Chapter 1162: The Shaman Lord
Of course, speaking of earning glory and establishing a foundation was still a bit premature.
Mo Hua turned his head and examined the ragtag group of barbarian remnants before him, silently shaking his head.
After the Great Wilderness rebelled and the royal court conscripted soldiers, the elite barbarian cultivators from the three thousand tribes had all been "harvested" like prime crops.
What was left to him were stragglers—those caught in between generations, with mediocre talent and unimpressive potential. In short, "defective goods."
These two hundred barbarian cultivators came from different tribes, each with its own customs, beliefs, and clothing styles—even their heights, weights, and physical builds varied wildly. They looked like a chaotic mess of "miscellaneous troops."
He had used sheer force to subdue them into submission. Their hearts weren't united, and they basically had no coordination in battle.
As for their weapons and armor—crude to the point of being pitiful.
Even their tribal beast-totem formations used in battle were of the lowest grade, pitifully few in number. All the barbarian formation patterns added together probably didn't even fill one of Mo Hua's hands.
There were only three to five Foundation Establishment cultivators—and all of them were at the early stage.
The rest were just in the Qi Refining stage.
From the perspective of minor tribes in the Great Wilderness, this force wasn't terrible. But in Mo Hua's eyes, they were nothing more than shrimp soldiers and crab generals.
Still, this was only the start of his endeavor, and he couldn't afford to be picky.
There was a lot of groundwork to be done—
Training troops, forging armor, carving formations… All of that would have to proceed step by step.
And Mo Hua's next plan was to attack the Wulu Tribe and completely unify this mountainous region.
The Three Thousand Great Mountains had no concept of "state borders"—instead, they used "mountain realms."
The natural mountains acted as boundaries, defining the tiers and divisions of regions.
In the Central Nine Provinces, state borders had fixed names, used consistently since ancient times.
But in the Great Wilderness, the names of mountain realms constantly changed.
Whichever tribe was strongest in a mountain realm, the realm would be named after them.
But due to the chaos and upheaval of the Great Wilderness, with tribes rising and falling, splitting and merging, the names of mountain realms changed frequently—sometimes dozens of times in just a few decades—resulting in utter confusion.
Eventually, no tribe even bothered naming the realms anymore.
Barbarians mostly lived in customary, ancestral regions—self-sufficient, relatively isolated. Unless forced by necessity, tribes rarely migrated far.
Thus, the very concept of "mountain realms" began to fade away.
It was said that the Dao Court, after entering the Great Wilderness, had once attempted to redefine the state borders of the Three Thousand Mountains—dividing them into formal administrative zones—but was met with strong resistance from the barbarian tribes.
Moreover, due to language barriers, cultural differences, and naming disputes, the effort became an administrative nightmare and proved impossible to implement.
The attempt was eventually abandoned after wasting manpower and yielding no practical results. The barbarians never accepted the Dao Court's divisions anyway.
These were things Elder Zha Mu had once told Mo Hua.
And among all the tribes in Mo Hua's current mountain realm, the Wulu Tribe was the strongest.
He had visited Wulu Tribe before to "hunt"—or rather, to secretly feed on their tribal god.
That visit had left quite an impression.
The Wulu Tribe was warlike, bloodthirsty, cruel, and enjoyed senseless slaughter.
They also had significant numbers—nearly two thousand barbarian cultivators. Among them were three late-stage Foundation Establishment cultivators, and twenty more in the early to mid stages.
In this region, they were definitely a "giant."
And this was their remaining strength after the royal court conscripted their forces.
If not for that, the Wulu Tribe would be even more terrifying.
So naturally, when Mo Hua mentioned his intention to attack Wulu Tribe, the elders under his command immediately objected.
Despite Mo Hua's noble identity and unfathomable cultivation, Wulu Tribe's power was equally terrifying.
With their mere two hundred ragtag "troops" going up against such a force, it was basically suicide.
In a real battle, who knew how many of them would survive?
But intimidated by Mo Hua's authority, the elders didn't dare openly object. They only muttered some discouraging words in hopes of cooling the Shaman Lord's reckless enthusiasm.
Elder Zha Mu was also deeply worried. He knew better than anyone how vicious and brutal the Wulu Tribe could be.
But as the first elder to pledge allegiance to Mo Hua, he said nothing while the others voiced their opposition.
Mo Hua remained calm, deliberately letting them air their objections for a while before turning to the silent Elder Zha Mu.
"Elder Zha Mu, what's your opinion?"
Zha Mu looked at Mo Hua, thought for a long time, and finally sighed inwardly. He cupped his hands solemnly and said:
"The Wutu Tribe is willing to go through fire and water for the Shaman Lord, to die without regret. As for the matter of attacking Wulu, we leave the decision to you, my Lord."
Once the bow is drawn, there's no turning back.
Since he had pledged loyalty to the Shaman Lord, he would naturally support all of his plans.
The more others opposed, the more he—as a loyal supporter—had to stand firm.
Mo Hua nodded slightly. "Elder Zha Mu speaks well. Then it's settled—three days from now, we attack the Wulu Tribe."
Some other tribal elders still wanted to object.
Mo Hua merely gave them a glance.
Immediately, they trembled and fell silent.
They could only cup their hands and say:
"Yes, Shaman Lord."
"We shall obey your command, Shaman Lord."
With that, the elders dispersed.
Zha Mu remained behind, giving Mo Hua a long look. But in the end, he said nothing. He simply saluted respectfully and left.
That night, word of the planned attack on the Wulu Tribe spread and immediately caused an uproar.
One minor tribal elder and ten barbarian cultivators tried to desert.
They were terrified of Wulu.
And they didn't want to follow this arrogant, reckless, self-proclaimed "Shaman Lord" with a pretty face to their deaths.
Mo Hua didn't hesitate. He ordered their capture, had their heads chopped off, and displayed them outside the camp.
A kind man doesn't command troops.
If he were in the Central Nine Provinces, he might show restraint.
But in the Great Wilderness, where barbarians were inherently wild, he would not show the slightest mercy.
And indeed, the gruesome display of heads served as a bloody warning. For the moment, no one else dared to desert.
But this also served as a wake-up call for Mo Hua—
A divided force is hard to lead.
Fighting solo, or working with a few competent elites, was one thing.
Leading a band of "pig teammates" to accomplish great things? A whole different challenge.
And they hadn't even started attacking Wulu Tribe yet, and already people were running.
What would happen when he eventually fought stronger, larger tribes?
Would everyone flee the moment war broke out?
Mo Hua furrowed his brows.
Though the situation hadn't reached that point yet, he needed to prepare in advance.
He had to establish prestige.
He had to unite hearts.
He had to cultivate military strength.
At the same time, his faction was still in its infancy. He couldn't afford to recklessly sacrifice his living forces. Even these "miscellaneous soldiers" were lives he had to preserve.
Mo Hua carefully reconsidered the Wulu Tribe's situation.
Objectively speaking, Wulu Tribe was indeed powerful and not easy to deal with.
But the hardest part wasn't killing them—it was subduing them.
Killing Wulu's barbarian cultivators—even wiping out the entire tribe—was not difficult for Mo Hua.
Whether through large-scale formation slaughter or methodically picking them off with spells over time, it was all doable.
After all, the highest cultivation in Wulu was only late-stage Foundation Establishment. In Mo Hua's eyes, that was nothing.
But the problem was—he couldn't engage in mass slaughter.
If his Karmic Curse activated, he'd face memory loss—or worse, an appearance from his fearsome martial uncle.
And if he killed all of Wulu, he'd be left with no manpower.
The territory he won would be utterly useless.
And that would go against his original intent.
How to subdue over two thousand barbarian cultivators—without killing many—was the real problem.
If he couldn't intimidate them, Mo Hua himself would be fine, but Elder Zha Mu, the Wutu cultivators, and the two hundred others he had recruited would be slaughtered by the ruthless Wulu savages.
But he couldn't not bring his two hundred troops along either.
Without leading them into campaigns, he couldn't build prestige, couldn't foster unity—they'd remain a pile of scattered sand and useless trash.
Without personally cultivated subordinates, there could be no real power. All his ambitions would be empty words.
Because now, he was no longer someone who just wanted to survive.
He was someone with ambition—to change the status quo and build something great.
He couldn't do everything alone anymore.
Especially later, when he would face the major tribes in full-scale warfare—he alone wouldn't be enough. He'd need his troops to charge the front lines.
Mo Hua let out a soft sigh, then settled his thoughts.
He began carefully contemplating the various matters that might arise in the campaign to "subjugate" the Wulu Tribe. He began meticulous calculations and prepared a comprehensive strategy.
…
Three days later, two hundred barbarian cultivators set out—marching toward the savage Wulu Tribe.
Everyone's faces were as gloomy as if they were attending a funeral.
Some even looked dead inside, like they were walking straight to their doom.
Even Elder Zha Mu, the one most "loyal" to Mo Hua, wore a grave expression.
Only little Zha Tu, who followed behind Mo Hua carrying the tribal shaman's banner, walked tall and proud, brimming with pride.
Ten li away from the Wulu Tribe, the stench of blood already filled the air. Severed heads lined the roadside, coated in meaty paste.
Some of the barbarian cultivators went weak in the knees and collapsed to the ground, barely able to walk.
The rest looked terrified, fear plainly written on their faces.
One of them, unable to bear the horror, tried to flee — but was caught and killed on the spot by Elder Zha Mu with a spear to the chest.
No one else dared run, but tension in the ranks instantly skyrocketed.
Just then, Mo Hua's calm and solemn voice rang out in every barbarian's ear:
"You have answered this shaman's call — and now fight in the name of the Divine Lord."
"Even if you die, you shall receive the Divine Lord's blessings."
"But if you run, you will be deemed traitors to the Divine Lord, condemned to the Great Wilderness Purgatory, damned for all eternity."
His voice seemed to carry a strange magic, an aura of irresistible authority.
At those words, panic turned to reverence. Everyone knelt and bowed their heads, not daring to even think of escape.
Mo Hua nodded, then, clad in black robes and with a solemn expression, strode forward resolutely.
The two hundred barbarian cultivators followed closely behind.
Another ten li forward, and they arrived at the gates of the Wulu Tribe.
Dozens of Wulu guards had already sensed their arrival and stood watch at the stockade entrance.
Mo Hua pointed a finger.
"Attack the gate."
The barbarian cultivators hesitated briefly, then raised their bone blades and spears and charged at the Wulu gate.
The two sides clashed in fierce battle for nearly a hundred exchanges.
Only two or three from Mo Hua's side fell before they breached the stockade gate and stormed inside.
Inside the stockade was a massive plaza.
At its center loomed a bloodstained wolf god statue, fierce and menacing. All around it lay mangled limbs and rotting flesh, reeking of decay.
At that moment, most of the Wulu Tribe's warriors had gathered in the square.
At their head were three of the tribe's most powerful late Foundation Establishment cultivators — the chieftain and two high elders.
Behind Mo Hua, the gate slowly creaked shut.
Seven or eight hundred Wulu warriors with blood-drenched blades began to encircle Mo Hua and his group.
Clearly, the Wulu had anticipated Mo Hua's attack. They'd lured him in deliberately — now it was time to "shut the door and beat the dog."
The atmosphere was tense to the breaking point.
The Wulu warriors, wild-eyed and bloodthirsty, stared down the invaders.
Behind Mo Hua, the barbarian cultivators' courage had long since withered. Their expressions were filled with unease and fear.
Only Mo Hua remained calm as ever.
The Wulu chieftain, a towering figure covered in blood-dyed tattoos and with beast-like brown eyes, locked his gaze onto Mo Hua.
His voice was hoarse as he growled:
"You're that so-called shaman everyone's fussing about?"
Mo Hua's expression was reverent.
"I come by the order of the Divine Lord, to subdue your Wulu Tribe. Submit now, and avoid the suffering of eternal damnation."
The chieftain chuckled coldly:
"Trying to pull a con on me, huh?
You still smell like milk, and you dare call yourself a shaman? Dare speak the name of the Divine Lord?
You think we Wulu are idiots?"
Mo Hua shook his head and pointed at the chieftain, rebuking him:
"You lack piety."
Just as the chieftain was about to mock him again, he saw flames ignite at Mo Hua's fingertips.
Spiritual power gathered at his finger like molten lava, forming a blazing fireball — wrapped in eerie black energy that sent chills down the spine.
The chieftain's expression changed instantly. With a roar, blood patterns writhed across his body as he transformed into a half-human, half-wolf form, fangs bared. He lunged at Mo Hua with savage speed.
But Mo Hua's fireball was even faster.
Before the chieftain could reach him, the black-tinged fireball exploded against his shoulder.
A wave of blazing fire erupted.
The chieftain staggered back three steps, his shoulder charred black, the wound burning with searing pain — and a sinister chill that crept into his bones.
His face turned grim. He glared at Mo Hua and growled through clenched teeth:
"What… are you?"
Mo Hua remained calm:
"I am a shaman under the Divine Lord's command, spreading divine truth across the wilds. A voice of heaven, here to guide the lost."
The chieftain's eyes flickered with uncertainty. For a moment, he didn't know whether to believe Mo Hua's claim.
At that moment, one of the other late-stage elders stepped forward and said:
"This boy is clearly faking divine orders. He deserves death!"
"If he were a true shaman, he'd have noble status. Why would he show up with a bunch of amateur riff-raff?"
Another elder added:
"Chieftain, why not kill them all, crush their bones, strip their skin, grind them to meat paste — and offer it to our Wulu god?"
"We have our own god. No need to follow this 'Divine Lord' nonsense."
The chieftain nodded, murderous intent flashing in his eyes.
He even eyed Mo Hua with a gleam of hunger.
This guy had eaten humans before — and Mo Hua's delicate, fair skin stirred his appetite.
I wonder… what this 'shaman' tastes like when cooked.
Mo Hua's gaze turned icy.
Right then, the Wulu warriors, unable to restrain themselves any longer, charged at the two hundred barbarian cultivators behind him.
Bloodthirsty to the core, their killing intent was uncontrollable once ignited.
The chieftain and the two elders exchanged a glance.
Then, along with seven or eight other Foundation Establishment elders, they lunged at Mo Hua.
Mo Hua relied on lightning-fast Five Elements spells to engage all of them at once.
At the same time, he glanced back and saw that Elder Zha Mu and the others were already overwhelmed. The brutal Wulu warriors had them surrounded, beating them back hard. In moments, the first casualties would fall, followed by a complete rout — all of them slain under Wulu blades.
"Just as I thought… still not enough…"
But Mo Hua had anticipated this.
Letting these two hundred barbarian cultivators face life and death together — tasting the feeling of fighting side by side — was enough for now.
No point expecting more at the moment.
"For now… I'll have to rely on myself."
And with that, Mo Hua stopped holding back.
The chieftain of the Wulu tribe and several elders were locked in a fierce spell duel with Mo Hua, and the longer they fought, the more alarmed they became.
This young man, relying solely on his spells, was actually able to stand toe-to-toe with the Wulu tribe's strongest—its chieftain and elders. They were evenly matched.
Such a level of mastery in spellcraft absolutely couldn't have come from an ordinary barbarian tribe in the Great Wilderness.
This self-proclaimed witch priest… his background was clearly anything but simple.
"Capture him alive! Use the flensing blade to extract the truth about his origins. If he really is a witch priest, we'll seize his inheritance. If not—gut him and cook him."
the Wulu chieftain ordered harshly.
"Yes!"
The three top-tier late-stage Foundation Establishment warriors of the Wulu tribe unleashed their full brute force and charged to encircle Mo Hua.
But in the next instant, Mo Hua's eyes sharpened and his spiritual power surged to the max.
The Wulu chieftain and the two elders were instantly overwhelmed by an onslaught of spells—faster, more precise, and more violent than before.
His spells were relentless, endlessly varied, leaving the Wulu elites breathless and unable to fight back effectively.
"This isn't good—this kid's witchcraft is... bizarre."
One elder's expression changed.
"We can't hold him!"
"Quick! Use the Blood God Curse!" the chieftain shouted decisively.
As soon as he spoke, he leapt back to gain distance, bit his finger, and painted a blood-red wolf sigil on his forehead.
The blood sank into his spiritual sea, and his eyes turned crimson. A savage aura began to rise—he looked like someone who wouldn't rest until drenched in blood.
The two elders followed suit. Their hair grew wild, and blood-red wolf spirits flickered faintly in their eyes.
After activating the Blood God Curse, all three howled in unison.
A nearly imperceptible ripple—only detectable at the spiritual level—burst forth.
All the Wulu warriors felt it. A red hue covered their brows, and their killing intent surged like wildfire.
Zha Mu Elder and the others, caught in the bloody aura of the Wulu tribe, felt an overwhelming and suffocating bloodlust—it chilled their hearts.
Zha Mu Elder sighed bitterly:
"Are we really going to die before our first real battle?"
Mo Hua's expression shifted slightly, thoughts racing:
"Using divine sense... to stir up morale? No, to stir up murderous intent?"
"Interesting..."
But that only made things easier.
Mo Hua's eyes gleamed golden. He looked straight at the Wulu chieftain, raised two fingers, and chanted softly:
"Break."
A divine sword of spiritual energy shot forth.
The Wulu chieftain had just begun amplifying his power through bloodlust, preparing to unleash a slaughter—
But with just one look from Mo Hua, a golden light pierced his gaze, and he felt his soul being bound by the sword's prison. Terror filled his heart.
His Blood God Curse, which he had just activated, was shattered instantly.
As the curse broke, all the other Wulu cultivators were forcibly ejected from their "blessed" state and suffered spiritual backlash—their faces turned pale.
The Wulu chieftain spat out a mouthful of blood. A crack split his brow.
This was something that had never happened before.
A barbarian god's blessing… should not be breakable.
All the Wulu warriors looked shaken.
The chieftain stared at Mo Hua in disbelief:
"You... what are you?"
Mo Hua's voice was cold:
"Submit… or die."
The Wulu chieftain's expression twisted. After a moment, he let out a cold laugh:
"You may have broken my curse—but you clearly don't know. Our tribe's deity is no mere spirit. Wulu's totem is a fierce god. As long as our deity remains, we—"
Mo Hua cut him off with a calm voice:
"Guess how I broke your curse?"
The Wulu chieftain's face changed slightly—he seemed to realize something.
Mo Hua sneered, then raised a finger and pointed to the massive wolf god statue in the center of the plaza.
"Kneel."
As soon as the word left his lips, the statue's knees shattered with a thunderous crack.
The towering statue collapsed with a crash—just like a supplicant kneeling—falling directly before Mo Hua.
Standing atop the fallen idol's head, Mo Hua looked down coldly and declared:
"By order of the Divine Lord, I come to spread divine will across the Great Wilderness. All three thousand barbarian gods have submitted. Your tribe is no exception. Defy, and you shall suffer divine wrath—forever damned!"
The statue had fallen. The god had knelt.
Such a sight utterly shattered the Wulu tribe's will to resist.
The chieftain's eyes filled with horror. He slowly dropped to his knees, performing the Grand Rite of the Desolate Tribes:
"Your humble subject, Wusha, greets Lord Witch Priest. May your divine self live a thousand years."
The elders followed suit. Every cultivator in the Wulu tribe knelt and shouted:
"Greetings to Lord Witch Priest!"
Even Zha Mu Elder and the two hundred barbarian warriors felt their hearts tremble. Unable to resist, they too knelt and cried:
"Lord Witch Priest!"
Mo Hua stood atop the head of the Wulu deity statue, gaze indifferent. From afar, he looked like a divine envoy—receiving the worship of the masses.
Thus, the entire mountain range from Mount Wutu to Mount Wulu was unified.
Every surviving tribe was now under Mo Hua's command, in the name of the Great Wilderness Witch Priest.
And Mo Hua personally named the region:
"Wutu Mountain Realm."
This was the first mountain realm named by Mo Hua.
And the first piece of his vast puzzle in the wilderness domain…
(End of this Chapter)