Chapter 164: Who Is It?

After being ambushed, Mo Shan remained constantly vigilant.

He vaguely suspected that among Qian's hired cultivators, one skilled in concealment was secretly striking, so he became far more cautious in his attacks, avoiding any openings.

At the same time, he watched the battlefield, searching for any trace of this cultivator.

Although Mo Shan was perceptive, his spiritual sense was weak, so he could not pierce the concealment technique.

Then, just then, he saw a fireball technique!

One glance told him this was the fireball technique his son Mo Hua used.

And when the fireball exploded, it revealed a short, black-robed cultivator from what had been an empty space.

"Mo Hua's spiritual sense can detect this concealment cultivator!"

Mo Shan's spirits lifted; he continued fighting Qian's cultivators while keeping watch on the fireball.

Indeed, every time the fireball flew, the black-robed cultivator's ambush was interrupted, and he briefly became visible.

Mo Shan silently observed, waiting patiently for the black-robed cultivator to reveal a flaw.

Just now, the black-robed cultivator suddenly lost his mental composure, his spiritual energy became chaotic, and his form was exposed.

Mo Shan seized the opportunity, grabbed his shoulder, and slammed the black-robed cultivator hard to the ground.

The black-robed cultivator excelled in concealment and ambush, his attacks were venomous, but his physical body was weak; after this fall, his bones shattered, blood spewed from his mouth, and cold dread filled his heart.

For a cultivator who practices concealment, once his whereabouts are exposed, it means disaster is upon him!

Especially on a battlefield filled with mixed cultivators.

The black-robed cultivator endured the agony, channeled his spiritual energy, and tried to activate concealment again.

On the other side, Yu Chengyi rushed forward and delivered a powerful kick to his abdomen.

The black-robed cultivator felt his internal organs shift, curled up, and was flung far away, landing right in the middle of a group of beast hunters.

The beast hunters had long been seething with rage; now seeing this, they all raised their blades and attacked the black-robed cultivator.

By the time Qian's cultivators arrived and fought desperately to rescue him, he was covered in blade wounds, barely clinging to life.

Elder Yu watched, delighted, and laughed heartily.

Without this concealment cultivator, the Qian family could only be slowly devoured.

Elder Yu glanced again at Mo Hua.

He thought: this child Mo Hua wields the fireball technique with masterful precision, fast and accurate; perhaps one day he truly will become an extraordinary spiritual cultivator.

Right now he's still young, his realm is low, his spiritual energy weak, so this fireball technique is merely cunning and unorthodox—useful only to disrupt or disturb the battle.

When he grows stronger, when the fireball's power increases, and he suddenly strikes your heart meridian or dantian…

You won't even know where he is.

Elder Yu imagined himself in that position; even just imagining it made him feel uneasy.

Meanwhile, Qian Zhongxuan was furiously enraged.

Again, the fireball technique!

He had been watching the spectacle, seeing the black-robed cultivator toy with the beast hunters, watching them fall one by one, imagining Elder Yu Changlin's furious yet helpless expression.

In an instant, the one who was furious and helpless became himself!

Qian Zhongxuan's gaze turned cold; his spiritual sense surged outward—he wanted to see who was using the fireball technique!

Just as his spiritual sense was about to sweep over Mo Hua, Elder Yu suddenly appeared, blocking Mo Hua's front.

Qian Zhongxuan felt his spiritual sense blocked; he looked closely—it was Elder Yu Changlin's old face again!

Elder Yu looked at him with a half-smile; Qian Zhongxuan felt dread, and immediately gritted his teeth: "Retreat!"

Qian Zhongxuan had shouted "retreat" so often, he said it effortlessly now.

Seeing Qian Zhongxuan withdraw and no longer probing with spiritual sense, Elder Yu picked up Mo Hua and leapt into the mine tunnel.

"You must be more careful in the future, never take risks—if you can avoid fighting, don't fight," Elder Yu warned.

He feared Mo Hua's actions might reveal their identity; with Qian Zhongxuan's petty, vindictive nature, he'd surely target Mo Hua without shame.

"Mm-hmm," Mo Hua nodded his small head, "either don't strike, or strike to kill!"

Mo Hua spoke these cruel words in a childish voice.

Elder Yu listened and chuckled, "Who taught you that?"

"My father taught me!"

Elder Yu nodded with a smile: "Well said! The cultivation world is treacherous—if you don't strike, fine; if you strike, don't hold back. Your father taught you well!"

Hearing his father praised, Mo Hua nodded proudly.

The black-robed cultivator was crippled, Qian Zhongxuan ordered retreat, and Qian's cultivators slunk away again—yet during their retreat, the beast hunters ambushed them, inflicting heavy casualties.

Now Qian Zhongxuan was utterly helpless: his capital was spent, his men decimated, and the spiritual mine was surely lost.

In his clan, he could no longer hold his head up.

Qian Zhongxuan seethed with hatred!

He hated Elder Yu Changlin, hated the carelessness of the hired cultivators, hated his subordinates' incompetence.

But what troubled him most was: who was helping the beast hunters draw the arrays? And who was secretly casting spells?

Which array master would lower himself to draw arrays for these poverty-stricken beast hunters?

And which cultivator would use such a weak yet cunning and strange fireball technique?

Without the arrays, without the fireball technique, he would have seized the spiritual mine long ago.

Qian Zhongxuan racked his brain but found no answer, so he vented his rage on Qian Zhuang, berating him mercilessly.

If not for his incompetence, Qian Zhongxuan would never have been dragged into this mess!

Originally, he and the clan master had agreed: if he captured the spiritual mine, he'd get an extra ten percent of the spiritual stones. Now, even if he got double that, it wouldn't make up for his losses.

The more Qian Zhongxuan thought about it, the angrier he became.

Qian Zhuang whispered, "Elder, what should we do next?"

He wanted to shift his focus, so Qian Zhongxuan wouldn't keep thinking of how to scold him.

Qian Zhongxuan frowned, still undecided, when cries came from outside the camp.

They were the injured Qian family cultivators and the hired cultivators.

Qian Zhongxuan sighed, waved his sleeve, and said reluctantly, "First, save the wounded."

On the open ground outside the camp, the injured lay everywhere, moaning in agony.

The black-robed cultivator was also receiving treatment.

The Qian family alchemist fed him a pill, applied herbal poultices, slowly purged the residual spiritual energy from his body, and even cut off his hair, charred by the Fireball Technique.

The black-robed cultivator's injuries gradually stabilized; after a long time, he slowly regained consciousness.

The pain across his body left his mind blank, then gradually he recalled what had happened during the day.

Many memories flashed by—cultivators who had thrown him down, kicked him, slashed at him with swords.

Of course, there was also the cultivator who used the Fireball Technique!

A surge of hatred rose within the black-robed cultivator.

He had spent over a hundred years in the Second-Rank Heishan Prefecture, sailing smoothly, rarely failing. Now he had been ambushed by a Fireball Technique and inexplicably fallen into a ditch.

That beginner-level Fireball Technique! That Fireball Technique of mid-Refining Stage power!

Ambushed by a Fireball Technique!

A hundred-year-old elder, ambushed by a Fireball Technique!

It was sheer disgrace!

Beyond his hatred, the black-robed cultivator was deeply confused.

How had he been ambushed? How had his Concealment Technique been detected? Who had used the Fireball Technique? And how had they struck him so precisely every time?

No matter how hard he thought, he could not understand—he grew choked with frustration, tilted his head back, and spat a mouthful of blood as he roared in fury:

"Who the hell used the Fireball Technique?!"

With those words, his rage surged into his wounds, reopening them; his eyes darkened and he fainted again.