The Quest for Immortality - Chapter 1149 (Patreon)

Chapter 1149: Dao Soldiers

“Those are the Dao Soldiers of the Dao Court?”

“And that vast, overwhelming aura that blots out the sky… could it be… the main force of the Dao Court’s army?”

Mo Hua’s heart trembled. He turned and glanced back toward the Demon Battling Arena. His figure slowly faded from sight, and when he appeared again, he was already near the city gates.

Desert City stood tall and mighty, its walls towering high, its gates like twin mountains standing face to face.

Usually, the gates of Desert City were tightly shut; ordinary cultivators could only enter and exit through the side gates.

But now, the massive gates stood wide open.

Heavily armored Dao Soldiers, their aura fierce and disciplined, marched in tight formation, entering the fourth-grade Desert City in orderly ranks. The sharp scent of iron and blood filled the air as an endless tide of soldiers flowed in through the gates.

The clash of metal echoed in the distance, the thunder of iron hooves resounding like the heartbeat of the earth.

The might of the Dao Soldiers, their killing intent and morale, surged skyward, shaking the heavens themselves.

All around, cultivators of every kind stood at the sides of the streets, their gazes fixed upon the marching troops, eyes wide with awe and disbelief.

In that moment, they finally understood—understood from where the Dao Court’s supreme authority came.

They understood what allowed the Dao Court to unify the Nine Provinces.

Weapons and slaughter.

Mo Hua’s face too was shaken with awe.

This was the first time in his life he had seen such a grand display of Dao Soldiers.

He had seen them before—in Immortal-Passage City, when the Dao Court exterminated the Qian family. And again in South Yue City, when they crushed the Lu family and purged the undead plague.

But the Dao Soldiers he had seen then, compared to this ocean of iron and blood before him, were no more than a drop in the bucket—utterly insignificant.

This… this was the true army of the Central Dao Court.

An army mobilized under the decree of the Dao Lord himself, led by the Dao Soldier Division, drawn from military camps across the provinces and gathered here at the border of the Great Wilderness.

An army to quell rebellion.

An army of countless thousands.

These Dao Court troops embodied the will of the Dao Court itself. They marched south under the Dao Lord’s command, to crush the Imperial Court, slay princes and kings, and restore the Dao Court’s heavenly might.

A war among cultivators meant slaughter and death.

It meant tragedy and ruin.

Yet even knowing this, when faced with that ocean of iron and blood, Mo Hua’s heart still pounded violently, his blood surging with excitement.

Such a flood of Dao Soldiers, once they charged into battle—array and armor as one, blade and spirit in unison—would sweep through their enemies like a storm tide, crushing all before them. The thought alone sent a shiver down his spine.

For a moment, Mo Hua’s spirit was utterly captivated.

Then, a quiet realization dawned in his heart.

“The Dao Court… is truly enraged.”

“The real war in the Great Wilderness has begun…”

As he stood there in thought, a disturbance stirred in the distance.

Several Golden Core cultivators emerged from the Spirit Beast Pavilion—the underground Demon Battling Arena—and spread their divine senses, searching for Mo Hua’s presence.

Yet even they dared not release their senses too widely, cowed by the oppressive might of the Dao Soldiers.

Mo Hua’s eyes flickered. Borrowing the thick, iron-blooded aura of the army as cover, his figure vanished entirely.

His presence dissolved into the bustling cityscape, like a fish slipping into a stormy sea—without leaving a trace.

…

Dozens of miles away, within Desert City.

Inside a modest inn.

Mo Hua washed away the bronze-colored ink from his skin and changed into fresh clothes, once again becoming the clean, fair-faced young formation master and spirit cultivator he appeared to be.

The inn bustled with travelers, cultivators coming and going.

Seated alone in his room, Mo Hua poured himself a drink, calmly considering his next move.

The arrival of the Dao Soldiers meant that the Dao Court was done holding back.

The war in the Great Wilderness was about to escalate.

But to Mo Hua, those matters were of little concern.

He was fully aware of his limits.

A war between the Dao Court and the Great Wilderness was far beyond his ability to influence. The scale, the complexity, the shifting tides of fortune—it was all too vast for a mere Foundation Establishment cultivator like him.

The only thing he could contribute was formations.

But the arrays used by Dao Soldiers were all standardized—military formations whose core patterns were top secrets of the Dao Soldier Division.

Their weapons and armor were forged long before the campaign began.

He had no way to interfere.

At best, he could assist in formation setup before battle, emergency counter-arrays during battle, or post-battle restoration.

But other formation masters could do the same.

No—the real problem lay in his cultivation.

In wars between cultivators, Qi Refining disciples were the lowest rank, Foundation Establishment was the backbone, and Golden Core cultivators were the true pillars.

If he could just reach the Golden Core Realm, master third-grade formations, and perhaps even adapt them on the field, then maybe—just maybe—he could truly influence the war.

At his current level—Foundation Establishment and second-grade formations—his role would be minimal.

Even if he performed perfectly, he could only impact a single squad of Dao Soldiers, a single skirmish—not the greater war.

But that was a matter for later.

Right now, his priority was clear: rescue Da Hu.

If he delayed any longer, that Young Master Tuoba might try to “break” the tiger into submission. And if that happened, Da Hu might not survive.

Mo Hua’s face darkened. He sat in silence, mind racing through possible ways to free the tiger—calculating the variables, foreseeing the likely outcomes.

Time passed quietly.

Finally, Mo Hua let out a long sigh.

He had deduced that freeing the tiger itself wasn’t too difficult.

There were many feasible ways, and few major risks.

But the real issue was—what came after.

Once freed, they wouldn’t be able to escape Desert City.

The moment the tiger left the arena, he’d be intercepted by Golden Core cultivators—or cut down on the spot by a Nascent Soul.

Even if they somehow escaped the city, the Great Wilderness sects would hunt them down. They’d die on the road, exhausted and surrounded.

And the root cause of all this, Mo Hua knew well.

In the Great Wilderness, he had no backing.

Back in Qianxue Province, it had been different.

There, he had allies in the Dao Court bureaus; allies among the great clans; friends among the gods; connections in other sects; and the entire Great Void Sect stood behind him.

Who would dare touch his tiger then?

He could’ve taken the beast straight into Demon-Refining Mountain for training, and no one would’ve dared object.

If trouble came, he had protection. If danger loomed, there were elders to cover for him. And if things got too heated, he could simply retreat into the sect and attend lectures until the storm passed.

Thinking about it now, he almost missed those days.

But here… here in the Great Wilderness, everything was different.

This was someone else’s territory. Every move he made was constrained, every decision a risk.

Mo Hua sighed again.

But sighing wouldn’t solve anything.

After a moment’s thought, he rose, opened the door, and stepped out into the street. He’d see what news he could gather—perhaps an opportunity would arise to rescue Da Hu.

Not long after leaving the inn, he saw another column of Dao Soldiers.

Mo Hua’s expression changed slightly.

He had been too overwhelmed earlier to look closely, but now, at close range, he could observe more details.

These soldiers were not identical after all.

Besides the obvious divisions—light infantry, heavy armor, cavalry on horses, wolf-mounted riders—there were also elemental divisions.

Five Elemental Dao Soldiers—metal, wood, water, fire, and earth—each unit trained with different cultivation techniques suited to their roots.

Their banners too were varied.

Each bore the Dao Court’s sigil—the character “Dao”—but beneath that, every family serving under the Dao Soldier Division carried their own emblem.

Mo Hua’s gaze caught one such banner fluttering in the wind.

A single large character:

“Yang.”

Yang?

The Yang family of the Dao Soldier Division…

Mo Hua’s eyes flickered oddly.

“My backing… has arrived?”

…

Unfortunately, there were no familiar faces in this particular Yang unit.

Mo Hua quietly calculated with his fingers, then walked to another street and waited before a teahouse.

Cultivators streamed past him in steady flow—some Dao Soldiers among them.

But as evening fell, he still hadn’t found the one he was looking for.

Mo Hua frowned, muttering to himself:

“That’s strange… the hexagram showed southwest, water and land converging. I should’ve met someone familiar here…”

Just as confusion crossed his face, his divine sense stirred.

He looked up—and saw a squad of Dao Soldiers marching from afar.

Unlike the others, their armor was old and bloodstained, their faces weary with dust and exhaustion.

These were not fresh troops—they were veterans returning from the front lines of the Great Wilderness.

They too bore the Dao Court’s “Dao” banner, and beneath it, the emblem of the Yang family.

Mo Hua’s eyes swept over them—and froze upon the man at their head.

A tall, broad-shouldered Golden Core commander, wounded but unyielding, his expression steadfast as iron.

Old memories stirred.

Mo Hua’s eyes brightened, and he called out:

“Commander Yang!”

The man at the front—Yang Jishan—was walking silently, deep in thought. Hearing that call, he turned in surprise.

A fair-skinned youth with a gentle smile was waving at him from the roadside.

For a moment, Yang Jishan stared blankly.

The boy was striking—almost too perfect, like a painting. And somehow, familiar.

A strange warmth welled up in his chest. He felt he knew this youth—someone from long ago—someone special.

But he couldn’t remember from where.

“You are…” Yang Jishan began slowly.

Mo Hua blinked. “Commander Yang, don’t you remember me? I’m Mo Hua.”

“Mo Hua…”

Mo Hua…

Yang Jishan frowned, the name tugging at the edge of his memory.

It was familiar—very familiar—but the harder he tried to recall, the more his mind seemed to blur, like fog closing in around old memories.

Then, like lightning across the dark, an image flashed—a small, pure-faced boy, white as jade, smiling brightly.

Yang Jishan’s heart jolted.

“You’re… that little brat from South Yue City!”

Mo Hua grinned, delighted. “I’m not a brat anymore!”

Yang Jishan looked him over from head to toe, chuckling. “You’ve grown up.”

Then, curious, he asked, “What are you doing in Desert City?”

Mo Hua replied, “I was traveling south when the war broke out, so I came here to take shelter.”

Yang Jishan sighed softly.

War always brought disaster. The province nearest the Great Wilderness would suffer first. For a youth to have survived the journey here—it was no small feat.

“You came alone?” he asked kindly.

“Yes.”

“Do you have a place to stay?”

Mo Hua shook his head. “No.”

“In that case,” Yang Jishan said, “come stay in the camp for now. With the Dao Court army assembling, the camp is safer than anywhere else in the city.”

Mo Hua’s face lit up. “Thank you, Commander Yang!”

“Come, then.”

“Alright!”

And just like that, Mo Hua entered the Dao Court’s army openly, walking beside the Dao Soldiers under Commander Yang’s command.

Yang Jishan led the youth through the streets toward the northwestern military encampment.

Yet, as they walked, a faint confusion lingered in his mind.

“This Mo Hua… who exactly is he?”

“I know I’ve met him before… but how?”

“South Yue City?”

“What happened there that made me remember him so vividly—and yet forget entirely until now?”

Why did his memories of this young man feel… severed?

Yang Jishan’s brow furrowed deeply. He wanted to ask, but the strange familiarity—and the fear of embarrassment—held him back.

He simply smiled and said nothing.

…

Soon, they arrived at the northwestern camp—heavily guarded and filled with the aura of disciplined killing intent.

Ordinary people were forbidden entry.

But as a commander of the Dao Soldiers—and a member of the Yang family—Yang Jishan was granted immediate passage.

He led Mo Hua inside.

Just as they entered, a large man came walking toward them.

His right arm hung weakly, his chest tightly bandaged, a deep scar stretching from neck to rib—still bleeding faintly.

Yang Jishan frowned. “Didn’t I tell you to rest?”

The man’s face was pale, but he grinned. “Can’t rest. Not dead yet.”

Mo Hua blinked in surprise. “Uncle Yang?”

The injured man stopped, stunned for a moment, then looked closely—and his eyes went wide with recognition.

“You… you’re Mo Hua?!”

Mo Hua smiled. “It’s me.”

Yang Jiyong stared for several long seconds, then laughed in disbelief. “Ten years! You’ve grown so much!”

Yang Jishan blinked. “You know him too?”

Yang Jiyong nodded. “Of course! I told you before—back in Immortal-Passage City, I met a little formation master!”

“Immortal-Passage City…”

Yang Jishan frowned, then slowly remembered—his brother had indeed mentioned a gifted young formation master back then.

But… why did it feel as though his own memories—of the same boy—had been cleanly severed?

This young man… who exactly was he?

Yang Jishan’s expression darkened slightly.

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