The Quest for Immortality - Chapter 1157 (Patreon)

Chapter 1157: Savage God

Mo Hua licked his lips, interest suddenly piqued.

After being hungry for so long, he finally caught the scent of something delicious.

He made no sound and continued tailing the grandfather and grandson.

The two barbarians had no idea they were being followed. They walked on in silence while the old man, in scattered fragments along the way, kept instructing the child:

“When we arrive, you must be respectful.”

“This is a blessing for you…”

“…You’ll be bringing fortune to the tribe. If your father knew, he would be proud of you…”

The child nodded vaguely. After a while, he pressed a small, flat hand to his hollow belly and said, “Grandpa, I’m hungry.”

The barbarian elder took out some coarse dry rations—made of some cheap grain, black and gray, dry and hard.

The child accepted the food and put it in his mouth, chewing slowly.

Watching, the elder’s heart ached. He carefully fished a piece of jerky from his tattered storage pouch and handed it to the boy.

At the sight of meat, the boy’s eyes lit up, then dimmed with unease. “Grandpa, I… I’m full. I don’t need it…”

The elder stroked his head, his voice hoarse. “It’s fine. Eat more today… eat well.”

The boy was too young to understand much. Though he tried to restrain himself, his stomach growled with hunger, and he couldn’t resist the temptation. He accepted the jerky and, very carefully, began to chew.

A treat like this came only a few times a year, so he ate slowly.

Halfway through, he handed the remaining jerky back. “Grandpa, I’m full.”

The elder shook his head. “It’s alright. You eat it all. It’s for you.”

The child looked uncertain. “Really?”

The elder smiled and nodded. The wrinkles on his face were deep and bitter.

Only then did the boy relax. Joy spread across his face as he put the rest of the meat into his mouth, chewing with a simple, pitiful smile.

Watching, the elder’s gaze grew complicated, a deep pain hiding at the bottom of his eyes.

Mo Hua watched, his eyes darkening.

After the jerky was gone, the elder led the child up the mountain once more.

The mountains of the Great Wilderness bore low shrubs here and there, but most surfaces were bare, an ocher red.

Grandfather and grandson followed a steep path into the desolate depths.

There, in the deep mountains, a cave yawned—its mouth black as pitch—with two strange stone pillars standing before it.

Four barbarian cultivators were posted at the entrance.

When they saw the elder, all four gave the clan salute. “Elder.”

The elder nodded slightly. “Is everything prepared?”

One of them replied, “Reporting, Elder: the demon blood, the offerings, and the altar are all ready.”

The elder nodded and waved his hand. “You may go.”

The four hesitated. They glanced at the child, reluctance in their eyes. “Elder, perhaps we should—”

The elder’s expression hardened. “There’s no choice.”

The barbarian cultivators sighed one after another. “Yes, Grand Elder.”

After the four withdrew, they headed straight down the mountain.

Only the barbarian elder and the boy of ten or so remained before the cave.

The elder asked, “Do you remember what I told you?”

The child nodded. “I will serve Lord Savage God respectfully, with all my heart.”

The elder’s gaze grew deep. “Good. Come with me.”

The two stepped past the stone pillars and entered the cave.

Mo Hua considered for a moment, then followed them in.

His divine sense far surpassed the elder’s. Even while hidden, walking right at the elder’s back, the man could never notice.

Mo Hua practically walked at the elder’s side, entering the cave in step.

Darkness pressed on his vision for a moment. When he lifted his head to take in the cave’s interior, his expression showed a hint of surprise.

The cave was far too crude.

The stone halls, temple, and niches he had expected were nowhere to be seen.

In fact, it could barely be called a “cave”—more a shallow recess in the rock face, only five or six steps deep.

Inside stood only a stone offering table. Upon it lay some beast skulls; beside a table leg sat a jar of beast blood. Nothing else.

No divine statue. Nothing to bow to.

At the back of the cave was simply a stone wall.

It was a true wall of stone—his divine sense passed through and sensed nothing but rock.

Mo Hua’s eyes flickered.

When he’d heard the boy say “Savage God,” he’d imagined some “big shot.”

At least a temple or an idol. Yet the cave held nothing of the sort.

Even the aura of a deity was faint—almost nonexistent.

Mo Hua couldn’t sense a thing.

“Hiding deep, aren’t you…”

After a moment’s thought, his gaze turned meaningful as he looked to the barbarian elder.

A chill ran through the elder’s heart, as if some existence were peering at him. He probed cautiously and sensed nothing.

He pondered for a while, found only one explanation, then knelt and kowtowed toward the empty rock behind the offering table.

“Lord Savage God above, this old one will make ready at once, and dare not delay Your ritual.”

He knocked his head to the floor three times.

Beside him, the boy followed his grandfather’s lead and bowed three times with crisp thuds.

Then the elder, not daring to linger, reached into the blood jar, dipped a finger into the dark red, and drew an ancient, blood-colored totem on the floor beneath the table.

Its lines resembled a Four Symbols beast pattern.

The figure itself was like a sharp-beaked, sharp-clawed demon.

When the totem was done, the elder lit candles on the table.

Whatever beast fat they were made from, the flames burned a pale green and gave off an acrid reek.

With the candles lit, the elder pulled his grandson to kneel within the blood totem before the table.

The elder prayed devoutly.

The child knelt in respectful silence.

The forest-green candles burned on.

The oily smoke thickened.

No one knew how long it took before the blood totem on the floor began to twist. The blood-drawn demon seemed to come alive.

By now, the elder and the boy had inhaled too much smoke. Their heads swam; half dreaming, half awake, they even began to hallucinate.

It felt as though a deep voice were calling to them.

Ancient, authoritative, brooking no defiance.

Their souls were drawn, without their knowing, out of their flesh. When they opened their eyes again, the cave before them was no longer the same cave.

The stone wall was gone. In its place stood a door.

Bronze for the leaf, wrought iron for the lock; where they joined, interlaced fangs lent a chill majesty.

The child shrank back in fear.

But the elder seemed not to be here for the first time. He patted the boy’s brow, voice raspy:

“Do not fear. Come pay respects to Lord Savage God with me.”

The boy nodded timidly.

The elder kowtowed toward the bronze door and intoned, “Forgive me, Lord Savage God. Your believer comes to make his audience.”

When he finished, he held the bowing posture until a response came from the unseen—some sign that his audience had been granted.

The iron chains at the door clicked open.

Only then did the elder rise. He pushed the bronze door with reverent care, glanced back at his grandson, and sighed:

“Come.”

The boy nodded.

Hand in hand, they stepped through.

Beyond lay a bluestone corridor.

This passage existed not in the present world, but only within the unreal.

The elder, holding the boy’s hand, walked forward along the passage in nervous silence. No one knew how long they walked before they entered a great hall.

The hall was built entirely of bluestone.

An offering table stood in the center.

High above it sat a grotesque stone effigy.

The elder did not dare lift his head to look upon the idol’s face. He only trembled and said to his grandson:

“You… lie down on the table.”

“Mm.” The boy obediently lay on the offering table.

The elder took a rope and carefully bound the boy’s hands and feet.

The boy did not resist.

When he finished, the boy asked, “Grandpa, am I going to die?”

The elder’s whole body shook. His eyes reddened, but his voice was still hoarse. “You’re so young… why… would you say that.”

The child’s gaze dimmed.

“Ah Da, Ah Li, and Zhen’er, and Ke Da… they all went to serve Lord Savage God, and none of them ever came back. Am I… the same?”

The elder swallowed his pain. “Do you… not wish to serve Lord Savage God?”

The boy shook his head. “I will serve Lord Savage God.”

His voice was low. “There’s no one left to play with me anyway, and I’m hungry every day. I don’t know where my father went or if he can come back. Living isn’t much fun. It’s just…”

He looked at the elder. “If I leave, it’ll be only you, Grandpa. You must take care of yourself.”

The old man’s clouded eyes brimmed with tears.

He nodded lightly and spoke softly. “Don’t worry. Lord Savage God will bless us. Lord Savage God will look after you as well. Sleep. When you wake, it will all be over.”

“Mm…”

The boy said it quietly. An inexplicable emptiness tugged at his soul, and his eyes drifted closed.

The elder looked at his only grandson, grief tearing at his heart. He clenched his teeth, knelt, and prayed in silence:

“Your believer is fearful and sincere. I beg Lord Savage Master to grant our tribe fair winds and timely rain.”

“I beg Lord Savage Master to let my people have food to fill their bellies.”

“Shelter my people with clothes against the cold.”

“Protect my people from calamity;”

“Watch over our warriors who have marched to war, that they may return safely…”

…

When the prayers ended, the elder bit down hard and said:

“Humbly inviting… Lord Savage God to partake… of our tribe’s offering.”

He slammed his forehead to the ground and held still, a statue of devotion.

No one knew how long the dead stillness lasted before the sound of cracking stone rang through the hall.

Dust and chips fell as the stone effigy in the center slowly stirred. Shedding a shell of mud and rock, it revealed a tall, powerful form—sharp beak and talons—clad in a gold-inlaid divine robe, wreathed in coils of blue-green and crimson.

This was the true body of the “Savage God” the elder’s clan had worshiped.

The Savage God showed its true form.

The elder’s mood grew graver; he scarcely dared breathe.

The bluish-black Savage God strode to the boy upon the table.

The scent of tender sacrifice wetted its lips, but it did not “eat” at once. Instead it turned to the elder, voice cold and shrill:

“Your faith has grown… less devout.”

The elder rose slowly.

In his left hand he held a banner; in his right, a Ritual Dagger. In his clouded eyes lived awe for the divine—and a razor of killing intent.

The Savage God sneered. “I did wonder why unease plagued me today. So it was you, base old slave—harboring treachery, daring to offend a god?”

The elder’s face grew solemn. His fingers tightened around the dagger.

Mockery twisted the Savage God’s sharp features.

“What is it? When I ate other children, you held your tongue. Now that it’s your grandson, you choose to rebel?”

Shame and fury warred on the elder’s face before he gave a self-mocking laugh.

“There is no other road. As the tribe’s elder, whoever the offering is, it makes no difference. I can only fight you, greedy Savage God, to the death.”

“If I die, it will be the tribe’s end.”

“If I do not resist and let you keep eating, with no newborns left, sooner or later we perish all the same.”

“And you’re right… He is my last grandson—my only blood.”

“His father marched to war with the barbarian soldiers…”

“Some days ago, I dreamed of him on the battlefield—bathed in blood, headless. I knew then that my son was likely already dead.”

Suddenly, the elder seemed far older, a slump steeped in resolve.

He slowly raised his hand, the Ritual Dagger pointing at the Savage God. “So I can only use this old life to bring an end to it.”

The Savage God’s face hardened. “You dare raise a blade to a god. So you mean to die.”

“Very well. I’ll swallow you first, old slave, and then your grandson—so your family can be reunited.”

The god’s grin contorted. With a casual sweep, it tore open a great bluish-black claw mark out of the air and raked for the elder.

The elder flicked his left wrist; several ridgehound spirits flew from the banner to clash with the god’s strike.

The impact rippled. For a time, mental force filled the hall.

The Savage God looked faintly surprised. “You’ve learned shamanic arts?”

The elder’s face was cold as he kept brandishing the banner.

The banner seemed some strange, sinister divine implement. Each swing devoured a measure of his mind and used part of that power as bait to summon feral spirits for battle.

The spirits he called were not weak.

Against a common cultivator, they could have devoured the foe’s mind.

But he faced a Savage God that fed on human souls.

The spirits could fight, but they were no match. After several exchanges they were seized, swallowed whole, and turned to nourishment.

The elder’s expression tightened.

His only chance to defeat the god was to spend every trump and decide it quickly.

A human’s mind could never equal a Savage God’s. In a war of attrition, he would be the first to wither and die.

If he died, the tribe would follow.

Life in the Great Wilderness was hard enough. Without a Foundation Establishment elder to sit in town, even a second-rank demonic beast could wipe out a small tribe.

And now he had completely offended the Savage God.

If he did not kill or maim it, their tribe would surely be annihilated beneath the god’s wrath.

There was only a death match—no other path.

Ignoring the damage to his soul, the elder shook the banner harder, using shamanic arts to summon a stronger spirit.

The rite turned, and his face went a shade paler.

But the banner, taking his mind as the guide, called forth a second-rank yellow direwolf.

At his command, the direwolf leapt to tussle with the god.

The elder was not done. He drove the Ritual Dagger into his own arm.

Blood-lines bloomed along the blade; a mysterious force flowed back into the elder.

His hunched frame straightened and rose. Limbs thickened, muscle bulged. He seemed to return to his youth—a barbarian warrior once more.

The instant the dagger finished borrowing life, the elder charged and joined battle with the Savage God.

One man and one wolf fought the god in a raw, brutal melee.

Such a clash of souls was perilous indeed.

Just as the Savage God’s aura began to weaken and a thread of hope kindled in the elder’s heart—

Bluish-black light flashed. The god’s figure vanished.

The elder started, alarm flaring. He tried to turn, but it was too late.

A sharp talon had already punched through his shoulder.

The direwolf lunged for the god, but the Savage God seized its throat, snapped its neck, and opened a bloody maw to swallow it alive.

Despair spread over the elder’s face.

He had learned a little shamanry and knew the god was strong, but only in the fighting did he grasp how terrifying it truly was.

Such an existence was beyond human power to oppose.

The god looked at him with scorn. “I had time to toy with you, and you took it seriously? Do you think I care about such petty shamanic tricks?”

The elder gave a bitter, broken smile.

The Savage God strode closer to finish him.

In that instant, the elder’s bitter smile vanished, replaced by chill indifference.

“I know. That’s why I never meant to win…”

The god’s face changed.

The elder thrust the Ritual Dagger toward his own heart meridian.

The dagger’s force surged into his core and swelled his soul-body; blood-lines veined his form.

This was a forbidden shamanic art—“detonation” through one’s own divine sense.

From the start, the elder had set his heart on death. From the start, he’d planned to perish together.

But before he could explode, a blue-red arm speared his heart meridian, gouging out the dagger along with a chunk of soul and flesh.

The elder’s face changed drastically. He tried to move—

And his right arm was severed in an instant.

Agony seared his soul. He looked up through gritted teeth to see the Savage God swallow his right arm in one gulp.

It toyed with the Ritual Dagger in its hand.

The fang-faced god’s eyes glittered with ridicule.

“I told you, I am a god. Did you think I wouldn’t see through your little schemes? A mere mortal, dreaming of deicide—what a joke. I was only amusing myself.”

Ash colored the elder’s face.

Yes—if it were not a “god,” how could his clan have worshiped it for hundreds of years?

A god worshiped for centuries—how could a barbarian cultivator with a little shamanry ever slay it…

“This is… a ‘god’…”

With a hollow chest and blood on his lips, the elder stared at the irresistible Savage God in despair.

Just then, a brilliant gold light flared in the god’s chest.

A small golden fist punched through from its back, bursting out the front—and the residual radiance shredded a great mass of bluish-black flesh.

A young, lazy voice, tinged with boredom, drawled:

“And here I thought it was a god. Turns out it’s just a little mountain wight wrapped in yellow hide to look important.”

The Savage God froze.

The elder’s pupils widened.

In the next instant, golden light exploded.

The mighty Savage God offered no resistance as a pair of small hands tore it apart, then burned it to ash and refined it—drawing the essence into a waiting mouth.

Thanks for reading—what a grim, cathartic chapter. If you’re enjoying the ride, please consider tossing a coin on my Patreon; your support keeps these chapters flowing and this translator caffeinated. Also, I’d be super grateful if you could leave a rating or review on NovelUpdates—every little bit helps new readers find the story.

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