Chapter 907: Who Is It?

After being ambushed, Mo Shan had been constantly on guard.

He vaguely suspected that among the hired cultivators of the Qian family, one skilled in concealment had been striking from the shadows, so he became far more cautious in his attacks, striving to leave no openings.

At the same time, he kept watch over the battlefield, searching for any trace of this cultivator.

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

Just then, he saw a fireball spell!

With one glance, he recognized it as the fireball spell 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 specialist!"

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

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

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

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 onto the ground.

The black-robed cultivator excelled in concealment and ambush, his attacks were venomous, but his physical body was not strong; after this fall, his bones shattered, blood spewed from his mouth, and cold dread filled his heart.

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

Especially on a battlefield teeming with cultivators.

The black-robed cultivator endured the agony, channeling his spiritual energy to attempt 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, his body curled up, and he 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 knives and turned on the black-robed cultivator.

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

Elder Yu watched, thoroughly pleased, and burst into loud laughter.

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

Elder Yu couldn't help but glance at Mo Hua again.

He thought: this child Mo Hua wields the fireball spell with consummate mastery—fast, precise; perhaps one day he truly could become an extraordinary spiritual cultivator.

Right now, his realm is still low, his spiritual energy still weak, so this fireball spell is merely cunning and unorthodox, useful only to disrupt or confuse the battlefield.

When he grows stronger in cultivation, and the fireball spell gains real power, a sudden strike aimed at your heart meridian or dantian…

You won't even know where he is.

Elder Yu imagined himself in that position—just thinking about it made him feel uneasy.

Meanwhile, Qian Zhongxuan was furiously enraged.

Again, the fireball spell!

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

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

Qian Zhongxuan's gaze turned icy; he suddenly unleashed his spiritual sense, determined to find out who was casting the fireball spell!

Just as his spiritual sense was about to sweep over Mo Hua, Elder Yu suddenly appeared, standing in front of Mo Hua.

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 sensed trouble and immediately gritted his teeth and shouted, "Retreat!"

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

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

"You must be more careful from now on—never take unnecessary risks. If you can avoid fighting, don't fight," Elder Yu warned.

He feared Mo Hua's actions might reveal their identity; given Qian Zhongxuan's cunning and ruthless nature, he would surely target Mo Hua without shame.

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

Mo Hua spoke these harsh words in a childish voice.

Elder Yu listened and couldn't help laughing, "Who taught you that?"

"My father taught me!"

Elder Yu nodded with a smile, "Well said! The cultivation world is treacherous—either don't strike, and if you do, don't hold back. Your father taught you right!"

Hearing his father praised, Mo Hua nodded proudly.

The black-robed cultivator was crippled, Qian Zhongxuan ordered retreat, and the Qian cultivators slunk away again—yet during their withdrawal, 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 family, he was completely humiliated.

Qian Zhongxuan was filled with bitter hatred!

He hated Elder Yu Changlin, hated the carelessness of the hired cultivators, hated the incompetence of his own men.

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

Which array master would lower himself to draw arrays for this ragtag band of poor beast hunters?

And which cultivator would use such a weak yet cunning and bizarre fireball spell?

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

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

If only he hadn't failed so miserably, Qian Zhongxuan would never have been dragged into this mess!

Originally, the clan lord had agreed he'd receive an extra ten percent of the spiritual stones if he captured the mine; now, even if he received double that, it couldn't make up for his losses.

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

Qian Zhuangsheng asked, "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; he hadn't decided yet when cries of pain came from outside the camp.

They were the Qian family cultivators and the hired cultivators.

Qian Zhongxuan sighed, waved his sleeve, and helplessly said, "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 cleared the residual spiritual energy from his body, and trimmed his hair, charred by the Fireball Technique.

The black-robed cultivator's condition 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 images of cultivators flashed through his mind—the one who shoved him, the one who kicked him, the ones who slashed at him with swords.

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

A surge of hatred welled up in the black-robed cultivator's heart.

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 foolishly fallen into a ditch.

That beginner-level Fireball Technique! That Fireball Technique of mid-Refining Qi cultivation!

Ambushed by a Fireball Technique!

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

It was an utter disgrace!

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

How had he been ambushed? How had his Concealment Technique been uncovered? Who had used the Fireball Technique? And how could they keep striking him with such precision?

No matter how hard he thought, he couldn't understand—it weighed heavily on his chest. He spat a mouthful of blood upward and roared in fury:

"Who the hell used the Fireball Technique?!"

Overcome by rage, his wounds split open again; his eyes darkened and he fainted once more.