Chapter 1255

On the other side, Mo Hua, having fallen into an ambush, suffered minor losses and gained nothing, now withdrew his troops back to Shu Gu's main camp, his face equally grim.

This Elder You had suddenly given him a sense of having no way to begin.

Elder You was a key piece in the Hua family's strategy.

From this defeat, it seemed that if he used the Cause-and-Effect Art to track Elder You's movements, he would most likely be detected by some means, and instead fall into Elder You's trap.

This ambush could only be considered a "greeting."

Next time he was outmaneuvered, what kind of danger he might face was hard to say.

Mo Hua did not know whether Elder You himself knew the Cause-and-Effect Art, or whether some elder ancestor of the Hua family had given him a celestial artifact of fate.

But regardless, Elder You was under "Cause-and-Effect protection."

Cause-and-effect works this way: when you calculate others, they are calculating you too.

Previously, others had tried to calculate Mo Hua and failed.

Now Mo Hua had for the first time tasted the flavor of "setback."

He had tasted the bitterness of failed divination, only to be outwitted in return.

Mo Hua's heart was not at ease, but thinking of the grand game before him, his opponent Elder You, and especially the Hua family behind him—and even the Hua family's elder ancestor—he felt he could accept it.

After all, he was merely at Foundation Establishment; it was only natural that he could not gain any advantage over a Void-Perception elder ancestor of the Hua family.

Moreover, this might not even be a single elder ancestor.

But the Hua family had meticulously laid out its scheme in the Great Wasteland, clinging to every tribe like leeches, and this was a barrier he could not avoid.

He had to find a way to deal with the Hua family.

"At this point, the Cause-and-Effect surrounding Elder You must not be touched—otherwise, it would be 'cleverness backfiring.'"

"But if I avoid Elder You, where else can I strike?"

"What other clues within the Great Wasteland might the Hua family have, that I could use to calculate against them?"

Mo Hua frowned, and could not help thinking: "Moreover, will Elder You really allow me to keep calculating like this?"

"Even if I find new clues and, through them, deduce some information, how can I be sure these details are not deliberately leaked to me by Elder You?"

In the following days, whenever he had time, Mo Hua continuously pondered and probed indirectly for clues about the Hua family, but either hit walls everywhere or searched like fishing in the ocean—lost and directionless.

Mo Hua could not help sighing.

Before him stood Elder You; behind Elder You stood the Hua family; behind the Hua family, an elder ancestor pulled the strings.

And in this Great Wasteland game, there were most likely other noble families besides the Hua family.

Aside from the Hua family, in this chaotic situation, his senior uncle was still secretly watching with sinister intent, driving the spread of famine.

"This game is just too hard to play…" Mo Hua sighed.

As for playing the game, he was still essentially a "newbie."

But the Dao seemed to have granted him no "newbie protection period."

This "newbie" had stepped onto the board right away, forced to play against noble families, Void-Perception elder ancestors, and his senior uncle—all at once.

The difficulty was truly like hell itself.

Mo Hua had no choice but to temporarily concede defeat.

Let this fat Elder You be for now; let's keep a distance for now, and decide what to do later.

…

And soon, Mo Hua had no spare thoughts left to consider Elder You.

Because he had encountered a more formidable enemy.

The current Wildlands was a vast sandbox, all factions mixed together.

Many events unfolded inevitably, yet carried countless accidents—too many variables, cause-and-effect shifting constantly.

An event calculated an hour ago might, after just another hour, have its entire development and outcome completely altered.

No matter how strong Mo Hua's spiritual sense or calculation power, he could never handle every detail perfectly in such a situation.

By a very accidental coincidence, he missed calculating one scout.

And this scout carried a vast, deadly threat.

By the time Mo Hua sensed this hidden danger an hour later and ordered Zhong Mingren to "eliminate" the scout, it was already too late.

The cause-and-effect had already leaked.

Just two hours later, dust rolled in the distance, the earth trembled, and roars filled the sky.

A mighty barbarian army charged forward.

They wore pitch-black battle armor, heavily armed and armored, with witch-shamans dancing war dances to boost morale, and ferocious beast-mounted cavalry charging ahead.

Many other troop types followed, clad in grotesque barbarian armor Mo Hua did not recognize, surging like a flood.

Deep black banners flew high, pointing toward the heavens, painted with a black eagle, its eyes blood-red, wings spread as if ready to soar.

The Wu Jiao Tribe!

And not just a faction—this was the main army of the Wu Jiao Tribe.

Mo Hua glanced once and knew he could not win.

Even though he had unified the Shu Gu Tribe, commanding over a hundred thousand barbarian troops with formidable strength, he was still no match for this Wu Jiao army.

Even if this Wu Jiao army numbered only fifty thousand, their equipment was too complete, their troop types too varied, their barbarian armor too refined.

If they fought, even if they won, it would be a pyrrhic victory.

Mo Hua had built his power from nothing; he knew how much effort it had taken to rally this Shu Gu force, and he could never afford to waste this "living strength" in this battle.

Moreover, he was leading a large number of barbarian civilians and barbarian slaves.

If the front-line troops were broken and the defenses breached, these barbarian cultivators and slaves would be slaughtered like cattle and sheep.

Fortunately, Mo Hua had considered this scenario before.

He who prepares succeeds; he who does not, fails. This was a life lesson his father, Mo Shan, had drilled into him since childhood during demon-hunting expeditions.

Now, surviving in a chaotic age, bearing the lives of over eight hundred thousand people on his shoulders, one misstep meant eternal ruin—Mo Hua naturally could not afford to be careless.

He had long foreseen all possible dangers and prepared numerous contingency plans.

Even the location where he now stationed his forces had been planned in advance, solely to ensure room for defense or counterattack should disaster strike.

Thus, when he sensed the Wujiu tribe's barbarian troops advancing, Mo Hua swiftly ordered them to hold the rear.

The rest of the tribal forces withdrew toward a nearby great valley, while the barbarians could use the valley's natural defenses to block the pass and resist the Wujiu tribe's assault.

Because of prior preparation, Mo Hua's orders came promptly.

By the time the Wujiu army finally reached the front, most of Mo Hua's barbarian cultivators had already relocated to the other side of the valley.

The two armies faced each other across the valley's natural barrier.

Between them lay only one path, some ten zhang wide.

Thus, the situation became "one man holding the pass, ten thousand cannot pass."

For the Wujiu tribe to destroy Mo Hua's forces, they had no choice but to launch a direct assault across the narrow mountain path.

Meanwhile, the Shuguo barbarians could avoid their disadvantages in troop type and numbers during large-scale combat.

All they needed to do was concentrate their strength and hold the valley.

The Wujiu army paused briefly—perhaps their high-ranking barbarian generals were deliberating—but after weighing their options, they still began their charge.

It seemed to them that launching battle, eliminating the Shuguo tribe, and swallowing Mo Hua's power offered far greater advantages than risks.

Even with the natural barrier to defend, the Shuguo barbarians' combat strength was not taken seriously by the Wujiu tribe.

Especially the barbarian armor worn by the Shuguo troops—compared to their own, it fell far short in material, rank, and type.

Although the Shuguo's Yuan Gu Heavy Armor was strong, its total numbers were far too few.

Moreover, this was within the Third Grade Mountain Realm, where in Jin Dan-level combat, the Second Grade Yuan Gu Heavy Armor—even if constructed by the Twenty-One Pattern Ultimate Array—had severely limited effectiveness.

Taken together, none of these factors gave the Wujiu tribe any reason to hesitate.

If one man would hold the pass, then kill every man who held it.

The Wujiu tribe began their charge.

Wu cultivators murmured incantations, danced strange dances, accompanied by eerie xun music.

The Wujiu tribe's heavy-armored troops led the advance, stepping steadily into the valley.

All other barbarian troops followed in orderly ranks, surging forward like a mountain collapsing and the sea overturning.

Even Mo Hua felt a slight prickling on his scalp.

He had not anticipated the Wujiu tribe's strength or the magnitude of their momentum.

They had even begun to resemble the aura of the "Wang Ting army" from the Great Wilds.

Times forge heroes—apparently, in this chaotic struggle, the Wujiu tribe had quietly grown into a formidable force.

Mo Hua had no choice but to grit his teeth and order the Shuguo heavy-armored troops and all other barbarians forward.

On the narrow mountain pass, both sides fought to the death, refusing to yield an inch.

Blades and spears intertwined with flesh and blood, crimson splattered across the earth.

The scene was horrific.

The Shuguo tribe clearly held the disadvantage, yet they forged a "Great Wall" with their lives.

As the battle progressed and the situation grew dire, Mo Hua was forced to make choices he had previously refused to make.

He could only order the barbarian slaves to charge into the fray, to serve as "cannon fodder."

Otherwise, once his regular troops were exhausted, everyone would simply wait to die.

Whether the barbarian slaves survived as cannon fodder depended entirely on their own "fate."

Mo Hua could only promise them that if they survived the charge, they would be credited with merit and granted freedom.

This was all he could do.

Watching one barbarian slave after another—living souls—obeying his command as "Lord Wuzhu," charging toward the Wujiu's heavily armored barbarian troops, only to die one by one on the front lines, their bodies shredded by the grinding teeth of war.

Mo Hua's heart bled.

At last, he truly understood the feeling of "compassion cannot command troops."

War is cold, merciless, and steeped in death.

Either you die, or I die.

Often, it meant choosing part of your own troops to send to their deaths.

No one wanted to do this—but they had to.

Because there was no choice.

Many seemingly cold, cruel, inhuman "choices" were in truth forced by cruel reality.

No one wished to be inhuman—but cruel reality forced people to abandon humanity, or else even greater tragedies would unfold, claiming more lives.

In war, in the grand scheme, every "superior" who held power and made decisions bore this pain within their heart.

Mo Hua's heart was filled with this anguish.

But the battle continued.

Under the pressure of a powerful enemy, he had to set aside his pain, maintain the clearest reason, and constantly use his mental force to perform "cold, unfeeling" calculations—treating lives as "pawns," exchanging them with the enemy, making relentless choices in the fierce slaughter to maximize his side's advantage.

Shuguo's casualties mounted, flesh and blood flew everywhere.

But fortunately, under the desperate, united resistance of the Shuguo tribe, the line held.

No matter how fiercely the Wujiu tribe charged, the Shuguo tribe stood firm like a reef.

Even if the Wujiu tribe temporarily breached the line, they were quickly driven back.

The struggle between offense and defense never ceased.

And soon, the Wu Jiao tribe realized their casualties were already heavy.

In the life-or-death stranglehold, the men of the Shu Gu tribe were dying.

The Wu Jiao tribe's barbarian soldiers could not possibly escape death either.

In fact, because the Shu Gu tribe was primarily defensive and the Wu Jiao tribe launched relentless attacks, their dead outnumbered those of the Shu Gu tribe.

Thus, after repeated fierce assaults failed to break through, the Wu Jiao tribe's battle fervor faded; once they weighed the costs, their hearts grew cold.

Their casualties had already exceeded expectations.

If they continued fighting like this, even if they annihilated the Shu Gu tribe and swallowed Mo Hua's power, it might still be a net loss.

Moreover, judging by this situation, the Shu Gu tribe was extraordinarily tenacious—whether they could even take the position remained uncertain.

If they failed to break through by force, it would truly be losing the lady and breaking the soldiers—suffering catastrophic losses they could not explain to the Young Master.

The Wu Jiao tribe's assault had to slow down.

Meanwhile, Mo Hua's side gained a moment to catch their breath.

Afterward, both sides continued symbolic attacks and defenses for a time; the Wu Jiao tribe still could not breach the Shu Gu tribe's line, yet they seemed unwilling to retreat.

Because their sunk costs were already too high.

Now retreating meant all prior sacrifices had been in vain.

These were real troops and real lives.

But being stuck in this quagmire and continuing to fight would only boil the frog slowly, increasing losses further.

Refusing to abandon sunk costs would only make the situation worse.

Mo Hua and the Shu Gu tribe had no choice—they could only press on until the end.

After another prolonged stalemate, both sides lost portions of their forces and many lives, until finally the Wu Jiao tribe withdrew.

First, their grain supplies were exhausted.

This was a year of disaster, famine rampant—not only the Shu Gu and other local tribes, but even the Wu Jiao tribe was short on food.

In fact, because the Wu Jiao tribe had so many barbarian soldiers and such overwhelming strength, their grain consumption was even greater.

Previously, they had raided as they fought.

When they won battles, they burned, slaughtered, and looted everything to vent their hatred and replenish supplies.

But now, the problem was—they had not won.

From Mo Hua, they gained no advantage; they had not breached the Shu Gu tribe's line, so naturally there was nothing to loot.

With nothing to plunder, they could not replenish supplies, and thus could not sustain this stalemate any longer.

Second, they had suffered raids from other tribes.

The Wu Jiao tribe's barbarians had rampaged across Zhu Que Mountain's territory, destroying countless tribes and killing countless people, naturally accumulating too many enemies.

Previously, this Wu Jiao army, flying their banner with great might and overwhelming force, had deterred all who might dare challenge them.

Now, after their battle with the Shu Gu tribe, their forces were depleted and their grain supplies insufficient, making them targets for other scattered tribes.

These tribes were not strong enough to destroy the Wu Jiao army outright.

But harassing them, killing a few men, and stealing supplies was no problem.

With internal shortages and enemies surrounding them, and seeing they could not take the Shu Gu tribe, they had no choice but to give the bitter order to change course and retreat.

The Shu Gu tribe's crisis was, for now, lifted.

But the grudge between both sides had been forged—and forged deeply.

The Wu Jiao tribe had lost many men, and they blamed it on the Shu Gu tribe's stubborn refusal to submit, their refusal to let the Wu Jiao tribe burn, kill, and loot.

It was all the Shu Gu tribe's fault.

And as for the Shu Gu tribe's people, there was no need to say more.

They had been ambushed and slaughtered without cause, losing many lives—this was a blood-soaked debt.

Mo Hua also harbored silent hatred.

His troops had been hard to maintain, yet so many had been lost in the fighting against the Wu Jiao tribe.

One day, he would make the Wu Jiao tribe pay a terrible price.

At the same time, Mo Hua suppressed his rage, endured his inner pain, and did his best to analyze the gains and losses of this battle.

He had to find ways to plan more thoroughly and build greater strength.

Future battles could not be fought like this again.

He absolutely could not let so much blood be spilled, absolutely could not let so many more lives be lost…

(End of Chapter)