Chapter 1253: Divine Punishment?

Chapter 1252: Divine Punishment?

Lying is a skill.

To lie with a straight face before a crowd takes great skill.

But to lie solemnly before late-stage Golden Core experts, barbarian generals of major tribes, Grand Elders, Great Chiefs, and even two exalted Shamans themselves… now that was no ordinary feat.

At the very least, it required nerves of steel.

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And the boy was merely at the Foundation Establishment stage.

For a brief moment, even Flame Shaman couldn’t help doubting himself.

Could the brat actually be telling the truth?

After all, aside from a true god, who else could possibly grant him such courage?

Yet a glance at Mo Hua made Flame Shaman inwardly shake his head.

“Impossible…”

His spiritual root was poor, his vitality weak—his whole body screamed “born invalid.”

Though his eyes were clear and bright, his divine sense was restrained; he didn’t appear strong at all. Only that face possessed a strange, pure beauty alien to the Great Wilderness.

Other than that… utterly worthless.

His cultivation? Not worth mentioning.

With such a body and cultivation, he couldn’t possibly achieve anything substantial.

Compared to a high-ranked shaman like himself—no, even compared to his own low-ranked underlings—this youth was insignificant.

Unless the gods were blind, there was no way they would choose such a “flesh puppet” to act as their earthly proxy.

As for claiming to serve the “Divine-Lord,” that was laughable—a statement only someone ignorant of the Divine Dao would make.

It might deceive the ignorant, but flaunting such talk before real shamans was simply parading one’s foolishness—full of holes.

Flame Shaman sneered. “Arrogant fool. To blaspheme the divine by falsely claiming divine authority… you deserve death.”

“The Vermilion Bird Mountain Realm was once part of the royal lineage. Who would’ve thought such a petty charlatan would now appear here, spouting heresies and sullying the royal divine lineage?”

He swept his gaze across the hall. “And you Great Chiefs—how can you indulge such insolence and trample the Royal Court’s sanctity?”

With that, he effectively hung a giant hat of “heresy” on Mo Hua’s head.

The assembled Great Chiefs frowned, uneasy.

None of them could discern whether Mo Hua’s words were true or false.

If false—the tale was too well-woven, his expression too solemn, that aura of reverence too convincing.

If true—then the claim was simply too outrageous to believe.

Truth and falsehood tangled; no one dared judge lightly.

But since Flame Shaman of the Royal Court had denounced the youth as a blasphemer, they could no longer ignore it.

Conflicts over divine orthodoxy had always been brutal—life and death.

The title of “Shaman” could never be falsely claimed. Pretenders always died.

The Great Chief of the Flame-Wing Tribe, whose ancestors were connected to Flame Shaman, stepped forward and said gravely:

“Allow me to seize this boy and interrogate him. If he truly bears some divine origin, we will overlook his offenses. But if he is lying and mocking us, we’ll flay him alive and burn him to ashes.”

The Flame-Wing Chief took a step into the hall and thrust out his hand. Blazing fire coalesced into chains that shot toward Mo Hua.

Mo Hua remained calm, motionless.

Beside him, Lu-Gu snorted coldly and stepped forward. With a single squeeze of his massive hand, the fiery chains shattered into sparks.

The Flame-Wing Chief’s face darkened. “Lu-Gu, what is the meaning of this?”

Lu-Gu’s voice was like thunder. “Touch the Shugu Tribe’s Shaman—and you court death.”

The Flame-Wing Chief had ruled for two centuries, while Lu-Gu had been a Great Chief for only a few months.

Being publicly rebuffed by a junior made his face twist with anger.

Yet Lu-Gu was in his prime—towering, fierce, his aura oppressive—while the Flame-Wing Chief was already aging, cunning but lacking vigor. He didn’t truly dare fight the reckless younger man.

So he sneered instead. “Lu-Gu, have you lost your mind? To appoint a mere Foundation Establishment brat as your tribe’s Shaman—isn’t that a joke to the world?”

Lu-Gu inwardly scoffed. Old fool, what do you know?

You’ve never seen the near-demonic power of the Shaman-Lord.

You’ve never witnessed the miracles he wrought.

You’ve never fathomed the Shaman-Lord’s grand ambition to unite the Great Wilderness.

Lu-Gu couldn’t even be bothered to argue. “Whom my Shugu Tribe appoints as Shaman is our own affair. Why should an outsider meddle? You’d do better to choose the wood for your own coffin.”

The Flame-Wing Chief flushed with humiliation but restrained himself. “Arrogant youth. Mark my words—heaven punishes the arrogant. To make a Foundation brat a shaman is to turn the divine into a farce. Let’s see what fate awaits your Shugu Tribe.”

Lu-Gu only sneered.

The other chiefs and elders frowned, even Flame Shaman’s gaze darkening.

None had expected the fierce, decisive Lu-Gu to defend this lowly cultivator so stubbornly. It was baffling.

Some even whispered to themselves—Could this pale-faced shaman be Lu-Gu’s bastard son?

Perhaps Lu-Gu was elevating him to power for that reason.

But then again—that was absurd. To make someone a Shaman? That would require Lu-Gu to be the bastard’s father, not the other way around…

Whatever the reason, with the Shugu Tribe and Lu-Gu shielding Mo Hua, the others couldn’t easily make a move. To attack the boy, they’d have to subdue Lu-Gu first—no small task.

And since this was an alliance council, any internal fight would ruin everything.

In the fractured Wilderness, forming such an alliance was already near-impossible; no one would sabotage it over one dubious “shaman.”

Yet that was political logic.

To the Royal Court’s shamans, divine orthodoxy was paramount—no one could falsely invoke a god’s name or usurp shamanic authority.

Flame Shaman studied Mo Hua for a moment, then spoke coldly:

“Boy, I hadn’t wished to sully my hands. Killing a Foundation weakling would stain my reputation. But you’ve dared to defy the heavens, committing the gravest taboo. Without invoking Divine Punishment to annihilate your spirit, I cannot uphold divine order nor the Royal Court’s prestige.”

He raised his arm. Crimson runes of flame coiled across it, his intent blazing as he pointed a single finger toward Mo Hua’s eyes.

“In the name of a Shaman,” he intoned, voice solemn and resonant, “I call down Divine Punishment. May the divine flames consume your arrogance, burn away your sins, and with your life, repay your blasphemy.”

An immense yet unseen force condensed at his fingertip.

Everyone’s expression changed.

They could feel searing heat, an oppressive pressure on their divine sense—yet saw nothing with their eyes.

“So this is…the power of a Shaman?” the chiefs murmured, aghast.

The Dan-Lie Chief frowned. Lu-Gu felt a powerful sense of danger and tried to shield Mo Hua—but the instant he moved, Flame Shaman’s eyes met his.

Within those fiery pupils burned a dreadful majesty, and a voice seemed to whisper:

Do you wish to take his place and bear the Divine Punishment yourself?

Lu-Gu feared no blade or spell—but the words “Divine Punishment” froze his blood.

He didn’t dare.

He could block blades for Mo Hua, shield him from spells—but not Divine Punishment.

He stood rigid.

In that instant, Flame Shaman unleashed his power.

Invisible force flooded the hall.

The air grew molten, as though divine fire had descended to burn a blasphemer alive—this was power on another plane entirely.

All looked on in horror.

Mo Hua, the “fake shaman,” stood motionless, as if unaware of anything—as though an innocent youth, ignorant and waiting for heaven’s wrath.

The searing will surged around him, poured into his orifices, invaded his Sea of Consciousness, and scorched his Divine-Sense…

The chiefs and elders flinched, some even feeling pity.

Flame Shaman, wielding divine authority, remained expressionless—aloof as a god.

Mo Hua, seemingly helpless, endured the flames in silence.

Perhaps it was too painful for him even to scream; he simply stood there, enduring it all.

The flames burned on.

The punishment continued.

Mo Hua didn’t move.

After a long while, he still hadn’t twitched—nor had his expression changed much.

The chiefs stared, their faces turning odd.

Even Flame Shaman froze.

Mo Hua blinked; his eyes felt warm and itchy. He rubbed them slightly and asked with clear and innocence gaze:

“Was that your Divine Punishment? Is it over already?”

That light, almost teasing question hit Flame Shaman like a hammer to the chest, shattering his pride.

Waves of turmoil surged through his heart—but his years of discipline as a shaman held him steady.

His will was firm. His face thicker still.

Suppressing his humiliation, Flame Shaman calmly withdrew his hand and sighed.

“Forget it. Heaven cherishes life. You’re young and ignorant; though you falsely claimed shamanic rank, your crime isn’t grave enough for Divine Punishment.”

“Only those steeped in unforgivable sin merit divine retribution. You…are not worthy of it.”

Mo Hua blinked, speechless.

This Flame Shaman’s face was even thicker than his own.

Apparently, one needed a skin tougher than leather to be a shaman these days.

The Flame-Wing Chief quickly bowed. “Truly magnanimous, Lord Flame Shaman. This boy was paralyzed by your divine might—surely his heart is forever humbled. With such mercy shown, he will restrain himself henceforth. Let this matter rest.”

Flame Shaman nodded serenely. “Well said, Great Chief. We’ll spare him… this once.”

Mo Hua: “…”

Just then, the alluring and silent Azure Shaman finally spoke, her voice soft and slightly husky:

“It’s getting late. Let’s begin the council—no need to delay further.”

Her voice carried gentle grace with a hint of rasp.

The crowd hastily responded, “Indeed. The council takes precedence.”

“With the Wujiao Tribe’s army before us, the fate of all our tribes hangs in the balance—we must proceed carefully.”

“The military situation is urgent. Forming the alliance takes precedence…”

Amidst the murmurs, the alliance council resumed in an orderly manner.

It seemed everyone had subconsciously chosen to forget what had just transpired—no one mentioned it again, nor did anyone glance in Mo Hua’s direction.

He had become a transparent person.

No one acknowledged him as a Shaman, yet no one denied it either.

Mo Hua sighed inwardly.

Well, that worked too.

No one bothered him, no one questioned him—this way, he could quietly attend the council under the guise of a half-recognized Shaman.

He wasn’t officially acknowledged, but he received a Shaman’s treatment.

That was enough.

As the meeting continued, Mo Hua—the invisible participant—simply listened quietly.

He didn’t speak, argue, or express opinions.

After all, there was nothing here that required his direct intervention.

These alliance negotiations were tangled with tribal grudges and disputes of interest—a muddy swamp Mo Hua preferred not to wade into.

As long as everyone reached an agreement to oppose the Wujiao Tribe, that was good enough.

All he needed was to understand the situation—to better grasp the movements of each faction and strategize accordingly.

Thus, the council proceeded step by step.

Almost every tribe’s Grand Chieftain or Great Elder stood to speak—analyzing pros and cons, stating demands, and declaring what concessions they were willing to make for the sake of alliance.

The Vermilion Sparrow Tribe, Firehawk Tribe, Flamewing Tribe, Red Luan Tribe, and Bifang Tribe all followed suit.

Even the reclusive Shugu Tribe, under Mo Hua’s subtle guidance, expressed willingness to compromise a portion of their interests to unite against the Wujiao Tribe.

Among all this, what caught Mo Hua’s attention most was the Bifang Tribe.

Their Grand Chieftain had not come—representing them instead was the Great Elder of the Bifang Tribe.

Rumor had it the Grand Chieftain was gravely ill and could no longer oversee tribal matters, entrusting full authority to the Great Elder.

Mo Hua was skeptical.

And within the Bifang faction, he spotted a familiar face—the Bifang Tribe’s Young Lord, Bi Jie.

Naturally, Bi Jie’s expression toward Mo Hua was anything but friendly.

Still, this was tribal business. As a mere Young Lord, Bi Jie lacked the standing to speak. He could only sit in the corner, glaring venomously at Mo Hua.

The Bifang Great Elder also looked toward Lu-Gu with venomous eyes.

During the oasis incident, that black-green-robed elder had been this very Great Elder.

He had fought Lu-Gu several times, repeatedly suffering setbacks—losing not only territory but also resources. Thus, their enmity ran deep.

Of course, if one traced the true instigator—it was Mo Hua.

But since the Bifang Great Elder couldn’t see Mo Hua’s hand in those events, his hatred naturally fell upon Lu-Gu.

The web of relationships here was complex.

The Bifang Tribe actually had fairly amicable relations with the Vermilion Sparrow Tribe—or at least, not hostile ones.

The Bifang Great Elder and Vermilion Sparrow Grand Chieftain, Dan-Lie, were on cordial terms.

Yet their Young Lords—Bi Jie and Dan-Zhu—had long been at odds.

Meanwhile, between the Bifang Tribe and the Shugu Tribe, the enmity was profound.

Caught between these tensions, Mo Hua was naturally resented by the Bifang Tribe.

And truth be told, he deserved it—many of their troubles were indeed his doing behind the scenes.

Through this, one could glimpse the tangled web of rivalries within the Great Wilderness.

Still, all these grudges were buried beneath the surface. For the sake of the alliance, no one dared to mention them aloud.

Thus, the council continued beneath that subtle and uneasy atmosphere.

What followed unfolded just as Mo Hua had expected.

Another major topic of the alliance was how to coordinate their tribal armies in the final battle against the Wujiao Tribe.

The Wujiao were powerful—sweeping through all before them, unstoppable. Most third-grade tribes in the Vermilion Bird Mountain Realm were no match for them.

But that was because most tribes had been fighting alone.

If the majority of the tribes in the Vermilion Bird Mountain Realm truly joined forces, the outcome would be very different.

United, they would be strong; divided, they would fall.

Should they truly unite, their strength would undergo a transformation—enough to stand against the Wujiao Tribe.

That much was obvious. But the challenge lay in whether the fractured tribes could overcome their differences, compromise, and work as one.

For this, the tribal leaders debated fiercely from dawn till dusk.

Although they all declared their intent to “form an alliance,” when it came to dividing benefits and deciding who should yield, every tribe maneuvered with cunning and caution.

Mo Hua listened from the sidelines—until he nearly dozed off.

Fortunately, they eventually reached a preliminary consensus, sketching out the basic framework for the alliance.

Just when Mo Hua thought it was over and he could finally rest, Dan-Lie, the Vermilion Sparrow Great Chieftain, spoke again:

“The alliance structure has been settled. I ask each tribe’s chieftains and elders to implement it accordingly.

But next… we must discuss the most important matter.”

At once, the expressions of all the great chieftains and elders turned grave.

Mo Hua blinked, puzzled.

More important than the alliance itself?

He hadn’t heard of anything like that before.

Then Dan-Lie’s face grew solemn as he said heavily:

“The Wujiao Tribe’s invasion of the Vermilion Bird Mountain Realm—its true purpose may not merely be to seize territory or dominate the region. I fear it is to enact a plan long in preparation…”

He paused mid-sentence and turned to look toward the high seat where Lord Flame Shaman sat.

Clearly, this was a matter for the Shaman to explain.

Flame Shaman’s gaze grew sharp, his tone deep and heavy as he pronounced three words:

“Wujiao Divine Descent.”

Mo Hua, who had been half-asleep, suddenly jolted awake—eyes widening slowly.

Wujiao… Divine Descent?!

(End of this Chapter)