Chapter 770: Evil Artificer
"Evil swords…"
Mo Hua's mind stirred slightly.
At this moment, there were two people standing in the demonic forge room.
One was Ouyang Mu, shackled in iron restraints, standing before the green-flamed bone furnace and rows of blood-red swords. His face was pale.
The other was an old demon cultivator.
He wore a gray robe, hunched over, with a long nose and an aura thick with wicked energy.
This old demon was forging swords. His hands—visible beneath the robe—were thick and calloused, covered in dark red boils and burn scars.
He was an Evil Artificer.
And not just any Evil Artificer—he was an extremely experienced one, having forged who knew how many demonic weapons over the years.
He glanced sideways at Ouyang Mu, his voice hoarse:
"Today, I'll teach you how to forge a sword."
Ouyang Mu was startled.
He looked around at the forest of white bones, the stinking pools of blood, and the grotesque sword embryos, then immediately refused:
"I won't learn!"
The Evil Artificer chuckled darkly.
"Foolish boy, this is your great opportunity."
"My skills—others beg to learn and still can't."
Ouyang Mu pressed his lips tightly and shook his head.
"I said, I won't learn!"
The Evil Artificer snorted, casting him a sideways glance.
"If it weren't for orders from above, do you think I'd want to teach you? Stupid brat. Miss this chance, and you'll never get another."
Ouyang Mu remained silent and stubborn as a log.
The Evil Artificer circled him once, inspecting him thoroughly, then nodded slightly.
"Stubborn temper… not a bad base material."
He looked up and asked:
"Are you from the Ouyang Clan?"
Ouyang Mu stiffened and said nothing.
The Evil Artificer sneered.
"You don't need to say it. That temper of yours, and your average-looking face—it's obvious you're from the Ouyang Clan."
"Otherwise, they wouldn't have let me teach you…"
Ouyang Mu looked confused, frowning.
"Who… are you? What's your relationship with the Ouyang Clan?"
At those words, the Evil Artificer suddenly flew into a rage.
"Don't mention the Ouyang Clan to me! Say it again, and I'll rip your mouth off!"
Ouyang Mu jumped, thinking:
This old demon's moods change faster than the weather…
Then again, he was a demon. That sort of thing seemed normal.
And from the looks of it, he was extremely old. Who knew how long he'd been trapped in this Myriad Demon Valley? Probably had very little humanity left.
The Evil Artificer, filled with killing intent and patience wearing thin, grabbed a piece of white bone and tossed it to Ouyang Mu:
"Refine this bone. Smelt it together with fine iron."
"Today, this is your only task."
"Finish it, and you can leave."
Ouyang Mu instinctively caught the bone, but the moment he touched it and felt the coldness of death upon it, he flinched, and the bone clattered to the ground.
"What's this? Afraid of a dead man's bones?" the Evil Artificer sneered. "Don't be squeamish about right and wrong. If you cling to that, you'll never become a great swordsmith."
Ouyang Mu said solemnly:
"Right is right, and wrong is wrong. How could they be the same?"
The Evil Artificer smiled with a hint of contempt:
"And how can you tell the difference?"
Ouyang Mu replied:
"You're the one who's confused—your heart is filled with evil thoughts. But if you follow the righteous path, free of twisted desires, the difference becomes obvious."
The Evil Artificer snorted.
"Little brat. You know nothing. I've no interest in debating this with you."
His expression turned cold.
"Let me ask one last time—will you refine the bone or not?"
Ouyang Mu clenched his teeth and shook his head.
"Fine."
The Evil Artificer nodded, then walked to a corner and retrieved a bloodstained Wolf Fang Shackle, snapping it toward Ouyang Mu.
Ouyang Mu tried to dodge, but the Evil Artificer grabbed his arm with a clawed hand—firm as iron—and he couldn't escape.
In the blink of an eye, the blood-crusted shackle latched onto him.
The Wolf Fang Shackle came alive—its iron spikes like fangs sunk deeply into Ouyang Mu's flesh like a wolf's bite.
He winced in pain, but bit his lip and endured, his stubborn spirit flaring up.
The Evil Artificer raised an eyebrow.
This stiff kid looks wooden, but he's got a backbone.
The shackle tightened, and Ouyang Mu's face turned even paler.
The Evil Artificer spoke with a sinister grin:
"This shackle is my own creation—a demonic artifact shaped like a wolf's maw. Once it tastes blood, it won't let go."
"And the tips of the fangs? Hollow. The moment they pierce flesh, they begin draining blood—just like a beast feeding on prey."
"My proudest invention." He looked at Ouyang Mu, smiling. "So? How's the taste?"
Ouyang Mu began trembling. His body went cold.
The Evil Artificer continued:
"Be obedient. Do what I tell you. Forge what I ask. Spare yourself the pain, and I get to report success."
"These bones—they're not from anyone you know. You didn't kill them. So why care?"
"You're just a smith. Take the materials and work. What does the rest matter to you?"
"Say the word—and I'll unlock the Wolf Fang Shackle."
Ouyang Mu remained silent, clenching his teeth. But his face was now as pale as a sheet of paper, drained of all color.
He looked like he was moments away from collapsing.
Mo Hua's gaze turned icy.
He was about to act—consequences be damned—and strike the Evil Artificer down—
But just then, the old demon waved his hand. A wave of demonic energy surged into the shackle.
The Wolf Fang Shackle trembled, then reluctantly retracted its fangs—like a tamed beast forced to let go.
"Stubborn little fool… still resisting at death's door."
The Evil Artificer shook his head—but instead of anger, his eyes gleamed with excitement.
Those who achieve greatness must possess indomitable will.
At the peak, talent becomes irrelevant.
But unshakable willpower—that was rarer than any natural gift.
Especially for swordsmithing—it required extraordinary endurance and determination.
"You may leave for today."
He said calmly:
"Come back tomorrow. But don't say I didn't warn you—you might last a day, but three? Seven? A month?"
"You're already in the Myriad Demon Prison. Even with wings, you won't escape. No one's coming to save you. Accept it, and make your decision."
"Yes, demon and devil cultivators live in darkness, cursed by the world—but that doesn't mean we can't survive."
"Think carefully. Do what's best for yourself."
The Evil Artificer rambled on.
Ouyang Mu tried to respond—but the blood loss was too much. His vision blurred, and he passed out.
The Evil Artificer waved his hand, summoning a demon cultivator from outside.
"Take him away."
"Yes, sir."
The demon took Ouyang Mu and left.
Not long after, Jingui entered.
"How is it?"
The Evil Artificer said:
"Stubborn as a mule. Needs tempering."
Jingui nodded, then added:
"He's lost too much blood. Feed him a blood pill, let him absorb some demon blood. Save us the trouble."
The Evil Artificer shook his head.
"You can't force it. That'll only push him to death. Unless he surrenders of his own will—unless he crosses that line himself—he'll never become a true demon."
Jingui's face darkened.
He understood the old demon's point.
But he still didn't like being defied.
"Don't take too long. The Young Lord's patience has limits. Don't delay his grand plan."
He shot a cold glare at the Evil Artificer, then turned and left.
The Evil Artificer ignored him.
Instead, he turned back, pulled out a piece of white bone, and began grinding it calmly.
At the same time, in a voice barely above a whisper, he muttered:
"Forging is like this… These demon cultivators only care about killing with evil artifacts. But us smiths… we think of much more…"
"The harder the material, the more precious it is."
"But no matter how tough it is—under hammer and flame—it bends. It takes the shape I will it to."
"It becomes my creation…"
"And it… stays with me… forever…"
...
Mo Hua, crouched on the rooftop, furrowed his brow at what he heard—then silently slipped away.
After leaving, he memorized the Evil Artifact Workshop's location, found a few more spirit hub arrays along the way, and quietly repaired them. He then camouflaged the array patterns with clay and stone, hiding them from prying eyes.
Once all was done, he returned to the prison.
Ouyang Mu had already been brought back.
He lay on the ground, breathing faintly, face pale as paper and trembling slightly—clearly in the grip of agonizing pain.
The demon cultivators likely wouldn't kill him for now, but if Little Wooden Head didn't give in to their demands, he'd undoubtedly suffer even worse torment.
And as for what came next… who knew?
These demon cultivators were mentally unstable, violent and unpredictable. Who knew what insane cruelty they might unleash?
Mo Hua sighed.
The dog-headed demon guard wasn't at the prison, so Mo Hua revealed himself.
Song Jian jumped in fright when Mo Hua suddenly appeared.
But Linghu Xiao, who had been watching over Ouyang Mu with worry, brightened the moment he saw him.
"The demon gave us a pill," Linghu Xiao said, "but I didn't dare give it to Junior Brother Mu."
"Good." Mo Hua nodded.
Though from what he'd overheard, the pill probably hadn't been tampered with, still—better safe than sorry. If they could avoid it, they would.
Mo Hua pulled out a few Blood-Recovery Pills, a Minor Rejuvenation Pill, and several qi-nourishing pills, then helped Ouyang Mu swallow them.
Ouyang Mu's complexion immediately improved.
His wounds also began to slowly close.
"Aunt Wan's pills really are amazing…" Mo Hua thought to himself.
Otherwise, he wouldn't have had the spirit stones to buy such high-quality medicine.
A while later, Ouyang Mu's depleted blood and qi had recovered quite a bit. He muttered in a low voice:
"Thank you… Senior Brother Mo…"
Mo Hua shook his head.
"Don't mention it."
Then, frowning:
"But… you'll have to go back tomorrow. If that Evil Artificer tries to force you again, what will you do?"
Ouyang Mu froze. Only then did he realize that Mo Hua had witnessed everything that happened in the Evil Artifact Workshop.
The demons had taken him on a whim, to a remote and heavily sealed place—yet Senior Brother Mo had still managed to sneak in.
"Senior Brother Mo really is incredible…" Ouyang Mu thought to himself.
As for forging demonic artifacts…
Ouyang Mu straightened his posture and said firmly:
"I'm a disciple of the Ouyang Clan of the Tai'a Sect! I'd rather die than forge evil weapons!"
Mo Hua pondered for a moment, then suddenly said:
"Actually… it's not entirely out of the question."
Ouyang Mu froze. "Senior Brother…"
Mo Hua whispered:
"You silly goose. I'm saying you should pretend to go along with it—just fool him a little. If you keep being so stubborn and let that wolf-fang shackle bite into you a few more times, you really might die."
"But…" Ouyang Mu hesitated.
"No buts. Desperate times call for flexibility. Besides—"
Mo Hua recalled everything about the Evil Artificer—the way he spoke, his mannerisms—and slowly said:
"That old demon's definitely a master swordsmith. His skills are top-notch, probably not something ordinary people could learn."
"Sure, his techniques are from the demonic path, but skill is skill. It's not always black and white. Take what's useful, discard the rest."
Ouyang Mu still looked conflicted.
"What if I can't tell the difference… and go astray?"
He feared that learning from a demonic master would corrupt him without him realizing.
Mo Hua replied with confidence:
"Don't worry—I'm good at this."
After all, he had secretly learned the terrifying Heavenly Secrets Divination Arts from his creepy uncle-master.
Learning a few forging tricks from a demon? Child's play.
Of course, the one learning would be Little Wooden Head.
He'd just "coach" from the sidelines.
"I'll teach you what to do," Mo Hua said.
"Teach me?"
"Mm."
"But… how?"
"First, get some rest. I'll go figure it out…"
And with that, Mo Hua vanished again.
He left Linghu Xiao and Ouyang Mu staring at each other in bewilderment—completely confused about what kind of plan Mo Hua was cooking up.
Song Jian was still frozen in a daze.
—
Mo Hua silently crawled back into the array control chamber.
He rummaged through his storage pouch, gathered every usable array material, and began "researching" his own secret messaging talisman.
On one end, it used a jade slip.
On the other, a cloth handkerchief.
Between them was a custom-built configuration of magnetic inscription lines—a one-way communication device, cobbled together on the fly.
The array used was the Primordial Magnetic Beacon Array.
He'd learned it long ago, but it was tricky to master and rarely had a good use—until now.
It was perfect.
Mo Hua crawled back to the prison and handed the cloth to Ouyang Mu, instructing him:
"Wrap this cloth around your arm. Tomorrow, when you see that Evil Artificer—whatever you need to say or do—I'll guide you in real time."
Ouyang Mu's jaw dropped.
This is a thing??
He stared at the cloth in his hand. It felt just like a "cheat sheet" students used during sect exams when they tried to sneak answers.
But this was even better—it was live coaching.
"So… I just agree to that old—uh, Evil Artificer—tomorrow?" Ouyang Mu asked uncertainly.
"Yes." Mo Hua nodded.
After thinking for a moment, he added:
"But don't make it too obvious. If today you swore you'd never give in, but tomorrow you suddenly agree without hesitation—he'll know something's fishy."
"So… you'll need to learn to act a little."
"Act?" Ouyang Mu blinked.
"Exactly!" Mo Hua nodded, then patiently explained how to pull off the performance:
"Tomorrow, go in and still refuse at first."
"Stay stubborn for a while, then slowly show a hint of longing for the sword path. Let your expression falter, like you're fascinated by the deep truths behind the evil sword."
"After that, keep verbally rejecting, but let your face look conflicted—like you're being reluctantly swayed."
He walked Ouyang Mu through every detail, then asked:
"Did you remember it?"
Ouyang Mu nodded—then shook his head.
It seemed like he understood, but also… not really. He couldn't quite wrap his head around what exactly Mo Hua was trying to say.
After all, he'd always been an honest and straightforward kid. Now he was suddenly expected to act and deceive? His poor brain just couldn't make that turn fast enough.
Mo Hua patiently explained it all again, then said:
"Alright, now you try it once—show me."
Ouyang Mu imitated what Mo Hua had said, trying to make the right expressions.
Mo Hua critiqued:
"Too stiff. Your expressions are unnatural, your eyes aren't convincing enough, and overall, you're not smooth at all…"
"Here, I'll show you how it's done."
Then Mo Hua mimicked Ouyang Mu—putting on a dead-serious face, like a little block of wood.
Then his eyes lit up slightly, like he had just seen some precious treasure; next came a hint of hesitation and flickering eyes, betraying an internal struggle. He bit his lip to show emotional turmoil… and finally let out a long sigh, as if he had made a hard decision and was about to give in.
Within ten heartbeats, Mo Hua's expressions flowed and shifted like water—natural, seamless, flawless.
Ouyang Mu was stunned. He couldn't help but murmur:
"As expected of Senior Brother Mo… amazing…"
Forget arrays—even acting, Mo Hua was a master.
Off to the side, Linghu Xiao and Song Jian both wore complicated expressions. They didn't even know what to say anymore.
"Got it now?" Mo Hua collected his expression and asked.
"I… think I got the gist…" Ouyang Mu replied, still unsure.
"That's fine. Practice when you get the chance," Mo Hua advised.
"You're introverted, a little stiff, not great at adapting—if you keep that up, you'll suffer a lot. Learn some acting, and it'll come in handy someday."
Ouyang Mu nodded—half understanding, half not.
That night, he faithfully followed Mo Hua's instructions and practiced various subtle facial expressions.
—
The next day, sure enough, a demon cultivator opened the prison gate.
Ouyang Mu was taken by one of them, straight back to the same Evil Artifact Workshop.
That hunched, long-nosed old demon—the evil artificer—was already inside waiting.
It was unclear whether he'd come early… or had simply never left the forging room at all.
As soon as Ouyang Mu entered, the evil artificer didn't waste a word. Just like yesterday, he handed him a piece of white bone.
"Refine this bone," the evil artificer ordered.
Ouyang Mu followed Mo Hua's instructions and shook his head first:
"I won't."
His expression, however, was still a bit awkward and forced—not smooth yet.
"Flawed… but barely passing," Mo Hua silently noted from above.
The evil artificer, of course, had no idea his disciple had developed so many schemes overnight.
He remained unsuspecting and just snorted coldly:
"Then suffer a little more."
He took out the wolf-fang shackle again and clamped it onto Ouyang Mu.
Ouyang Mu endured the pain silently, without making a sound.
After a while, his expression grew increasingly pained—more from the real agony than any act.
The evil artificer eventually asked:
"Have you thought it through yet? If you refine the bone, you'll suffer less."
"I can even pass down my skills to you."
Ouyang Mu didn't know how to respond, so he lowered his head and peeked at the inside of his sleeve.
There, Mo Hua had written out a "script" for him in real time.
Gritting his teeth, Ouyang Mu read it out word for word, deadpan:
"I am a cultivator of Tai'a Sect, a disciple of the Ouyang clan. I inherited the most orthodox sword-forging techniques. How could I stoop to join you evil monsters in forging demonic weapons?"
"Your crooked forging methods—I don't value them at all!"
His tone was flat and awkward.
But… that's what made it effective. A stiff, honest guy saying stuff like this—it stung worse than a master debater.
Sure enough, the evil artificer was provoked. He sneered:
"Tai'a Sect's swordsmithing? They've long strayed from the true path. What could they possibly teach you?"
"Follow me—I'll teach you real sword-forging."
"I'll show you how to temper blood, how to raise Slaughter Qi, how to forge sword bones… I can even teach you multiple sword formations…"
From up on the roof, Mo Hua—who had been eavesdropping—suddenly froze.
"Sword formations?!"
This old evil artificer actually had sword formations?
And not just one—multiple sword formations?!
Mo Hua took a deep breath.
"The Heavenly Secrets Divination never lies…"
"Master's copper coin is truly amazing!"
"Who would've thought the Myriad Demon Valley was full of wool just waiting to be plucked…"
(End of this Chapter)