Chapter 309: Veiled Doubts

Mo Hua once again stood before the gates of Black Mountain Stronghold.

Two days earlier, the stronghold had fallen — the evil cultivators were nearly annihilated.

Among the four Foundation Establishment cultivators, the Fourth Chief had died in battle, the Second Chief was severely wounded and captured, while the First and Third Chiefs had fled, both gravely injured. The Dao Court Division and the Dao Soldiers Division were now hunting them down.

That stronghold, once hidden deep within the mountains — rampant with cruelty yet flourishing for a time — was now utterly destroyed.

The remaining evil cultivators were being hunted and would soon be exterminated.

And the main force behind this destruction… was the Dao Court’s Dao Soldiers.

As Zhang Lan had said — the Dao Soldiers were indeed formidable.

Mo Hua hadn’t seen them fight personally, but after the battle, he’d asked his father, Mo Shan.

It was said that once the Dao Soldiers’ spears pointed forth, nothing could withstand them.

The evil cultivators beneath their spears could not even last a single exchange — in just an instant, they were either gravely wounded or dead.

The Dao Soldiers were the sharpest blades of the Dao Court, symbols of its might and authority.

With such power under its command, no wonder the Dao Court could unify the cultivation world and stand unshaken for twenty thousand years.

And these were merely first-grade Dao Soldiers in the Qi-Refining stage.

Those above first grade… must be even more terrifying.

Mo Hua sighed inwardly.

Though Black Mountain Stronghold was gone, there were still many things he couldn’t make sense of.

He looked toward the mountain gate.

The concealment array on the gate had failed; the blood-stained, eerie gates had a pillar snapped in two, and the whole stronghold lay in ruins.

Instead of entering through the gate, Mo Hua circled toward the tall wall nearby.

The first time he had infiltrated Black Mountain Stronghold, he’d undone the formation there, dug a hole through the wall, and slipped in.

That small hole still remained.

“They didn’t discover this?”

Mo Hua was surprised. He released his Divine-Sense, scanning through the wall — then his gaze sharpened.

“No, they did discover it.”

Behind the wall hole, several new formations had been added — a Golden Bell Array, a Wooden Binding Array, and others of similar function.

The Golden Bell Array for alarm, the Wooden Binding Array for entrapment — all of them designed to capture anyone who entered.

They had found the hole and set a trap, waiting for him to return like a rabbit to the snare.

Once he entered, the formations would trigger, alerting the evil cultivators and trapping him on the spot.

This must have been the work of the Third Chief.

Mo Hua didn’t even need to think twice — the Third Chief would surely have stationed men nearby, ready to pounce once the alarm went off.

But before they could ever catch him, the stronghold had already been destroyed.

Now, with no evil cultivators left inside, Mo Hua had nothing to fear.

He took out his Thousand-Jin Staff, widened the wall opening, and destroyed the formations beyond before stepping into the ruins once more.

The stronghold was still heavy with the stench of blood, but now mingled with silence and desolation — the oppressive aura had faded.

Following the paths in his memory, Mo Hua explored the front compound.

Most of the buildings had collapsed. Their contents were seized and turned over to the Dao Court.

The prison cells stood empty.

Every captive cultivator had been killed.

Perhaps the evil cultivators had slain them before the battle began — or during it, to replenish blood and spiritual energy — or at the end, in a frenzy of despair.

Either way, none had survived.

The Dao Court Division and Dao Soldiers Division had already collected the corpses, sealed them in coffins, and brought them back to verify their identities — to give closure to the families.

If they couldn’t be identified, they would be buried nearby, with a crude tomb and a nameless stone.

Those cultivators had met terrible fates, dying miserably.

Even in death, no one would mourn or remember them. Their gravestones would bear no names.

Mo Hua sighed softly — his heart heavy.

After finishing his sweep of the front compound, he moved on to the rear stronghold — and frowned deeply.

The formations there were far denser than when he first came.

Setting up formations required time, and only the Third Chief could inscribe such first-grade formations — meaning these must have been prepared early.

Likely not long after Mo Hua had left, the Third Chief began reinforcing the defenses.

But why?

Did they suspect something?

Mo Hua sat cross-legged atop the rear wall, gazing toward the front compound, deep in thought.

The front stronghold was vast and hard to defend, but focusing formations in the rear made it more difficult for attackers — especially Dao Soldiers — to breach.

He’d already asked Commander Yang: during the three-day assault on Black Mountain Stronghold, two full days were spent breaking through those rear formations.

The evil cultivators had seemingly known they’d be attacked and, knowing they could not win, fortified the rear — as if preparing for a last stand.

Was it to buy time?

Mo Hua frowned. “But… what good would that do? They’d still die in the end.”

“Unless… they were buying time for alchemy?”

He turned toward the alchemy room.

The Beast Gate had been mostly destroyed; the formations at its front forcibly broken — the Dao Soldiers had clearly fought here.

Inside, pillars were shattered and the floor cracked — signs of Foundation Establishment cultivators fighting at full strength.

Blood was splattered everywhere — human or beast, hard to tell.

The white-bone furnace in the center was ruined — first pierced by spears, then half its lid hacked off, exposing its inner walls lined with a blood-red evil formation.

Inside the furnace was a viscous, putrid residue — the remnant liquid of the Human Longevity Pill. Even a whiff made one nauseous.

“Someone actually meant to consume this filth…”

Mo Hua covered his nose, silently cursing.

The furnace was destroyed, and the evil herbs around it were gone — likely confiscated or destroyed by the Dao Court.

Such herbs, used for human-pill refining, violated natural law and were forbidden.

It seemed the pills hadn’t even been completed.

Mo Hua checked the hidden compartment — empty.

The Third Chief hadn’t hidden anything here again.

Understandable. After being robbed once, only a fool would stash treasures in the same place twice.

He searched the rear stronghold further and found a few secret chambers — places for secluded cultivation.

A treasure vault too — empty. The Dao Soldiers had cleaned it out.

Beyond that, nothing unusual remained.

Mo Hua pondered the entire situation carefully.

The Third Chief had discovered the tampered wall and formation, becoming suspicious.

How far that suspicion went, Mo Hua couldn’t know.

But the stronghold had definitely acted.

They’d altered the fog forest formations, set up more mist arrays, and strengthened the rear defenses.

Yet none of it mattered.

When the Dao Soldiers attacked, the resistance only delayed the inevitable — briefly.

Black Mountain Stronghold perished all the same.

Everything seemed reasonable… but something about it was off.

After a long while, Mo Hua realized what felt wrong:

It was as if Black Mountain Stronghold knew it was doomed — and, after token resistance, calmly accepted death.

Rather than being destroyed, it felt more like the stronghold had been orchestrated into destruction — methodically, almost willingly.

As if some unseen hand had quietly pushed it toward the blade… and the stronghold merely bowed its head for execution.

Mo Hua’s frown deepened. He left the alchemy room, climbed to a high point, and gazed over the entire stronghold.

Nestled between two mountains, Black Mountain Stronghold covered vast ground.

And again, that question surfaced —

“How was this place even built?”

It was enormous, filled with intricate arrays. Constructing it would require tremendous manpower and resources. Could those few evil cultivators alone have managed it, hidden deep in these mountains?

Mo Hua’s brows furrowed.

Could someone have supported them from the shadows?

If so, that support must have come from a force within Tōngxiān City — the closest major power, with the easiest covert access.

His gaze sharpened.

The first suspect that came to mind — was the Qian Clan.

The Qian Clan was powerful, ruthless, and unprincipled — Mo Hua wouldn’t put it past them.

But thinking deeper… something didn’t fit.

On the surface, there had never been any connection between the Qian Clan and the Black Mountain Stronghold.

No Qian cultivators were found among the evil ones.

If he accused them simply out of personal dislike, it would be unfair — bias clouding reason.

If not the Qian Clan, then who?

Besides them, the only other major forces in Tōngxiān City were the An Clan and the Tōngxiān Sect.

But supporting a band of evil cultivators brought them no clear benefit.

And given their limited strength, it seemed unlikely they could even do so.

The An Clan, long oppressed by the Qian Clan, barely survived through running restaurants — if they had such power, they would’ve already struck back for revenge.

As for the Tōngxiān Sect — they couldn’t even reclaim their own Tōngxiān Peak. How could they possibly spare the spirit stones to fund evil cultivators?

Mo Hua scratched his head, completely puzzled.

(End of Chapter)