Chapter 1159: Deity Hunt
"What?" Elder Zhamu's heart trembled.
Mo Hua could only repeat himself:
"Write down the names, origins, locations, and methods of worship for every single 'Barbarian God' you know of nearby…"
"Not a single one can be left out."
Elder Zhamu had no idea what this "senior" in front of him was planning.
But on that handsome face, in those crystal-clear eyes, he saw a glint—something dangerous.
It made Elder Zhamu feel like he was… committing a crime.
The horrific image of how the Wutu God was ripped apart and eaten alive suddenly resurfaced in his mind.
Elder Zhamu's voice trembled:
"This… I fear that might not be appropriate…"
Mo Hua calmly replied, "Write down the names and locations of the Barbarian Gods, and I guarantee your little grandson stays safe and sound."
Elder Zhamu shuddered from head to toe.
Mo Hua added, "The Barbarian Gods can't protect your grandson. I can."
Elder Zhamu fell silent for a moment, then quietly grabbed a sheet of paper. Without a word of protest, he began writing down every single Barbarian God he knew of—names, tribes, all of it—handing it all over to Mo Hua.
Mo Hua took the paper, gave it a glance, and his eyes lit up with satisfaction.
Elder Zhamu saw this and, for some reason, was suddenly overwhelmed with regret. Deep, gnawing regret. But he didn't dare to take it back, so he cautiously asked:
"Senior… may I ask… what are you planning to do?"
Mo Hua folded the paper and tucked it into his robe. "That's none of your concern. Just act like none of this ever happened."
"Yes…" Elder Zhamu looked bitter. Then, after a pause, he looked up at Mo Hua and quietly asked:
"By the way, may I know how to address you, Senior?"
"I…"
Mo Hua was about to give his real name, but halfway through, he changed his mind and said:
"You can call me… Mr. Wu."
"Mr. Wu?" Elder Zhamu froze. "You're a royal shaman too?"
Mo Hua's eyes flickered, but he gave no answer.
Elder Zhamu didn't dare probe further and simply said, "In any case, our Wutu Tribe will forever remember the great kindness of Mr. Wu."
Mo Hua nodded and handed over a bottle of pills to Elder Zhamu:
"Give one pill to your grandson, morning and night. He needs to rest more and move less—stay calm like still water. Here's another bottle, fasting pills. Two a day. Don't let him go hungry."
Elder Zhamu accepted them, deeply moved, and bowed:
"This old one thanks Mr. Wu for his great kindness."
But when he raised his head again, he found the space in front of him was completely empty—Mr. Wu had vanished.
He had no idea how this Mr. Wu had disappeared.
Elder Zhamu was awestruck. The more he thought about this young Mr. Wu, the more reverent he became. He bowed deeply toward the empty spot in front of him.
…
One hour later.
Mo Hua, having left the Wutu Tribe, arrived at a gorge.
Within the gorge resided another tribe—called the Wotai Tribe.
Most tribal names in the Great Wilderness were "locally inspired," often named after nearby vegetation, mountains, or savage beasts.
In the barbarian tongue, Wotai meant rat.
Sure enough, the totem of the Wotai Tribe was a grotesque, sharp-toothed rat demon.
And the Barbarian God they worshipped was indeed a rat deity.
All of this had been written down on Elder Zhamu's little "note."
Mo Hua hadn't delayed a moment. Practically the instant he got Zhamu's list, he began executing his "Barbarian God Hunting" plan based on its contents.
For all these years, Mo Hua's approach to formation arts had always been to learn and immediately apply. Theory and action in one. His execution was lightning-fast.
And besides, his divine sense was starving.
These past days, his inability to replenish and strengthen his spirit had gnawed at him with growing anxiety.
Now, finally, things were turning around.
Mo Hua flipped through his "menu," concealed his presence, and quietly stepped into the heart of the Wotai Tribe.
The Wotai Tribe was also a small tribe—stronger than the Wutu Tribe, sure, but not by much. They had just two more early-stage Foundation Establishment cultivators and about a couple hundred tribal residents. To Mo Hua, naturally, they posed no threat.
Even after he entered the Wotai Tribe's tents, no one noticed a thing.
But after several rounds around the camp, Mo Hua still hadn't found the entrance or altar where the Wotai Tribe worshipped their Barbarian God.
He even tried using divination with the demon bones.
Yet the moment the threads of cause and effect extended into the Wotai Tribe, they blended directly into the cultivators of the tribe—dissipating into nothing.
Mo Hua speculated that this, too, must be one of the Barbarian God's abilities.
Barbarian Gods and their believers were symbiotic in nature.
Believers offered faith, and the gods returned blessings. Their karmic threads would intertwine and fuse together.
So, when a believer faced disaster, the god would use divine thought to dispel it.
And when the god faced calamity, the faith of the believers would offset part of the karmic backlash on their behalf.
Thus, when a "calamity" like Mo Hua came knocking, looking to make trouble for the god—
The force of karmic deduction would be partially diverted by the believers' faith, disrupting the lock-on and making it impossible to locate the god's whereabouts.
This was the long-standing "symbiotic" ecosystem between Barbarian Gods and their followers.
Of course, that was the ideal case.
In practice, there were plenty of contradictions and twists.
For instance, believers might grow greedy and wicked, corrupting their faith and forcing the god to fall into depravity.
Or a god might tread the evil path, manipulating its followers and dragging them into darkness…
This "symbiosis" was mWutually beneficial—but easily tainted.
The study of the divine path was precisely such a profound, complex, and ever-changing field—full of hidden intricacies.
As for how to deal with this symbiosis—Mo Hua had no good solution.
After all, he couldn't just go around hurting innocent believers to force the god out.
That'd be something a "villainous evil god" would do.
Mo Hua could only wait patiently, hoping that the Wotai barbarian cultivators would offer their tribute, and that their god would eventually slip up and show itself.
In the days that followed, Mo Hua remained hidden, quietly observing within the Wotai Tribe.
The tribe worshipped a rat god, raised dead rats, and their barbarian cultivators had a taste for foul, rotting things—so the entire settlement stank of greasy pelts and putrid meat.
Their behavior matched their scent. The Wotai barbarians were selfish, greedy, and often resorted to despicable methods. They even had a habit of stealing.
Common Wotai cultivators would steal food and clothing from their fellow tribesmen.
Elders with a bit of power would pilfer meat and wealth from the tribe itself.
Some even stole people.
There was rampant adultery between cultivators, affairs and betrayals that left their private lives an absolute mess.
Mo Hua stayed just three days, and in that time, he witnessed over twenty separate cases of theft—food, valuables, even lovers.
From this, he concluded that the Wotai God and its followers were likely a "mWutual selection."
People and god, rats of the same nest—none of them any good.
So Mo Hua decided—no more holding back.
Four or five days later, he finally saw it—the Wotai Tribe beginning their sacrificial ritual.
They, too, used live human offerings.
But unlike others, they didn't sacrifice their own people. Instead, they used barbarian cultivators kidnapped from other tribes—or slaves—offering them as "tribute" to the Wotai God.
In a sense, even the sacrificial victims were stolen.
These living people had their throats slit, then were bound with ropes and lowered off a cliff—as offerings to the god.
Mo Hua channeled his Withering Water Step, clinging to the cliff wall as he descended vertically.
About fifty zhang down, he saw it—a section of the cliff wall covered in dense forest and thick fog. Hidden within was a carved divine statue and an offering altar.
But what confused Mo Hua was that the statue wasn't a rat at all—it was a ferocious bull demon.
"The Wotai Tribe worships a rat god, don't they?" he muttered in confusion.
He waited patiently. When enough blood had drained from the sacrifices, the ritual began, and the divine realm twisted once more.
Mo Hua repeated his old trick, using the "Sword Skull" as a medium to invade the dreamscape crafted by the Barbarian God.
Once inside, he found himself in a divine hall.
It was massive—ruggedly built, decorated with a horned bull's idol. But the one preparing to feast on the sacrifices was clearly a rat-headed Barbarian God.
That's when Mo Hua understood.
Even the divine hall—was stolen.
This Wotai God had even stolen someone else's temple.
Mo Hua concealed his divine presence. On the outside, he appeared to be nothing more than a tender, tasty-looking human child.
The Wotai God saw him and was both surprised and overjoyed. Its rat mouth opened and closed as it spoke human tongue:
"These followers… they've managed to catch such a fresh and delicious human offering for this deity? No wonder I taught them the Dao and helped them prosper. Excellent, excellent."
Mo Hua just stared at the Wotai God, expression calm.
But the Wotai God couldn't resist his plump, tender look. It grinned with sharp teeth, saying:
"Little one, I'll eat you in one bite!"
Mo Hua's face darkened.
A foul wind swirled—the Wotai God revealed its true rat demon form and lunged with a gaping maw, trying to swallow Mo Hua whole.
But before those sharp fangs could clamp down—
Mo Hua's small, fair hand reached out and grabbed them.
Though tiny and white, those hands held immense power—like a mountain compressed into a fingertip.
The Wotai God's expression shifted.
"Not good—I've kicked a hornet's nest!"
In the next instant, Mo Hua's fist tightened, glowing with golden light, and he smashed it down.
The Wotai God was crushed like an egg.
Then, with a wave of his other hand, he conjured a burning array of runes, instantly refining the god's divine essence and absorbing it into himself.
Job done, Mo Hua turned to leave.
He also saved the bound sacrificial victims by the altar—tossing them onto the cliffside.
Whether they survived… that was up to fate.
As for the barbarian cultivators of the Wotai Tribe—Mo Hua considered wiping them out, but ultimately didn't.
Sure, the tribe was selfish, vile, thieving, and shameless—but those flaws weren't crimes worthy of death.
Besides, this was the Great Wilderness. Not his place to enforce justice.
In any case, their god was already dead. From now on, they'd have to fend for themselves.
Mo Hua scratched out the name "Wotai God" from Elder Zhamu's list.
Then, he moved on to the next target.
Next target: the Barbarian God of the Wulu Tribe.
In the barbarian tongue, "Wulu" meant "ferocious wolf."
The Wulu Tribe's totem was a blood-colored vicious wolf, and the barbarian god they worshipped was also a wolf deity.
As expected, the tribe's barbarian cultivators were savage, brutal, and bloodthirsty. Any enemies or captured slaves would be dismembered and tortured, then cruelly slaughtered in the end.
Wulu was a medium-sized tribe. Several late-stage Foundation Establishment barbarian cultivators stood guard, and the tribe boasted nearly two thousand cultivators—making it the most powerful tribe in the surrounding area.
Their barbarian god's divine will was close to the third rank, also extremely powerful.
And yet, it died the fastest.
It had taken Mo Hua about eight or nine days in total to eliminate the Wotai barbarian god—including travel, surveillance, and waiting.
But killing the Wulu barbarian god only took him half an hour.
Truly, the Wulu god had terrible luck.
Just as Mo Hua entered the Wulu Tribe's territory, he witnessed them performing a sacrificial ceremony.
In the middle of the tribe's massive square stood a towering blood-red wolf statue.
Before it was an offering platform, and on it lay a pile of "meat paste."
It was human flesh.
The Wulu tribe also used people as sacrificial offerings. But during the ceremony, they first hacked the victims alive into meat mush—clear evidence of their savage cruelty.
Mo Hua had arrived too late—he couldn't save those victims.
But as the sacrifice commenced, a dreamscape descended, and the divine domain where the barbarian god resided opened wide.
Mo Hua directly entered it and swiftly, cleanly killed the Wulu barbarian god.
That god, soaked in blood, insane and ferocious, had divine will far stronger than the Wotai god.
But to Mo Hua, it made no difference.
Still just one punch.
The powerful, bloodthirsty Wulu god was crushed like a bug—its divine form shattered, its path annihilated.
As always, Mo Hua conjured a formation, ignited divine fire, refined the divine will in moments, and swallowed it down.
Then, he left the dreamscape.
As for the Wulu Tribe itself, Mo Hua's usual habit would have been to wipe them all out.
They were bloodthirsty warmongers who tortured and killed prisoners and slaves. During sacrifices, they even minced living people into pulp.
Granted, this was the Desolate Wilds.
But if it were the Central Plains—under the rule of the Dao Court—such heretical practices would have warranted complete clan extermination according to Dao Law.
Yet as Mo Hua made a sweep of the tribe, he discovered many infants still swaddled in blankets.
These newborns had never touched blood or carried a single speck of resentment or guilt.
Even among the adult barbarian cultivators, some only killed in normal combat—not cruel or torturous. They simply lived in a bloodthirsty tribe, and to fit in, were sometimes forced to kill and dismember the dead.
Mo Hua sighed softly.
A tribe's people, good or evil, were complex and varied.
If he truly slaughtered them all indiscriminately, how would he be any different from a brute?
What's more—he was still afflicted by the Karmic-Curse (Fatebane), caught in his Martail-Uncle's scheme. For now, he couldn't kill wantonly, so he had to let it go.
With a final glance at the vast, blood-drenched Wulu Tribe, Mo Hua turned and left.
After leaving the tribe, he crossed out "Wulu Barbarian God" from Elder Zhamu's list and began scouting for his next target…
In the days that followed—aside from making a quick trip back to Mount WWutu to find the wandering tiger, play with it, pat its head, stroke its fur, and roast some meat for it—Mo Hua devoted the rest of his time to his plan to hunt barbarian gods.
A shadow roamed the Desolate Wilds.
One barbarian god after another fell under Mo Hua's hand.
No one knew that in the southern region of the Desolate Wilds, among the countless tribes of the Three Thousand Mountains, there was a being lurking in the shadows—a "Barbarian God Hunter."
No one saw him.
No one knew him.
Even the barbarian gods themselves, worshipped by countless tribes, infamous across the land—even they didn't know of Mo Hua's existence.
Not until the moment they were killed… and devoured.
The moment they saw Mo Hua… was almost always the moment of their death.
Every barbarian god who laid eyes on Mo Hua—died.
And so, no barbarian god knew of him.
Silently slaying them, swallowing their divine will—Mo Hua's own divine sense gradually grew stronger.
As he looked inward with his spirit, he could faintly feel the threshold of a breakthrough in divine will.
The twenty-second-pattern Divine Sense… was not far off now…
(End of this Chapter)