Chapter 147: Golden Armor

The fake-dead Kuimulang opened its eyes.

Its blood aura thickened once more, and its demonic energy began to circulate.

The big hunter, who had been facing away from Kuimulang, suddenly felt a chill at his back and swiftly dodged to the side.

He dodged, but not completely.

Kuimulang's sharp claws came down from his left, tearing a bloody gash across his arm; pale green demonic energy seeped into his meridians through the wound, numbing his limb and causing blood to flow uncontrollably.

Cold sweat poured from the big man's forehead.

Kuimulang's eyes glinted with cruelty as its second claw slashed downward toward his head.

"Can't dodge it!"

The big man was wounded, the demonic energy eroding his wound, slowing his movements; despair crept into his gaze.

At that moment, Mo Shan appeared, kicking out in one fluid motion and sending the big man flying to safety.

Kuimulang's claw struck empty air.

After landing, the big man felt a searing pain where Mo Shan had kicked him, his blood qi churning violently.

He knew Mo Shan had not held back—he had kicked hard to save him.

That kick had indeed saved his life.

But the pain was real.

The big man blurted: "Mo Shan, you damn—"

But when he looked up, his face turned ashen—Kuimulang's claw was raised high, aimed squarely at Mo Shan.

And Mo Shan, having just kicked the big man, had not yet retracted his force; there was no time to evade.

"Mo Shan!" the big man cried out.

Mo Shan frowned, but his expression showed no panic—this had been within his expectations.

By saving the big man, he had exposed an opening, inviting Kuimulang's attack.

But he had calculated the wolf demon's strike: this claw, descending from above, could only strike his back—and it wouldn't be fatal.

A few injuries to save his brother's life? Worth it.

The other hunters in the team saw this too, but their movements were slower than Mo Shan's; even if they rushed over, they were still one step too late.

They could only watch helplessly as Kuimulang's demonic claw, laced with foul wind, tore into Mo Shan's back.

But then they all froze in shock.

Kuimulang's claw didn't tear flesh, didn't break skin, didn't even rip the vine armor.

A faint golden glow flickered across the vine armor, blocking Kuimulang's claw.

Mo Shan was flung back by the impact, spat blood upon landing—but there was no wound, no demonic energy seeping in; he had only absorbed the beast's force, and it was no serious matter.

But this was a Rank One late-stage demonic beast—how could there be no wound?

Everyone paused, then snapped back to reality—now was not the time to ponder this.

They recalled how close both the big man and Mo Shan had come to death, and cursed the demon for its deceitful feigned death.

The hunters raised their blades and hacked Kuimulang to pieces.

Mo Shan tried to stop them, but it was too late; he could only sigh quietly:

Well, now the pelt's ruined.

When the others stripped the Kuimulang's pelt, it was indeed shredded beyond recognition—like tattered rags, not a single intact piece to be found.

Mo Shan sighed again.

The inner mountains were too dangerous to linger; they gathered the corpse and withdrew from the inner mountains, heading for a camp in the outer mountains to rest.

On the way, the big hunter's wound throbbed faintly; he couldn't help cursing:

"Fuck, these demonic beasts all fake death differently—I got fooled, damn careless."

Another hunter said: "Enough already. You got lucky this time—if not for Brother Mo, you'd be dead."

The big man turned to Mo Shan and thanked him: "Thanks, brother."

Mo Shan waved his hand. "We fight side by side—no need for thanks."

Since we're in the same hunting team, we're brothers who face life and death together—today you save me, tomorrow I save you; it's only natural.

The big man stopped with the formalities.

But as they walked, he glanced at Mo Shan's vine armor and couldn't help asking:

"Hey, what's this vine armor made of? Why's it so hard?"

A Rank One late-stage demonic beast's claw couldn't even tear a hole in it.

The other hunters, hearing this, turned to look.

Such tough vine armor—they'd never seen anything like it.

Mo Shan frowned. "Probably just iron filings mixed into the vines…"

"Impossible," the big man shook his head. "If that were true, I'd eat my own vine armor."

One hunter stepped closer to Mo Shan, examined his armor, ran his hand over it, felt the material, then told the big man:

"You can eat yours right now—it's iron filings mixed into the vines."

The big man said: "Bullshit! My vine armor's mixed with iron filings too—gets shredded by a demonic beast's claw and turns into vines!"

The other hunters burst out laughing. "You probably bought fakes."

"Your 'iron filings' are probably sand."

"You're all lying!" The big man's face turned crimson.

Mo Shan couldn't help smiling.

But he too wanted to know why this vine armor was so tough.

"Could Huahua have drawn some array inside?"

Mo Shan pondered to himself.

After walking for half an hour, they finally reached the camp.

Everyone sighed in relief; the big man collapsed onto the ground, took out a pill and swallowed it, then crushed several other pills and sprinkled them over his wounds, wrapping them tightly with cloth strips.

The big man sighed: "Back home, I'll have to bother Master Feng again."

"Be grateful—you wouldn't even have had the chance to bother Master Feng if it weren't for Mo Shan's kick."

The big man thought of Kuimu Lang's claws, glowing with eerie green light, and shuddered.

That claw would've taken his head off—if it had struck.

Thinking this, the big man's gratitude surged; he pulled out his storage bag and tossed it to Mo Shan:

"Old Mo, I'll buy you a drink."

"Don't be ridiculous—you're not buying Mo Shan a drink, you're just trying to get him to buy you meat."

The big man kicked the hunter-killer, "You're always yapping—why don't you just stop eating if you're so bothered?"

"What I eat is none of your damn business!"

The two began arguing.

Mo Shan couldn't help but shake his head.

Every time they entered the mountains, Liu Ruhua would make him bring extra rations and beef—he ate better himself, and could share some with the other hunter-killers.

Mo Shan took out the beef and distributed it, then shared the several bottles of wine from the big man's storage bag.

The other hunter-killers also pulled out their storage bags.

There were wild fruits, dried rations, pastries, and other kinds of wine.

With food and drink, the camp grew lively.

Mo Shan ate a few slices of meat, took a sip of wine, took off his vine armor, and suddenly remembered something—he couldn't help but unsew it to take a look.

The other hunter-killers all leaned in to look.

"It's an array!"

"What kind of array?"

"How would I know?"

One hunter-killer looked up at Mo Shan and asked: "What kind of array?"

Mo Shan shook his head.

"Your son drew it—you don't know?"

"My son drew it, not me—how would I know?"

The big man, envious and jealous, said: "Old Mo, before your son was born, did you worship some immortal? I'll go worship too—maybe my son will be just as smart."

"Don't even think about it—you're not even smart yourself, and you expect your son to be?"

"How can you know unless you try?"

"This array isn't the Iron Armor Array, is it?" said one hunter-killer.

"Definitely not—it's clearly far more complex."

By the campfire's light, they examined the array drawn inside the vine armor: the brushstrokes were intricate, the array patterns profound, faintly glowing with Jin Se—clearly no ordinary design.

They looked again at the vine armor—not only was the array impressive, but the craftsmanship itself showed great care.

Realizing this was a gift from Mo Shan's son, everyone felt a pang of bitterness in their hearts.

At that moment, Mo Shan suddenly said: "Bad!"

The other hunter-killers tensed up: "What's wrong?"

Mo Shan touched the vine armor, his voice tinged with sorrow:

"There's a scratch."

The hunter-killers stared at him in silence, saying nothing for a long while.

Thanks for the generous tip during my youthful folly~