Chapter 1267: Profound-Earth “Grand” Formation

Chapter 1266: Profound-Earth “Grand” Formation

Although there was a lack of high-level cultivators above the Golden Core realm, the Divine Slave Tribe—numerous in number, vast in strength, and unwavering in faith—became Mo Hua’s greatest support in “spreading the Dao” throughout the Great Wilderness.

With unwavering faith in the Divine-Lord and loyal devotion to the Shaman, they personally practiced and spread the Divine-Lord’s teachings as conveyed by Mo Hua, passing them among the humblest and most numerous of the wilderness tribes, profoundly shaping their Divine-Sense and their very perception of the world.

After establishing the Divine Slave Tribe, Mo Hua finally possessed a “trusted” tribe that belonged solely to him.

Among all living beings under heaven, he had at last formed his own foundation.

Across the Great Wilderness, all those who had suffered and were liberated—every barbarian slave—were now believers of this “Divine-Lord,” followers of this “Shaman”

This laid the embryonic groundwork for his future path of Proving the Dao through Divine-Sense.

Above, he would sense the Heavenly Dao through Divine-Sense; Below, he would use formations to aid the living beings of the world.

But at that time, Mo Hua still acted purely from his own compassion and Dao-heart, without giving much thought to grand plans.

All his cultivation, experiences, insights, and budding thoughts were hazy and unformed—slowly fermenting within his Dao-heart, nurturing and ripening over time until, after long years, they would eventually hatch into “Dao.”

With the founding of the Divine Slave Tribe, the situation across the Great Wilderness changed drastically; the balance of power shifted overnight, and a new order took shape overnight.

Now that Mo Hua held command over the Divine Slave Tribe, he finally possessed his own “military force.”

Although the barbarian slaves were mostly cannon fodder—few high-level barbarian cultivators, weak in combat power—their sheer number was enough to form a formidable force when united.

This Shaman named Mo Hua, not only symbolized divine authority and commanded faith, but also directly controlled governance and military power.

Within the Great Wilderness—at least across the entire third-grade Vermilion Bird Mountain Realm—Mo Hua was a “god,” in every sense of the word.

After his power reached unprecedented heights, the first thing Mo Hua did was construct a Grand Formation.

Building such a formation required vast manpower and material resources—especially difficult in this land of the wilderness, where tribes were divided, powers contested, faiths conflicted, people were savage, and resources scarce.

Almost no one had the right, the strength, or the ability to construct a true Grand Formation.

Except Mo Hua.

Only Mo Hua—who had now unified the Vermilion Bird Mountain Realm, holding supreme divine, political, and military power—commanding the hearts of millions under the name of the Divine-Lord—Mo Hua’s personal influence had reached its absolute peak.

Aside from him, there was no one capable of gathering such resources to build a colossal formation project—an undertaking that in any other hands would seem like a wasteful burden upon the people.

Even among those who held absolute power, few possessed the necessary formation skill.

Throughout the cultivation world, those capable of constructing true Grand Formations were rare even among the most talented formation masters.

And such geniuses would hardly appear in the desolate Great Wilderness.

Moreover, this wasn’t a simple matter of “building a grand formation.”

Most formation masters—especially chief formation master—constructed their Grand Formations by following fixed “blueprints,” heirlooms refined over generations by their predecessors.

Only with such pre-existing formation diagrams could they build large-scale arrays.

But this time, the problem Mo Hua sought to solve was neither the typical offense nor defense—it was to suppress the famine calamity.

In this spreading catastrophe, this near-hopeless deadlock, he sought to create a place where the people of the wilderness could survive and live.

Such a formation had no “textbook.”

No standard answer.

Creating a formation tailored to solve a specific problem—that was a different dimension of mastery altogether.

And the specific problem now was the famine spread by the Strange Daoist.

Even seasoned chief formation masters, when faced with such an utterly “beyond scope” situation, would likely be left in dread and darkness.

Even when the “answer” existed, building it to the scale of a Grand Formation was already unimaginably difficult—let alone when no “answer” existed at all.

They didn’t even know where the “exam question” truly lay, and the one who set the question was that terrifying, unfathomable demonic Daoist.

This was not something ordinary formation masters could even dare to touch.

Even though Mo Hua had personally ventured deep into the Great Wilderness, and had studied the famine thoroughly—even grasping some understanding of the underlying laws behind it—to truly suppress such a widespread disaster through formation arts remained an immense challenge.

First of all, his conclusion—that “the famine was an artificial calamity created by Martial-Uncle using a Taotie-powered formation”, was based on his own analysis and deduction.

Although he was seventy to eighty percent certain, without proof, he dared not be entirely sure.

And if that Famine Formation indeed existed, then the most thorough way to end the famine disaster would be to destroy the formation.

But even with Mo Hua’s current divine authority and exalted status, he still had no way of uncovering the true nature of that formation.

His Martial-Uncle’s means were unfathomable.

It was nearly impossible to find any trace of his workings.

Even if he somehow found the complete diagram of the Great Wilderness Famine Formation, Mo Hua wasn’t confident he could destroy it… nor did he dare to.

It was his Martial-Uncle’s own scheme. Who knew how deep the plan went?

If Mo Hua were to destroy it, it would be like tearing apart his Martial-Uncle’s grand design right under his eyes.

He didn’t dare.

He feared that if he did, and angered his Martial-Uncle, even more terrifying calamities might follow.

To the Great Wilderness, the famine was already a world-ending catastrophe.

But to his Martial-Uncle, it was a gentle measure.

If the Strange Daoist himself descended, the entire wilderness would likely become filled with his puppets—no living souls left.

Mo Hua didn’t know why his Martial-Uncle held back.

Perhaps he had other aims.

Perhaps he was contending in secret with the Hua Clan, or with some ancestor of the Dao Court.

Whatever the case, Mo Hua’s vision could not yet perceive the full scope of this grand game.

But one thing was clear—he could not rashly disrupt the board, lest those mighty players take the field themselves and drown the land in blood.

The situation in the wilderness had only just stabilized; it could not endure another upheaval.

Thus, while his Martial-Uncle remained “gentle,” and the great clans had yet to turn their gaze fully upon the wilderness, Mo Hua had to suppress the famine by more discreet means.

After endless deliberation, he devised many plans—and in the end chose to construct a Profound-Earth Reconstructive Formation.

In this way, without destroying the Famine Formation, he could create a living refuge for the people of the wilderness.

By channeling the life force of Profound-Earth to restrain the deathly aura of famine, he sought to barely maintain a balance of “life” and “death” in the Heavenly mechanism of the Great Wilderness.

Strictly speaking, however, this Profound-Earth Grand Formation wasn’t a true “Grand Formation.”

For a genuine one required an impossibly high level of mastery—one Mo Hua did not yet possess.

Moreover, the wilderness’ geography made it unsuitable for a proper, regulated formation—too chaotic, too rugged.

Mountain realms of varying grades tangled together, with treacherous peaks, poisonous swamps, and impassable paths.

To level ground, lay foundations, bridge mountains, and connect realms—with current manpower and materials—was impossible.

Even if it could be done, the people of the wilderness would be long dead before completion.

Thus, Mo Hua could only adapt to reality—building the Profound-Earth “Grand” Formation according to his abilities and the land’s conditions.

He had to consider not just the difficulty and resource drain, but also the understanding and learning speed of the barbarian formation cultivators under him—even their numbers and the speed at which they could draw formation diagrams.

The construction time must be shortened as much as possible.

The “exam question” itself was already impossibly hard, and the “examiner” terrifyingly unpredictable.

No standard answers.

No reference answers.

And with so many complex, harsh constraints—it was impossible for Mo Hua to design a true Grand Formation.

Even a true one wouldn’t solve the problem.

What he finally devised, after great effort, was a pseudo-Grand Formation, grand in scale, yet lacking the intricate structure of a real one.

It had the scale of a Grand Formation, but not its structure.

Each sub-formation was interconnected, yet there was no master control—no central core, nor an array eye to govern them.

With a pragmatic approach, Mo Hua discarded all formalities and conventions, leaving only the simplest framework to achieve the most practical results.

Thus, overall, what he constructed was less a “Grand Formation” and more a massive patchwork—a “stew” of formations.

Any conventional formation master, upon seeing it, would deem it unorthodox, nonstandard—a heretical path without proper lineage or order.

But Mo Hua knew clearly: all formations were merely vessels for the laws of the Dao.

“No formation is fixed; no law immutable.”

This was, in truth, the most perfect “answer sheet” a formation master could produce under such an impossible “exam” of famine within the Great Wilderness.

Alas, no one could understand his answer.

Nor did anyone realize what kind of merciless “test” he was taking.

Not only did they fail to understand—they even questioned and opposed him.

In the ancient council hall atop Vermilion Bird Mountain, the high chiefs, grand elders, principal chieftains, and commanding generals of every major tribe all opposed and tried to dissuade him from building the formation.

They could not comprehend why their revered Shaman Lord would, at such a critical time, exhaust all manpower and resources on such a massive, costly undertaking.

To them, it was tantamount to draining the very essence of a mountain realm for an incomprehensible “Sacred Rune” formation.

This was a year of famine, a time of chaos and turmoil.

The Vermilion Bird Mountain Realm had only just recovered from its brutal war with the Wujiao Tribe—and now he wished to squander all the remaining resources?

Unthinkable.

“The famine is dire, yes. Our tribes weakened, our cultivators fallen…”

“But the famine’s spread has already halted. Most parts of the realm, many tribes, have survived.”

“If we stockpile supplies, ration food, and simply endure, we’ll make it through. When the famine passes, we will rise again.”

“Such famines have happened throughout our history—our ancestors endured them the same way.”

“If we just persevere, we can survive this too.”

“The people of the wilderness are resilient.”

“Indeed, there’s no need to gamble everything—to drain all manpower and wealth to build such an enormous meaningless Sacred Rune…”

The famine was a problem, but not the main problem right now.

To pour everything into solving a problem that was not the main one—almost all the high leaders present could not understand this. Although Mo Hua acted under the banner of the Divine-Lord and held divine authority, the impact of this matter was so great that many still voiced strong criticism and doubt.

Even those who had long trusted Mo Hua—Dan-Zhu, Lu-Gu, Chi-Feng, and the somewhat trusting Great Chieftain Dan-Lie—felt perplexed. Yet they knew the Shaman acted with purpose.

Many things that seemed “impossible” ultimately all came true.

So Dan-Zhu and the others kept their mouths shut.

Seeing the crowd rife with argument and unceasing doubt, Mo Hua’s expression remained calm, but he quietly exhaled.

The Great Wilderness itself… was a grand game.

The brilliance of this game lay in the fact that those outside the board could see it was a “dead game,”

while those within… remained utterly unaware.

They believed the famine was temporary, that it would pass like the disasters that recurred in the wilderness’s history.

They did not know that this time was different.

This famine would truly take all their lives.

They could not see the real danger within this game; instead they busied themselves with tribal slaughter, power struggles, mutual plunder, and the bloodthirsty cruelty of “war” games.

They did not realize that in their game there were no winners.

No matter who ultimately “won,” everyone would lose — everyone would die.

Such is the fate of pawns.

Such is the cruelty of the game.

The wise perceive danger before it takes form; the intelligent see calamity while it is still hidden.

Those who cannot see the situation will die.

Mo Hua did not wish to explain further.

Some things cannot be understood until disaster is at the door, until death has a hand on one’s throat.

Even if explained, they might not listen; even if they listened, they might not believe; even if they believed, they might not act immediately to oppose the calamity.

Therefore, an “order” was enough.

In the name of the Divine-Lord, by authority and by force, he would compel them to act.

Mo Hua stood at the highest place in the ancient council hall. Not tall in stature, he nevertheless radiated a powerful and solemn presence, he spoke in a deep, grave tone: “This is the Divine-Lord’s command…”

“Last night, an abnormal omen appeared in the sky; the stars dimmed. In my dream I heard the Divine-Lord’s decree.”

“The disaster will not cease; it will not pass.”

“This famine will continue to spread until it devours the entire Great Wilderness, darkness descends upon the land, and the dead walk among mortals.”

“This is an unprecedented calamity… everyone will die”

“The Divine-Lord is merciful, cherishing life, unwilling to see the Great Wilderness’s living things perish, so He bestows the earth’s sacred-rune, granting sentient beings a sliver of hope.”

“This is not a revelation of the future, but an impending reality.”

“From this day forth, all tribes who worship the Divine-Lord must, by the Divine-Lord’s command, with all their might…construct the Sacred-Rune Grand Formation.” Mo Hua’s gaze turned ice-cold, his expression majestic; with mortal flesh he exercised an awe-inspiring, inviolable divine authority.

“I am not soliciting opinions; I am issuing an order in the name of the Divine-Lord…”

(End of this Chapter)