Chapter 290: Conclusion
The scar-faced man had been feigning death, yet unexpectedly, Mo Hua struck him with his staff without warning, forcing a groan of pain out of him.
But after suffering that Third Chief’s claw strike, his injuries were already grievous, his aura faint. Against Mo Hua, he had no strength to resist. Even taking that heavy blow from the Thousand-Jin Staff, he could only endure it.
“Brat… how did you see through it?”
The scar-faced man forced out between clenched teeth, confusion in his eyes.
This “Turtle Breath Technique” of his could suppress all life fluctuations and perfectly feign death — he had stolen it from an old demonic cultivator.
That old demonic cultivator had relied on this technique to escape death time and again throughout his life, surviving countless dangers to old age.
The spell was exceedingly obscure — few cultivators could discern its flaws. Even the Third Chief had failed to notice it at a glance.
He couldn’t fathom how this young brat, who looked so inexperienced, had seen through his act so easily.
Mo Hua only snorted coldly, unwilling to waste breath on him.
His Divine-Sense had already broken through the limits of Qi-Refining and reached the level of Foundation Establishment.
Even though the flow of spiritual power within the scar-faced man’s body was sluggish, it was not stagnant — every subtle pulse of that flow was laid bare under Mo Hua’s perception. How could he possibly be fooled?
Besides — he was a Demon Hunter.
One of the core skills every Demon Hunter must master is seeing through the feigned death of demonic beasts. How could he be tricked by a crude “Turtle Breath Technique”?
As for the Third Chief — he hadn’t noticed the ruse for two reasons: first, his attention had been entirely on Mo Hua; and second, he was too confident in his own cultivation, believing his strike had certainly killed the man.
Most importantly, he wasn’t a Demon Hunter and had no experience detecting false deaths.
Mo Hua ignored the scar-faced man’s question, raised his Thousand-Jin Staff, activated the formation lines, and methodically smashed all four of the man’s limbs.
The scar-faced man screamed in agony, hissing through his teeth, “Brat! You and I have no grievance — why must you be so ruthless!?”
“No grievance?” Mo Hua’s brows rose, and he struck him again.
“All those women you drained to death for your vile cultivation, all those cultivators you butchered with a single stroke — what grudge did they have with you? You didn’t spare them either, did you?”
The scar-faced man laughed coldly through the pain. “Whether I drain or kill, what’s that to you?”
“Guess.”
The scar-faced man’s eyelids twitched — this boy’s words never followed reason; he couldn’t read his intent, his tone, or even sense killing intent clearly.
But he knew one thing — this brat intended to kill him.
Why?
He had never met him before; there should be no enmity between them.
Grinding his teeth, the scar-faced man demanded,
“What have I done to offend you? Speak clearly — let me die knowing why!”
“I like letting people die without knowing,” Mo Hua replied. “Saves me the trouble.”
That unbending attitude left the scar-faced man speechless.
His mind spun quickly, then he sneered, “What, do you think you’re some righteous hero, upholding justice?”
Mo Hua ignored him, lost in his own calculations.
The scar-faced man mocked, “This cultivation world runs on the law of the jungle — the weak are prey to the strong! So naïve… you’ll die miserably one day!”
Mo Hua, tired of his drivel, swung his staff and smacked him square in the face.
“Enough nonsense.”
He thought for a moment, then took a handful of Demon-Stench Grass from his storage pouch, squeezed out its foul juice, and dripped it over the scar-faced man’s body.
“All this ‘survival of the fittest’ nonsense — just empty excuses.”
“When you’re the strong one, you preach ‘the weak deserve it’; when you’re the weak one, you cry ‘Heaven is fair.’ In the end, it’s all selfish hypocrisy.”
After finishing, Mo Hua dumped the rest of the Demon-Stench Grass over him.
“And now, the one who’ll have no grave left — is you.”
The scar-faced man smelled the foul, rancid odor and paled. “What are you doing!?”
Mo Hua said calmly, “This grass’s stench attracts beasts. Soon enough, they’ll come and eat you alive.”
“You like the law of the jungle, right? Then I’ll let you experience being the weak one — being the prey.”
The scar-faced man’s eyes widened in terror.
“Oh, right.” Mo Hua blinked, then added thoughtfully, “Though I suppose you won’t live long enough for an ‘after’… Maybe in your next life, if you’re lucky enough to be born human again.”
The scar-faced man’s eyes bulged, hatred twisting his features.
“Damn brat! You’re vicious to the bone!”
“Vicious?” Mo Hua sneered. “When you harm others, you don’t think yourself vicious; when others return the favor, suddenly they’re the villain? How one-sided.”
Realizing death was near, the scar-faced man’s tone suddenly softened.
“Brother… no, little Daoist! Spare me, I’ll change, I swear!”
“Change how?” Mo Hua asked casually while drawing a formation on the ground.
“I’ll repent! Do good! Stop all evil!” the man said hurriedly.
“Truly?”
“If I break my vow, may thunder strike me dead!”
Mo Hua appeared to hesitate. “Really?”
Seeing a glimmer of hope, the man nodded eagerly.
“Truly! I’ll eat vegetarian meals, do good deeds, and never defy Heaven again!”
Mo Hua paused, then nodded with apparent satisfaction. “Admitting wrong and changing — that’s the greatest virtue.”
The scar-faced man brightened. “So… you’ll let me go?”
Mo Hua smiled brilliantly. “No.”
The scar-faced man froze.
“I lied. ‘Admitting wrong and changing is virtue’ — that’s another pretty lie. People don’t change so easily. Even dogs can’t stop eating filth.”
Rage contorted the man’s face — the brat was toying with him!
He tried to get up — but too late. Mo Hua had already finished laying down a formation circle, locking his body in place.
So all that chatter had been to distract him — to lay down a binding array without resistance!
Any remaining spiritual power he’d recovered was now useless. Once the beasts came, he’d be doomed.
Despair filled his eyes; hatred burned in his gaze.
“You little fiend! Even as a ghost, I’ll never let you go!”
Mo Hua didn’t even look at him.
He’d already “eaten” a real ghost — what fear could this fake one inspire?
Before the man could curse again, Mo Hua finished his work, his patience gone.
“Remember this…”
He hefted the Thousand-Jin Staff, stood over the bound man, and said coldly,
“If you become human again, I’ll see you die without a corpse.
If you become a ghost, I’ll see you scattered to nothing.”
“Now — wait for death.”
Without waiting for a reply, Mo Hua swung the staff down one last time with all his strength.
The impact knocked the man completely unconscious.
Mo Hua put away his staff, nodding in mild approval.
When that scar-faced man woke, he’d witness himself being devoured by beasts — truly tasting the meaning of “the weak are food for the strong.”
Knocking him out was just to spare him the agony of anticipation — after all, the waiting before death was always the worst part.
Mo Hua considered this an act of mercy.
After finishing, he sighed softly, his mood dimming again.
He thought of that woman who had taken her life in the night.
The living suffer endlessly, and even death can be a luxury.
The torment and despair she endured before dying — now the scar-faced man would share a sliver of it.
But with his low cultivation, this was all Mo Hua could do for now.
In the distance, several nocturnal beasts had already picked up the mingled scents of Demon-Stench Grass and blood, their greedy eyes glinting as they approached through the forest.
Mo Hua had sensed them long before.
Calmly, he cast Concealment Technique, hid his presence, then used Flowing-Water Step to glide silently away — toward a path without beasts, without the Third Chief.
After so long in Black Mountain Stronghold, after so many trials, everything was finally over.
He could go home.
And this time, he would travel without fear or hesitation.
He had seen through the Visualization Diagram, devoured the Green-Faced Ghost, and refined its Divine-Sense.
Now, his own Divine-Sense was equal to that of a Foundation Establishment cultivator — in these deep mountains, no one could pierce his concealment.
Once he left Black Mountain Stronghold, he would be like a fish returning to the sea.
No evil cultivator would ever find him again.