The Quest for Immortality - Chapter 1165 (Patreon)

Chapter 1165: Black-Horn Barbarian Armor

In the days that followed, Mo Hua began serving as “teacher” to the children of those barbarian tribes, teaching them characters, the principles of being a person, basic cultivation common sense, and fundamentals of arrays.

Mo Hua gained yet another identity in the Great Wilderness.

Eight days later, Elder Jiaohu came looking for Mo Hua.

Inside a spacious command tent, Mo Hua was in the middle of teaching a bunch of children how to cultivate.

Elder Jiaohu bowed with his head lowered, then stole a sideways glance. Seeing that the Black Horn Tribe’s children hadn’t been “eaten” by Mo Hua, “killed,” or used as “sacrifices,” he felt both moved and rueful.

On the contrary, each child wore clean clothes, sat quietly in the tent listening, and respectfully addressed Mo Hua as “Sir.” The sight left him grateful and sighing.

Mo Hua glanced at Elder Jiaohu and said to the children, “Review what I just taught you on your own.”

“Yes, sir.” The children nodded.

Mo Hua rose and walked over to the side council hall.

Elder Jiaohu hurried to follow. Only after entering did he bow and say, “Reporting to the Lord Shaman, this old servant did not fail your trust. The Black-Horn Barbarian Armor has been forged.”

Slavery existed in the Great Wilderness. Barbarian cultivators worshiped their gods and considered themselves slaves of the barbarian gods. After acknowledging Mo Hua’s identity, Elder Jiaohu began referring to himself as “this old slave.”

Mo Hua didn’t much like the word “slave.”

But it wasn’t the right time. His power and influence were still limited, and he had to maintain his persona as shaman of the royal court without inviting doubt.

“Bring it. Let me see,” Mo Hua said calmly.

Elder Jiaohu took out of his storage pouch the Black-Horn Barbarian Armor he and a group of tribal craftsmen had forged with great care and presented it to Mo Hua.

Mo Hua examined it closely and gave a slight nod.

“Barbarian armor” was simply the local term in the Great Wilderness. In essence, it was a kind of “armor” used by cultivators in combat.

Although the basic principles of artifact forging were similar, differences in region, resources, materials, and lineages meant this barbarian armor of the Great Wilderness differed markedly from the Dao Court’s Nine Provinces’ standard Dao Army armor.

First, the materials.

Dao Army armor also used demonic beast materials, but gold, silver, and steel comprised the bulk.

Barbarian armor, however, was made almost entirely from demonic beast materials.

In a sense, barbarian armor was more like a layer of man-made “beast hide” or “beast bone.”

Their array systems were also utterly different.

Dao Army armor generally used Five Elements–Eight Trigrams arrays.

Barbarian armor mostly used Four Symbols–type beast patterns, or more broadly, bestial patterns.

Like Dao Army armor, barbarian armor came in many varieties: simple light bone armor, flexible leather armor, heavy bone armor that was cumbersome but hard as rock, and a number of special hereditary armors with unbelievable powers.

By the design drawings, Elder Jiaohu’s “Black-Horn Barbarian Armor” should have belonged to the “heavy bone armor” category.

The problem was that heavy bone armor consumed far more materials, drew mainly from the bones of ferocious large demonic beasts, and required more complex craftsmanship and higher skill.

The Black Horn Tribe didn’t have that foundation.

Elder Jiaohu didn’t have that ability either.

Thus, what he forged now was only a set of black, somber-looking “light bone armor.”

It wasn’t anything dazzling, but given the constraints, forging it to this level already satisfied Mo Hua.

Mo Hua nodded. “Not bad.”

Elder Jiaohu let out a breath and cupped his hands. “The barbarian-armor blueprint bestowed by the Lord Shaman was so detailed and complete that this old servant could forge such fine armor at all.”

It was also the finest Black-Horn Barbarian Armor he had forged in his life.

Of course, he knew that before the exalted Lord Shaman, whose eyes were higher than most, this was merely “a crude display.”

“Lord Shaman, there is one more matter…” Elder Jiaohu hesitated. “No one in our Black Horn Tribe can draw the array on this armor.”

Mo Hua nodded. “It’s fine.” He took out an array brush, dipped it in ink, and casually stroked a few lines.

A Four Symbols Black Horn Array formed as if chiseled by knife and ax, precisely etched onto the armor’s array medium—the black-horn bone plate.

Elder Jiaohu didn’t even have time to see how Mo Hua drew it.

It seemed Mo Hua only flicked his wrist; the tip moved, and the ink lines slithered on their own. The abstruse array sealed itself of its own accord.

Elder Jiaohu’s heart trembled. The young shaman before him, he felt, possessed unfathomable mastery.

He bowed deeply. “The Lord Shaman is wise.”

For a moment Mo Hua couldn’t tell whether Jiaohu truly thought him “wise,” or was just flattering him.

It didn’t matter. As an exalted shaman, he was destined to accept others’ praise.

After a brief thought, Mo Hua summoned Xiaozhatu and ordered, “Go call in Chief Wucha of the Wulu Tribe.”

“Yes, sir.”

Xiaozhatu nodded and scampered off. After a while, he brought in Wucha, reeking of blood.

Wucha came before Mo Hua, crossed his right hand over his chest, bowed, and said, “Lord Shaman.” Only then did he lift his head.

The instant he did, he saw the Black-Horn Barbarian Armor by Mo Hua’s hand. A fierce light flared in his eyes.

“Lord Shaman, this is—?!”

Mo Hua’s gaze sharpened. “You want it?”

Wucha nodded and dropped to one knee, eyes wolf-bright, imploring, “I beg the Lord Shaman to grant Wucha this armor! Wucha will slaughter the four directions for the Lord Shaman, invincible wherever I go.”

Mo Hua was a little surprised.

As he had imagined, any barbarian cultivator would want his own barbarian armor.

He hadn’t expected that even a tribal chief like Wucha would yearn for it so desperately he would kneel and plead of his own accord.

Mo Hua’s thoughts turned, and he suddenly recalled that none of the Wulu Tribe’s barbarian cultivators wore barbarian armor.

That meant barbarian armor was actually quite scarce among the barbarians?

Scarcer even than he had thought? Why…

Was it because barbarian cultivators were rough and warlike, cared only for slaughter, and paid little attention to crafts like artifact forging, so few among them could forge armor?

Or was it that the lineages of barbarian armor themselves were rare?

Or perhaps barbarian armor carried symbolic meaning among barbarian cultivators—not something the average barbarian had the qualifications to wear?

Mo Hua pressed these questions down for now, intending to verify them later.

He couldn’t ask them outright.

After all, his current identity was shaman of the royal court; he ought to be the one who knew barbarian history and the origins of barbarian armor best.

If he asked such “common-knowledge” questions, it would certainly arouse suspicion and chip away at the aura of omniscience he’d cultivated.

Mo Hua glanced at Wucha and said solemnly, “This ‘incomparably precious’ barbarian armor, I now bestow upon you.”

“But remember: all of this is a gift from the Divine Lord.”

“From this day forth, you are to wage war for the Divine Lord across the land. Harbor no divided heart, or else this grace will become a godly punishment that takes your life—your soul scattered, with no rebirth.”

Wucha’s face was grave as he knelt before Mo Hua. “Wucha will remember the Lord Shaman’s teaching and will gladly give his life for the Divine Lord.”

Mo Hua nodded and granted the Black-Horn Barbarian Armor to Wucha, then commanded sternly, “Put it on, gather your clansmen, and fight for the Divine Lord across the four directions.”

“If you earn battle merits, I will be lenient and grant you more armor. Then your clansmen, too, will receive the Divine Lord’s blessing.”

Wucha was overjoyed. “My Wulu Tribe will brave boiling water and blazing fire for the Divine Lord—unstoppable!”

Mo Hua inclined his head. “You may go.”

Wucha cradled the Black-Horn Barbarian Armor, thanked him profusely, and withdrew.

At the side, Elder Jiaohu grew uneasy at the sight, his expression full of anger and unwillingness.

Mo Hua looked at him. “Elder Jiaohu, are you dissatisfied?”

Elder Jiaohu cupped his hands. “I wouldn’t dare.” But after speaking, he couldn’t swallow the bitterness and said, “The Black-Horn Barbarian Armor is our Black Horn Tribe’s wargear—our ancestral inheritance, our tribe’s honor.”

“Those rabble of the Wulu Tribe, with their base blood, filthy blood, strange blood, are unqualified to wear our Black Horn Tribe’s armor. It is a desecration!”

Elder Jiaohu was righteous and indignant.

Mo Hua’s eyes glinted. He more or less understood.

Barbarian armor in the Great Wilderness indeed emphasized tribal bloodline and inheritance. It represented a tribe’s history and glory.

Not every tribe could pass it down.

Some tribes that seemed strong—prosperous for a moment with impressive might—were ultimately “nouveau riche” for a season.

Without the “glory” and inheritance of their forebears, they could neither forge excellent armor nor claim the qualifications to wear it.

For the barbarians, armor wasn’t only a piece of defensive gear that enhanced a warrior’s strength.

It also signified identity and honor.

Thus these barbarians treated “barbarian armor” like their very lives.

For that reason, seeing the fine armor he had forged with care—armor emblematic of the Black Horn Tribe—being worn by the Wulu chief, Elder Jiaohu’s heart ached and he burned with resentment.

“This is all for the Divine Lord,” Mo Hua said.

Elder Jiaohu bowed. “Yes.” He clearly still brooded, though, resentment lodged in his heart.

Mo Hua gave him a look and said coolly, “Your tribe’s armor is subpar.”

Elder Jiaohu reflexively bristled, but when he realized these words came from the Lord Shaman, a master of sacred patterns, shame and dejection washed over him. “The Lord Shaman speaks truth…”

Mo Hua shook his head. “But your tribe’s armor ought to be more than this.”

Elder Jiaohu started.

“In the history of my barbarians,” Mo Hua said slowly, “your Black Horn Tribe has been heroic and illustrious…”

That line was pure fabrication.

He was a Dao Court cultivator—what did he know of barbarian history? He had only learned of the Black Horn Tribe a few days ago.

But granted recognition by the Lord Shaman, Elder Jiaohu was deeply moved.

Mo Hua went on, “Yet your tribe declined; the inheritance of the Black-Horn Barbarian Armor was mostly taken from you.”

“That is why I had Wucha don the armor and go forth to subdue the lands—to take back the inheritance your tribe lost.”

“Afterwards, I will act personally—tracing back to the source, unifying the forging methods of the Black-Horn Barbarian Armor, and forging a truly powerful Ancestor Armor for your tribe.”

“When the time comes, I will bestow that ancestor-grade Black-Horn Barbarian Armor upon the strongest warrior of your tribe. He will don the Ancestors’ armor and rekindle the glory of the Black Horn Tribe…”

Mo Hua’s voice was calm and even.

But Elder Jiaohu was flushed with excitement, eyes reddening.

Every word Mo Hua spoke shook him to the core.

He saw laid before him a path he had never dared imagine—one worthy of his life’s devotion.

Reforge the Ancestor Armor and restore their honor!

Elder Jiaohu fell to his knees and kowtowed three times, loud as drums, as if he wished he could cut open his chest to show his heart. “Jiaohu will exhaust himself for the Lord Shaman—until death!”

Mo Hua nodded and instructed, “I’m entrusting the forging of barbarian armor to you.”

“I will supply all the manpower and resources you need. You must forge more Black-Horn Barbarian Armor in the shortest time possible.”

“Yes!”

Elder Jiaohu left with a heart full of loyalty.

Mo Hua let out a quiet breath. At least one matter was settled.

If he didn’t intervene, for Wucha and the others to win battles, they could only rely on armor. Even one or two sets of second-grade armor on Wucha’s elite would be enough to tilt campaigns in the second-grade mountain domain decisively.

The more armor, the stronger the force, the higher the odds.

As for Elder Jiaohu—he might not be loyal to Mo Hua personally, but he was utterly devoted to the Black Horn Tribe.

So long as the tribe’s future was tied to Mo Hua’s grand design, he would naturally throw himself into forging armor.

There was one thing Mo Hua hadn’t anticipated.

Elder Jiaohu was indeed loyal and threw himself wholly into armor forging.

But his comprehension was limited.

His artifact-forging standard was also somewhat behind.

As a result, progress lagged and the product quality was unsatisfactory.

Either production was slow, or defects crept in and the armor broke easily.

Mo Hua truly had no choice. After turning it over in his mind, he handed “Sword Bone” to Elder Jiaohu.

Elder Jiaohu eyed the eerie white-bone broken sword before him and felt a chill. “Lord Shaman, this is…”

“This is…” Mo Hua paused, pondered a moment, then said solemnly, “This is a Sword Dao Demon Venerable of immense power. He transformed into Dao through the sword and entered the demonic path. Later, the Divine Lord suppressed and subdued him, sealing him within this white-bone broken sword…”

“For matters of artifact forging and armor casting, you may consult him.”

Within the white-bone broken sword, Sword Bone felt complicated.

“A Sword Dao Demon Venerable of immense power”… was that supposed to be him?

He couldn’t tell if Mo Hua was praising or mocking him.

In front of Mo Hua he was a mere gofer.

Only when Mo Hua wanted to eat a barbarian god, or deliberately invade a sacrificial altar, would he be sent to pave the way, lead the route, mind the gate.

Otherwise he hardly dared breathe, afraid if he drew attention when Mo Hua was hungry, he’d be popped into that maw as a toothpick…

Elder Jiaohu knew none of this.

Terrified, he received the white-bone broken sword with both hands and probed it carefully. Sure enough, he sensed within a “powerful” demonic aura that induced shudders. His reverence for the Lord Shaman and the Divine Lord grew ever more devout.

“This old servant will not fail the Lord Shaman’s trust nor the Divine Lord’s grace.”

Mo Hua temporarily left Sword Bone in Elder Jiaohu’s care.

In life, Sword Bone had been a sword-casting elder of Ten Thousand Demons Valley; before that, a sword-forging disciple of Tai’a Sect.

His attainment in artifact forging was extremely deep.

Moreover, Ten Thousand Demons Valley was populated mainly by demon cultivators; their forging certainly involved extensive use of demonic-beast materials.

With Sword Bone advising Elder Jiaohu on forging barbarian armor, it should be more than sufficient.

It also let him shine a little longer.

And Mo Hua’s orders, Sword Bone dared not neglect.

So, in a hidden stone chamber of the Black Horn Tribe, a barbarian elder of the tribe and a sword demon lodged in a white-bone broken sword buried themselves in the Dao of forging, researching methods for casting Great Wilderness barbarian armor.

With guidance from the mighty “Sword Dao Demon Venerable,” Elder Jiaohu’s skills in forging armor steadily improved.

The armor-casting workflow ran ever more smoothly.

More and more Black-Horn Barbarian Armor rolled off the line.

Mo Hua then had Wucha, chief of the Wulu Tribe, and several Wulu Foundation Establishment elders don the armor and “campaign” on his behalf.

When they captured new tribes, wanton killing was forbidden. But the Wulu warriors who took the settlements could split off extra spoils.

Of course, the best “reward” was still Black-Horn Barbarian Armor.

Rewards were necessary.

Wucha was a wild wolf; he needed “meat” to do things.

So did the Wulu Tribe. In fact, most barbarian tribes were like this.

Wucha had been right before: sending them to conquer tribes while forbidding burning, killing, and looting—and giving them no benefits—wasn’t a long-term plan.

By leaning on the shaman’s name and authority, you could suppress them for a time, but not forever.

If you didn’t feed them some meat, then at the first hitch on a campaign, they might revolt and bite back.

But you couldn’t keep feeding them like that, either.

A wolf, in the end, can’t be domesticated.

Draw them with profit; as long as there’s profit, they’re calm. When the profit vanishes, they riot.

Build on personal gain alone, and achievements can collapse in an instant.

Thus, the root problem had to be solved.

He had to cultivate from childhood a cohort of children with true Dao hearts, broad horizons, and lofty ambitions—so that when they grew up to govern the Great Wilderness, they could change the situation from the very base.

The more such children, the greater the influence upon the Wilderness, and the stronger the force for change.

Of course, this would be a long process.

Ten years to grow trees; a hundred years to grow people.

You can’t abandon something just because the results are slow.

Quick results treat the symptoms; slow results heal the root.

This was what Mo Hua deemed most important now that he had retreated “behind the scenes” to steer the grand situation.

From then on, Mo Hua entrusted armor forging to Elder Jiaohu.

External campaigns he entrusted to Wucha.

Most of Mo Hua’s time went to “preaching and teaching,” instructing the children of the Wilderness in cultivation, craft, and the cultivation of the heart.

This was the way he had absorbed from Instructor Yan, from Mr. Zhuang, and from Mr. Xun of the Great Void Sect—truths heard day after day until they became his own.

The Great Dao is like water: flowing, it does not rot.

The genuine knowledge, learning, and principles must be passed on to more people.

Before, others had taught him, and he had called them “sir.”

Now he taught others, and they called him “sir.”

When Wucha campaigned, Mo Hua gave him one iron command: No killing children.

Not only were they not to be killed—children of every tribe were to be brought back and handed over to him.

Thus, as Wucha, clad in Black-Horn Barbarian Armor, expanded ceaselessly across the second-grade Black Horn mountain domain, conquering tribe after tribe…

The number of children under Mo Hua’s wing grew.

And the number of people who called him “sir” kept growing as well…

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