Chapter 279: Tiger Demon
Kong Sheng wasn’t in a hurry — the prey couldn’t run anyway.
That fat cultivator now guarded the dining hall warily, making it inconvenient for Mo Hua to sneak in for food again.
Besides, Mo Hua also wanted the jade pendant on the fat cultivator’s waist.
But his methods had to be subtle, his plan meticulous — he couldn’t afford to expose himself.
Mo Hua began to shadow the fat cultivator, and after a day of observation, a plan formed in his mind.
This fat cultivator not only delivered food to the demonic cultivators but also to a demonic beast.
That beast was a Tiger Demon, late first-grade, kept in a solitary cell, bound by chains inscribed with restrictive formations.
Without such bindings, a tiger — one of the most formidable demonic beasts in the Great Black Mountain — would be exceedingly dangerous.
This Tiger Demon looked rather unique as well: its black-and-white stripes interlaced, and a “王” (King) mark adorned its forehead.
Its bloodline was clearly extraordinary — no wonder these demonic cultivators had captured and locked it up in the Black Mountain Stronghold.
As for what purpose they intended the Tiger Demon for, Mo Hua had no idea.
Every day at noon, the fat cultivator came to feed it.
He never fed much — likely to prevent the beast’s strength from recovering enough to break free and cause chaos.
Mo Hua chuckled inwardly: “You won’t feed it? Then I’ll feed it.”
He scoured the dining hall, picked out some dried demonic beast meat, tucked it into his Storage Ring, and then slipped silently into the cell where the Tiger Demon was imprisoned.
The beast lay weakly on the ground, stomach growling. Suddenly, several chunks of meat appeared before its eyes — dry and hard, but still meat nonetheless.
The Tiger Demon blinked in mild confusion, then, driven by hunger, tore into the meat and devoured it all.
Soon it finished every last scrap, licking its fangs with lingering hunger.
Mo Hua tossed a few more pieces in front of it.
The Tiger Demon fixed its gaze forward — there was no visible figure, yet it sensed a cultivator’s presence.
It didn’t understand why this unseen cultivator would feed it, but hunger won out, and it gobbled up the rest.
A moment later, the cultivator’s aura vanished completely.
The Tiger Demon opened its mouth and let out a low growl.
Its belly now mostly full, its strength recovered by about seventy to eighty percent — but the chains and formation still bound it tightly.
A gleam flashed in its eyes before it lowered its head again, feigning weakness.
From afar, Mo Hua observed and couldn’t help but sigh softly.
“This Tiger Demon… quite clever, indeed.”
The next day, the fat cultivator came again to feed it, his expression sour.
He’d been scolded by the old man again — first pastries had gone missing, now even meat was disappearing.
He couldn’t fathom who would dare steal from the Black Mountain Stronghold’s kitchen.
He’d searched thoroughly, found not a single clue.
Aside from him and the old man, there was no one else in the kitchen.
No one stole it… what, ghosts?
He sneered, then suddenly frowned, a thought flashing through his mind.
“Could it be Concealment Technique?”
Only Concealment Arts could deceive the naked eye.
But then he shook his head again.
Concealment wasn’t something easily learned — in the entire Black Mountain Stronghold, perhaps not even one cultivator could master it.
And even for those who could, concealment wasn’t flawless — invisible to the eye, but not to Divine-Sense.
He’d dealt with hidden cultivators before: though unseen, their presence could be sensed. A few exchanges later, he’d flushed them out and split them open with a single blade.
The fat cultivator was confident — even if someone here knew Concealment, they couldn’t possibly fool his Divine-Sense and act right under his nose.
Then what the hell was happening? Who kept stealing from the kitchen?
He brooded as he fed the Tiger Demon.
He didn’t notice that, in a corner his eyes couldn’t reach, a small pale hand was moving gracefully — brush in hand, drawing one rune after another, slowly dissolving the formation lines on the restraining chains.
The fat cultivator remained oblivious, but the Tiger Demon’s eyes suddenly lit up.
It could feel the suppression on its body weakening. Out of the corner of its eye, faint new runes shimmered on the chains — and as they appeared, the restrictive array gradually lost power.
The Tiger Demon’s gaze grew sharp, but it quickly lowered its head, masking the gleam beneath a look of dull hunger as it continued to nibble on the meager scraps.
The fat cultivator, meanwhile, kept pondering — the more he thought, the less sense it made.
Finally, irritation boiled over.
“Damn it!” he cursed. Seeing the Tiger Demon still eating, he smacked its forehead and snarled,
“Serving humans is bad enough — now I’ve got to serve you, you beast!”
Beating the tiger was nothing new to him.
After all, the beast was bound and couldn’t move — it made for a convenient punching bag.
He turned to leave, but after just a few steps, something felt wrong.
The floor beneath his feet darkened — as though a shadow had spread over it.
At the same time, a fierce, oppressive aura surged up behind him.
His eyes widened.
He turned slightly, just enough to glimpse — behind him stood the very Tiger Demon he had just struck, silently looming, jaws open wide toward his head.
The fat cultivator’s heart froze in terror.
“What the hell?! How did this beast break free?!”
He spun and bolted, pushing his movement technique to the limit.
The Tiger Demon lunged, but its limbs, stiff from long confinement, moved a moment too slow — the fat cultivator narrowly escaped its first bite.
He exhaled in relief.
The Tiger Demon roared in fury and pounced again, a paw the size of a shield smashing down.
This time, the fat cultivator had regained his composure and barely evaded the blow.
The two clashed — the Tiger Demon attacking in rage, the fat cultivator dodging and countering.
Anyone who survived as a Criminal Cultivator had strong movement arts.
After several exchanges, the fat cultivator steadied himself, panic fading.
He was late-stage first-grade; the Tiger Demon was too.
Even if he couldn’t win outright, he could hold his ground.
Moreover, the beast had been starved and confined — its strength wasn’t at its peak.
Realizing this, the fat cultivator sneered coldly:
“Beast! I’ll make you regret this soon enough!”
Even free, the Tiger Demon couldn’t escape the stronghold — it would end up in his hands again eventually.
And next time, he’d show no mercy.
The Tiger Demon roared in fury, its strikes growing faster and heavier, but the fat cultivator fought with increasing ease.
Hidden in the shadows, Mo Hua watched closely, gauging his strength.
The man’s cultivation was Qi-Refining Ninth Layer, near the peak. His movement technique was solid, and his spell art — a first-grade martial technique called Golden Light Fist — was well-honed.
As a Criminal Cultivator used to constant bloodshed, his combat experience was considerable.
Overall, he was weaker than Mo Hua’s father, Mo Shan, but stronger than the average ninth-layer beast-hunter.
The reason he wasn’t favored within the stronghold wasn’t lack of skill — only lack of trust as a newcomer.
Purely in terms of power, he ranked in the upper-middle tier among the demonic cultivators.
Mo Hua nodded silently.
By his estimate, on average, demonic cultivators were somewhat stronger than beast-hunters — though the hunters’ iron armor and heavy sabers could even the odds in a true fight.
That calculation eased his heart a bit.
At this point, the fat cultivator had served his purpose.
Mo Hua’s small hand extended, fingers curling as he formed a seal — preparing to unleash the Water Prison Technique, to bind the fat cultivator and let the great tiger have its meal.
(End of Chapter)