Chapter 1258: Battle at the Vermilion Bird Divine Altar

Chapter 1257: Battle at the Vermilion Bird Divine Altar

The Vermilion Bird Divine Altar was the oldest altar constructed by the ancient ancestors of the tribes across the Vermilion Bird Mountain Range to worship the ancient Vermilion Bird deity.

This altar lay deep within the heart of Vermilion Bird Mountain, protected by a vast canyon and surrounded by countless mountain ridges that acted as natural barriers. Ancient Sacred Runes were carved upon those barriers.

For reasons long forgotten, the altar had been abandoned. No one knew how many generations had passed since it was last worshipped.

Its precise location had even been erased from all tribal records, and memories of it perished alongside the passing of aged tribal patriarchs.

Yet no matter how deeply buried or tightly sealed, even the faintest trace could not escape the endless scour of the Wujiao Tribe’s army, which swept through the entire Vermilion Bird Mountain Realm like a plague of locusts.

After nearly a year of ceaseless war and slaughter—devouring and annihilating one local tribe after another—the Wujiao shamans finally uncovered clues hidden within the annals of those tribes.

Eventually, the Wujiao shamans discovered the true location of the Vermilion Bird Divine Altar, at the southern end of the Vermilion Bird Mountains, within the Endless Canyon.

Above that great canyon, crimson clouds bled across the sky.

Having overcome countless obstacles and endured a long campaign, the Wujiao army surged like a flood across the mountain barriers. Breaking through the ancient Sacred Runes, they charged toward the altar with suicidal ferocity.

They would overcome all perils, ignite the Vermilion Bird’s divine flame, awaken the ancient altar, and invite the descent of the Great Wujiao Deity.

The will of that god would then blanket the entire Vermilion Bird Mountain Range.

Under the blight of famine, the Vermilion Bird Mountain Realm—one of the largest in the region—would fall under the dominion of the Wujiao Tribe. From this foothold, they would expand outward, unifying the Great Wilderness amidst chaos and establishing an eternal hegemony.

The young chieftain of the Wujiao Tribe would become the true “Lord of the Great Wilderness.”

Even the Royal Court would no longer dare to belittle them.

It was even said that the Royal Court planned to wed a princess to the Wujiao heir, fusing royal blood into the Wujiao line.

Within two or three generations, the Wujiao Tribe could ascend into the Royal Court itself—and when the court inevitably fractured, perhaps even replace it.

Under divine summons, tribal ambition, and the fervor of their shamanic war dances, the morale of the Wujiao warriors reached its zenith. Their battle cries made the mountains boil.

…

Meanwhile, the Tribal Alliance of the Vermilion Bird Mountains fought desperately to repel them.

As natives of the Vermilion Bird Mountain Range, how could they allow the Wujiao Tribe to ignite their ancestral totem fire, occupy the altar of their Ancestors, or summon the Wujiao Vulture deity to impose spiritual dominion over them?

Most warriors fought from blood and emotion alone—unable to bear the desecration of their ancestors’ sanctity.

But the great chieftains, and especially the Flame Shaman and Azure Shaman—both shamans of royal court lineage—knew far deeper truths: that faith itself was the most terrifying form of domination, for it bound the Divine-Sense and enslaved the mind.

Thus, they would never allow the Wujiao to succeed in their god’s descent.

This irreconcilable clash of belief pushed the war into utter frenzy.

The warriors of both sides fought until their eyes ran red with blood.

The entire Vermilion Bird Mountain Range became a sea of corpses—living and dead intermingled, complete bodies and shattered limbs alike. Blood flowed like rivers; the deathly aura condensed into black clouds, blotting out the sky.

Far away, Mo Hua stood upon a distant peak, silently watching.

He watched as, within this slaughterhouse of a battlefield, countless people perished—blood flooding the earth, killing intent and resentment roiling until heaven and earth themselves changed color.

His heart was heavy with sorrow, yet his gaze remained detached.

This is humanity, he thought.

Forever bound to conflict, to strife, to self-destruction.

This, too, is the Heavenly Mechanism.

It is the choice countless beings make between life and death.

To seek goodness, one must first understand the deepest evils within humanity… and accept them.

To seek life, one must experience true and vast death… seeking “life” from within “death.”

A mystery of heaven and earth unfathomable to mortals flickered within Mo Hua’s eyes.

His original Dao-heart was further tempered amidst the interweaving of good and evil, life and death.

And as Mo Hua observed, the war pressed ever forward.

After a full day of bloodshed, the Wujiao forces shattered the Alliance’s defensive line, broke all the ancient Sacred Runes, and at last reached the Vermilion Bird Divine Altar.

With the collapse of an entire mountain peak and the dispersal of centuries-old dust, the long-forgotten altar finally reemerged before the eyes of the barbarian multitudes.

At that moment, all who saw it held their breath, struck silent by awe.

Never in their lives had they seen anything so grand, so resplendent, so sacred.

The vast plaza exuded a desolate yet majestic ancient aura.

Nine colossal crimson Luan-bird statues spread their wings as if to soar, encircling a towering divine altar.

Each Luan statue corresponded to one of the great tribes of the Vermilion Bird Mountain Realm, including the Vermilion Sparrow Tribe, Flamewing Tribe, Fire Eagle Tribe, Red Luan Tribe, and even the pre-corrupted Bi Fang Tribe.

Some of those totemic tribes, however, had long since declined or vanished entirely from history.

Upon the central altar they guarded stood an even greater, more divine idol… the true statue of the Vermilion Bird itself.

Its entire body glowed scarlet crimson. Though lifeless stone, its wings shimmered like glazed crystals, dazzling to behold, as if fierce flames flowed within them.

The Vermilion Bird clutched a golden ring in its beak.

That golden ring bore traces of having once been scorched by flames, though now, the flames had long since gone out.

Beneath the Vermilion Bird, at the point where its two talons grasped the ground, stood a magnificent Divine Throne, forged of crimson and gold.

Brilliant red, crystalline glass-like veins coiled around the golden throne like vines, as though the blood of the Vermilion Bird itself nourished it.

Sacred patterns were engraved upon the throne.

Those patterns stretched from thick to fine, branching in perfect order and symmetry.

The moment Mo Hua laid eyes upon them, his breath quickened.

He had seen these patterns before… They were the true, primordial Runes of the Divine Authority Tree, symbols of divine dominion itself.

That meant this throne was indeed connected to an ancient divine authority.

And at that moment, nearly all the barbarian cultivators fell into a state of near madness.

They might not understand what the true significance of the Vermilion Bird statue and the divine throne, but with just one look, with just one perception of that divine aura, they understood instinctively that they were relics of the gods.

Divine relics left behind by the true ancient deities of the Great Wilderness.

How could such divine relics not drive mortal mad?

To merely look upon them was enough for desire to consume all reason.

The most frenzied of all were the shamans—especially the Flame Shaman and Azure Shaman—who practiced divine-sense arts and served gods.

They knew better than anyone the immeasurable worth of that statue and throne.

The divinity condensed upon them outweighed a lifetime of divine blessings they had attained by more than ten thousandfold.

Even the Wujiao Young Chieftain and the assembled shamans of his tribe were left in stunned shock.

They had sought the ancient altar of the Vermilion Bird Mountains, but never dreamed it would be so incomprehensibly sacred.

Then, as though gripped by madness, warriors from every tribe charged toward the divine altar.

Especially those high-ranking figures who had previously controlled the battle from afar without personally engaging—the Great Shamans, Great Chieftains, Grand Elders, and numerous Golden Core barbarian generals—now all cast aside restraint, desperately channeling their movement techniques, streaking through the air as radiant trails of light toward the altar.

Yet before anyone could even reach it—just as they stepped foot into the plaza of the altar—a scorching, fiery pain instantly engulfed them.

Golden Core experts withstood it somewhat, but Foundation Establishment warriors—even those at its very peak—clutched their faces and tore at their skin, howling in agony as if their entire bodies were being burned alive. Strangely, however, there was no visible injury on their flesh.

It was not their flesh, but their Divine-Sense that burned—seared to agony so intense it consumed their minds.

One by one, barbarian warriors screamed and struggled, collapsing into kneeling postures before the Vermilion Bird statue… and died.

Their flesh remained intact, but their souls had been burned to death.

Their blood and bodies endured, but their souls were gone.

Great Chieftain Dan-Lie’s face darkened. He roared:

“All Foundation Establishment warriors of the Alliance—fall back immediately!

Enter the plaza, and you’ll die without burial!”

The Vermilion Sparrow Tribe withdrew first.

Other allied tribes—Flamewing, Fire Eagle, Bi Fang, and others—might not heed his authority as “Grand Alliance Leader,” but after witnessing spontaneous soul-immolation and countless deaths, terror spread, and they too retreated.

The Wujiao Tribe suffered similarly.

The Wujiao young chieftain soon gave the same order: no more Foundation Establishment warriors were to advance.

But Golden Core cultivators could still proceed.

The Divine Flame of the altar burned the senses of Foundation Establishment cultivators instantly, yet Golden Core cultivators could endure it longer.

Thus, the vast armies of Foundation Establishment warriors from both sides halted outside the plaza.

Only the Golden Core elders, barbarian generals, grand elders, and great chieftains strode in, attempting to cross the square and seize the divine altar itself.

Everyone knew: from this moment, the battle belonged to the Golden Core realm.

Foundation Establishment cultivators no longer had the right to intervene.

Even then, many Golden Core cultivators could not last long…

For not every Golden Core had a strong Divine-Sense, nor an unshakable Dao-heart.

Some held firm at first, enduring the mind-piercing agony, but halfway across the plaza, their Divine-Sense and willpower burned out completely.

Invisible flames—like the Vermilion Bird’s wrath itself—burned through their consciousness, reducing their Sea of Consciousness to ash.

Those Golden Core cultivators, too, knelt to the ground their divine sense scorched dry, dying as their will burned to ash.

And beyond the burning of Divine-Sense, they also faced slaughter from rival tribes.

Outside the altar, the alliance and the Wujiao Tribe were already locked in a blood-drenched battle.

Now that they had reached the plaza, with the Vermilion Bird’s divine throne so close, they had even less reason to spare each other.

The Golden Cores of both sides fought in the midst of the plaza, enduring the Vermilion Bird’s flames while killing one another.

Some were burned to death.

Some were slain.

Some perished to both—half-burned, half-slain—their deaths agonizing before the Vermilion Bird Altar.

On the desolate plaza, Golden Core after Golden Core fell one after another.

It was a battle of unimaginable carnage.

In the entire Vermilion Bird Mountain Realm, more Golden Cores died this day than in the past hundred years combined.

Amid this brutal slaughter and struggle, several late-stage Golden Core Great Chieftains of the tribal alliance, along with two Shaman Lords, endured the crushing pressure and the soul-searing pain of their Divine-Sense to be the first to approach the Vermilion Bird Divine Altar.

They could already see the magnificent crimson statue of the Vermilion Bird, and beneath it, the ancient divine throne that radiated the aura of divinity.

Their breathing grew heavy with greed and awe.

Just as the Fire-Hawk Tribe’s Great Chieftain prepared to step foot into the altar’s domain, a sinister wind howled past his ear, ferocious and domineering.

He turned his head just in time to see a fist, wreathed in surging black qi, crash toward him with overwhelming might.

The Fire-Hawk Great Chieftain’s expression darkened; he instantly activated a fiery fan-type artifact to block the blow.

But in the next instant, both he and his treasure were blasted backward five or six steps by that single punch.

He swallowed the blood rising in his throat and looked up, only to see a youth clad in a black cloak, his aura vast and oppressive, his gaze filled with cold killing intent.

It was the Wujiao Tribe’s Young Chieftain.

Though only at mid-stage Golden Core, the strength of that punch had forced back a late-stage Golden Core Great Chieftain, leaving him breathless—an utterly shocking display.

Dan-Lie and the other Great Chieftains of the alliance frowned deeply.

They had anticipated that this Young Chieftain of the Wujiao Tribe, who could command such a massive barbarian army and bend its ferocious Golden Cores to his will, must possess formidable personal power.

But none had expected him to be this strong.

To suppress a late-stage Golden Core Great Chieftain with a single mid-stage punch, it was simply… inconceivable.

The Great Chieftains’ expressions grew grave.

Even the Flame Shaman and Azure Shaman furrowed their brows.

The atmosphere turned tense.

At this distance from the altar, none but late-stage Golden Core cultivators could stand.

Yet the Wujiao Tribe’s Young Chieftain—only mid-stage—radiated the strongest aura of them all, his mere presence forcing a chill into the hearts of every Great Chieftain.

Behind him stood eight late-stage Golden Core generals of the Wujiao Tribe, each clad in black feathered armor, looking like fiends from hell.

The Young Chieftain of the Wujiao Tribe stood before them, casting a cold gaze at Dan-Lie and the others, speaking indifferently:

“The Vermilion Bird Altar will belong to me. Submit to me now, serve under my command, and it won’t be too late. The grudges of the past… I can let them go.”

Dan-Lie’s eyes narrowed as he said evenly:

“Your Wujiao Tribe invaded the Vermilion Bird Mountain Realm, destroyed our clans, slaughtered our kin… and now you would have us submit? You’re barely a century old, boy, and yet you dare to speak so arrogantly? Ridiculous.”

The Flame-Wing Great Chieftain sneered,

“I’d like to see what makes a mere mid-stage Golden Core brat think he’s worthy of our submission.”

The Wujiao Tribe’s Young Chieftain’s eyes grew sharp and sinister, his tone chilling: “Refusing a toast, only to drink a forfeit…”

The moment his words fell, the Flame-Wing Great Chieftain swung his blade and charged at him.

Lu-Gu, another Great Chieftain, could no longer restrain his killing intent and rushed to attack as well.

The other Golden Cores joined in, while the Wujiao Tribe’s generals met them head-on.

In an instant, black mists rolled and flames roared as countless barbarian artifacts clashed with overwhelming might, their battle shaking heaven and earth.

For a long while, neither side could gain the upper hand.

But the Vermilion Bird’s flames still burned, endlessly consuming their Divine-Sense.

If they delayed any longer, their Sea of Consciousness would be incinerated before they could even reach the altar.

The Wujiao Tribe’s Young Chieftain’s gaze turned cold, his expression twisting,

“A bunch of decrepit fools… courting death!”

His aura suddenly surged.

The black cloak upon him shimmered with sacred runes, radiating intense power—as though some seal within was being undone.

A far stronger, more awe-inspiring presence flowed from his body.

The combatants around him all froze in shock.

Before their eyes, the black cloak dissolved into mist and merged into his body.

The Young Chieftain’s “seal” was released.

Ferocious sacred runes surfaced across his skin, flowing together into a terrifying totem.

But what shocked them most… this totem was not the Wujiao Tribe’s emblem.

Horse head, serpent body, deer antlers, fish scales, tiger claws, eagle talons, bull ears, vicious eyes…

It was a pitch-black Evil Dragon.

The Wujiao Tribe’s Young Chieftain bore the tattoo—of a dragon!

(End of this Chapter)