Chapter 1157: Barbarian god
Mo Hua licked his lips, suddenly interested.
After being hungry for so long, he finally smelled something appetizing.
Without a word, he quietly continued to follow the barbarian grandfather and grandson pair.
The two had no idea they were being followed, and simply kept walking forward. Along the way, the old man gave fragmented instructions to the child:
"When we arrive, you must be respectful."
"This is your fortune…"
"…It will bless the tribe. If your father knew, he would be proud of you too…"
The boy nodded, still confused and unsure. After a while, he clutched his shrunken belly and said:
"Grandpa, I'm hungry."
The old barbarian took out some rough, dark, hard and dry rations made from unknown low-grade grains.
The boy accepted them and slowly began chewing.
The elder's eyes showed pain. Then, with great care, he reached into his worn-out storage pouch and pulled out a piece of dried meat, handing it to the boy.
The child's eyes lit up when he saw the meat, but then he hesitated nervously. "Grandpa, I… I'm full. I don't need it…"
The old man patted his head, his voice dry, "It's alright. Eat a little more today… eat well."
The boy was too young to understand. Despite trying to resist, his growling stomach couldn't hold back. He carefully took the dried meat and began chewing slowly.
This was a rare treat—something he might not eat even once in a year—so he savored it slowly.
After finishing half, he handed the rest to the elder, "Grandpa, I'm full now."
The old man shook his head. "It's fine. You finish it. That's all for you."
The child looked disbelieving. "Really?"
The old man smiled and nodded. The wrinkles on his face were deep and worn.
Only then did the boy feel at ease, happily chewing the rest of the meat, his face showing a pure yet pitiful smile.
The old man watched, eyes filled with a complicated pain.
Mo Hua watched silently, his expression darkening slightly.
After the boy finished eating, the elder led him up the mountain again.
The mountains of the Great Wilderness were mostly barren. Though there were some low shrubs, much of the landscape was bare and reddish.
The grandfather and grandson climbed the steep path deeper into the mountains.
There, hidden in the depths, was a cave with a dark opening. Two strange stone pillars stood at the entrance.
At the moment, four barbarian cultivators stood guarding the cave entrance.
Upon seeing the elder, they all performed a clan salute and respectfully greeted, "Elder."
The barbarian elder gave a slight nod. "Is everything ready?"
One of the cultivators replied, "Reporting to Elder—demonic blood, offerings, and the altar are all prepared."
The old man nodded and waved his hand. "You may all go now."
The four hesitated. They glanced at the boy and looked reluctant. "Elder, perhaps we could—"
But the old man's face turned resolute. "There is no other choice."
The four barbarians sighed, "Yes, Grand Elder."
They turned and descended the mountain.
Only the old man and the ten-year-old boy were left before the cave.
The elder asked, "Do you remember everything I told you?"
The boy nodded. "I will serve the great Barbarian God with full respect and devotion."
The old man's gaze grew heavier. "Good. Then come with me."
The two stepped past the stone pillars and entered the cave.
Mo Hua considered for a moment, then followed silently.
His divine sense far outclassed the old man's. Even walking directly behind him while concealed, the elder would never notice.
Mo Hua practically walked alongside him into the cave.
At first, his vision was swallowed by darkness. But when he lifted his head to examine the inside of the cave, his expression turned slightly puzzled.
The cave… was too simple.
What he had imagined—stone halls, shrines, altars—none of it existed.
In fact, it could hardly be called a "cave" at all. It was more like a shallow indentation in the mountain wall. The space was only five or six steps deep.
Inside, there was only a single stone offering table. On it lay a few beast skulls, and a jar of beast blood was tucked in a corner.
That was it.
There was no statue. No object worthy of worship.
At the end of the cave was a solid stone wall.
Truly solid. Mo Hua extended his divine sense and could confirm—it was all just rock.
His eyes flickered.
Earlier, when he heard the child mention the "Barbarian God," he'd assumed it was some formidable entity.
At the very least, there should have been a temple or an idol.
But now that he was here… there was nothing.
Even the divine aura was faint—almost nonexistent.
Mo Hua couldn't sense a thing.
"Hiding pretty deep, huh…"
He pondered for a moment, then his gaze turned sharp as he looked at the barbarian elder.
The elder suddenly felt a chill in his heart, as though some unknown presence was watching him. Yet, no matter how he searched with his senses, he found nothing.
After a long pause, the only explanation he could come up with was—
He fell to his knees and kowtowed toward the empty stone wall behind the altar, saying:
"Great Barbarian God above, this old one is ready. I dare not delay your ritual."
He then bowed three times.
The child knelt beside him and followed, knocking his forehead on the ground three times with a loud thump.
The old man didn't dare delay further. He reached into the blood jar beside him and, dipping his fingers into the dark-red blood, began drawing a totem beneath the altar.
The totem was primitive and crimson, its lines reminiscent of the Four Symbols demonic pattern.
The figure it depicted looked like a sharp-beaked, clawed demon.
Once it was finished, the elder lit a candle on the altar.
It was made from some unknown beast's fat. The flame burned a pale green and emitted a pungent odor.
As it burned, the old man pulled his grandson into the center of the blood totem in front of the altar.
The elder prayed with devout sincerity.
The child knelt respectfully.
The forest-green candle continued to burn.
Its greasy smoke thickened, growing heavier and heavier.
No one knew how much time had passed when the blood totem on the ground began to twist and contort. The blood-colored demon within the totem seemed to come alive.
The barbarian elder and the child had inhaled too much of the candle smoke. Their minds grew hazy, drifting between wakefulness and unconsciousness, and hallucinations began to emerge.
It felt as though a deep, resonant voice was calling to them.
That voice was ancient and commanding—irrefutable.
Unknowingly, their souls were drawn from their bodies. When they next opened their eyes, the cave before them was no longer the same.
The stone wall had vanished. In its place stood a door.
A bronze door, with locks forged of refined iron. The seams were adorned with interlocking fangs—both ominous and majestic.
The child looked at it with fear in his eyes.
But the barbarian elder didn't seem surprised, as if this wasn't his first time here. He gently touched his grandson's forehead and rasped:
"Don't be afraid. Come with me to pay respects to the great Barbarian God."
The boy timidly nodded.
The elder knelt before the bronze door and intoned reverently, "Great Barbarian God, forgive my intrusion—your faithful servant comes to offer homage."
After his words fell, the elder remained prostrated. A moment later, a vague response seemed to echo from the void—it appeared his request for audience had been accepted.
The heavy iron locks on the door clicked and began to open.
Only then did the elder rise, respectfully pushing open the bronze door. He looked back at his grandson with a sigh and said:
"Come."
The child nodded.
The old man took his grandson's hand and stepped through the bronze doors.
Behind them was a passageway of green stone.
This passage didn't exist in the real world. It belonged to some illusory, dreamlike space.
The elder, holding his grandson's hand, walked nervously forward along the corridor. It was unclear how long they walked before they finally stepped into a grand hall.
The hall was entirely cast from green stone.
At its center was an offering table.
And upon a high platform sat a grotesque stone statue.
The barbarian elder did not dare raise his head to look directly at it. Instead, his voice trembled as he whispered to his grandson:
"You… lie down on the table."
"Okay." The child obediently lay down upon the offering table.
The old man carefully tied his grandson's hands and feet with rope.
The child didn't resist.
After finishing, the boy softly asked, "Grandpa… am I going to die?"
The old man's body trembled, his eyes reddening, but he still forced a hoarse reply: "You're still so young… why would you say something like that?"
The boy's gaze dimmed as he replied:
"Ah Da, Ah Li, Zhen'er, and Ke Da… they all went to serve the great Barbarian God. But they never came back. Am I also…?"
The old man, swallowing pain, asked, "You… you don't want to serve the Barbarian God?"
The child shook his head. "I do want to serve the Barbarian God."
His voice was low and subdued. "No one plays with me anymore. And I'm hungry all the time. I don't even know where Father went, or if he'll ever come back. Living doesn't seem to mean much anymore, it's just…"
He turned to the old man. "If I go, Grandpa, you'll be left all alone. Grandpa, you must take care of yourself."
The elder's clouded eyes were brimming with tears.
He nodded softly, speaking with warmth, "Don't worry. The Barbarian God will bless us. He will take care of you too. Just sleep a bit. When you wake up, everything will be better."
"Mm…"
The boy, lying on the offering table, replied gently. Then, for no reason at all, he felt his soul grow faint and weary, and slowly closed his eyes.
The barbarian elder looked at his only grandson, grief-stricken to the core. But in the end, he clenched his jaw, knelt to the ground, and began his solemn prayer:
"Your humble servant prays in fear and reverence. May the great Barbarian Lord grant our tribe fair weather and timely rain."
"Grant that our people may have food to fill their bellies."
"Grant us clothes to keep out the cold."
"Protect our people from misfortune."
"Bless our warriors who have gone to war—that they may return home safely…"
…
The old barbarian elder finished his devout prayer, then gritted his teeth and said:
"Respectfully… inviting the Great Barbarian God… to partake in the offering of our tribe."
After speaking, he lowered his head heavily to the ground, like a solemn statue—motionless.
No one knew how much time had passed, when the silence of the stone hall was finally broken by the sound of rocks cracking.
Stone dust rained down, and the statue in the center of the hall slowly began to move. Shedding its outer layer of stone and clay, it revealed a towering, muscular form—sharp beak, fierce claws, clad in divine robes of gold, surrounded by swirling hues of green and red.
This was the true form of the "Barbarian God" worshipped by the elder's tribe.
As the Barbarian God revealed itself, the elder's expression grew even more solemn. He didn't even dare to breathe loudly.
The dark, cyan-skinned deity strode to the altar, stopping before the child.
The scent of fresh sacrifice made its mouth twitch with hunger—but instead of devouring him immediately, the Barbarian God turned to the elder. Its voice was cold and piercing:
"Your faith… has wavered."
The elder slowly rose to his feet.
In his left hand was a ritual banner, in his right, a sacrificial dagger. His cloudy eyes shone with fear of the divine—yet also with a glint of murderous resolve.
The Barbarian God sneered, "I wondered why I felt uneasy today… So it was you, this lowly old dog, harboring betrayal and daring to defy a god?"
The elder's expression was solemn, his grip tightening around the sacrificial blade.
The god's sharp-featured face twisted into mocking scorn:
"What's this? You didn't rebel when I devoured other children, but now that it's your grandson, you suddenly grow a conscience?"
Shame and fury battled across the elder's face. In the end, he gave a bitter, self-deprecating laugh:
"There's no other path left. As an elder of the tribe, this time's offering… no matter who it was, I had no choice. But with you—greedy Barbarian God—this ends in mutual destruction."
"If I die, our tribe may perish."
"But if I don't resist, and let you keep devouring, soon there'll be no children left. We'll perish all the same."
"And you're right… he's my last grandson. My only remaining bloodline."
"His father marched to war with the barbarian warriors…"
"Some time ago, I dreamed of him on the battlefield, covered in blood… his head gone. I knew then—my son must be dead."
The elder's figure seemed to age even more in that moment, slumped with sorrow, yet filled with steely resolve.
He slowly raised the sacrificial knife and pointed it at the Barbarian God. "So all of this… must end with my old life."
The god's expression turned icy. "You dare raise a blade to a god. Clearly, you're ready to die."
"Fine. Then let me devour you first… and your grandson next. A family reunion—in my belly."
With a wicked grin, the god slashed the air, tearing space open with a cyan-black claw mark that lunged at the elder.
The elder waved his left hand, and several spectral hyenas burst forth from the ritual banner, crashing into the god's attack.
Spiritual force rippled outward, filling the air.
The god was slightly surprised. "You've learned shamanic arts?"
The old man's face remained cold as he kept swinging the banner.
That banner seemed to be some strange divine artifact. Every swing consumed a portion of his spirit, using it to summon more spectral beasts to fight.
And the beasts he summoned—weren't weak.
Against ordinary cultivators, they could devour their foes' spiritual essence.
Unfortunately, he was facing a deity who fed on human souls.
Though the beasts could clash with the god briefly, they were clearly outmatched. After a few exchanges, the Barbarian God tore them apart and devoured them, feeding on their essence to grow even stronger.
The elder's expression grew darker.
His only chance was to go all-in, end this quickly.
No human could match a god's spiritual power. If the fight dragged on, his own spirit would be exhausted—and he would die.
And if he died, so too would his tribe.
In this desolate wilderness, survival was already harsh. Without him, their Foundation Establishment elder, even a rank-2 beast could wipe them out.
Let alone the wrath of the Barbarian God now fully provoked.
If the god wasn't slain—or at least heavily wounded—the tribe was doomed.
There was only one road left: fight to the death. No other choice.
Ignoring the damage to his soul, the elder began to shake the banner more violently, summoning even more powerful spirits through his shamanic arts.
With every movement, his face grew paler.
But then, the banner glowed—drawing upon his very will to summon a powerful, yellow-furred rank-2 direwolf.
The wolf lunged at the Barbarian God and engaged it in battle.
Yet the elder's assault wasn't done. He stabbed the sacrificial dagger into his own arm.
The blade lit up with blood-red patterns. A mysterious force reversed back into the elder's body.
His hunched frame straightened, limbs swelling with strength, muscles bulging. In moments, he looked young again—a true barbarian warrior.
The moment the knife had finished draining his life…
He charged the god, joining the wolf in combat.
One man, one beast, against a god—they fought with raw, brutal force.
This battle of wills and spirits was incredibly dangerous.
Just as the god's aura began to falter, and a glimmer of hope rose in the elder's heart…
A flash of cyan-black light—and the Barbarian God vanished.
The elder froze.
Alarm bells rang in his heart, and he tried to turn—but it was too late.
A sharp claw pierced straight through his shoulder.
The direwolf leapt to attack again—
But the god caught it by the throat and twisted savagely, breaking its neck, then opened its jaws wide and devoured it whole.
The elder's face turned bleak.
He'd studied the shamanic arts—he knew the god was powerful. But now that he'd faced it head-on, he realized just how terrifying it truly was.
Such a being… could never be defeated by mortals.
The Barbarian God looked down at him, amused. "You were fun to toy with… and you actually took it seriously. That pitiful shamanic trickery—you think it matters to me?"
The elder smiled bitterly, face full of sorrow.
The god slowly approached, seemingly ready to end him.
At that moment, the bitter smile vanished from the old man's face, replaced by an icy coldness.
"I know," he said, voice calm and final. "That's why… I never intended to win in the first place..."
The Barbarian God's expression changed.
In an instant, the elder plunged the sacrificial blade straight into his heart.
The power of the ritual blade surged into his heart meridian, amplifying his divine sense. Blood-red lines spread across his entire body.
This was a forbidden sorcery technique—one that used the practitioner's own divine soul as fuel for detonation.
The elder had planned for death from the very beginning. His entire strategy had always been to perish together with the Barbarian God.
But before he could explode, a blue-red arm suddenly pierced into his heart, forcibly ripping out the sacrificial blade—along with his divine essence and bloodied flesh.
The elder's face twisted in shock, still trying to push forward—
But in the next instant, his right arm was severed completely.
Agonizing pain surged through his divine consciousness. Gritting his teeth, the elder looked over—only to see his own arm already being devoured by the Barbarian God.
And the sacrificial blade was now being toyed with in the god's clawed hand.
The fanged, blue-faced Barbarian God smirked mockingly and said:
"I warned you—I am a god. You thought I wouldn't see through your little schemes? A mere mortal dares plot deicide? What a joke. I was just playing along to amuse myself."
The old man's expression was ashen—dead inside.
Of course… If the Barbarian God weren't truly a god, how could his tribe have worshipped it for hundreds of years?
A god worshipped for centuries—how could a lowly barbarian elder hope to defeat it with just some minor shamanic tricks?
"…It's a god…"
With a hollow chest, blood at the corners of his lips, the elder stared helplessly at the unstoppable Barbarian God. Despair filled his gaze.
But just then—
A dazzling golden light burst from the chest of the towering Barbarian God.
A small golden fist suddenly punched clean through its back, piercing its chest. The remaining golden light shredded a massive chunk of blue-black flesh.
A soft, lazy, and slightly annoyed child's voice muttered:
"Tch. I thought it was some mighty god. Turns out it's just a little hill ghost wearing fancy gold paint."
The Barbarian God's face froze in disbelief.
The elder's eyes went wide with shock.
In the next instant, the golden light erupted fully.
That once-mighty Barbarian God, with no chance to resist, was torn apart by two small hands, then incinerated by flames and refined into ash—before being swallowed whole.
(End of this Chapter)