Chapter 163: Fireball Technique

"Elder, send two people to protect me!"

Mo Hua said to Elder Yu, then leapt lightly down from the mine entrance.

Elder Yu did not know what Mo Hua intended to do, but after a moment's thought, he called two Beast Hunters and ordered them to guard Mo Hua closely.

His own spiritual sense also remained fixed on Mo Hua, in case he encountered danger.

Mo Hua did not enter the center of the battlefield; instead, he found a concealed spot at the edge and hid carefully.

The two Beast Hunters stood guard around Mo Hua.

Mo Hua held his breath, focused his mind, and extended his spiritual sense to its utmost limit.

The chaotic battlefield instantly became a blank void; every fighting cultivator appeared clearly in Mo Hua's spiritual sense as streams of spiritual energy.

After a long time, Mo Hua finally spotted a strange figure.

The figure glowed a faint pale blue, drifting through the battlefield, its movements ghostlike and elusive when it struck.

Had Mo Hua not pushed his spiritual sense to its limit, he would never have noticed this shadow.

Mo Hua attempted to lock onto it with his spiritual sense.

But the figure was erratic and insubstantial, difficult to pin down with spiritual sense.

As more Beast Hunters fell, Mo Hua took a deep breath, forcibly steadied his mind, and entered the meditative state of self-forgetfulness.

Mo Hua poured all his strength into tracking the pale blue figure; after an indeterminate time, his eyes suddenly opened, his pupils glinting faintly.

Locked on!

The pale blue figure flickered in and out within Mo Hua's spiritual sense, yet its path was now unmistakably clear.

Mo Hua pressed two fingers together and pointed forward—a Fireball Technique roared forth.

The Fireball Technique shot toward an empty patch of the battlefield.

Near the empty patch, a Beast Hunter clad in iron armor was locked in combat.

Suddenly, the Beast Hunter sensed danger, feeling threat beside him—but his sword and dagger were both pinned by opponents, leaving him unable to move.

At that moment, a dagger suddenly appeared from the gap beside him, angled sharply, aimed straight for his eyes.

The Beast Hunter had no way to evade; his face twisted in despair.

Just then, a fireball roared in and struck the assassin.

At the instant the Fireball Technique exploded, flames spread and disrupted the ambush.

The assassin briefly revealed his form.

He was a short, ordinary-looking black-robed cultivator with a venomous gaze.

Seizing this opening, the Beast Hunter caught his breath, slashed his blade through the nearby Qian clan cultivators, and swung his sword toward the black-robed man.

The black-robed cultivator spat a curse, activated his body technique, and retreated backward, slipping through the crowd at the battlefield's edge before fading from view once more.

The Beast Hunter felt regret, but also sighed in relief—had it not been for that Fireball Technique, his life would surely have ended there.

Too bad he didn't catch and kill that black-robed cultivator!

After slipping through the crowd several times, the black-robed cultivator vanished again, continuing to drift through the battlefield, though doubt crept into his mind:

"Where did that Fireball Technique come from?"

Most Beast Hunters are body cultivators; few excel in spellcasting.

That spell just now was both cunning and precise—the caster must be an expert.

Fortunately, its power was weak; it only interrupted his attack, causing no real injury.

But the black-robed cultivator reconsidered, sensing something wrong—no expert's Fireball Technique would be this weak.

Could it have been coincidence?

In such chaotic combat, stray spells often strike by accident; perhaps he had simply been unlucky and got hit by chance.

He refused to believe anyone could lock onto him with a spell amid such chaos.

The black-robed cultivator calmed his mind, regained his confidence, and resumed patrolling, searching for another opening.

A Beast Hunter revealed an opening—the black-robed cultivator moved to strike, when suddenly another Fireball Technique flew in and interrupted his ambush again!

One was coincidence; the second was certainly not.

The black-robed cultivator grew irritated, his eyes darting quickly across the surroundings.

Casting a spell required gathering qi and raising the hand—he had decades of combat experience and could spot it instantly.

Yet none of the surrounding Beast Hunters showed any sign of spellcasting.

The black-robed cultivator lightly swept his spiritual sense around, still found nothing, and his expression turned confused:

"Who cast that Fireball Technique?"

He dared not extend his spiritual sense to its limit, nor dare to scan for too long.

If he distracted himself by using his spiritual sense too long, someone would surely spot the opening—and then he would be the one in danger.

Mo Hua hid far away behind a large rock, locked onto the target with his spiritual sense, then peeked out to launch a Fireball Technique, then slipped back into concealment.

The black-robed cultivator could not see him—he was too far away, and his spiritual sense could not reach him at all.

Moreover, having locked onto the target twice and launched two Fireball Techniques, Mo Hua's technique was growing increasingly refined.

The assassin's form within Mo Hua's spiritual sense also became clearer.

The black-robed cultivator sensed a growing unease.

He was being watched—somehow, by spiritual sense!

Originally, the battlefield had been chaotic, spiritual energy muddled, spiritual sense scattered—he had not noticed.

But now, struck twice by Fireball Techniques, he realized: there truly was a spiritual sense, faint yet persistent, clinging to him like a ghost.

A Foundation Establishment cultivator?!

"No, impossible," the black-robed cultivator thought. "If it were a Foundation Establishment cultivator watching me, I'd never have sensed it."

That must be another Cultivation Base Ninth Layer cultivator—his spiritual sense is stronger than mine!

But how can a Cultivation Base Ninth Layer's spell be so weak?

The black-robed cultivator's thoughts grew chaotic.

He must find the cultivator using the Fireball Spell! Otherwise, every time he acted, he'd be restrained, and his situation would grow dire.

The black-robed cultivator, wary, ceased rash attacks and instead circled the battlefield, patiently searching for traces, determined to drag Mo Hua out.

If the enemy doesn't move, neither do I.

Since the black-robed cultivator didn't strike, Mo Hua had no need to act either.

Mo Hua hid behind a large rock, his expression now calm; he pulled out a tart-sweet wild fruit and ate it with relish.

With the black-robed cultivator inactive, the beast-hunters on the field felt sudden relief and attacked without restraint.

The Qian family cultivators faced mounting pressure and struggled harder to hold on.

Seeing the situation turn dire, the black-robed cultivator had no choice but to strike again.

But every time he struck, Mo Hua's Fireball Spell interrupted him.

The black-robed cultivator grew cautious, feigning an attack to trace where the Fireball Spell originated. At first, he caught its general direction—but the second time, he couldn't tell at all.

Because after that, the Fireball Spells exploded directly against his face.

Mo Hua faintly sensed his gaze and guessed the black-robed cultivator's intent, so he simply blasted fireballs straight at his face, leaving him blind to everything.

Because the black-robed cultivator had used spiritual sense to lock onto him too many times, his position grew increasingly obvious—and Mo Hua's aim grew ever more precise.

The black-robed cultivator felt like he was bleeding internally.

How the hell could he get more accurate the more he fought?

Just hit the face when he says he'll hit the face?

Furious, he thought: In all these years in the cultivation world, I've always ambushed others—now I'm being ambushed myself? And by a Fireball Spell?

Not once—but again and again!

"Despicable and vile! I will find you and kill you!"

The black-robed cultivator, consumed by rage, his emotions surging, let his spiritual energy flow out of alignment.

His concealment technique failed for an instant.

Mo Shan, who had been watching like a hawk, spotted the opening at once; he flashed forward, appeared before the black-robed cultivator, seized his shoulder with a giant hand, squeezed hard, then hurled him violently downward.

A crack of breaking bones echoed.

The black-robed cultivator crashed heavily to the ground, spitting blood!