He could still remember the fear on the face of the Little Green-faced Ghost.
It was as if it faced the greatest terror in the world, the terror of true death and the obliteration of its path by the Great Dao.
The Taoist Stele didn’t even do anything—not shining or showing anomalies—just a few strands of breath turned the Little Green-faced Ghost into green smoke.
Mo Hua’s heart grew solemn.
This Taoist Stele might be much more powerful than he had imagined, and its origins were probably quite fearsome.
Mo Hua was not yet in a position to ask Mr. Zhuang.
Though he trusted Mr. Zhuang completely, the stele’s special origins and significant implications meant that the fewer people who knew about it, the better. It was best if he were the only one who knew.
As for the mysteries of the stele, he would slowly uncover them later.
The miasma around him started to thin, and the fog lightened, the surroundings no longer imposing, and the monster beasts encountered along the way were much weaker.
Before they knew it, they had left the Inner Mountain and were now walking on the mountain paths of the Outer Mountain.
Mo Hua turned back and glanced at the deep mountains.
The great fog shrouded everything, leaving only a vast expanse of haze.
But Mo Hua knew that the Black Mountain Stronghold was nestled deep within that fog, having persisted for two to three hundred years.
Inside, there were mountains of corpses and seas of blood, with demons dancing wildly.
The spirit slaves were reduced to skin and bones; the women suffered a fate worse than death, and the other cultivators who had been captured were tortured mercilessly.
Mo Hua had lived his whole life in Tongxian City, in poverty, but amid neighborly harmony and helpful cultivators.
It was only now that he had truly seen the other side of the cultivation world.
Bloody, icy, brutal, and evil.
In this world, there were diligent and righteous cultivators who pursued the Heavenly Dao; there also roamed lawless and utterly evil heretical demons.
Some cultivators not only killed people but also drank their blood, absorbed their spiritual power, treating people not as human beings but as spirit slaves, blood slaves—simply breathing spirit stones.
This was a “dog-eat-dog” world.
Mo Hua understood that simply learning formations was not enough.
If his cultivation was strong, then he could have saved all the innocent cultivators in Black Mountain Stronghold, instead of being forced to watch them be persecuted by the evil cultivators until their death.
To kill those evil cultivators, no cunning schemes would be needed—just one Fireball Technique could burn them to death.
And if his cultivation was high enough to comprehend stronger formations, he might even be able to set up an Earth Fire Great Formation that could send the entire Black Mountain Stronghold to heaven.
Ultimately, cultivation is the cornerstone of a cultivator, formations are the foundation of existence, and spells are the sharp weapons of self-protection.
None of the three can be lacking.
He had to understand the Heavenly Dao through formations for the benefit of all, as well as master powerful spells with his cultivation to eradicate evil demons.
Mo Hua’s thoughts became clearer, and his eyes grew more determined.
Liu Ruhua stood by his side. Watching his expression change from joy to frowning, she wondered what he might be pondering, and eventually, as if making up his mind, his expression turned serious.
Even just silently watching Mo Hua by his side, she felt much more at ease.
Liu Ruhua smiled with relief, her gaze as tender as water.
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