Chapter 1267: The Descent of the Divine

Compared to the towering stature of the barbarians, this figure was too thin, too slender, standing on the towering altar and appearing utterly insignificant—and eerie.

Everyone was startled.

Especially the three Upper Shamans present: Lord Yan Zhu, Lord Qing Zhu, and the Black Vulture Elder.

They lay exhausted on the ground, unable to struggle for the moment, but as their eyes moved, they could see the Shaman's long robe worn by the thin figure, and the face—pale as jade, clear as water, beautiful as a painted scroll.

Lord Yan Zhu exclaimed in shock: "It's you?!"

Mo Hua smiled faintly.

Lord Yan Zhu's heart was swept by a storm of astonishment: "How did you get up here? You're only Foundation Establishment—you—"

His mind was filled with shock and confusion.

Even Lord Qing Zhu and the Black Vulture Elder stared in utter disbelief.

This was the Altar, a place entwined by Zhu Que's fire, inaccessible even to late Jin Dan cultivators, an ancient altar requiring the utmost caution even from us Upper Shamans.

Below the altar, late Jin Dan warriors were locked in deadly combat.

Outside, vast armies had encircled the place. How could this mere Foundation Establishment boy have breached all these barriers and climbed onto the altar?

And worse—he had concealed himself so perfectly that not one of the three Upper Shamans sensed him until now?

A strange chill surged through all three of their hearts.

Just then, Lord Yan Zhu's mind suddenly stirred, and he hurriedly said: "Young—Young Brother—"

Mo Hua looked at Lord Yan Zhu.

Lord Yan Zhu smiled ingratiatingly: "Do you remember your promise to me? You—no, help me do something. I can recommend you to Wang Ting, secure you an official title as Shaman, let you walk openly through the Great Wilderness, and make every tribe bow to your command—"

Mo Hua's gaze shifted slightly, as if momentarily tempted.

Seeing this, Lord Yan Zhu immediately said: "Now—help me place my Sacred Path relic upon the plate beneath the Zhu Que Golden Tree—"

"This is a virtuous act of the Sacred Path. When the Candlefire God descends, He will surely bestow upon you countless blessings!"

Hearing this, Mo Hua involuntarily stepped forward, walking toward the Candlefire Crystal Jade on the ground.

Lord Yan Zhu's face lit up with triumphant joy. Lord Qing Zhu and the Black Vulture Elder turned pale—but even in their desperation, they were powerless to stop him.

In barely ten steps, Mo Hua reached the Candlefire Crystal Jade, bent down, and picked up the crimson, crystal-like precious gem.

On Lord Yan Zhu's face bloomed the ecstatic joy of imminent success.

Mo Hua carefully examined the Candlefire Crystal Jade, touched it with his fingers, confirmed it was unaltered, then—quietly slipped it into his storage pouch.

And then, there was nothing more.

Lord Yan Zhu's eyes bulged out.

A surge of blood rose in his chest; he nearly spat it out.

Before the gods, upon this ancient altar, before so many witnesses, openly stealing a Sacred Path relic? No shame at all?!

"You—" Lord Yan Zhu was too furious to speak.

After stowing the Candlefire Crystal Jade, Mo Hua turned toward the strand of Leng Qingqiu Silk.

Lord Qing Zhu's face paled; he hurriedly said: "Young—Comrade, this is a woman's hair, a relic of the Leng Qingqiu God. A young man like you holding it is inappropriate—" But Mo Hua had already reached the Leng Qingqiu Silk, extended his pale hand, and picked up the strand of black hair.

Lord Qing Zhu bit her red lips, her face flushed with allure, her eyes dripping with seduction, her voice soft and bone-melting as she whispered to Mo Hua:

"Young friend—if you offer this strand of hair upon the altar, I shall let you do as you please. The blessing of the Leng Qingqiu God will surely grant you the soul-shattering ecstasy of lovers entwined in forbidden bliss—"

Mo Hua turned his head and glanced at Lord Qing Zhu.

Their gazes met.

Lord Qing Zhu's eyes were liquid with desire, brimming with springtime passion.

Mo Hua's eyes were clear, untainted by a single speck.

He simply stared into her eyes, expressionless, and slipped the Sacred Path relic of Leng Qingqiu Silk into his storage pouch, his heart utterly unmoved.

Yet as Mo Hua's pure, unblemished gaze fixed upon her, Lord Qing Zhu's lust faded, replaced instead by a shameful sense of inferiority.

Lord Qing Zhu was stunned, then terrified.

Who—exactly—is this person? —After stowing the Leng Qingqiu Silk, Mo Hua looked around and walked toward the final Sacred Path relic:

The Vulture's Eye.

It had been plucked from the Black Vulture Elder's eye, still dripping black blood.

It was also the key to the Vulture God's descent.

The Black Vulture Elder, now too preoccupied with Mo Hua's strangeness and his origins to dwell on suspicion, could only rasp out in a hoarse voice:

"Comrade, wait—this Vulture's Eye, a relic of the Vulture that feeds on carrion, differs from the relics of Candlefire and Leng Qingqiu; it carries the stench of death and decay. Only followers of the Vulture Path, who daily consume rotting flesh and assimilate putrid qi, may carry it. Otherwise, the dead eye will defile your spirit and corrupt your Dao—Comrade—you—"

His earnest warnings seemed to have taken effect.

After picking up the Vulture's Eye, Mo Hua stared at the dead eye in deep thought—and did not slip it into his storage pouch.

The Black Vulture Elder blinked, then his mind stirred; his deep eyes flickered, and he spoke in a low tone:

"Comrade—could you—place this dead eye—upon the Zhu Que Altar for me? Your great kindness—I shall repay it with my life, in this lifetime and the next—"

Hearing this, Mo Hua paused for a moment, then actually seized the Vulture's Eye and walked toward the Golden Tree beneath the Zhu Que statue. This act sent shockwaves through the entire assembly.

Outside the altar, every barbarian soldier—whether from the Dan Que, Bi Fang, Yan Yi, Huo Ying, or Wu Vulture tribes—stared in bewildered confusion.

Even those who believed in Mo Hua—like Seeing Dan Zhu, Chifeng, and the members of Shu Gu tribe—could only stare in astonishment, wondering what their Shaman Lord was doing.

Which side did their Shaman Lord truly serve?

Which god did he worship?

Was he—really the Shaman sent by the Divine Lord to save the Great Wilderness?

In that instant, many barbarian cultivators who had once trusted Mo Hua began to waver.

Seeing Dan Zhu watched Mo Hua with anxious eyes, frowning, murmuring softly: "Mr. —"

Meanwhile, on the altar square, Grand Chieftains Dan Lie, Yan Yi, and others were enraged beyond endurance, their eyes blazing with fury.

"This kid impersonating Lord Wuzhu — is a traitor?!"

"He's a spy planted inside the Wujiu Tribe?"

He impersonated Lord Wuzhu, lurking within the tribe, all for the sake of this final moment — to summon the descent of the Wujiu God?! Shock and fury flooded their hearts.

The generals of the Wujiu Tribe exchanged uneasy glances.

Even the Young Master of the Wujiu Tribe, watching Mo Hua's figure, furrowed his brow.

He didn't recall the Wujiu Tribe ever planting such a sinister and terrifying "spy" within the Zhu Que tribe—

Upon the altar, Lord Yan Zhu roared at Mo Hua: "Brat! What are you doing? Have you lost your mind?!"

Lord Qing Zhu's face also went pale.

But Mo Hua paid no heed, simply pressing forward step by step, all the way until he stood before the Zhu Que golden tree.

He raised his head, glanced at the Zhu Que statue flowing like fire, then at the divine throne beneath it, bound with the blood of Zhu Que.

Mo Hua's gaze subtly sharpened.

But after that, he did nothing — instead his eyes drifted downward, toward the "offering plate" beneath the golden tree before him.

This golden offering plate was the "fuse" for the god's descent.

Now, a "spark" was needed to ignite the fuse — Mo Hua slowly raised his hand, and before every eye, placed the Eye of the Wujiu upon the offering plate.

A wretchedly cold, death-rotting aura began to spread across the altar.

"Brat! Stop!"

But at this moment, no one could stop Mo Hua.

Lord Yan Zhu's face was deathly white.

Terror also rose in Lord Qing Zhu's eyes.

The great chieftains of the allied tribes of Zhu Que Mountain, in an instant, plummeted to the depths of despair, trembling all over, hands and feet ice-cold.

The barbaric cultivators of the other tribes likewise showed despair on their faces.

Only the Black Vulture Elder's wild laughter lingered across the altar, his face unbridled, grinning in a mad frenzy:

"Hahaha! It's done!"

"It's done!"

"The great plan is complete! The lifelong wish of my whole life — achieved!"

"The great god of the Wujiu Tribe descends upon Zhu Que Mountain, seated upon the ancient divine throne, wielding supreme authority, claiming the faith of the barbaric lands, commanding the will of all living things — and I, as the god's most loyal servant, shall receive the supreme reward, and in the sea of death and rot, live forever, never to die—"

Amid the Black Vulture Elder's deranged ravings.

The Eye of the Wujiu became a black spark, burning completely.

The death-rotting flame of the divine way ignited the golden tree; the flames climbed along the golden tree, spreading upward, all the way to the beak of Zhu Que.

In Zhu Que's beak was held a golden ring.

The death-rotting fire, climbing along the golden tree, ignited the golden ring.

The golden ring, activated by the death-rotting "divine way," began to radiate dazzling light, communing with the realm of the gods through the unseen, becoming a "bright flame" and a bridge within the vast divine domain.

Zhu Que holding fire — that is the bright lantern.

The bright lantern lights the way; the divine way descends.

The death-rotting fire instantly swelled against the wind, hanging inverted into the sky, forming an invisible barrier of divine will.

Across the entire realm of Zhu Que Mountain, dark clouds pressed low, the cold wind piercing to the bone.

A stench of rot began to spread between heaven and earth. Black feathers began to drift down from the sky, accompanied by bloody rain and rotting flesh.

But this bloody rain was not real rain, nor the rotting flesh real flesh — they were the embodiment of the god's will.

Upon the Zhu Que divine throne, at the heart of the death-rotting flames.

A massive, black, rotting wing slowly emerged from the ignited void barrier.

This was the true form of the Wujiu God.

This was the true — "Descent of the God."

Because at the beginning of the descent, borrowing the power of the altar, the will was too strong, distorting the boundary between the virtual and the real.

Thus many barbaric cultivators who originally lacked the ability to see the gods with their naked eyes could now behold this terrifying, magnificent spectacle between heaven and earth.

They could see the great "miracle" of a true god's descent into the world.

This was the miracle of a metaphysical god taking concrete form in the world.

All the barbaric cultivators of the Wujiu Tribe wore expressions of fanaticism.

Everyone in the allied tribes — even the noble great chieftains and the lofty Lords Wuzhu — faced a vast, boundless terror. Yet they could only watch.

They had fought, struggled, resisted — but in the end, they could not prevent this scene from unfolding.

They could only watch helplessly as "doom" descended, waiting in despair for the outer god's judgment.

They might possess powerful flesh, formidable cultivation, a lifetime of inherited Dao techniques.

But all of these were "physical" powers.

Before the truly "metaphysical" great terror, they felt as insignificant as ants, utterly powerless.

Before the god's descent, it could be stopped.

But once the god's descent began, no one could reverse it.

And so, in the stillness of heaven and earth, before the eyes of all living beings.

A massive, half-god half-man deity, with black wings and the head of a deathly Wujiu, dropped little by little from the vortex of death-rotting fire, finally descending completely into the world.

The descent of the Wujiu God was complete.

The great god of the Wujiu Tribe, using Zhu Que's fire-bearing beak as the guide and the ancient altar as the medium, finally descended upon Zhu Que Mountain. In that instant, the death-rotting aura of the god surged like a tidal wave, sweeping across the land.

Heaven and earth changed color.

All the barbarian cultivators of the Wujiu Tribe knelt on the ground, bowing their heads to their god and crying out: "Wujiu Great God, immortal and unperishing."

Even the Wujiu Young Master, bearing dragon tattoos and arrogant of heart, was awed by the greatness of the god and knelt on the ground, paying homage to the ancestral god of the Wujiu Tribe.

And not just the Wujiu Tribe—some barbarian cultivators from the Zhu Que Mountain tribes also began to show fear, kneeling on the ground.

The God of Wujiu was not their belief.

But seeing before them that powerful divine aura, they could not help but kneel.

The god must not be defied.

The god requires faith.

With someone leading, more and more people from Zhu Que Mountain knelt on the ground, prostrating themselves before the Wujiu Great God.

Only a few late Jin Dan chieftains and elder chiefs, and those like Zheng Dan Zhu—who had been infected by Mo Hua's will and remained resolute—could grit their teeth and resist the divine pressure, refusing to yield to inner fear.

But such people were ultimately few. More and more knelt; Zheng Heiyun collapsed into a dark, crushing sea.

Throughout the entire Zhu Que World, all living beings bowed their heads in submission.

On the altar, sensing the "faith" of living beings, the newly descended Wujiu Great God opened His eyes.

In His eyes shone supreme majesty and utter indifference to life and death.

Around Him, the divine power had warped reality and entered the Dream Realm.

Upon the altar was the true domain of the god.

What manifested within the Dream Realm was the existence of divine thought.

At this moment, three others remained upon the altar, and none of them now appeared as flesh and blood.

Lord Yan Zhu's divine thought-body had doubled in height, his entire form covered in flame patterns, resembling a "Flame Demon."

Lord Qing Zhu had grown two long, white fox tails, and even his face had become foxishly alluring.

The old man of Black Eagle was half-man, half-eagle.

This was their divine thought-body—the form granted to them by the god they worshipped.

At this moment, the old man of Black Eagle knelt on the ground. Lord Yan Zhu and Lord Qing Zhu, exhausted from their prior deadly battle, their divine thought-bodies dimmed, could only muster their last strength to resist the Wujiu God's majesty.

Upholding the pride of the Wuzhu and clinging to their own faith, they absolutely refused to submit to the Wujiu God.

But before a god, no one is allowed to stand.

The Wujiu God's pitch-black pupils contracted, and a fiercer pressure—like a hurricane and tidal wave—spread instantly, crushing the entire Zhu Que World lineage.

This was a pressure actively released by the true god's will.

"Mortals" who cultivated only flesh and spiritual energy had no means to resist.

In the entire Zhu Que World, every barbarian soldier—regardless of tribe, origin, realm, or strength—was crushed by divine might and instantly knelt on the ground.

Even chieftains like Dan Lie, late Jin Dan cultivators, could not help but bow their heads in humiliation, half-kneeling.

Beneath the altar, the only one who had not truly knelt was Zheng Dan Zhu.

His heart, as crimson as the Zhu Que, echoed Mo Hua's words, nourishing his Dao heart.

Yet even so, his waist slowly bent under pressure, his head unable to lift. Aside from Dan Zhu, on the altar, the old man of Black Eagle had long since knelt.

This was the god he worshipped—he must kneel, and he longed to kneel.

But Lord Yan Zhu and Lord Qing Zhu suffered terribly beneath the Wujiu God's divine pressure.

By instinct, they longed to kneel and submit.

Yet as Wuzhu, years of accumulated faith in their own god fiercely resisted and feared such "betrayal."

But even as they resisted and feared, their knees kept bending, their bodies kept sinking lower.

The Wuzhu were only human.

And as humans, they could ultimately not resist a god.

At this moment, suddenly a dull, hoarse voice, thick with death and decay, sounded in the ears of Lord Yan Zhu and Lord Qing Zhu:

"Having seen My true form, why do you not kneel?"

This was the voice of the Wujiu Great God.

It came from divine myth. Lord Yan Zhu and Lord Qing Zhu were suddenly startled, seized by great fear—but the next instant, they sensed something wrong. This sentence did not seem meant for them.

Lord Yan Zhu and Lord Qing Zhu barely lifted their heads and saw that the Wujiu Great God was not looking at them.

The Wujiu Great God was looking at a "child" standing before Him.

Lord Yan Zhu's pupils narrowed slightly; he stared closely, then instantly recognized him.

This was—the impostor Wuzhu boy!

That fake Wuzhu had been a teenager, but now he seemed to have grown older, appearing as a child of about ten, lips red, skin pale, like carved jade.

Aside from his handsome appearance, everything else was utterly ordinary.

Yet this "utterly ordinary" child was nearly the only one in the entire mountain realm who could stand straight, facing the Wujiu Great God.

Not only that—he dared to speak insolently.

"Kneel?" A crisp, cold scoff rang out. Mo Hua said, "Do you, you feathered bastard, even deserve it?"

At these words, it was as if a thunderclap from the ninth heaven had struck, leaving Lord Yan Zhu and Lord Qing Zhu stunned, their bodies numb with horror.

In all their lives, they had never imagined—someone would dare, before the face of a god, to verbally insult the god. He—

Lord Yan Zhu and Lord Qing Zhu were momentarily chilled to the bone, too shocked for words.

The old man of Black Eagle, kneeling on the ground, was also filled with shock and fury.

But the one most enraged was the Wujiu God.

Death-decay's aura boiled within His divine body; the god's pressure warped even space.

All barbarian cultivators and living beings in the Zhu Que World felt the ancient god's wrath, their hearts filled with utmost terror.

And within this overwhelming terror that enveloped all life—

A crisp yet majestic voice rang out, echoing through heaven and earth:

"I am the Lord Wuzhu of the Divine Lord!"

"My mighty power was bestowed upon me by the Divine Lord!"

"Today, in the name of Wuzhu, I beseech the Divine Lord to descend and smite every heretical deity and aberration in this world!"

This pure, righteous voice echoed in the ears of all present.

The people looked up and saw, atop the high altar, that utterly unremarkable "child"—as if his very body had become a spark of fire. In an instant, his radiance surged explosively, bursting forth in ten thousand streaks of Jin Guang, dazzling and resplendent, like the rising sun at dawn, like the blazing sun hanging high, sweeping away the gloom, turning the night sky into day, illuminating the lands of the world in a flood of light—

This, it seemed, was the true "Divine Descent."

In that instant, every living being in the Zhu Que world seemed to behold a "god" in the truest sense.

It was as if they had seen the legendary "Divine Lord" descend upon the world.

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