Chapter 1119: Silencing

More than ten miles away, at another mountain pass.

Seven or eight highwaymen around were burned to death. Some had blackened chests, others had their blood burned dry, and some were charred to a crisp.

Mo Hua stood among the corpses, looking down at his fair, jade-like hands, and couldn't help but frown and sigh:

“Why can't I... control my hands?”

He had promised not to kill, but less than half an hour later, upon reaching this mountain pass, seeing these bandit highwaymen and hearing their vile words, he became enraged. Unable to resist, he used fire spells to kill them all.

He felt a surge of satisfaction. Yet, the murderous intent within him deepened. Mo Hua could even feel a wisp of malevolent energy entangling his spiritual sea, rooting itself within his soul. This made him easily overwhelmed by homicidal thoughts. The moment he encountered someone who deserved to die, he wanted to kill them.

This was not in line with his usual conduct. Mo Hua considered himself always cautious and low-key, preferring to discreetly eliminate people rather than engaging in direct confrontations. Furthermore, he was kind-hearted and always prioritized harmony in his actions. He tried his best to avoid killing. Unless absolutely necessary, he generally refrained from taking lives.

But the current situation seemed to be slipping out of his control... Mo Hua's expression grew solemn. He looked ahead, muttering to himself:

“Please, don't let me encounter any more bandits, and certainly don't provoke or mock me. Otherwise, I really won't be able to hold back...”

Unfortunately, fate had other plans. Just a few miles further, he encountered another group of bandits. Among the bandits, one with sharp eyes spotted Mo Hua from afar, called others over, and said coldly:

“Boy, hand over all your spirit stones.”

Fearing they would become greedy, Mo Hua shook his head and replied, “I have none left; I've already been robbed clean.”

The bandits exchanged glances, deliberating:

“There have been several groups of our kind ahead. This kid must have been searched a few times by now; he probably doesn't have anything valuable left on him...”

“There's not much to go around in these mountains to begin with...”

“Damn unlucky.”

At that moment, a tall bandit stared at Mo Hua’s face for a few moments, his eyes widening in admiration. He immediately pointed at Mo Hua and said:

“No spirit stones? Doesn't matter. Capture him and sell him in the city; he'll fetch a good price for sure.”

Someone nearby said, “Brother, he's not a woman...”

“No matter,” the tall bandit said greedily, “looking like that, whether he's a man or a woman no longer makes a difference...”

Before he could finish, a ferocious fireball slammed into his face, shattering his entire head and burning the flesh on his neck to black ash.

The other bandits immediately looked terrified. Turning their heads, they saw that the previously fair-faced, harmless-looking youth now had a face as calm as still water, pitch-black eyes, and an aura of malevolence that sent chills down their spines.

“Brother! You killed my brother! I'll kill you!”

A brawny bandit drew his saber and charged at Mo Hua. Most of the bandits, being smarter, had already turned and fled into the distance. But whether they fought or fled, their outcome would be no different. Life-claiming fireballs danced. A few breaths later, all the bandits, without exception, were burned to death.

The malevolence in Mo Hua's eyes intensified. The murderous intent in his heart, like wild grass kissed by spring breezes, took root in the soil of his soul and gradually began to sprout. Mo Hua sighed deeply and silently admonished himself:

“This will not happen again...”

“Seriously... I can't kill anymore...”

To completely curb his homicidal urges, he forced himself to use concealment magic for travel this time. In the previous conflicts, he could have easily used concealment to bypass the bandits, but he hadn't. One reason was that he felt concealment magic was meant for avoiding powerful enemies. A few minor bandits weren't worth using concealment magic to evade. The other reason was...

Now, as Mo Hua calmed down and analyzed himself, he gradually understood: subconsciously, he intentionally didn't want to conceal himself. He wanted to boldly walk in front of these bandits, let them rob him, and attempt to kill him. Then he would have a valid reason to kill them all. This was something he did "on purpose." He harbored murderous tendencies, and subconsciously, through calculations, he had determined this cause and effect. That's why he instinctively indulged himself, initiating conflicts, committing acts of killing, and satisfying his desire for slaughter.

Mo Hua's expression was grim. This meant a loss of control over his own desires, his state of mind, and even himself... Such internal loss of control must not be allowed to persist. Mo Hua forced himself to stabilize his mind, cast the concealment spell, and as his figure gradually faded, he continued on his journey.

On the desolate, rugged mountain path, there was no sign of anyone. But in the shadows, Mo Hua moved with light steps, calmly walking forward. Ahead, he encountered two more groups of bandits. However, this time Mo Hua used his concealment spell, directly passing the mountain pass in front of the bandits without causing a conflict, thus sparing him from further acts of killing.

Afterward, he continued along the mountain road for nearly twenty more miles. He passed through various rugged mountain passes, encountered a few scrawny wolf demons and a few scattered bandits, and finally traversed a small barren forest. When Mo Hua looked up again, he discovered a mountain stronghold on his left.

This stronghold was built on a treacherous mountain peak, obscured by trees, at a high elevation, and covered a large area. It was encircled by thick wooden stakes, and crude formations were laid out on them, making it easy to defend and difficult to attack. Watchtowers stood everywhere, manned by bandits. From afar, the wooden stakes on the walls looked like towering spears, draped with blood-stained cloths and hanging heads, presenting a terrifying sight that deterred anyone. This was a rather old mountain stronghold. The blood on the stronghold gate had accumulated in thick layers, turning blackish-red from sun and rain exposure. Mo Hua merely glanced, and to his naked eye, a dense, viscous aura of death was visible everywhere. Throughout the years, a significant number of people must have died within the stronghold.

Mo Hua released his spiritual sense and briefly scanned, detecting the auras of over a hundred living people within the stronghold. Each person was entangled with defiled karmic debt from killing, their souls mottled and filthy, indicating they were all individuals with bloody hands and notorious records. This was a den of iniquity, a stronghold of bandit cultivators.

Mo Hua subconsciously thought of Black Mountain Stronghold. Black Mountain Stronghold, near Tongxian City, was hidden deep within the Great Black Mountain. Supported by the Old Ancestor of the Qian family, it harbored numerous criminal cultivators and evil cultivators who committed murder and robbery, practiced evil arts, and were deeply sinful. The bandit cultivator stronghold before him was not as large as Black Mountain Stronghold, but it was equally gloomy and blood-stained—a true "malignant tumor."

Mo Hua's meridians tingled, his blood instantly surged, and a nearly instinctual murderous intent welled up from his heart. But he gritted his teeth and forcibly suppressed it. Normally, he would have undoubtedly annihilated this stronghold. However, now he was burdened by karmic debt from killing, and malevolent energy had already entered his heart. It was not advisable for him to go on another killing spree.

“I'll leave here first. Once I reach the immortal city, I'll report it to the Daoist Court Bureau and let them eliminate this stronghold. That way, I won't have to do it myself...” Mo Hua thought to himself.

Yet, the murderous intent in his heart continued to stir his emotions. The malevolent energy was also corroding his spiritual sea, making him incredibly irritable. Mo Hua took a deep breath, forcing himself not to think about the bandits or the stronghold. He emptied his mind and calmed his spirit.

After a long while, his mind finally eased slightly. Then, he resolutely turned and walked in the opposite direction from the stronghold. Out of sight, out of mind. As long as he was far from this bandit cultivator stronghold and no longer influenced by its malevolent energy, the karmic source that incited his killing would disappear.

Thinking this, Mo Hua walked straight ahead without looking back, putting over two miles between himself and the stronghold. The stronghold was also hidden by treacherous peaks, disappearing from Mo Hua's sight. As expected, Mo Hua's mood improved, and the murderous intent in his heart slowly dissipated. Thus, he tried his best to maintain his inner peace as he continued walking towards the other side of the mountain. He was getting further and further from the stronghold.

He walked another mile until he reached a large tree. Mo Hua's peripheral vision caught sight of the large tree, his gaze trembled slightly, and he fell silent. The tree was enormous, with thick branches, and dozens of headless corpses hung haphazardly from it. These emaciated corpses, clad in tattered clothes, were clearly poor rogue cultivators. Bloodthirsty flies buzzed around their bodies. Their heads had been chopped off and stacked on the ground, their faces frozen in terror. Besides the hanging corpses, there were also female bodies on the ground, seemingly subjected to inhumane abuse, with broken limbs and exposed wounds. Even several children had their necks twisted, tossed aside like puppets. The scenes were bloody, cruel, and unbearable to witness. These were deliberately set up by the bandit cultivators at the crossroads as a "display of force" to showcase their brutality and incite fear in others.

But these sights deeply provoked Mo Hua, who had been struggling to suppress his inner turmoil. The rage in his heart instantly spread. The murderous intent he had suppressed for so long burst forth like the Yellow River overflowing its banks. Mo Hua closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and when he opened them again, his pupils were pitch black, and his expression was as cold as the deepest winter.

“Fine, those who deserve to die will die sooner or later...”

With that thought, Mo Hua suddenly felt much lighter. He slowly turned and walked back the way he came. He walked all the way to the stronghold. Mo Hua, still concealed, sat on a large rock not far from the stronghold. The entire stronghold was filled with noisy chatter. No one could have imagined that an invisible "ghost god" was sitting right outside their gates, observing them with chilling intensity.

As the sun set and dusk approached, the bandits who had gone out "hunting" gradually returned to the stronghold. Mo Hua made a quick calculation, confirming there were no stragglers left outside. A cold glint appeared in his eyes. He then slowly rose, invisible, intangible, and silent, taking step by step towards the stronghold.

Night had already fallen. Inside the stronghold, bonfires were lit, their crimson glow resembling fresh blood. The bandits, after a day of busy work, were drinking and eating meat in the stronghold. The wine was cheap and harsh, and the meat was bloody, its origin unknown. They boisterously recounted the wealth they had plundered, the merchant caravans they had destroyed, the villages they had burned, the heads they had severed, and the women they had defiled, using these tales to fuel their drinking and showcase their prowess.

Sitting at the highest point was a scarred, brawny man, a Foundation Establishment cultivator, who was also the stronghold's chieftain. He raised his cup, looking at his brothers, who like jackals in this desolate land, committed murder and robbery, drinking and feasting. Feeling immense satisfaction, he drained the strong liquor in his cup.

Amidst the clamor, after three rounds of drinks, drunkenness began to set in. Everyone was getting blurry-eyed from drinking. Suddenly, a night breeze swept through, and the Foundation Establishment chieftain shivered, a strange chill welling up in his heart. He looked around and saw the night surrounding the stronghold, dark and deep. In the darkness, something seemed to be slowly approaching, "enveloping" them. The chieftain's expression subtly changed. His instincts, honed by years of living on the edge of life and death, told him that something was definitely wrong.

“Where's Old Huang? Why haven't I seen him?”

Someone below replied, “Third Chieftain went out to rob and doesn't seem to be back yet.”

The chieftain frowned and shouted again, “Where are the sentries? Don't just damn drink; you still need to stand guard! What if there's a damn enemy attack?”

“Chieftain, you're joking. Who would dare come here...”

“Shut up,” the chieftain cursed, “You damned fool, go check if anyone's slacking off!”

The bandit reluctantly put down his cup and walked out of the stronghold. He never returned.

After a full incense stick of time, the surroundings remained deadly silent. The chieftain also sensed that something was wrong. The others, who had been thoroughly drunk, also felt a slight chill in their hearts, and their drunkenness subsided somewhat.

“Where are they?”

The chieftain then picked two more men and ordered, “You two, go outside and check.” The two men were unwilling, but facing the fierce-looking chieftain, they dared not refuse. They drew their sabers, their legs somewhat weak, and walked out cautiously, bent over and sweating cold.

It was pitch black outside, impossible to see one's hand in front of their face. Suddenly, a crimson flash of fire lit up. Then, everything returned to darkness. The boundless darkness swallowed everything, along with the lives of those two bandit cultivators. They died without even uttering a sound.

The entire hall was shaken, and a clamor rose all around. The chieftain's face also changed drastically.

“Who's there?!”

But in the darkness, there was no reply. At this point, nearly a hundred bandits remained in the hall. They all drew their sabers and swords, forming a line, their eyes fierce and their stance ready for battle.

“Damn it, who is it? Who has the guts?!”

Someone cursed angrily, and then, in the next instant, a fireball flew in, its brutal flames melting him, skin and bone, into nothing.

“Fireball!”

“Is that a Fireball spell?!”

“Whose Fireball spell is this? How can it possess such terrifying power?!”

Before they finished speaking, another crimson fireball flew from the darkness. This time, the fireball didn't kill just one person; it directly pierced through three. It incinerated the first bandit, then passed through, its residual power incinerating the second, and finally pierced the chest of the third before the flames dissipated.

The bandits in the hall looked terrified. They feared the power of the Fireball spell. Even more terrifying was that, until now, they had no idea who was casting the Fireball spells and killing them! Soon, several more Fireball spells flew in. They were incredibly fast, precise, and ruthless, like fiery cannonballs exploding among the crowd, incinerating the bandits into oblivion like scorching lava. And in the darkness, a figure with a ferocious, malevolent aura flickered into view. Like Yama from hell, unleashing terrifying karmic flames, reaping their lives.

“A ghost... It's a ghost!”

“We'll all die if we don't run!”

Some bandits fell into panic, losing control of their minds, and immediately shrieked, fleeing outwards. His escape immediately caused a ripple effect, like a collapsing building, causing panic among the bandits, who scattered and fled. The chieftain immediately grabbed a bandit, snapped his neck, and roared, “No fleeing! Those who desert in battle die!”

But his threats had no effect. Dying by his hand was clearly less frightening than dying in the "karmic flames of hell". Nearly a hundred bandits scattered like startled birds, searching for gaps around the wooden hall to escape.

Suddenly, five-colored lights flared. Mottled patterns appeared on the ground, and formations emerged one after another. Some bandits were sliced into minced meat by golden light; others were burned to black ash by earth fire; some were drowned alive by water prisons; and others were buried by quicksand or strangled by vines...

“It's a formation?!”

“The hall is sealed by formations!”

At this, terror spread even further. The bandits began trampling each other, and some, having lost their minds, started fighting each other as they couldn't see their enemy. The chieftain shouted commands, but amidst the chaotic frenzy, no one listened to him. Formations strangled, fireballs incinerated. Soon, all the bandits in the hall were completely slaughtered.

The chieftain watched all this, his face contorted with pain and hatred. These were his brothers, his painstakingly built foundation of many years. Now, in the time it took to drink, they were all dead. Hatred consumed his heart. Yet, he didn't lose his sanity. As long as there's life, there's hope. "Brothers" were just that; if they died, he could recruit more. If the stronghold was destroyed, it could be rebuilt. As long as he was still alive, he could always rise again sooner or later.

Blood flowed everywhere, and corpses lay strewn across the hall.

“Senior...” The scarred chieftain stood among the corpses, cupping his hands towards the darkness and saying, “Let's talk...” He knew this was certainly not the work of ghosts, but of a cultivator. Moreover, a powerful senior cultivator.

“This junior believes he has not offended you...”

In the darkness, no one spoke. The chieftain swallowed, and said in a deep voice:

“Name your price. What do you want? Spirit stones? Treasures? Women? This junior can procure them for you...”

“Whatever you wish to do, this junior will do it for you.”

“If you desire this stronghold, I can also hand it over to you...”

But there was still no response in the darkness. The chieftain released his spiritual sense, trying desperately to perceive, but found no trace whatsoever. He tightened his grip on his saber hilt, knelt on the ground, kowtowed three times, and looked up, saying:

“Senior, please say something. Even if you don't spare my life, at least let me die knowing why.”

“Let me know why I am dying...”

At this point, the chieftain suddenly realized, “Could it be that you... are intervening because of injustice?” He quickly kowtowed twice more, his expression bitter as he said:

“To be honest, Senior, I truly have my reasons for doing this...”

“This small Jie-Jiezhou region is impoverished and desolate, with scarce cultivation resources. Having no other path to cultivation, I was forced to take risks, becoming a bandit and living by plundering other cultivators.”

“This world itself has no sense of righteousness. The damned aristocratic families exploit without restraint, the corrupt Daoist Court is incompetent and useless, and various regions levy exorbitant taxes, leaving the people in misery...”

“For us rogue cultivators, cultivation is arduous, and even survival is a luxury.”

“If we don't do this, we can't get ahead at all. Let alone reaching Foundation Establishment, even cultivating to Qi Refinement Level Nine is extremely difficult...”

In the darkness, the figure seemed somewhat silent.

“You...”

It was a young boy's voice, rather clear. But the scarred chieftain paid no attention to that. Almost the instant the voice sounded, he used the skill he had honed his entire life to quickly pinpoint the voice's location in the darkness by listening. It was in the very center of the hall, completely empty. His spiritual sense couldn't detect it, and his eyes couldn't see it. But his ears told him that person was definitely there. The chieftain's Qi Sea had long been charged and ready. The tightly gripped blade was instantly infused with blood-red evil energy. As a reek of blood permeated the air, it drew a streak of red light, and before anyone could react, he violently slashed towards the source of the voice.

Cultivators often die in battle by talking too much. He had used this move many times, almost always successfully killing powerful enemies. But before his saber could swing out, pale blue water forms suddenly condensed into chains in the air, tightly binding his joints, accompanied by a suffocating sensation of drowning.

“This spell?!”

The chieftain's eyes widened, and then he saw a figure slowly emerge from the darkness. Upon seeing the figure clearly, he was instantly filled with dread, his face incredulous.

Too young! Fair-skinned and tender, handsome and delicate-looking, he appeared to be no older than twenty. And it was this person who, single-handedly, had just slaughtered him and over a hundred of his brothers?! And his cultivation level, could it be... Late Foundation Establishment?!

The chieftain felt as if he had fallen into an ice cellar, trembling all over. He tried to beg for mercy, but the Water Prison spell had sealed his mouth. Mo Hua also walked up to him, extended a fair finger, and pointed it at the chieftain's forehead, saying coldly:

“Aristocratic families exploit, the Daoist Court is corrupt, rogue cultivators suffer...”

“But you are a rogue cultivator yourself, and the people you killed were also rogue cultivators...”

The chieftain's pupils constricted. A flash of fire appeared on Mo Hua's fingertip. With a 'boom', flames raged. The destructive power of fierce fire roared out, directly blasting the chieftain's head into black ash.