-lord.”

This way, others would not fear you—because you were incompetent.

Nor would they dare harm you—because you were under divine protection.

Mo Hua had further grasped the knack of being a “shaman,” gaining deeper insight into becoming a greater “god-stick.”

(TN: god-stick slang for Con-man/charlatan)

Thus the matter of the Shugu Tribe’s “ancestral heavy armor” was smoothed over by Mo Hua.

Almost everyone believed that this was a divine method bestowed upon the Shaman by the Divine-Lord.

By following the Shaman’s orders to forge the heavy armor, they were honoring the revelation of the Divine-Lord.

In this way, everything could be explained.

Human strength has its limits, but the Divine-Lord is omnipotent.

Things beyond human ability, once claimed under the name of “divine-lord,” became perfectly reasonable.

And besides forging barbarian armor, Mo Hua also continued, under the name of “Shaman,” to begin other preparations.

He started reorganizing the tribes, retraining the barbarian soldiers, and using this short time of respite to gather strength.

Mo Hua also began searching among the tribes for those with talent, barbarian cultivators suited to learning array formations.

He made them study formations day and night without rest.

These people, Mo Hua planned to use in the future to resist the famine calamity.

He was far too lacking in manpower.

Whether it was barbarian warriors, shamans, or barbarian cultivators capable of drawing formations, all are exceedingly precious.

The sense of urgency in Mo Hua’s heart grew ever stronger.

He had to establish and expand his own power as quickly as possible, only then could he accomplish more.

To suppress the famine calamity, to seek out the source of the Taotie’s power.

To wage war against the tribes, and devour stronger barbarian gods.

If he could, sooner rather than later, devour a twenty-four–rune barbarian god, then perhaps he really could take the first step past the threshold of Golden Core.

And as time flowed on, Mo Hua’s power gradually stabilized, and his forces grew stronger day by day…

(End of this Chapter)