Chapter 1217: Grand Shamanic Art

Chapter 1216: Grand Shamanic Art

Inside the pale yellow bone slip, there was a moment of silence.

Clearly, the “Grand Shamanic Curse-Killing Art” mentioned by Iron Shugu was no ordinary method.

Not only did Iron Shugu harbor fear of it—even Great General Lu-Gu regarded it with deep dread.

Lu-Gu pondered for a long while before replying:

“This matter is not urgent, it must be deliberated carefully.”

But how could Iron Shugu not consider this urgent?

“Lord Gu, you simply do not understand!”

Iron Shugu’s expression was anxious, with hidden terror.

“I have served this demon closely, accompanied him day and night. I know better than anyone—though he shows no outward advancement, though he hides his strength, his progress is terrifying beyond words.”

“Before, it was only in divine sense—a vague oppressive might growing ever deeper.”

“These days, for reasons I cannot fathom, this demon gives me the feeling that he has undergone some further inner ‘transformation.’”

“Though his divine sense seems unchanged, his entire being now emanates a ferocity that could devour all things—like an unparalleled fiend.”

“I even suspect, before long, his true demonic nature will ‘surface.’”

Behind Iron Shugu, Mo Hua’s expression grew peculiar.

He had already been very “restrained.”

His divine sense was retracted into himself, the laws of “Devouring” hidden within his sea of consciousness.

Yet this Iron Shugu could still sense his “strength”?

Was it because Iron Shugu’s prejudice made him assume Mo Hua was a demon, so he guessed and imagined everything?

Or was his faith too deep, making him “sensitive” to matters of the divine?

Mo Hua fell into thought.

Iron Shugu, however, continued urging Lu-Gu to kill Mo Hua:

“Therefore, we cannot delay! If we strike, we must strike early. Hesitation will bring disaster!”

Lu-Gu only said: “The Grand Shamanic Art cannot be used lightly.”

Iron Shugu pressed: “This demon is so sinister, so unfathomable—without the Grand Shamanic Art, he cannot be slain.”

Lu-Gu replied: “You should know, such Grand Shamanic Arts have long been lost. Only some Shugu ancestors, who once violated taboo, learned them.”

“And those ancestors are long dead.”

“To awaken them, to beg them to cast the Grand Shamanic Art and curse this demon to death, would require a tremendous price.”

Iron Shugu’s face was devout: “I, Iron Shugu, am willing to pay any price to rid us of this demon—even my life.”

Lu-Gu’s gaze was cold as he wrote back with blood:

“To awaken the dead ancestors, and have them kill the living—even if that living one is a demon—that violates two layers of the taboo of ‘life and death.’”

“Do you think such a price can be paid with just your one life?”

“If in the process something goes wrong…”

Lu-Gu’s eyes grew terrifying as he wrote, word by word:

“The dead may refuse to die again. The living may be stripped of the fruit of ‘life.’ That would be a great calamity upon the tribe.

Iron Shugu—can you bear that?”

Iron Shugu fell silent.

His murderous intent was too strong, and naturally he had not thought things through.

But his intent to kill was not out of selfishness, rather out of loyalty to the tribe, and above all, his faith in Lord Barbarian.

Iron Shugu had a strong premonition:

“If we do not awaken the ancestors to slay this demon, then this demon will become the great calamity of our Shugu Tribe.”

Lu-Gu’s brows furrowed tightly.

After some thought, Lu-Gu slowly wrote: “This matter must be further deliberated. For now, let us first try other methods.”

“What methods?”

Lu-Gu said: “I have already agreed to ally with this demon and return to the Third-Rank Vermilion Bird Realm. Once there, without restrictions, with my late Golden Core cultivation, I can find an opportunity to destroy his fleshly body and cripple his foundation.”

Iron Shugu countered:

“He is a demon. If you destroy his fleshly body, can he truly die?”

“He can die.” Mo Hua nodded faintly to himself.

Though his divine sense was strong, his body was weak. Kill his body, and he would surely die.

But alas, Iron Shugu could not hear.

Lu-Gu himself was uncertain, and said:

“Once his body is destroyed, even if he does not die, he will suffer grievous loss. His true demonic body will be exposed under the open sky, reviled by all. His sacred shamanic guise torn away, he will struggle to beguile hearts and stir chaos again.”

Mo Hua inwardly nodded.

What Lu-Gu said was, in fact, quite reasonable.

Pity… pity that he truly was not a demon, and feared no sunlight.

Iron Shugu sighed, finally saying: “Very well.”

He was only early Golden Core, leader of a wandering Shugu tribe branch, far beneath Lu-Gu, a late Golden Core commander of the main Shugu forces.

Much less could he, on his own, awaken dead ancestors to curse Mo Hua.

At last, Lu-Gu asked about what he most desired—the forging method of the Abyssal-Bone Heavy Armor.

Iron Shugu only said: “That is the demon’s deepest secret. He never tells anyone. The forging valley is a forbidden land, none may step inside, none can glimpse it.”

Lu-Gu asked no more.

Thus, this late-night “private talk” ended.

Iron Shugu continued burning the midnight oil, tirelessly searching the records of the Shugu Tribe and other clans, looking for a method to slay Mo Hua, this “demon walking beneath the sun.”

Mo Hua admired his diligence, but did not disturb his “efforts,” silently taking his leave.

(TN: 🤣😂)

Afterward, he returned to his room, sat before the desk, and fell into deep thought.

“Grand Shamanic Art…”

“This art that can supposedly ‘curse me to death’—what exactly is it?”

“Curse… is it tied to karma?”

“Grand Shaman… could it be connected to the Grand Shaman Priest?”

Mo Hua’s eyes grew grave.

But that was not the most shocking part.

What shocked him more was learning, from Iron Shugu and Lu-Gu’s talk, that the Shugu Tribe still preserved a “Death-Summoning Art.”

Mo Hua did not know what law this art followed.

Could it truly “awaken” the dead?

Or did it awaken only a remnant soul, or a fragment of memory?

Or perhaps, what was awakened was just a corpse “parasitized” by something else?

Could the dead truly be “awakened”?

And once awakened—are they “alive,” or still “dead”?

Death-Summoning…

Mo Hua’s expression grew distant, and he could not help murmuring inwardly:

“Master… surrounded by deathly silence, engulfed in darkness…”

Mo Hua lit his heart as a candle, his gaze profound.

…

The next day.

The journey away from Wusha Mountain Realm toward Vermilion Bird Mountain Realm had been largely settled.

Before that, Mo Hua once more went into the deep mountains to see Big Tiger.

Part of the reason he had decided to battle for the Vermilion Bird Mountain Realm was also because of this Big Tiger—now called “Big Flower.”

(TN: 大花 = Da Hua = Big Flower. Should I translate it as Big Flower or use Da Hua?)

Big Flower, at the peak of the second rank, was about to break through.

Mo Hua had thought the big tiger was like himself, needing more time before forming a core.

But he was wrong.

Big Flower was far stronger.

Ever since mixing with a group of tigress demons, perhaps awakening some bloodline, its demonic aura grew stronger by the day.

Its fur—white more translucent, black more weighty in luster.

Its demonic power seemed at the brink, faint crystals of flowing light forming over its body.

This was the omen of “Core Formation.”

Clearly, before long, Big Flower would attempt Core Formation and become a third-rank Golden Core Tiger.

Mo Hua had to find it a new “residence.”

If it remained in the second-rank Wutu Mountain Realm, once it formed a core, it would trigger heavenly tribulation and be reduced to ashes.

Of course, a beast’s instinct would drive it to leave before attempting core formation.

But beyond Wutu Mountain Realm, famine and danger lurked everywhere.

Mo Hua could not rest easy letting Big Flower face that alone—least of all at such a critical moment.

If ambushed, dragged to the royal court, or disturbed mid-core formation, its demon core might shatter, ending its life.

Mo Hua would be devastated.

So, he first needed to scout Vermilion Bird Mountain Realm, seize a strong mountain, station heavy guards, and then let Big Tiger safely form its core there.

As for those tigresses…

Mo Hua’s gaze darkened.

He did not know why, in these chaotic times, they clustered around Big Flower.

Nor was he sure if it was truly because the Great Wilderness was suffering a “shortage of male tigers.”

But those tigresses were still demonic beasts.

And demonic beasts acted purely on instinct.

If Big Flower was strong, they might coexist peacefully.

But if Big Flower failed its breakthrough, if its demon core became flawed, its foundation disordered, and it entered a state of extreme “weakness”…

What those tigresses would do then, Mo Hua could not predict.

Would they perhaps turn on Big Flower, devour its demon core, and divide its flesh among themselves? That too was unknown.

One could hardly gamble on human hearts—let alone the hearts of beasts.

Therefore, Mo Hua had to keep Big Flower’s core formation firmly in his own hands.

That way, once Big Flower succeeded in its breakthrough, he would truly have a Grade-Three Golden Core–realm king among demonic beasts.

In the Great Wilderness, a land full of “white-eyed wolves,” having even one “big tiger” he could truly trust was an extremely rare thing.

However, seizing territory in the Vermilion Bird Mountain Realm was no small matter—who knew how many complications and obstacles lay ahead?

Thus, Mo Hua had no choice but to part with Big Tiger for a while.

To sustain him on his journey, Big Flower even stole some of its “main wife’s” hidden stash—some delicious, unknown beast meat that belonged to that Grade-Three Hanging-Eye Black Tiger—and offered it to Mo Hua.

One man and one tiger sat in the forest, surrounding a Blazing Fire Formation, roasting meat while chatting idly.

Of course, it was mostly Mo Hua giving admonitions:

“Lust is a blade hanging over your head—though you’re a tiger, you must still understand this truth.”

“The words of the ancestors never deceive, not men, not even tigers.”

“Those tigresses are only greedy for your body. You, a male tiger, must learn to protect yourself…”

Big Flower nodded its head and gave a soft “Aow-ma” to show it understood.

Mo Hua even took out his treasured fruit wine, brewed personally by his mother, Liu Ruhua, and let Big Flower taste it.

With one slurp, Big Flower drank more than half the bottle, leaving Mo Hua heartbroken.

After eating and drinking their fill, and after all the necessary instructions were given, Mo Hua once again had to part with Big Tiger.

What awaited him was yet another stretch of toil and uncertainty.

Mo Hua sighed lightly, a sudden melancholy rising in his heart.

He was no longer that “little formation master” of the past. He had grown up.

And growing up meant more burdens, more responsibilities, more worries, and heavier pressure on his shoulders.

Perhaps he could never again live as carefree as in childhood.

He suddenly missed those days back in Tongxian City. Though there had been troubles, most were harmless. Each day he cultivated with his master, studied with his little senior brother and sister.

Sometimes he would wander up Great Black Mountain, sometimes he would play with Big Tiger.

Now, that leisure was gone—and he didn’t know if he would ever have it again.

Mo Hua stroked Big Flower’s head, his gaze warm, his voice gentle:

“Next, I’ll head to the Grade-Three Mountain Realm. Take good care of yourself.”

“If all goes well, I’ll seize a mountain and then bring you over.”

“If things don’t go well, if I don’t return, and you must break through on your own—just follow the direction I showed you today in the daylight. Keep going until you feel the sky grow higher and the suppression disappear. Then find a secluded valley, form your core there, and trust no one, no man and no tiger.”

Normally, a tiger’s head was not something anyone could touch.

But Mo Hua was different.

And Big Flower was different too.

It seemed to feel Mo Hua’s concern, that familiar “parting grief.” It couldn’t help but press its head against Mo Hua’s palm.

And on its head, that domineering “王” (king) character grew all the clearer.

Three days later, Mo Hua set out with his army.

He had also made proper arrangements within the Wutu Mountain Realm.

Elder Zhamu remained in charge of domestic affairs, Elder Jiao Hu oversaw the secret forging of armor.

Jiao Li and the newly appointed “Wusha” were placed in charge of war and order.

Both were required to work in unity and never defy the rules Mo Hua had established—otherwise, all had the right to execute them.

Externally, Mo Hua mobilized almost all the forces from the Vermilion Sparrow Tribe and the Wutu Alliance.

Especially the hundred-odd Abyssal-Bone Heavy-Armored Soldiers—they were deployed almost to the last man.

Not a single Golden Core was allowed to remain behind in the Wutu Mountain Realm.

Dan-Zhu was appointed commander of all barbarian troops.

Little Zha Tu was arranged by Mo Hua to serve as Dan-Zhu’s follower, accompanying the army on campaign.

Mo Hua hoped that by staying at Dan-Zhu’s side, Little Zha Tu would build connections, gain knowledge, and grow into a capable talent.

This was Mo Hua’s expectation for him, and also the promise he had made to Elder Zhamu.

Even if one day he suddenly vanished from the Great Wilderness, never to return…

Dan-Zhu would still have a firm “support,” and together with Zha Tu, the two could help each other, gradually working to change the Great Wilderness.

This was Mo Hua’s heartfelt intention.

Once Mo Hua’s forces had assembled, Lu Gu’s side was also prepared.

The two commanders met briefly.

Lu Gu, tall and imposing, bore a stern expression. When he looked at Mo Hua, his gaze was cold, but carried a faint trace of respect.

Had Mo Hua not secretly overheard Lu Gu and Iron Shugu discussing in private how to kill him, this so-called “demon,” and root him out completely.

He might almost have thought that this Lu-Gu really “respected” him.

Mo Hua silently shook his head.

But he said nothing. In fact, when he looked back at Lu Gu, his gaze was even clearer, his expression even more sincere—as if he had truly reconciled with the Shugu Tribe, standing together in mutual aid, “like family.”

After all, when it came to acting, few surpassed Mo Hua.

And his acting shone because of two words—“genuine sincerity.”

He could truly convince himself, from the bottom of his heart, that he intended to put aside enmity with the Shugu Tribe and stand together in mutual support.

The two sides met, discussed the marching routes briefly,

And then the Shugu, the Vermilion Sparrow Tribe, and various small tribes—forming the “Wutu Tribe” together, six thousand barbarian soldiers in total—set out on their campaign.

Within the Wusha Mountain Realm, the barbarian army marched like a mighty river, its momentum extraordinary.

Four days later, the allied barbarian soldiers departed from the second-grade Wusha Mountain Realm and entered the broader third-grade realm—the Vermilion Bird Mountain Realm.

This was, of course, not Mo Hua’s first time in the Vermilion Bird Mountain Realm.

He had been here before.

But the meaning this time was completely different.

This time, he had not come alone—he had “brought an army” back.

Now under his command were Golden Core cultivators, barbarian soldiers, and even Abyssal-Bone Absolute Formation Heavy-Armored Troops. He could truly begin to attempt to gnaw away at, or even “seize,” the third-grade Vermilion Bird Mountain Realm.

Yet when Mo Hua stepped onto the land of the Vermilion Bird Mountain Realm, lifted his head to its gloomy sky, and cast his eyes upon its endless ranges of withered, lifeless mountains, his heart grew heavy.

Mo Hua had expected that the situation in the Vermilion Bird Mountain Realm would be dire—but it turned out far worse than he had imagined.

Under the spread of famine, the once prosperous Vermilion Bird Mountain Realm had already become desolate.

Tribal wars raged, with plundering, burning, and slaughter on all sides.

For a thousand li lay scorched earth and wounds upon wounds—no one knew how many had perished.

And the dead gathered a thick deathly aura that drifted into the heavens.

From the dense clouds above, Mo Hua could even make out the vivid “death omen” of resentful souls wailing.

This was not the omen of a single person’s death.

It was some heavenly mechanism, formed from a great accumulation of karmic entanglements.

It was the “death omen” of an entire mountain realm.

(End of this Chapter)