Chapter 625: Fireball Technique?

Chapter 627: Fireball Technique?

Grandpa Kui’s “Fireball Technique” surfaced before his eyes.

Mo Hua fell into silent contemplation…

With the aid of Divine-Sense, one fireball after another was compressed, refined into threads, woven together and interlocked, then reconstructed. Within a limited space, they were condensed and recombined into a new Fireball Technique, capable of unleashing terrifying power…

This was the profound spell-principle Grandpa Kui had displayed—hidden within a seemingly ordinary technique.

Even a simple Fireball Technique, through complex transformations, could mutate and evolve into something far more destructive…

It was somewhat like an array, yet also not.

After all, spells and formations weren’t the same thing.

Mo Hua was still far from the realm where “all paths diverge but return to the same Dao,” where one sees through surface differences to the same essence beneath. In his current level of understanding, the gap between the two remained enormous.

But… how exactly was he supposed to cultivate this kind of Fireball Technique?

“Compression, reconstruction…”

“A powerful Fireball Technique…”

He had some vague understanding, but when it came to the actual spell structure, everything was a swirling mist—impenetrable.

He stared blankly toward the setting sun.

Beside him, little Yu’er had finished his homework early and was rolling around on the soft grass. When he grew bored, he turned his head and noticed Mo Hua frowning in deep thought.

Yu’er didn’t quite understand, but he didn’t disturb him, simply lying there obediently.

The sun set completely, and the sky suddenly darkened.

Night descended swiftly, cloaking the world in pitch-black.

Yu’er shivered out of habit, unease and fear flickering in his eyes.

These were instincts left behind from those nightmare-ridden nights—an ingrained terror of darkness.

His little face tightened, arms wrapped around his knees as he trembled.

It felt as though countless ravenous fiends lurked in the darkness, as though endless unknown horrors surrounded him.

Yu’er’s face turned pale.

At some point, a warm hand gently rested atop his head.

Yu’er looked up to see Mo Hua gazing at him with gentle eyes.

“It’s dark. Let’s go back.”

Yu’er froze for a moment, then broke into a relieved smile.

“Mm!”

And so, Mo Hua took his hand and led him along the narrow mountain path. Out of the deepening night, toward the disciples’ quarters glowing softly with warm yellow light.

Yu’er followed behind, his small hand held firmly. Suddenly, courage welled up within his limbs and bones, enough to scatter all fear and unease.

Be it night or demons—there was nothing to be afraid of.

A bright smile slowly blossomed across Yu’er’s face.

…

After returning to the disciples’ quarters, Mo Hua kept Yu’er company for a while. Once the boy fell asleep, Mo Hua took a moment to draw a few formation diagrams before continuing to ponder the Fireball Technique…

If he could choose only one offensive spell among the Five Elements, he would pick Fireball without hesitation.

After all, the Fireball Technique had been with him for a long time, and he intended to remain faithful—no straying heart allowed.

Even if he learned swordsmanship, learned to fly his sword, or even mastered Divine-Sense Incarnation: Sword Manifestation one day, he would never abandon Fireball.

He would cultivate it to the absolute peak!

He wouldn’t just be a spell master—he would be a Fireball Master!

Besides, sword arts and Divine-Sense swords were far too distant. For now, the only thing he could rely on was Fireball.

Mo Hua replayed Grandpa Kui’s Fireball Technique again and again in his mind, but made no progress.

Spells weren’t like formations.

For formations, he had the Dao Monument—he could practice endlessly, deduce repeatedly.

But spells weren’t that forgiving.

Mo Hua thought for a moment and realized he needed a place to practice the variations directly.

The next day, he found some time and went to the Dao-Arts Chamber.

As its name suggested, aside from teaching Dao-arts, it also had special rooms where disciples could train spells on their own.

Inside were protective formations.

There was also a spell-testing puppet for practicing spells and measuring their strength.

An alchemist waited outside as well.

If a disciple made a mistake while practicing and suffered backlash, the alchemist would step in with spirit herbs or pills to prevent the injury from worsening.

Such incidents were common.

After all, cultivation was a matter where mistakes were inevitable.

Ever since submitting the inheritance during the pursuit of the rogue cultivators, Mo Hua would occasionally rent a Dao-Arts room to practice spells.

His Divine-Sense was strong, his control was precise, and he had never misfired or blown himself up.

Mo Hua blinked, genuinely unable to imagine how he could possibly injure himself with his own spell…

Renting a room required spirit stones and registering with the Dao-Arts Elder.

Mo Hua was familiar with the elder.

Although his Dao-arts grades were only “C,” it was solely because his spiritual root was limited, preventing him from learning higher-grade spells. The elder understood this well, and didn’t mind that Mo Hua attended his classes but could only manage a “C.”

And though Mo Hua couldn’t cultivate advanced techniques, his research into low-level spells was deep, and his spell techniques rather unique.

The elder found that quite delightful.

He was idly playing chess with the alchemist when he saw Mo Hua. He greeted him warmly and reminded him to “be careful and don’t hurt yourself” before letting him in.

Inside the single-person chamber, Mo Hua immediately began experimenting with Fireball modifications.

First was compression.

He tried to mimic Grandpa Kui, using Divine-Sense to compress the fireball into fine threads.

But he failed.

His Divine-Sense simply wasn’t strong enough. Or rather, his cultivation was far too low—his control over spiritual power was nowhere near delicate enough…

All he could do was compress a large fireball into a small one.

Fist-sized, darker in color, a bit stronger in power—but not very useful.

He tested it on the spell puppet.

The early Foundation Establishment puppet gained a deeper scorch mark before gradually recovering.

The puppet’s materials were special, with formations inside that allowed automatic repair.

Mo Hua had been amazed when he first saw it—especially curious about the internal formations. He had even tried to take it apart…

But the puppet “raised an alarm,” calling the Dao-Arts Elder, who stopped his “impolite” behavior.

Mo Hua gave up.

Now, his compressed “little fireball” did show increased power.

But the improvement was small.

And because compression took time, the spell’s casting speed slowed down. In real combat, it would be far too clumsy.

And this fist-sized “little fireball” was already his limit.

Mo Hua sighed.

“Still far too weak…”

His spell cultivation was worlds apart from Grandpa Kui.

But thinking about it, that was normal.

Grandpa Kui’s cultivation was unfathomably high. Even his martial uncle feared him, unwilling to fight directly—needing the Blood Daoist’s… something-blood to counter him.

Mo Hua thought for a long moment before remembering the name:

The Blood of Dao-Extinguishing…

Dao-Extinguishing…

“Grandpa Kui… he should be fine, right…”

He remembered Grandpa Kui’s words to his martial uncle that day: “Don’t let me see you again. Otherwise, I’ll kill you.”

Which meant the one always accompanying him had been a projection, or a puppet— not the real body.

Mo Hua felt relieved, but also worried.

Where exactly was Grandpa Kui now?

And that “Blood Daoist”…

Mo Hua had heard the name twice now.

First time — it was that Holy Son blocking his path. When he was frightened by Martial Uncle and begged for mercy, he used the identity of a “Blood Daoist descendant” as a shield, and only then did Martial Uncle spare his life.

The second time was when his martial uncle used the Blood Daoist’s Dao-Extinguishing blood to counter Grandpa Kui…

If even his martial uncle had to show him respect and borrow his blood, he must be a terrifying demon overlord…

But it was too early for Mo Hua to think about these things—far beyond his reach. He would worry later.

He silently memorized the name “Blood Daoist.”

Then refocused on the Fireball Technique.

He couldn’t reach Grandpa Kui’s level, but he could learn the idea.

Spell-threads, compression, reconstruction.

If he couldn’t reach Grandpa Kui’s standard… he would simplify it. Even mastering a tenth of it would greatly increase the spell’s power.

If he couldn’t condense spells into threads, he would at least compress them into spheres.

If it couldn’t be “woven” and reconstructed, then… fuse them?

“Fuse two Fireball Techniques into one?”

Mo Hua’s eyes lit up.

He began attempting to cast two Fireball Techniques, then them together…

But as soon as he tried, he failed again.

Then he recalled some basic spell theorems from the Dao Arts class:

A person cannot cast two spells simultaneously.

Even if the two spells are exactly the same, there must be a temporal sequence.

Mo Hua’s previous Fireball Technique was the same—no matter how fast it was cast, there was still an order.

He had to condense the first fireball and release it before condensing the second.

No matter how fast, the sequence remained.

Continuous spells, like the Golden Body Technique or Golden Bell Cover, followed the same rule.

Cast the Golden Body Technique first, then ride the sword;

Cast the Golden Bell Cover for defense first, then use other spells…

It might seem that two spells were active simultaneously, but the casting was still sequential.

Mo Hua stroked his chin, thinking:

“Grandpa Kui’s demonstration of the Fireball Technique also had each fireball forming one after another before merging into a unified spell structure…”

But such a high-level spell technique was beyond him…

“I need another approach…”

Mo Hua frowned, pondering.

He was no longer the rootless wandering cultivator with no foundation.

Now that he had entered the Great Void Sect, attending classes and cultivating daily, receiving the sect’s orthodox teachings, his knowledge and understanding of the Dao had already grown considerably.

Just by hearing and seeing so much, he now knew plenty of “fundamentals” about spellcraft.

Humans couldn’t cast two spells simultaneously because one’s Divine-Sense was singular—unable to split attention.

“Unable to split attention…”

Mo Hua raised a brow.

“Heavenly Secret Deceptive Algorithm!”

Perhaps his Divine-Sense was singular…

But as his martial uncle had shown, with the help of the Heavenly Secret Deceptive Algorithm, it could be divided…

Once divided, if he had two strands of Spiritual-Consciousness, wouldn’t that allow him to break through conventional spellcasting doctrine—and cast two spells simultaneously?

Casting two spells at once meant he could attempt… spell fusion.

Mo Hua’s spirits lifted. His pupils deepened, his Divine-Sense split into deceptive thoughts, producing overlapping shadows—one mind becoming two—beginning an attempt to condense two techniques simultaneously.

But every attempt failed.

He had never tried splitting deceptive thoughts while spellcasting, so he was clumsy at first.

Either his Divine-Sense wavered, or his spiritual power went astray, or the spell failed to form…

But Mo Hua was far too familiar with the Fireball Technique. After several attempts, his deceptive thoughts grew stable, his spiritual power flowed smoothly, and the spell structures completed…

After who knew how long, Mo Hua’s eyes brightened. He extended both hands.

In his left hand—one Fireball Technique.

In his right hand—another Fireball Technique.

Divine-Sense divided, dual casting!

Mo Hua was ecstatic.

But then he realized a problem: dual casting might mean greater power… which made researching a more complex Fireball Technique seem unnecessary.

He decided to test it. Both hands extended—two fireballs shot out instantly, drawing twin streaks of fire as they struck the spell dummy.

Two scorch marks appeared on the dummy, then quickly restored.

Mo Hua shook his head.

“Not great…”

The two simultaneously cast fireballs had weaker power…

One reason: his technique wasn’t proficient yet.

Another: his spiritual power wasn’t abundant enough. The amount stored in his meridians couldn’t support casting two fireballs simultaneously without losing power…

At this rate, casting them one after the other was actually better.

He cast fast—the gap between two fireballs would be tiny, yet the strength wouldn’t decline.

Unless…

Mo Hua thought.

Unless he needed a barrage of spells—rapidly releasing a large number of fireballs in a very short time.

Only in that case would dual casting be miraculous.

But then his Divine-Sense and spiritual power would gush out like a flood.

His Divine-Sense could take it, but his spiritual power absolutely couldn’t.

Not something he could use right now…

Mo Hua felt a little regret.

Dual casting wasn’t enough—he still had to pursue spell fusion.

He nodded to himself, pupils turning pitch-black again as deceptive thoughts split, dual casting once more—left hand, right hand, each forming a fireball.

Mo Hua frowned, slightly strained, slowly bringing his hands together—trying to merge the two fireballs…

But the two fireballs repelled each other like matching poles of a magnetic array.

The closer they came, the stronger the repulsion.

Soon, Mo Hua couldn’t maintain it—the spell structures collapsed, and the fireballs extinguished.

Breathing heavily, he muttered:

“Still no good…”

“The fireballs repel each other. They won’t fuse…”

“Why?”

Thinking deeply, Mo Hua pulled out his Essentials of Great Void Dao Arts, combing through recorded spell doctrines for an answer.

A cup of tea later, he flipped to the page on “Spell Structure.” Recalling the elder’s lectures, he suddenly understood.

Every spell had an internal spell structure.

This structure was stable and standardized, created and refined by generations of powerful cultivators—a “paradigm” that determined the essence of the spell.

A spell structure was also a spiritual power structure, containing the flows and transformations of its power.

Likewise, different spells had structures that repelled each other.

So when cultivators clashed with spells, the outcome was determined by the respective spell structures.

High-grade spells, with stable structures and stronger power, would crush low-grade spell structures—breaking them and causing spiritual collapse, leading to defeat.

If the two spells were close in strength and neither could overpower the other, their structures would mutually repel, causing both to collapse and explode…

Mo Hua nodded—then froze, confused.

“Spell collision causes mutual collapse and spiritual explosion…”

“But when my two fireballs pressed together, there was no explosion…”

“Why?”

The more he thought, the more puzzled he felt.

Spellcraft was as profound as formation arts—once you dug deeper, the complexity was endless…

He could only analyze it from himself.

Although he used deceiving-thought division, the two fireballs ultimately came from the same Divine-Sense, the same spiritual power, the same spell structure.

They were like duplicates—reflections of each other.

Thus, the spells shared the same origin and were compatible.

But even with identical appearance, they still had independent spell structures.

Spell structures always repelled.

Therefore, the two fireballs—sharing a common origin—could approach each other, but because their structures were independent, they repelled…

A contradiction—compatible in essence, repulsive in structure—spiritual power entangled endlessly.

Mo Hua’s head hurt.

If they shared the same origin, fusion should be possible…

But their independent structures made fusion impossible…

Puzzling—but he didn’t give up.

For the next few days, he tried countless ways to promote “spell fusion” between these two same-origin fireballs cast simultaneously.

He tried using Divine-Sense to slowly press them together;

Or making them rotate in a spiral, attempting to align them…

No matter what he attempted, nothing worked.

Mo Hua frowned, reflecting:

“Maybe… I’ve been too gentle…”

All these pressing, spiraling, coaxing attempts—he’d done them cautiously. But the two fireballs were “naughty,” refusing to behave.

Maybe he had to be more… forceful?

But how?

Mo Hua recalled spell clashes he had seen. Suddenly, inspiration struck:

“Collision?”

“Make the two fireballs collide head-on?”

His Divine-Sense was strong—if he forced the two fireballs to collide at high speed, maybe they’d merge?

Rely on brute force through overwhelming Divine-Sense?

Mo Hua hesitated—but he had no other method, so he might as well try.

Besides, inside the Dao Arts Chamber, elders were guarding. Two tiny fireballs shouldn’t cause trouble…

He nodded.

Again, he split his deceptive thoughts—left hand, right hand—two fireballs.

This time he didn’t inch them together. Instead, concentration sharpened, and in an instant, he pushed his sixteen-pattern transformed Divine-Sense to its peak—pressing down violently—

The spell changed instantly!

Under the crushing force of his Divine-Sense, the fireballs trembled violently.

Then suddenly—no longer still—they spun, dragging bright streaks of fire, and at extreme speed, shrieked toward each other in a collision strong enough to destroy their spell structures—

It all happened in an instant.

Moments later, Mo Hua felt dizzy, ears ringing, his eyes blinded by the searing light…

He heard a muffled explosion.

Then all sound seemed to be sucked away—devoured—leaving a deathly silence…

A single thread of clarity within his Divine-Sense allowed Mo Hua to realize…

His spiritual power had completely lost control…

Somewhere within the Fireball Technique, a surge of rampaging spiritual power was born—like an unrestrained furious dragon, roaring and bellowing, struggling to break free from his grasp and devour everything…

Mo Hua used the very last trace of his Divine-Sense to throw a “rein” over that power, forcing it forward, driving it to blast outward…

Then his eyes shut, and he slowly fell to the ground, slipping into unconsciousness.

…

Outside, the Daoist Arts Elder was playing chess when he was struck by a sudden, violent jolt of dread. He looked down and saw a red warning flare to life on the central jade slip of the Daoist Arts Chamber—a red so bright it nearly stabbed the eyes.

At the same time, a spiritual fluctuation spread out—weak in cultivation, merely Foundation Establishment level, yet twisted, eerie, and carrying a terrifying hint of distortion.

The Daoist Arts Elder’s heart lurched. With a flash, he rushed to one of the Daoist Arts Chambers on his right.

From the outside, the chamber appeared perfectly intact.

His right hand trembled slightly as he opened the door…

What met his eyes was devastation, cracks everywhere.

A savage scorched mark cut across the floor, stretching far into the distance. The oppressive spiritual force had struck all four walls, shaking loose the defensive Grade-Three formation.

The formation itself remained intact, but the wall coating had melted away, revealing the formation patterns beneath.

It looked as if the surroundings had been blasted full of mottled fractures.

At the origin of the scorch mark lay a young cultivator.

He had fainted on the ground—his left hand charred pitch-black, his right hand split with cracks, blood at the corner of his mouth.

At the far end of the scorch mark stood the spell-testing puppet.

Or rather—there should have been a spell-testing puppet.

Now, the Foundation Establishment early-stage puppet designed to measure spell strength had been blown into absolute nothingness—not even residue remained…

The Daoist Arts Elder’s mouth fell wide open, and he sucked in a sharp breath…

“What in the blazes… what kind of monstrosity is this…”

“Fireball Technique?!”