The Quest for Immortality - Chapter 1155 (Patreon)

Chapter 1155: Red Sun

The great tiger’s pelt shifted between black and white as it carried Mo Hua on its back and plunged into the night.

Inside the Great Wilderness Sect’s camp.

Young Master Tuoba lay on the ground, his chest slick with blood.

Golden Core elders nearby hurriedly produced pills and spirit liquids, stemming his bleeding and treating his wounds. Cold fear lingered in their hearts—were it not for the Heart-Guarding Mirror bestowed by the sect master, Young Master Tuoba might truly have been crippled by that ferocious tiger demon.

A short while later, the bleeding at Young Master Tuoba’s chest stopped, leaving a wound that stung like fire.

But the pain in his flesh was nothing compared to the jealousy, rage, and humiliation clawing at his heart.

He was a scion of the Great Wilderness royal clan. He had schemed and labored, tempered and tormented, suppressing and grinding away at that king-beast tiger demon he had kept for so long yet never tamed. And now, right before his eyes, that same tiger had lowered its kingly head of its own accord and submitted to another, willingly becoming someone else’s mount.

This was worse than killing him.

“This hatred is irreconcilable!” Young Master Tuoba gnashed his teeth. “Go! Pass the order—lock down the entire Great Wilderness Sect line, kill that brat surnamed Mo, and bring that king beast back to me!”

“Yes, Young Master!”

The Golden Core elders cupped their hands in acknowledgment.

They knew this was no small matter.

Black-and-white demon qi was almost unheard of. That black-and-white tiger was certainly an aberration among tigers, a rare treasure among king beasts.

Only such a king beast befit the Young Master’s status.

Moreover, the tiger’s presence was imposing and its strength astonishing. Even at second-grade it was this fierce—once it advanced to third-grade and condensed a true Demon Core, its power would soar, and by then it would be even harder to subdue.

And that youth… who was he?

His cultivation seemed ordinary, his bloodline hardly noble. Why could he make such a savage king beast willingly bow its head?

No chains, no saddle, no array, no other suppressive bindings at all.

A tiger demon submitting of its own accord—it beggared belief.

Demonic beasts eat people, and their savagery is hard to purge.

Generally speaking, demonic beasts are never truly “tamed.”

What people call taming is, in essence, suppression by bloodline and force—compelling the beast to obey.

Once a beast breaks its bonds, it still “devours its master.”

Thus, anyone who “tames” a beast must use saddles, demon locks, and binding arrays to keep it in check.

Without shackles, one cannot make even a common demonic beast submit, let alone a tiger—the king among demons.

Therefore, for a youth to make a king beast lower its head of its own accord was downright unnatural.

Unless… he wasn’t human?

The suspicion surfaced in the hearts of many Great Wilderness Sect cultivators.

But there was no time to probe the mystery. The urgent task was to intercept the tiger demon.

That youth had to die.

And the black-and-white striped tiger had to be taken back.

The Great Wilderness Sect’s Golden Core elders invoked the Wilderness Order and relayed the command to all sect cultivators:

“All disciples on standby are to seal the front line and encircle a youth riding a black-and-white tiger demon.”

“Mobilize the military formations. You must stop the tiger demon and seize that youth. If they resist, kill without mercy!”

Orders flew, and the Great Wilderness Sect’s lines shifted.

Most sect cultivators continued their melee with the Dao Court.

A smaller reserve force pivoted and began to close in on Mo Hua.

This was large-scale warfare; even a “small portion” meant a great many people.

It wasn’t long before Mo Hua, atop the great tiger, felt the pressure spike.

The great tiger’s innate gift let it release black-and-white demon qi, its fur changing with it—confusing auras, hiding a killing edge, increasing its speed. Whether for ambush, slaughter, or escape, it was formidable.

Mo Hua was seeing it for the first time.

But the gift didn’t last long. Once they left the camp and shook the Great Wilderness Sect pursuers, the tiger’s black and white faded back to normal.

So it could only do as usual—carry Mo Hua and try to break through the sect’s lines.

Under the current situation, though, a breakout was the hardest task of all.

This was the same route Mo Hua had taken sneaking in alone, when every step had been perilous.

Now, with the tiger such a huge target, forcing back out along the same path through the sect’s formations was even more fraught.

The only good news was that no Ascension-realm had come.

The Great Wilderness Sect’s Ascension experts seemed to be entangled by those of the Dao Court, so none chased in person.

Young Master Tuoba’s life was not in danger either.

And no Ascension expert would abandon the larger battle to target a “small fry” like Mo Hua.

Yet under Tuoba’s orders, more and more sect cultivators turned their spears toward Mo Hua.

Among them were a few scattered Golden Cores, but most were at Foundation Establishment.

Golden Core pressure was manageable—the battlefield was vast and stretched thin, and the sect’s Golden Cores were dispersed, leading squads in bitter fights against the Dao Court.

So after Mo Hua broke out, he didn’t run into many Golden Cores.

Instead, it was the numerous Foundation Establishment disciples—well-drilled and arrayed—who proved troublesome.

These disciples had been trained in the pattern of “Dao soldiers.”

They were originally meant to follow the Dao Soldiers Bureau south to pacify the Great Wilderness.

Their armor, spirit tools, arrays, marching formations, combat tactics—everything followed the Dao soldiers’ standards.

Once they fell into formation, these well-trained Foundation Establishment disciples were actually harder to deal with than Golden Cores.

Mo Hua was bound by his fate-sha and couldn’t kill.

The great tiger, a single demonic beast no matter how strong, could not possibly slaughter so many.

All Mo Hua could do was point the way, guiding the tiger around the sect disciples’ cordons and pursuit.

But things looked grim.

He had known the power of the “Dao soldier” system—weak overcoming strong through system and discipline.

In the earlier Dao debate, even the Great Void Sect had relied on the well-made, strictly ordered “Heaven’s Chosen Dao Soldiers” in embryonic form to seize initiative at the opening.

Only when he was personally blocked and hunted by Great Wilderness disciples using Dao-soldier tactics did Mo Hua truly feel the might of a militarized cultivator system.

The sect disciples gathered, formed up, and forced Mo Hua and the tiger to flee in all directions, peril at every step.

Mo Hua could only use Techniques and small arrays to stall and delay.

Beyond that, he depended entirely on the tiger to charge and tear open gaps with fang and claw so they could break out.

Fortunately, the tiger was a peak second-grade tiger-type demonic beast, a strong one among demons. Even without using that eerie gift, at full gallop its speed was astonishing.

Man and tiger struggled through the rain of blades and arrows, inching through one deadly encirclement after another.

At last—he didn’t know how long they had fought—Mo Hua finally shook the pursuit for a moment and spotted a gorge.

Beyond the gorge lay a cliff.

Beyond the cliff was the Dao Soldiers Bureau’s camp.

Cross the gorge, leap the cliff, and they would be past the Great Wilderness Sect’s blockade.

Mo Hua didn’t hesitate. He patted the tiger’s neck.

The tiger understood. It became a gust of wind and shot toward the far mouth of the gorge.

Just as they entered the gorge, a squad of ten cultivators flashed out from one side.

The ten wore heavy, gold-patterned beast armor—refined and thick. Their auras were condensed and heavy; every one of them was at late Foundation Establishment.

It was clear these were elite disciples hand-picked by the Great Wilderness Sect.

They might even be this generation’s prodigies.

They spread in a line, blocking the tiger, heavy shields raised to seal the path.

Ten prodigies joined in a single kill—murderous will arced like a rainbow through the sun.

Mo Hua’s gaze cooled.

The tiger bristled, black-and-white demon qi seething over its whole body.

With a roar, it charged.

In an instant, the ten sect prodigies and the man-and-tiger crashed together.

In a few breaths, the tiger’s bloody claws slammed and bit against heavy armor and shields, throwing sparks and leaving deep gouges.

Demon qi and blood qi surged. Neither side held back; the fighting was brutal.

But Mo Hua didn’t dare be delayed. If they were bogged down here, the consequences would be unimaginable.

They had to break through quickly.

In a lightning flash, after another hundred exchanges, Mo Hua cast Flowing Sand Technique to collapse the ground and briefly trap two heavy-armored prodigies, then unleashed Golden Light Technique, Fireball Technique, Water Prison Technique and other spells to restrain the rest.

The tiger seized the moment, its hind legs hammering down. The earth cracked.

Its body shot like a cannonball through a flaw in the encirclement.

The ten prodigies could only watch as the tiger burst past them.

Just then, one of them—a taller, more muscular youth—suddenly bulged with corded muscle. Blood-red savage lines surfaced under his skin. He broke Mo Hua’s Water Prison Technique with a wrench, vaulted forward in a few great strides, and cut in front of the tiger.

He was a tall youth.

His armor had been shattered, revealing a body crisscrossed with hideous scars beneath.

Now he stood squarely before the tiger.

The tiger showed no mercy, raking down with a claw.

The tall youth didn’t dodge. His muscles seemed forged of iron, and he met the blow head-on, taking the tiger’s claw with raw strength.

The claws sank into his shoulder, carving a deep wound.

He ignored the pain, threw his arms around the tiger’s foreleg, and clamped down with terrifying brute force.

For an instant, man and beast were locked in a contest of pure flesh.

He was no match for a tiger, of course—but to withstand it even for a moment spoke to his ferocity.

Mo Hua’s heart jolted.

This tall youth’s strength was tyrannical.

But no one could block his path!

Mo Hua’s eyes chilled. He brought his fingers together, about to cripple the blocking youth—then looked up and froze.

Cold moonlight washed across the tall youth’s face.

A long scar slashed from his left cheek down to his right.

His eyes were resolute and steady, yet there was a brutal, savage cast to his features. Gone was the sunny friendliness of the past.

Mo Hua blinked and murmured, “Da Hu…”

The tall youth flinched as if struck by lightning. He lifted his head, looked at the boy on the tiger’s back, and saw a handsome, familiar face.

It was a friend he had once lived with day and night—yet had gradually forgotten.

Images from the past rolled through his mind.

The ferocity faded from his face, replaced by a flash of pain and melancholy.

Just then, a shout came from not far away:

“Meng Bohu, that one is the Young Master’s target. Stop him with your life!”

Meng Bohu’s face darkened. He looked deeply at Mo Hua, then slowly loosened his grip, stepping aside and letting the tiger and Mo Hua pass.

“Da Hu!” Mo Hua called.

Meng Bohu hung his head and did not dare look again.

The tiger didn’t care—it carried Mo Hua through the gorge, then leapt out like it ran on level ground, clearing the cliff and fleeing into the distance.

Mo Hua looked back and saw only the tall youth’s back.

He simply stood there, his back to Mo Hua.

…

A hulking silhouette, under the icy moonlight, cast a long shadow.

He never turned to look at Mo Hua again.

As the great tiger galloped farther and farther away, that once-familiar yet now-strange back slowly faded from Mo Hua’s sight…

…

After Mo Hua and the tiger left—

The tall youth still stood alone where he was.

The other sect prodigies ran over. Mo Hua and the tiger were long gone, and they rounded on the tall youth.

“Meng Bohu, why did you let go?”

“The Young Master’s orders— even if it cost your life, you should have obeyed.”

“Even if you died just now, you should have held the tiger back and butchered that damned brat on its back.”

Meng Bohu’s eyes reddened, but he forced himself to hold it in.

The others wouldn’t stop.

“You were born low. Only the Young Master’s favor gave you a chance.”

“Even the name ‘Meng Bohu’ was bestowed by the Young Master.”

“With such great grace, you should gladly die to repay it.”

“But what did you just do? Are you a craven coward?”

“Speak. Why aren’t you saying anything?”

“Are you mute?”

“Truly a vagabond cultivator of base blood. No matter how the Young Master lifts you up, you’re nothing but a vulgar—”

Thud—

A dull impact cracked the air, blood spraying.

The jeering prodigy looked down in shock. A fist like steel had pierced clear through his chest.

He lifted his head and saw Meng Bohu’s scarred, feral face—and those blood-red eyes.

Tyrannical force surged from the fist, shredding his organs.

He tried to fight back, but as soon as he raised his head Meng Bohu’s left hand twisted and snapped his neck. Dead on the spot.

Gasps tore through the gorge.

“Meng Bohu, are you mad?!”

“You dare kill a Hu-clan prodigy? What crime is that!”

Another prodigy from the Hu clan drew a golden blade and snarled,

“Lowborn filth can never be raised. Today I’ll hack you to pieces and make you pay for my cousin!”

He charged with his blade, clashing with Meng Bohu.

He hadn’t known—when steel met flesh he realized he was no match for this Meng Bohu whom the sect scorned as a lowborn brute, a jackal among men.

Before a hundred exchanges passed, Meng Bohu twisted off his head.

The rest, shocked and fearful, drew spirit tools or nascent artifacts. “Together! Kill the cur!”

Having killed two, Meng Bohu’s bloodlust ignited. His eyes were scarlet, his aura savage.

A brutal force coursed through him, bulging and warping his muscles.

Whatever cultivation he trained was unknown, but the force in his body was frighteningly domineering.

Against three at once, he didn’t give an inch.

In fact, the longer he fought, the more savage he became—more ferocious, more bloody. Blades and fists hammered him, but he didn’t seem to feel them, like a madman. Every strike he made aimed to kill.

For a moment, the prodigies were cowed by this death-defying savagery. Fear stirred.

With fear came flaws.

It wasn’t long before they were gutted and decapitated, skulls split—dying one after another in Meng Bohu’s hands.

Of the ten Great Wilderness prodigies, only four besides Meng Bohu were left.

Soaked in blood, Meng Bohu turned and looked at the four.

Their faces went ashen. They stammered, “Senior Brother Meng… we will not stand against you.”

The domineering force still surged within him.

Meng Bohu’s face twisted. Slowly he said, “Tonight…”

One of them blurted, “We know nothing…”

The red faded from Meng Bohu’s eyes. He pointed at them, then at the corpses on the ground.

“Each of you—stab these bodies once. Then swear a heavenly poison oath you’ll say nothing about tonight.”

Cowed by his butchery, the four had no choice. They drew blades and stabbed the bodies of their dead comrades—one strike each.

This way, even if they informed, they couldn’t explain those wounds.

Once that was done, Meng Bohu had them throw the corpses over the cliff, then ordered,

“Forget all of this and go report.”

“Say we were scattered and ran into Dao soldiers—fought for a while.”

“We never encountered the tiger. We don’t know where those fellow disciples went.”

The four went pale and cupped their hands. “Yes, Senior Brother Meng.”

Meng Bohu nodded. “Go.”

They left, one by one.

Meng Bohu walked last. Before he went, he couldn’t help looking back—toward the direction Mo Hua had fled.

For a heartbeat, the brutality on his face gave way to a flicker of memory and sadness. Then it cooled, as if all feeling had died.

…

Elsewhere, Mo Hua was still fleeing.

He couldn’t stop thinking about Da Hu, but there was no time to dwell—worse was coming.

He was still being hunted.

Within the sect’s lines, the Great Wilderness Sect had chased him.

But once he broke through and reached the Dao Court’s main forces, it wasn’t safer. He was still hunted.

His earlier worry had come true.

The Great Wilderness Sect wanted to kill him and seize the tiger.

The Dao Soldiers, meanwhile, wanted the tiger dead.

A tiger demon was the Great Wilderness’s king beast. With the sect rebelling, a tiger appearing amid war would find no mercy from the Dao Soldiers Bureau.

Mo Hua was caught in a dilemma.

At this rate, the tiger might still die.

As the ground quaked and battle cries rolled like thunder, barren war shouts rose from afar. Hordes of barbarian soldiers surged in, and among them, banners of Great Wilderness lords and marquises.

“Barbarian soldiers?!”

Mo Hua’s face changed. He realized the Great Wilderness Sect’s mutiny was only a fuse.

The sect, however powerful, could not match the Dao Court. The mutiny was to sow chaos in the army’s rear and pin them down.

With the Dao soldiers mired in melee, ambushes long prepared by the Wilderness tribes would charge in, forming a pincer and dealing the Dao Court a grievous blow.

The situation was perilous to the extreme.

But Mo Hua had no time for the bigger picture.

The sect and the Dao Court were already too much for him and the tiger. Now with the barbarian horde crashing in, three sides clashed—blood and flesh flew, and the field became even more chaotic.

To flee with the tiger became near impossible.

All he could do was cling to life with the tiger, weaving through the three-sided slaughter.

In the chaos, Mo Hua noticed something unexpected.

The Great Wilderness Sect wanted him dead and the tiger seized. The Dao Soldiers wanted the tiger dead.

Only the barbarian soldiers of the Wilderness did not dare show the tiger the slightest disrespect.

Mo Hua grasped it at once.

The tiger was the “king beast” of the Great Wilderness—the emblem of the royal clan.

Which meant the barbarians’ side was, paradoxically, the safest place for the tiger.

This was the tiger’s only hope of survival.

Mo Hua was overjoyed.

He tugged the tiger’s mane, steering it toward the barbarian lines.

The barbarians were charging north; he and the tiger fled south.

Of course, he didn’t dare pass through their center.

Though the tiger was the Wilderness’s king beast, the youth on its back was a “fake”—he was no royal.

If he went straight through and ran into royal clansmen, he would be exposed.

He had even glimpsed, in a hurried glance, some “king cavalry”—small giants in armor—among the barbarian host.

Those were powerful lords of the Wilderness.

Mo Hua dared not provoke them.

He could only skirt the western-southern edge and flee south.

Ordinary barbarian soldiers revered the king beast and did not dare impede it—let alone intercept it.

Hugging the southwest flank and using the barbarians as cover, Mo Hua actually slipped out of the meat-grinder with the tiger.

Behind him, Ascension experts battled in the sky and earth.

Golden Cores fought to the death at the core of formations.

Foundation Establishment cultivators died in droves in a field of slaughter.

Warfire, spells, flesh and blood, blades, Dao soldiers, barbarian soldiers, sect cultivators—woven together into a cruel, blood-soaked, yet grand inferno of a scene.

All of it slowly fell behind Mo Hua.

The stink of blood around him thinned. Fewer cultivators appeared. The land grew empty until, at last, there was no one on any side. Heaven and earth stretched desolate and vast, nothing in sight.

Only then did Mo Hua finally exhale.

He had escaped the titanic slaughter.

But the tiger still ran on with him on its back.

Mo Hua thought a moment and patted the tiger’s back, wanting it to stop.

The tiger was safe now. He would need to find a way back, regroup with the Dao soldiers and the Yang clan scions, and help suppress the Wilderness revolt—earning merit and making his name.

The tiger ignored him.

It had been bound too long and fought too much. Now, with a taste of freedom, it simply galloped on with Mo Hua, stretched out at full speed, running and running.

It even let out happy “awoo” howls as it ran.

No matter how Mo Hua tugged its mane, it wouldn’t listen.

Dawn thinned the night, and the red sun of the Wilderness rose.

Across the boundless land, a black-and-white great tiger carried a youth beneath the red sun, racing through endless stony plains—toward a vast world with no visible end…

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