Chapter 1262: I Am the Divine-Lord
Chapter 1261: I Am the Divine-Lord
When the boundless golden radiance atop the divine altar finally dispersed, the brilliance that had turned night into day slowly dimmed.
All beings across Vermilion Bird Mountain could now see— with their mortal eyes— the form of a “Divine Sovereign” unlike any seen before.
It seemed to be a child—a newborn of heaven and earth itself.
His skin was as pure as snow, his body like flawless jade, glowing faintly from within with golden light, immaculate and unstained.
Upon his forehead gleamed a single golden horn of a Pixiu.
His body was crystal-like, within it roiling the soul of a Great Wilderness Dragon.
In his eyes flowed three hues—black, white, and gold— intertwining like a three-petaled lotus of the Grand Dao.
Divine majesty, human compassion, and demonic ferocity fused as one, forming an aura of transcendence beyond mortal comprehension.
Until this day, the countless barbarians of the Wilderness might have believed in gods… yet never had they seen one.
But after this moment, the “God” they worshipped gained a true and vivid image in their hearts.
Whenever they chanted that sacred name, what appeared naturally in their minds was this figure—a childlike Divine Sovereign with a jade-gold body, Pixiu horn, and dragon soul.
Countless barbarian cultivators were struck dumb, overwhelmed by the awe of witnessing divinity incarnate.
Yet what followed shook them even more…
They witnessed, with their own eyes, the slaughter between gods.
The radiant, jade-bodied, golden childlike Divine Sovereign… battling the ancient and savage Great God of the Wujiao Tribe.
But to call it a “battle” would be generous. It was, more precisely, a massacre.
For though the golden child appeared small and delicate before the towering, deathly form of the Wujiao Deity—like an ant before a mountain—once combat began, that small god became a force of utter carnage.
His fist, white as fine jade, looked harmless… yet with a single strike, it shattered the Wujiao Deity’s wings imbued with necrotic power. The might of his Divine Dao was terrifying beyond measure.
With a mere lift of his hand, divine patterns bloomed across the sky—gold, wood, water, fire, and earth, endlessly revolving.
With two fingers joined, dark flames of strange divinity flickered at his tips.
When his palm clenched, rays of law condensed into a supreme sword of the gods—its edge sharp enough to make all beings tremble.
The Wujiao Vulture Deity unleashed all his divine power, performing countless dreadful arts:
The Sword of Dead Feathers.
The Sea of Rotting Flesh.
The Barrier of Vengeful Souls.
The Prison of Foul Qi…
The sky dimmed, the heavens shuddered, karma roared like a tide, mountains changed color, and souls screamed…
Yet none of it could so much as wound the Divine Lord.
The Sword of Dead Feathers could not harm his flawless golden body.
The Sea of Decay could not corrode his jade-like flesh.
Vengeful souls were pierced apart by the golden light from his Pixiu horn.
The choking miasma dispersed beneath a single dragon’s roar.
Meanwhile, the divine formation patterns woven by the Sovereign’s power bound the Wujiao Vulture Deity’s vast wings, tearing them into tatters.
The strange black flame from his fingers blazed without end, forcing the Wujiao Vulture Deity’s head low in submission.
His sword-light was dazzling—sharp as the blade that cleaves the heavens—rending the god’s divine body into a thousand wounds…
At last, after a brutal and one-sided slaughter, the battle reached its conclusion.
The massive, death-ridden, decayed Wujiao Deity was ensnared in a net of divine runes.
(TN: Divine runes = Formations)
Then, with one stroke, a colossal sword of divine thought, brilliant as a falling galaxy—he was cleaved clean in two.
His chest split open, revealing a trembling heart.
The Divine Lord reached out his golden hands, thrust them into the deity’s chest, and with a fierce shout, tore the god’s heart apart with his bare hands.
A god, torn apart by hand.
No words could capture the sheer savagery and shock of that sight.
Every barbarian of Vermilion Bird Mountain stood frozen, gazing upward.
Their minds were blank, overwhelmed.
Could there truly exist such a being… one who could tear a god apart by hand?
Not a single barbarian had ever conceived of such a thing.
Their imagination simply couldn’t contain such madness.
And yet now, that impossible vision had appeared before them, vivid and undeniable.
At that moment, Mo Hua’s earlier voice echoed in their minds once more:
“I am the Shaman of the Divine-Lord!”
“All my power is granted by the Divine-Lord!”
“Today, in the name of a Shaman, I summon the Divine-Lord to descend and slay all heretical gods!”
The Divine-Lord…
The only existence capable of tearing a god apart—slaying even the ancient Great God of the Wujiao…
There could be no doubt.
It was the Divine-Lord.
The true Master of the Great Wilderness.
No one in this era knew what that ancient ruler once looked like.
But from this day forth, the image of the Great Wilderness’s ruler had changed—into the golden-jade figure before them: the childlike god with a Pixiu horn, dragon soul, eyes of triple lotus hues, bearing divine, human, and demonic essence as one.
The Divine-Lord now wore Mo Hua’s face.
And thus faith—like a spark—ignited in the hearts of all, spreading like wildfire.
Across every tribe—Vermilion Sparrow, Shugu, Flamewing, Red Luan, Fire Eagle, even the defeated Wujiao—countless barbarians fell to their knees, their chests burning with the flame of belief.
Cries echoed across heaven and earth: “The Divine-Lord is eternal!”
On the altar, Mo Hua—having torn apart the Wujiao Deity’s heart—pointed his fingers, conjuring a massive formation that refined the god’s divine essence into thick smoke.
While the roaring flames and divine spectacle obscured all sight, Mo Hua quietly opened his mouth—and inhaled, swallowing the Wujiao Deity’s power whole.
The act was subtle—only three nearby Shamans saw. None others noticed that the “Divine-Lord” who had slain the vulture god… had devoured him as well.
Those three—Flame Shaman, Azure Shaman, and the Black Vulture Elder—stared wide-eyed, nearly doubting their own vision.
When the black clouds cleared and the divine fire faded, all was silent again.
The Wujiao Deity had fallen… his divinity gone without trace.
Mo Hua licked his lips faintly.
The Wujiao Deity had indeed descended…
But descended into Mo Hua’s stomach.
And thus, Mo Hua completed his own Divine Descent.
He had become the Divine-Lord of the Great Wilderness.
As the fallen god’s altar reset and the rift between realms closed, all divine phenomena faded into the void, as if the battle had been but a dream.
Yet in the hearts of all who witnessed, the vision was forever carved in memory.
The world fell silent once more.
Night receded.
Dawn light spilled over the Vermilion Bird Mountain.
The red sun rose.
Mo Hua stood upon the lofty altar, beneath the crimson dawn, bathed in gold.
He had left the dream-realm of the Divine Dao; now, what stood before the masses was his mortal body.
But the two were one and the same.
In the realm of divine consciousness—he was his own Divine-Lord.
In the mortal realm—he was his own Shaman.
As dawn broke, Mo Hua spread his arms, his solemn voice ringing out:
“Today, in the name of a Shaman, I summoned the Divine-Lord to descend, and with the Supreme Divine Sword, slay the Vulture God of the Wujiao.”
“Henceforth, the ancient Divine-Lord shall return to the Great Wilderness, reclaim His divine seat, wield His authority, and bless His people against calamity.”
“From this day forward, the Dao of the Divine-Lord shall spread across the lands.”
“In the great calamities to come, those who believe in the Divine-Lord shall live.
Those who defy Him… shall die.”
Mo Hua pressed his palms together, bowing devoutly:
“May the Divine-Lord above bless our Great Wilderness.”
Beneath the divine altar, countless beings knelt in reverence, chanting ancient hymns in unison:
“Those who believe in the Divine-Lord shall live, those who defy shall die!”
“May the Divine-Lord bless our Great Wilderness!”
“As long as sun and moon endure, the Divine-Lord shall never perish!”
“May heaven and earth share His eternity!”
Their devout voices surged into the heavens, shaking mountains and echoing across the vast expanse of the Great Wilderness.
Thus, the ancient name of the Divine-Lord, once lost to time, awakened once again within the boundless Great Wilderness.
The war between the Wujiao and Vermilion Bird tribes had ended.
The Wujiao Vulture god’s divine descent had determined the outcome—their god slain, their faith shattered, their armies crushed.
Many Wujiao warriors who had witnessed the Divine-Lord’s power abandoned their old belief, converting to His faith.
They no longer worshiped the Vulture god.
They now praised the Divine-Lord.
The war of gods was merciless.
The struggle of faith—cold and unyielding.
The weak are unworthy of belief; even gods are no exception.
Yet not all forsook their faith.
At the very least, the Wujiao Young Lord, along with most of his generals, high elders, and loyal soldiers, still held firm to their conviction.
Their faith was interwoven with the very fate of their tribe.
Even having seen it with their own eyes, they would never admit the Vulture god had fallen—nor acknowledge Mo Hua, the so-called Shaman blessed by the Divine-Lord.
The Wujiao Tribe’s defeat within the Vermilion Bird Mountain Realm was absolute—but it did not mean the tribe’s fate across the Great Wilderness was sealed.
The Vermilion Bird Realm was but the main battlefield; elsewhere across the wilderness’s countless mountain realms, many of their forces still stood.
These Wujiao warriors continued their campaigns, bearing the Young Lord’s ambition to transform into a dragon, carrying the tribe’s vision of unifying the Great Wilderness.
Thus, Wujiao still had the chance to rise again.
Three generations of scheming would not end with one defeat.
The Young Lord of Wujiao, with his dragon-etched ambition, would never surrender so easily.
And when Mo Hua invoked the Divine-Lord’s descent, revealing divine might before all, the Wujiao Young Lord immediately realized the tide had turned.
He decisively cut his losses, leading his generals, confidants, and remaining troops to flee from Vermilion Bird Mountain.
With his Dragon-Pattern Transformation power, no one could stop him.
Not even Mo Hua.
The boundary between reality and illusion existed only atop the altar.
His true divine power existed within the realm of divine consciousness, unable to reach those outside its scope.
Even if he could—his Fate Calamity forbade him from killing mortals. He could slay gods, but not men.
Thus, he could only watch as the Wujiao Young Lord escaped.
Nor was he the only one to flee.
Bi Jie of the Bifang Tribe, and high-ranking figures from the Flamewing, Red Luan, and Firehawk Tribes—even some elders of the Vermilion Sparrow Tribe—chose to betray, fearing Mo Hua’s divine authority and the unification under the Divine-Lord.
The Vermilion Bird Mountain Realm fractured from top to bottom, a horizontal schism… a divide defined solely by faith.
Those who believed in Mo Hua and the Divine-Lord stayed.
Those who did not… left.
Mo Hua watched it all silently, making no move to stop them.
Fate, after all, always sifted people over and over again… each cycle bringing new trials and reshuffling destinies.
…
The next day, within the Shugu Tribe’s great hall.
Mo Hua sat upon the Shaman’s seat, while Flame Shaman, Azure Shaman, and the Black Vulture Elder stood below, pale-faced, heads lowered.
Mo Hua asked calmly, “Have you made your decision?”
Flame and Azure remained silent, uneasy.
The Black Vulture Elder, however, suddenly dropped to his knees with a thud.
“This old one… is willing to offer what remains of my body in service to the Divine-Lord, and to the honored Shaman!”
He had once served as the Wujiao Tribe’s shaman, and thus knew the ancient greatness of the Wujiao Great God.
Precisely because of that, he understood that anyone capable of tearing apart such a deity with their bare hands must be a terrifying existence of the Divine Dao.
And he knew, the young-looking “Shaman” before him was no less frightening.
This was someone who could invoke a Divine Descent without ritual, offering, or divine medium… one mere invocation of “I summon the Divine-Lord”, and the Lord Himself descended.
Calling him the Divine-Lord’s own son would hardly be an exaggeration.
To summon a god purely by word—in the realm of the Divine Dao, among all shamans—that was a miracle reserved for heaven-shaking prodigies whose divine lineage ran unimaginably deep.
As a lifelong servant of divinity, how could he not feel envy to the point of tears?
Knowing when to yield was wisdom; thus, the Black Vulture Elder was the first to submit.
Having barely survived the previous war, he was a dying flame. If he didn’t surrender now and cling to what little life he had left, he would truly perish, body and soul.
Seeing the Black Vulture Elder kneel, both the Flame and Azure Shamans felt a bitter taste in their hearts, yet they could only lower their heads and kneel before Mo Hua as well.
They were late-stage Golden Core cultivators—High Shamans—and had their pride.
But after witnessing that world-shattering divine battle, even if they were High Shamans, they would still have no choice but to kneel before Mo Hua.
To kneel was to lose the pride of a High Shaman.
But to refuse to kneel… would mean they lacked even the most basic understanding of what it meant to be a Shaman.
“We… are willing to serve the honored Shaman…unto fire and boiling water… unto death…”
They spoke together.
Mo Hua nodded slightly.
A good con needs good assistants, he thought.
Three High Shamans under his command would lend even greater majesty to the “Divine-Lord’s” chosen.
The Flame Shaman glanced up nervously, fear flickering within them, as he hesitated to speak.
Mo Hua said: “If you have something to say, say it.”
The Flame Shaman carefully replied: “Honored Shaman… about my divine token, if you would deem it unworthy, perhaps I could…”
Mo Hua waved a hand. “It’s fine. I don’t mind.”
The Flame Shaman froze, words caught in his throat.
The others wore similar uneasy looks.
Mo Hua reassured them gently, “Rest easy. Serve me faithfully, and when the time comes, I’ll return your divine tokens to you.”
The three hastily bowed, “Thank you, Shaman!”
Satisfied, Mo Hua waved them off. “Go now and rest.”
They had endured a battle that nearly turned their brains to mush; their Divine-Sense nearly burned dry.
Without recovery, they’d die before they could even begin to serve him.
“Yes, honored one,” they said, bowing and leaving.
But as they turned, Mo Hua suddenly stopped the Azure Shaman.
“You stay.”
She froze, startled, but obeyed the command and remained.
The Flame Shaman and Black Vulture Elder looked puzzled but didn’t dare ask, they only saluted and departed.
Now, only Mo Hua and the Azure Shaman remained in the hall.
After a moment of silence, Mo Hua’s gaze drifted toward her lower abdomen. His tone was quiet, almost curious.
“You… are you with child?”
The Azure Shaman’s face went deathly pale, all color drained as she stammered: “Honored Shaman, you… you…”
She seemed to want to speak, yet fear sealed her lips. She couldn’t understand how Mo Hua had found out.
But then she remembered… Mo Hua was the Divine-Lord’s chosen shaman, servant of a being whose power defied reason, favored beyond measure. For someone like him to pierce the veil of fate and see hidden truths was no surprise at all.
The realization made her tremble even more.
Mo Hua frowned slightly, a trace of surprise flickering in his eyes.
So it was true…
On the surface, she showed no signs of pregnancy, not even the faintest fluctuation of life force.
Even during the battle atop the altar, where she fought alongside the others in deadly combat, she hadn’t shown the slightest indication of bearing a child.
It wasn’t until the descent of the Vulture God, when the boundary between illusion and reality blurred, that Mo Hua’s Divine-Sense also “descended” into the mortal realm. Through the god’s transfigured eyes, he noticed a peculiar “life force” faintly stirring within her abdomen.
He hadn’t been sure, hence the question.
She said nothing, but her expression confirmed his suspicion.
This enchantress of the Qingqiu Divine Dao… one who used beauty to bewitch, was truly carrying a child.
Seeing her face pale, sweat beading upon her brow, trembling in fear.
Mo Hua sighed softly.
“Go and rest,” he said gently. “I will tell no one of this.”
She blinked in shock, then relief flooded her eyes.
She bowed gracefully and said with heartfelt sincerity, “Thank you, honored Shaman.”
Mo Hua waved her off.
As she left, he watched her back for a moment, then shook his head.
A Shaman he barely knew — whoever the father was, it had nothing to do with him. There was no need to pry into others’ secrets.
He put the matter out of his mind.
Little did he know… that this hidden child, veiled from Heaven’s sight, would one day become deeply entangled with his fate in ways beyond imagining.
But at this moment, Mo Hua was unaware.
His thoughts had already turned toward something else… something far more crucial:
Completely refining the Vulture God, devouring the remnants of its faith, and attempting to break through to the Twenty-Fourth Rune of Divine-Sense…
The final and the greatest barrier before forming his Golden Core.
(End of this Chapter)