Chapter 1256: Stealing Formations

Chapter 1255: Stealing Formations

The Dao of Divine-Sense… perhaps it is, in truth, one of the indispensable foundational structures of the entire cultivation system.

Yet this “foundational” structure has been deliberately stripped away, as if someone had “removed the firewood from beneath the cauldron.”

Was it because Divine-Sense itself is invisible, intangible, and impossible to grasp or cultivate, that it was naturally excluded from the cultivation framework by most?

Or… was it because someone intentionally did so…

Someone had deliberately altered the entire cultivation system of the world.

Mo Hua’s perception was meticulous, his mind keen as a blade. He faintly sensed that hidden beneath all this was a vast, unfathomable pit.

A pit so deep that even many great cultivators—perhaps even Patriarchs of the Profound-Hollow-Void Realm—might not perceive it.

Because they had never Proven the Dao through Divine-Sense.

They had never personally walked the path of Foundation Establishment through Divine-Sense, and thus could not comprehend the subtle yet profound distinction within it.

Mo Hua stood there, lost in thought for a long time.

Yan-Zhu thought his words had touched Mo Hua’s soul—believing that Mo Hua now felt admiration toward the Shamanic system of the Royal Court, and a yearning for the honor of being granted a “Blessing Name” as an Upper Shaman.

A faint smile appeared on Yan-Zhu’s face as he asked:

“Tell me, what do you think?”

“I—” Mo Hua was still a little dazed.

Yan-Zhu’s tone carried a subtle enchantment. “Do you wish to be a Royal Court ordained Shaman? To receive rightful worship from others?

Do you wish that one day, you too will have your own Blessing Name?”

Mo Hua came back to his senses, a flicker of desire glimmered in his eyes, along with a trace of self-doubt.

“I… can I?”

That faint emotion did not escape Yan-Zhu’s keen gaze.

As a Shaman who had observed countless souls, Yan-Zhu naturally discerned what those words truly revealed.

He merely shook his head. “Not yet.”

A fitting hint of disappointment appeared in Mo Hua’s eyes.

Yan-Zhu smiled gently. “Not now… but that doesn’t mean never.”

Mo Hua looked up, eyes full of expectation.

Yan-Zhu’s expression softened; he patted Mo Hua’s shoulder and pointed the way forward:

“The deity you currently serve is but a minor god, possessing some power, yes, but unworthy of the grand stage. From now on, if you ‘turn from shadow to light,’ forsake the lesser path and follow the great orthodoxy of the divine, pledge your loyalty to the Royal Court—then, given time, you will surely tread upon the true Divine Path.”

“This…” Mo Hua’s face tensed with hesitation.

Yan-Zhu knew well that faith could not be changed in an instant—it required patience, enticement, and gradual persuasion.

So he softened his tone. “You needn’t decide immediately. Think it through. But…”

Yan-Zhu’s expression turned solemn. “First, you must do something for me—to show your sincerity. You’re quite skilled with Sacred Runes, so all rune arrangements shall be entrusted to you. I have high hopes for you. Just follow my intent as you draw.”

“When this battle ends—when we defeat the Wujiao Tribe and prevent their god’s descent—my mission in the Great Wilderness will be complete. I shall personally bring you back to the Royal Court. Then, you will witness what true imperial grandeur is… and what genuine Divine Dao orthodoxy looks like.”

Mo Hua nodded slowly. “I’ll… think about it.”

Though he said that, the anticipation in his eyes was undeniably real.

Yan-Zhu smiled and nodded approvingly.

After a few more encouraging words, he turned and left. When he walked some distance away—where no one could see him—the warmth on his face gradually faded, replaced by cold indifference.

“Lucky brat…”

He was a Shaman who had worshipped the gods devoutly since childhood—so why had fate not granted him such fortune?

Jealousy flickered in Yan-Zhu’s heart as he shook his head. Suddenly, a hoarse female voice sounded beside him:

“You lied again.”

Yan-Zhu turned his head—and saw, amidst a graceful silhouette, a pale, alluring woman standing there. It was Qing-Zhu.

Yan-Zhu sneered. “What, come to fight over another person with me?”

Qing-Zhu shook her head. “A wild-born god’s favored one—he may have some talent, but he’s too young, his blood too weak. I’ve no use for him. You can have him. But—Dan-Ling, that girl—you can’t touch her.”

Yan-Zhu chuckled, offering no response.

Qing-Zhu’s long, narrow eyes narrowed further. “Don’t think I don’t know your intent. You serve the Fire God, walking the path of flame. The yang fire within you burns too fiercely. You need a woman of Vermilion Bird bloodline as your furnace, to perform the Ritual of Dual Harmony—so that blood and fire may merge and refine your Divine Dao.

Dan-Lie may have agreed with his mouth, but as the Grand Chieftain, he might not truly consent.

And that girl Dan-Ling—she’s clever and fair. She won’t let you have your way so easily. You’d better abandon those vile thoughts.”

Yan-Zhu’s eyes gleamed mockingly. “I’m vile? And what about you? You think you’re some kind of pure treasure?”

His gaze cut sharp as a blade, sweeping across Qing-Zhu. “You serve the Divine Dao of Qingqiu—your craft is seduction, your whole life built upon beauty. In your youth, your garments were thin as cicada wings, showing what should and shouldn’t be shown, desperate for attention. And now?”

(TN: Qingqiu is the mythical fox spirit domain)

Yan-Zhu’s gaze swept coldly over her body as he chuckled:

“Now that you know you’ve grown old and your beauty’s fading—your skin wrinkling, yellowing, turning ugly, unfit to be seen—you wrap yourself up so tightly, showing only that powdered face for the world to see?”

Murderous intent flashed in Qing-Zhu’s eyes.

But in the end, she suppressed her urge to strike, only murmuring, “This time… is different.”

Yan-Zhu said coldly, “What’s different? I need to vent my fire, and you… you need to preserve your looks. If I’m vile, aren’t you just as lowly?”

Qing-Zhu’s pallid face twisted with fury.

Yan-Zhu’s gaze remained indifferent. “You and I are Shamans—our very nature is shaped by the ‘Divine Persona’ we serve. That is our fate.”

With that, he turned to walk away, paying her no further heed.

After taking a few steps, he suddenly stopped and glanced back at her.

“Don’t forget—we’re trapped in this famine-ridden wilderness. Ending the Wujiao Tribe’s calamity and finding a way back to the Royal Court should be our priority. Quarreling gains us nothing.”

“As Shamans of the Royal Court—if we must die, then we die in service to the Royal Court.”

Yan-Zhu’s voice was cold as he walked off, leaving Qing-Zhu standing alone.

She stood there in silence for a long while, then whispered softly:

“Yes… even in death—it should be for the Royal Court.”

“But this time… it truly is different…”

Her hand gently rested on her lower abdomen; her expression grew complex as she murmured:

“This is… the last chance of my life.”

…

Over the following months, the tribal wars raged on with brutal intensity.

Yet for Mo Hua, these battles had little to do with him.

The slaughter belonged to others; his duty lay in constructing formations behind the lines…

Building war structures for the tribes, optimizing the formation frameworks of siege engines, and inscribing or repairing the inner formation patterns within barbarian armors and weapons.

Originally, the barbarian tribes’ use of formations in warfare was limited.

But now, with Mo Hua’s improvements, formations had infiltrated nearly every corner of the tribal alliance’s campaigns.

This marked Mo Hua’s first grand-scale war formation experiment.

How to systemically apply formation arts to large-scale wars—among great forces and vast territories—to amplify military power and secure victory.

How to wield his vast and intricate formation knowledge to drive warfare itself—enhancing strategy, optimizing weapons, and integrating arrays from the grandest siege engines down to the smallest armor pieces.

Offense, defense, detection, concealment—comprehensive augmentation through formation arts.

These were all Mo Hua’s pursuits.

Strictly speaking, this wartime experiment did not fully meet Mo Hua’s expectations.

After all, this was the Great Wilderness—resources were scarce, conditions harsh, and limitations many. He could not yet fully unleash his talent.

But it granted him immense practical experience and provided the foundation and methodology for the eventual creation and evolution of a higher-tier system of cultivation warfare formations.

Among those most aware of these changes was Grand Chieftain Dan-Lie, who oversaw the entire alliance’s campaigns.

This war was unlike any tribal war he had ever fought in his entire life.

On the surface, it seemed the same—siege engines roaring, barbarian armies charging—but beneath it, the formation-driven core had been utterly reborn.

The other chieftains—including Yan-Zhu and Qing-Zhu—also sensed the difference to varying degrees.

But whether they were leading charges drenched in blood or scheming for their own goals, few paid close attention to sacred runes or formation details. They did not truly understand what Mo Hua was experimenting with behind the scenes.

Besides… the Wujiao Tribe was terrifyingly strong.

Its young master was a rare talent, brilliant in strategy and formidable in combat—and the tribe still had numerous Golden Core experts.

The alliance’s chieftains felt tremendous pressure, wishing only for stronger armors, sharper weapons, and deadlier machines, giving little thought to anything else.

They never realized that, in a sense, they themselves were Mo Hua’s “test subjects.”

They were the “materials” of his formation experiments.

And as the struggle deepened, the bloodshed grew ever fiercer—The war had reached its boiling point.

The great tribes were busier than ever, pouring enormous wealth and manpower into their decisive war against the Wujiao Tribe.

Mo Hua himself, however, suddenly found himself with some “free time.”

He had already completed the general framework of the battle formations.

Everything that could be solved with formations had been codified, and the runic patterns standardized.

As a formation master, he had done almost everything that could be done. The rest—the blood and carnage—he left to others.

And during this stage, when both sides were locked in a life-and-death struggle with no room for distraction, Mo Hua began quietly plotting his own plans.

First, he started collecting formation data—particularly from the formation arrays inside each tribe’s barbarian armor.

At first, Mo Hua only worked on the crafting of ordinary barbarian armors.

Those were not classified secrets.

The truly secret armor formations—Mo Hua had no access to them at all.

Not only the Bifang Tribe, but even the Vermilion Sparrow, Flamewing, and Red Luan Tribes—none of the Vermilion Bird Mountain clans would ever expose their core armor formations to him.

They guarded against Mo Hua as if he were a thief.

And indeed—they were right to do so. Mo Hua was a thief. A grand thief.

At the start, they managed to keep him at bay.

But as the war grew fiercer, circumstances left them no choice.

Mass-produced armor simply couldn’t stand against the Wujiao Tribe.

The major tribes were forced to entrust their precious high-grade armor blueprints—especially their core formation designs—to Mo Hua for unified oversight and inscription.

Though the chieftains imposed seals, confidentiality restrictions, and made Mo Hua swear oaths never to pry or leak the formations…

They had no idea just how terrifying Mo Hua’s comprehension of formations truly was.

To him, those “seals” were no thicker than paper.

As for the oath—yes, Mo Hua swore one.

He swore before the “Divine-Lord” that if he stole their secrets, the Divine-Lord would harshly punish him.

And the Divine-Lord was… Mo Hua himself.

So, when the Divine-Lord punished Mo Hua… he simply punished himself by eating an extra bowl of rice.

And so, one by one, the great tribes practically gifted their most guarded core armor formations to Mo Hua.

But it didn’t stop there.

Each tribe also possessed a cache of “Ancestral Barbarian Armors,” relics inherited from the ancient era.

These armors were of immense value—rarely deployed unless absolutely necessary. But now, facing the formidable Wujiao Tribe, they had no choice but to send them into battle.

And once deployed, these ancestral armors inevitably suffered damage—even total destruction.

As a result, a number of damaged or ruined ancestral armors fell into Mo Hua’s hands.

Mo Hua then “profited quietly,” using his Taotie Devouring-Assimilation Law to deconstruct them, and then his Four Symbols Dragon Transformation Law to reconstruct them.

Through one deconstruction and one reconstruction…

Mo Hua effectively stole the formation legacies of all the Vermilion Bird Mountain tribes’ ancestral armors.

These formation arrays, all based on the “Dragon Transformation” principle, were without exception powerful Four Symbols Absolute Formations—of twenty or even twenty-one runes each.

Without lifting a finger, Mo Hua had effortlessly obtained an entire batch of Absolute Formations.

These ancestral armor formations were secrets known only to the ancient barbarian ancestors—even the current chieftains and elders might not know them.

Mo Hua couldn’t help but sigh.

No wonder brilliant formation masters throughout history were always heavily guarded.

If you spend enough time around one, before you realize it, he’s already stripped your family vault bare—and you’re none the wiser.

Now, the formation foundations of all the great tribes had been quietly “stolen” by Mo Hua.

While others fought at the frontlines, Mo Hua was at the rear, making a silent fortune.

By overseeing the entire war formation system, Mo Hua had effectively gained control of nearly every armor-related formation heritage across the Vermilion Bird Mountain’s third-grade tribes.

And the best part? No one had a clue.

Beyond armor formations, Mo Hua also delved deeply into another type—the Yin-Wood Rejuvenation Formation.

War always brings casualties.

And where there are casualties, healing becomes essential.

Under the name of the “Divine-Lord,” Mo Hua gathered formation materials from every tribe and constructed a dense network of Yin-Wood Rejuvenation Formations within a vast mountain valley.

Soon, countless wounded barbarian soldiers were sent there for treatment.

Their life force was nourished, their fading vitality restrained, and the spreading deathly aura within their bodies gradually dissipated.

Thousands upon thousands of wounded gathered together—life force ebbing, replenishing, and cycling under the influence of the formation.

Death Qi surged and was constantly suppressed; life Qi waned and was constantly restored.

Their lives circulated endlessly between life and death, gradually reaching a delicate balance of equilibrium.

To ordinary eyes, these were just injured warriors receiving healing.

But to Mo Hua, they were simulators of the Laws of Life and Death.

Whenever he had time, Mo Hua would stand atop the mountain ridge, quietly observing the flow of vitality and deathly aura within each body in the valley—comprehending the countless transformations of these laws, and deepening his understanding of the Yin-Wood Rejuvenation Formation…

So that, in the future, he could apply it—to his own body when forming the Golden Core.

(End of this Chapter)