Chapter 289: Leaving the Stronghold
After Mo Hua finished speaking, he licked his lips.
His lips were red and glossy, and under the crimson glow within the room, there was an oddly sinister allure to him.
The Third Master’s heart gave a violent jolt.
As expected — an old monster!
Even among demonic cultivators, few truly ate people. They might harvest yin essence, absorb spiritual energy, or drink blood, but devouring human flesh for cultivation was a far darker art — the mark of a true orthodox demonic path, far beyond the reach of lesser, self-taught heretics like them.
But then another realization struck the Third Master.
If this old monster wanted to eat someone… and there was only him in the room… wouldn’t he be the meal?
Cold sweat broke out across his back as his thoughts raced.
He couldn’t just sit and wait for death — but to act rashly against such a sinister being, one who had mastered soul-seizing arts, could only lead to disaster.
Even a demonic old monster with low cultivation possessed vicious, insidious methods that could not be underestimated.
Terrified but forcing himself to remain calm, the Third Master bowed and asked,
“May I ask, Senior… what sort of person do you wish to eat?”
Mo Hua licked his lips again. “Anyone will do. I’m starving — not picky.”
The Third Master quietly exhaled in relief.
So long as it wasn’t him.
“I wonder,” he ventured carefully, “if there’s anything this junior might do to assist Senior?”
“Oh?” Mo Hua raised an eyebrow, then nodded slightly. “Then you can pick a few for me.”
Pick a few… for what purpose?
Mo Hua didn’t say — but the Third Master knew. Pick a few people… for him to eat.
In Black Mountain Stronghold, besides himself, there were other demonic cultivators, as well as imprisoned cultivators.
Those captives had already been drained of essence and blood, their foundations ruined — hardly nourishing fare.
Feeding such weaklings to this old monster might anger him. That would bring calamity to them all.
The only ones truly edible… were the demonic cultivators of the stronghold itself.
After a brief calculation, the Third Master cupped his hands respectfully.
“I do not know Senior’s preferences. Would you allow me to guide you personally, so you may make your own selections?”
He intended to lure the old monster outside. Once the monster had eaten his fill, he’d politely send him away.
Losing a few demonic cultivators was a small price to pay for earning the monster’s goodwill.
He didn’t expect guidance or help in return — beings like this one, who’d lived countless years and mastered forbidden soul arts, were fickle and dangerous.
Best not to offend.
“Guide me?”
Mo Hua’s mind stirred, though he kept a composed front. After feigning hesitation, he nodded slightly.
“Very well.”
“Please.”
Thus, the Third Master led the way, personally dissolving the blood formation and opening the beast-door, guiding Mo Hua out.
Mo Hua walked out calmly, following him through the crimson-lit chamber.
Outside, the night was pitch-black — dawn had not yet come.
They walked silently along the narrow paths of Black Mountain Stronghold.
The Third Master sought to lead him away.
Mo Hua also wanted to leave.
Their purposes aligned perfectly — no need for words.
Still, a pretext had to be maintained. People had to be “chosen.”
As they walked, Mo Hua pointed occasionally at familiar faces — demonic cultivators he knew to be especially cruel — lightly extending a finger each time.
These were men he’d long wished to kill, but his strength had been lacking.
Now, fate had presented the opportunity — and he didn’t mind “eating” them.
The Third Master summoned each selected cultivator.
They didn’t know why, but a command from the Third Master allowed no questions. They followed quietly.
By the time they neared the stronghold’s gate, Mo Hua had pointed out four of them.
Too few, and the “meal” would seem insincere. Too many, and suspicion might arise.
At the great bonfire by the gate, Mo Hua’s eyes flickered — spotting a familiar figure.
Scarface.
That demonic cultivator who practiced dual cultivation and slaughtered countless victims — the very one Mo Hua had once failed to kill.
Mo Hua raised a small hand and pointed directly at him.
The Third Master nodded slightly and called him over.
Seeing Scarface’s hideous features, he couldn’t help but think, “The old monster’s taste is heavy indeed… truly not picky.”
“Come with me,” he ordered. “There’s work to do.”
“Yes,” Scarface replied respectfully, heart pounding with excitement.
The Third Master himself giving orders — this had to be important! Perhaps a raid, perhaps a chance to capture another female cultivator.
He was eager to prove himself and win favor.
Then his gaze fell on Mo Hua — and he froze.
A child?
Why was there a child here?
And why did it seem like the Third Master was leading the way for this child?
A chill crept into his heart. He dared not ask.
In Black Mountain Stronghold, the curious died first.
“Open the gate,” the Third Master commanded.
Feeding on humans required quiet — far from the stronghold.
Such places lay deep within Great Black Mountain, beyond the walls.
Thus, it was natural to lead the “old monster” outward.
Mo Hua rejoiced inwardly but kept his expression neutral, following without resistance.
Once beyond the walls, once hidden, none of them would be able to detect him again.
With his current Divine-Sense, no cultivator within Great Black Mountain could pierce his concealment.
The gates creaked open.
The group stepped out — the Third Master in front, several demonic cultivators behind, and Mo Hua calmly in the middle.
The same boy who had snuck in secretly now left openly, escorted by demonic cultivators on all sides.
Outside the stronghold, the fog thickened, but the air was less suffocating — the stench of blood faded, and the pressure eased.
The Third Master led them along winding mountain paths, finally stopping at a desolate forest clearing.
The surroundings were barren, shrouded in mist and shadow.
He turned to Mo Hua for approval.
Mo Hua nodded slightly. “Here will do.”
The Third Master bowed. “Does Senior have any further instructions?”
The demonic cultivators exchanged nervous glances.
The Third Master was asking this child for instructions?
Just who was this kid?
Mo Hua said flatly, “How do you eat them alive?”
The Third Master instantly understood.
The others didn’t — but they soon would.
Because in the next breath, the Third Master struck.
His fingers curved into claws, condensed with mercury-like spiritual light, piercing through one chest after another.
The demonic cultivators had no chance to react.
Scarface, ever wary, tried to flee the instant Mo Hua spoke.
But as a ninth-layer Qi-Refining cultivator, he could never outrun the Third Master, who was in Foundation Establishment.
A sharp claw tore through his back, ripping out his heart.
Scarface collapsed, blood spilling, dying without ever understanding why.
“Is Senior satisfied?” the Third Master asked.
Mo Hua nodded repeatedly.
All the demonic cultivators were dead — of course he was satisfied.
Then, with a pleasant smile, he asked, “Would you like to join me?”
The Third Master froze.
He might be demonic, but he’d never eaten human flesh.
“Senior’s kindness humbles me,” he said stiffly, “but I wouldn’t dare intrude. Please, enjoy alone.”
Mo Hua smirked faintly. “Then… are you planning to watch me eat?”
The Third Master’s heart skipped a beat.
Of course — such cultivation must be a secret demonic art.
Being present would violate a taboo.
He bowed hurriedly. “Then this junior will take his leave. Please, enjoy slowly, Senior.”
He turned and walked away quickly.
As he did, he felt a faint, formless thread of Divine-Sense brushing against him.
He shivered.
The old monster was watching him — a warning not to pry.
He didn’t slow down until he reached the edge of the forest and could no longer sense that presence.
Only then did he dare breathe again.
Mo Hua, confirming the man had gone far enough, drew the Thousand-Jin Staff from his storage pouch.
He walked to Scarface’s corpse — whose fingers twitched slightly — and swung down hard.
Bang!
The staff smashed into the man’s skull.
Mo Hua’s voice was cold:
“You dare play dead in front of me?”