Chapter 1238: Proof of the Dao

The barbarian general was terrified, furious, and utterly bewildered: "Don't you want to know who we are?"

Mo Hua said: "The identity of the dead doesn't matter."

Dan Que and the Jin Dan of Shu Gu Tribe began to kill.

The Yuan Bone armored soldiers, along with other barbarian troops, began to slaughter.

The bloodlust in the forest grew heavier; cries of agony rose everywhere. As one after another "reinforcement" fell, the barbarian general's eyes bulged with rage.

Dan Zhu also stepped forward, drew a long blade, and prepared to end the barbarian general's life.

The one who killed him was Dan Zhu, yet the barbarian general glared fiercely at Mo Hua and spat with hatred:

"My Wu Jiao Tribe will not let you go. One day, your tribe will be crushed beneath the hooves of our Wu Jiao demon soldiers. Your people will be refined into black smoke. You yourself will be torn into a thousand pieces by the Young Master and fed to the mouth of the Wu Jiao Great God—eternally, endlessly, denied rebirth…"

Mo Hua waved his hand. "Too much nonsense."

Dan Zhu brought down his blade, severing the barbarian general's head.

The barbarian general's head spilled blood as it rolled three times across the ground before stopping, eyes wide open, filled with unyielding defiance.

Dan Zhu stepped forward, pressed his foot against the man's face, and closed his eyes.

The battle had now grown sparse, nearing its end.

The reinforcements summoned by this barbarian general, though mounted on barbarian horses and formidable in strength and numbers, were still vastly outmatched by Mo Hua's eight hundred barbarian troops—especially the Yuan Bone armored soldiers.

Overwhelming force turned the battle into a one-sided "massacre."

Not long after, all the barbarians who called themselves "Wu Jiao Tribe" were slain.

Mo Hua ordered his men to loot the battlefield, seizing over a hundred barbarian horses, then threw the corpses over the cliff and erased all traces.

Wild beasts of the mountains would feast on their bodies, further destroying all evidence.

Having finished all this, Mo Hua ordered his barbarian troops to withdraw first.

He himself, along with Dan Zhu and a few others, returned to Acha Force and gave simple burials to the dead of Acha Force.

Mo Hua personally buried Abu.

After burying him, Mo Hua wanted to erect a tombstone for Abi.

But Abi was just an ordinary barbarian youth—no cultivation, no achievements, no deeds worth mentioning. Perhaps he had ambitions, perhaps he still carried a heart of gratitude, but everything had barely begun and was abruptly cut short.

His life had already ended.

Mo Hua had nothing else to write—only these simple words: "Tomb of the Youth Abu."

Abu was dead.

But now, more youths like him might die just as simply.

Even now, more "Abus" are already dying.

In this chaotic age, they are hacked apart, severed at the waist—innocent lives ended by chaos and war.

Mo Hua took a deep breath and slowly let the suppressed emotions in his heart settle.

"There is… no room left for gentleness…"

Looking at the tombstone before him, Mo Hua's expression grew cold, his eyes filled with decisive, ruthless intent.

…

More than half a day later.

On the other side, hundreds of miles away, before a vast valley, countless barbarian troops stood in dense formation, their presence overwhelmingly massive.

These barbarians wore black, sinister barbarian armor, and many even rode barbarian horses—or various avian beasts bound by iron chains.

In the center of the troops, several hunched witch cultivators, faces caked in black blood, danced a strange war ritual to boost morale.

This was a powerful barbarian army, fully equipped with diverse troops and enhanced by witch cultivators.

A young cultivator clad in a pure black cloak, his face cold and grim, sat atop a terrifying, grotesque bald vulture beast sealed by eighteen demonic chains.

This man was the master of this barbarian army.

Moments later, hooves clattered as a scout galloped up, dismounting from afar, bowing low, and kneeling before the black-cloaked youth:

"My lord, Lord Hong Jiu… is dead. Over two hundred warriors are dead. Their corpses were thrown into the wilderness; the barbarian horses are gone. It seems… they were ambushed."

The black-cloaked youth showed no expression, but his brows hardened with lethal intent; his voice was hoarse as a night owl's cry.

"Who dares kill my Wu Jiao Tribe's men?"

The scout pressed his forehead to the ground, trembling uncontrollably, forcing himself to speak despite fear:

"The bandits… were extremely strong, moved cleanly, left few traces. But from the scene's marks, it appears a force of 'barbarian heavy troops' ambushed them—that's why Lord Hong Jiu and the others met their end…"

"Heavy troops…"

The black-cloaked youth's pupils contracted.

In this backwater, could some tribe even maintain a force of heavy armored barbarians?

"Anything else?" the black-cloaked youth asked.

The scout replied: "There was no time for detailed reconnaissance—I rushed here immediately to report to you…"

The black-cloaked youth showed a flicker of displeasure but did not scold further.

Hong Jiu was dead. If this scout had dug deeper, he would never have returned to report.

A dark, malevolent aura flickered across the black-cloaked youth's brow.

He felt an urge to turn back, hunt down every traitor who dared defy his Wu Jiao Tribe, slit their throats one by one, and let them bleed out.

He would not allow anyone to defy his Wu Jiao Tribe.

But he forcibly suppressed that impulse.

One who seeks great achievements must not rage, must not act on emotion.

At this moment, he still had grand ambitions to fulfill—he could not let these petty bandits hinder his steps.

Moreover…

The one who can raise heavy-armored barbarian soldiers is certainly no ordinary person.

The black-cloaked youth also felt a faint trace of wariness.

After a moment of contemplation, he sneered inwardly: "Fine, I'll spare your lives for now. When I unleash my grand design, unify the entire Zhu Que realm, and conquer all major tribes, I'll return to settle accounts—drag you out and toy with you slowly…"

The black-cloaked youth half-closed his eyes, steadied his heart, then spoke coldly:

"Issue the order: continue the march, cross the Hengduan Mountains, and subdue the small and large tribes within the Zhu Que realm. Those who follow me shall prosper; those who oppose me shall perish."

"Yes, Young Master!"

The order was passed down; the witch-shamans began their war dance, stirring the soldiers' thirst for slaughter.

The barbarian horses neighed, the demonic riders trembled, and the black vulture beast beneath the youth also stirred restlessly, radiating ferocious demonic energy.

This army of slaughter slowly moved forward, marching toward the opposite Shanfeng…

…

The barbarian army's advance, and the shifting qi around them, did not escape Mo Hua's perception.

Yet at this moment, Mo Hua paid no heed to these seemingly brutal killing intentions.

He gazed upward at the sky, calculating the fate of the entire Da Huang, pondering the flow of heavenly destiny and the shifting patterns of heaven and earth.

He simply kept his head raised, watching the sky—from the sunset of daytime to the arrival of night, then from the starless dark to the faint red glow at dawn in the east.

Mo Hua's gaze grew ever more resolute.

After a while, Dan Zhu walked over and said: "Mr., everything is ready."

Mo Hua nodded and murmured: "Good. Let's depart."

Under Mo Hua's command, the Wu Tu tribe; under Dan Zhu's leadership, the Dan Que tribe; and under Lord Lugu's command, the Shu Gu Zheng tribe's allied army—over six thousand barbarian soldiers—set out in grand procession from their hidden wilderness mountains.

Led by Mo Hua, the Lord Wuzhu, they marched across Da Huang under the name of the "Divine Lord."

Half a day later, they encountered their first small tribe, named Fu Shan.

Mo Hua personally appeared to meet the chief of this small tribe.

The deep-bone heavy armor exuded authority; the six thousand barbarian soldiers radiated overwhelming might.

The Fu Shan chief trembled, unable to raise his head.

Mo Hua asked him: "Will you submit to the Divine Lord? Will you devote yourself wholeheartedly to the Divine Lord's great cause?"

The Fu Shan chief lifted his head, glanced at Mo Hua—and in that single glance, he saw on Mo Hua's youthful, beautiful face a holiness and majesty unlike any mortal's. He immediately knelt on the ground, trembling, and said:

"Fu Shan tribe… we are willing."

Mo Hua nodded calmly.

The Fu Shan chief hesitated a moment, then gritted his teeth and whispered, trembling:

"I only beg… my lord… do not reduce Fu Shan to slavery; do not let our sons be sterilized, our daughters sold into prostitution. Do not let Fu Shan… be wiped out as a clan…"

Mo Hua's gaze was stern: "To submit to the Divine Lord is to become the Divine Lord's people. Those who serve the Divine Lord shall be treated equally. On the battlefield, comrades; off it, brothers. As long as you do not betray the Divine Lord, the Divine Lord will never abandon his people…"

The Fu Shan chief was deeply moved; he bowed three times, kowtowing to the ground.

"Though Fu Shan is weak, we vow to serve the Divine Lord and my lord with all our strength—even unto death."

Mo Hua nodded. "Good. The Divine Lord has sensed your loyalty."

The Fu Shan tribe was subdued and absorbed; able-bodied barbarian cultivators were integrated into the barbarian army, others assigned to logistics. The entire tribe migrated alongside Mo Hua's growing host.

Thereafter, as Mo Hua marched onward, every small tribe encountered along the way was subdued and reorganized without exception.

Timid tribes, cowed by the might of Mo Hua's heavy armor, the strength of his army, and the terrifying Jin Dan commanders, could only bow their heads in submission.

Some tribes with spiritual insight, seeing Mo Hua's beautiful, divine face—as if a god walked among mortals—felt reverence and willingly followed the Lord Wuzhu.

Others, stubborn and hard-headed chiefs, refused to submit.

Mo Hua judged each case accordingly.

If the chief was merely short-sighted and savage, yet cared for his tribe and dared not defy his ancestors,

Mo Hua would threaten him: if he refused submission, he would slaughter the entire tribe, erasing his ancestors' lineage.

Most normal chiefs, even those with a shred of conscience or reason, were swayed by Mo Hua's "threat."

They dared not gamble their tribe's survival and ancestral bloodline on Mo Hua's "kindness."

If Mo Hua was not kind, they would face extinction.

Thus, though unwilling and terrified, cursing Mo Hua inwardly, they had no choice but to "submit" to survive in this chaotic age.

Yet even so, some still refused to submit.

These chiefs often cared nothing for their tribe's safety or bloodline's continuation—only for their own power, their own domination over the tribe, indifferent to their people's fate.

Forcing them to submit was harder than killing them.

So Mo Hua killed them.

With the tyrannical chiefs dead, the rest of the tribe's members naturally had no choice but to "submit" to Mo Hua.

Thus, within just seven days, Mo Hua "subdued" five or six small tribes, expanding his army to nearly ten thousand.

From Mo Hua's perspective, this was "subduing."

But in a certain sense, it was also "annexation."

In normal times, Mo Hua would not have used such ruthless methods—he would have respected the wishes of these small tribes.

Those willing to join him, he would welcome; those unwilling, he would let them fend for themselves.

But now, the situation was different.

Mo Hua had no luxury to remain so "gentle."

He even asked them only one question: Will you submit to the Divine Lord?

If willing, submit.

If unwilling, make them submit.

The so-called "respect, consideration, communication, understanding, tolerance," and the so-called "respect for individual destiny," are all just pleasant-sounding words.

In chaotic times, these are useless and naive nonsense that will only bring about the destruction of everyone.

It is utterly impossible to expect these barbarians to understand "fairness, morality, friendship, right and wrong, good and evil, the continuation of races, or the future of all living beings."

Mo Hua had no time left to educate them.

Some things don't need to be explained, nor do they require explanation.

There's no need to understand, and no need to make others understand.

In chaotic times, there is only power.

Mo Hua only needed these barbarian cultivators to obey his commands—whatever he told them to do, they would do.

Only in this way would everyone have a slim chance of survival.

Only in this way would a thread of hope for life coalesce above the Heavenly Secrets…

Mo Hua looked up again, gazing at the vast, desolate sky of the Great Wilderness.

Heaven and earth are like a chessboard.

Within the chessboard, all living beings are pieces.

In this game of the Great Wilderness, his martial uncle is playing, the Hua family is playing, and in places unseen, perhaps the ancestors of other great clans and demonic sect forces are also playing.

And now, he too was playing this game.

Since one is to play chess, naturally one needs "pieces"—those without pieces have no right to intervene in the game.

Since all living beings are pieces, then the barbarian cultivators of the Great Wilderness are all "pieces."

What he had to do was "seize the pieces."

To "snatch pieces" from his martial uncle, from the great clans, from everyone playing the game.

To grab every piece he could into his own hands, making all these "pieces" serve him.

To unite every force that could be united.

Only in this way could one defy fate and reverse the Heavenly Secrets.

A cultivator cultivates the Dao to become an immortal.

Upon cultivating to a certain degree, one must perhaps prove one's own Dao before glimpsing the immortal opportunity.

What his martial uncle was doing in the Great Wilderness was perhaps "proving his Dao"—he wished to walk the "Wicked Dao," to lure hearts into depravity, bring about disaster, nurture Dao-fiends, make heaven and earth perish, and ascend through the Wicked Dao.

What the great clans were doing was perhaps also "proving their Dao."

The Dao of man takes from those who lack to give to those who have in excess.

Whether intentional or not, they were all exploiting the lives, inheritances, and even all possessions of others on this chessboard of the Great Wilderness.

Seizing the benefits of heaven and earth to serve one's own selfish interests.

And now, what lay before him was likewise a path of "proving the Dao."

He too had to learn from his martial uncle, from the Dongxu ancestors of the great clans, and use the masses of living beings to prove his own "Dao."

To use all he had learned in his life to seek a thread of survival for the living beings of the Great Wilderness.

To comprehend the Heavenly Secrets and bring blessing to all under heaven.

With a single thought to aid the world, seeking the Dao and asking for longevity.

(End of this chapter)