Chapter 277: Spirit Slave
Chapter 277: Spirit Slave
Mo Hua's interest was piqued.
He examined it several more times, confirming that there was indeed something unique about the pale-faced man's Fireball Technique, which differed from the standard variation.
Mo Hua wanted to study it further.
However, the scar-faced man and the pale-faced man had already ceased their sparring.
They were, after all, within the Black Mountain Fortress, and their duty was to guard its gates. Even the slightest disagreement could cost them their lives.
Hence, their exchange was brief and shallow, neither daring to truly engage.
Mo Hua felt a bit disappointed.
He had hoped for a vicious battle from which he could scavenge some benefits.
But the encounter amounted to little more than a show of bluster, ending after only a few moves.
The scar-faced man and the pale-faced man exchanged a few harsh words before resuming their seats and drinking their cheap alcohol, as if nothing had transpired.
Yet, in the glances they exchanged, there lingered a hint of murderous intent.
Mo Hua pondered for a moment before deciding that he was still curious about the pale-faced man's Fireball Technique.
He already possessed a life-saving technique, but his offensive capabilities were lacking.
While the Fireball Technique was both swift and accurate, its power was mediocre.
If he could learn the secret behind the pale-faced man's variation, he could enhance his offensive capabilities without needing to learn another technique.
With this in mind, Mo Hua began to tail the pale-faced man after their shift ended.
He watched as the pale-faced man, having completed his guard duty, returned directly to his room.
Like most of the other evil cultivators, the pale-faced man lived in a spacious yet disheveled room, devoid of any distinctive features aside from a large box in the corner.
Having endured the night shift, the pale-faced man looked weary. He rested briefly before sitting up and beginning to meditate, his eyes closed.
Mo Hua found this peculiar.
It seemed that the pale-faced man was cultivating without the use of spirit stones.
Without them, what could he possibly be cultivating? The air?
After a while, the pale-faced man opened his eyes, a hint of agitation flashing across them.
He walked straight to the corner and opened the large box.
Mo Hua, perched on the beam, craned his neck to see. Inside the box was a living cultivator! The cultivator was emaciated and cowered in the box, too fearful to make a sound.
"Come out," the pale-faced man commanded.
At his words, the cultivator turned his head with a blank stare before slowly getting up and stepping out of the box.
"Kneel!"
The cultivator did not resist and knelt down as instructed.
A look of excitement crossed the pale-faced man's face as he placed his palm on the cultivator's forehead.
The cultivator's spiritual energy began to flow backward, traveling from his forehead into the pale-faced man's palm and eventually into his dantian.
The cultivator seemed accustomed to this treatment, his expression wooden as he neither resisted nor made a sound. He was like a block of wood, a lifeless object enduring the extraction of his spiritual energy.
After a short while, the pale-faced man had absorbed his fill. Satisfied, the deathly pallor of his face now held a hint of color.
He patted the cultivator's face and said condescendingly, "Cultivate the technique I taught you well."
"Remember, it was I who saved your life and granted you the position of 'spirit slave'. You should consider this an act of mercy, for otherwise, you would have been sucked dry by other evil cultivators."
"You should be grateful to me for allowing you to continue living!"
After his speech, the pale-faced man pointed to the box. "Get back in, and don't make a sound."
The cultivator, treated as a 'spirit slave', returned to the wooden box with the same blank expression and curled up silently, making no noise.
Mo Hua's heart chilled as he watched.
Now he understood what a 'spirit slave' was—a cultivator enslaved and drained of their spiritual energy.
These cultivators were less like people and more like moving 'spirit stones'.
To treat people as spirit slaves and spirit stones…
Mo Hua's young eyebrows furrowed.
As Elder Yu had said, the cultivators here were indeed beasts.
Having absorbed the spiritual energy from his 'spirit slave', the pale-faced man began to meditate and refine it.
While spirit stones provided pure spiritual energy, the energy from other cultivators was varied.
It was easier and more convenient to refine the spiritual energy of other cultivators, but it could also clash with one's own spiritual energy, leading to aberrations and a change in one's nature, making it easier to fall into madness.
The pale-faced man, having absorbed the spirit slave's spiritual energy, sat in meditation to refine it, his expression shifting constantly.
At one moment he looked ferocious, the next ecstatic, then manic, and finally, his face contorted with a mix of pain and pleasure.
After a while, the pale-faced man finished his cultivation, his appearance reverting to its previous pallor and frailty, though his cultivation had indeed strengthened somewhat.
In a pleasant mood, the pale-faced man took out a book from his storage bag and began studying it intently.
Mo Hua sneaked a glance and his heart skipped a beat.
The book's cover was partially obscured by the man, but the two characters that were visible were "Fireball."
Fireball Technique!
As expected, this pale-faced man cultivated a special variation of the Fireball Technique!
If it were an ordinary Fireball Technique, he wouldn't treat it as a treasure, carrying it with him and studying it from time to time.
However, since the pale-faced man carried the secret manual with him, Mo Hua had no opportunity to steal it.
It seemed that he would have to wait for another chance.
Before leaving, Mo Hua glanced again at the wooden box in the corner, where a spirit slave was kept.
The spirit slave didn't seem very old, but his face was sallow and skinny, his spiritual energy drained, making him appear much older.
Although he now had a blank and expressionless face, perhaps he had once been a cheerful and kind young man.
Mo Hua wondered if his parents knew of his plight in Black Mountain Fortress.
With this thought, Mo Hua sighed.
With his current limited cultivation, he couldn't save the boy.
But he vowed that if he ever became powerful enough, he would slaughter every one of these evil cultivators!
Mo Hua thought angrily.
Over the next few days, Mo Hua continued to focus on drawing the map.
One day, feeling hungry, he went to the Black Mountain Fortress's kitchen to find something to eat.
The kitchen was spacious and located in a relatively remote area.
It was dirty and disorderly, with bloodstains everywhere and various chunks of meat on the tables.
Not knowing what kind of meat they were, Mo Hua dared not eat them.
He could only steal some wild fruits and pastries to fill his stomach.
He hadn't expected to stay in Black Mountain Fortress for so long, so he didn't have much food left in his storage bag.
By now, he had already finished everything in his storage bag and could only make do with the food of the evil cultivators.
The wild fruits were sour and astringent, not very tasty.
Most likely, the dense toxic miasma in the deep mountains affected the soil, preventing the growth of better fruits.
The pastries were even worse.
Mo Hua took a bite and almost spat it out.
They were far inferior to what his mother used to make.
Mo Hua missed his mother's cooking, and he suddenly wondered how worried his parents must be, as he had been in Black Mountain Fortress for several days without any news of him.
Mo Hua sighed to himself, "I should have told my parents beforehand to spare them the worry."
But it was too late for regrets.
The best thing to do now was to finish the map quickly, gather information, and return home as soon as possible.
That way, his parents wouldn't have to worry anymore.
Mo Hua nodded to himself and endured the unpleasant smell as he swallowed the pastry.
Although the pastry was unpleasant, it could at least fill his stomach.
At this point, he couldn't afford to be picky.
As Mo Hua ate, he suddenly heard someone speaking.
One of them was an old man who worked in the kitchen, and the other voice sounded familiar.
Mo Hua raised his head from under the table and sneaked a look. To his surprise, the other person was the fat cultivator.
The fat cultivator had killed the skinny cultivator, used his head to ask for directions, and entered Black Mountain Fortress, only to end up with the menial task of delivering food.
The old man instructed the fat cultivator, "Take this food to that young master, and don't let him starve."
The fat cultivator nodded in response.
Chewing on the pastry, Mo Hua suddenly paused.
"Young master? What young master?"
Mo Hua frowned.
"Could it be... the young master of the Kong family?"
(End of Chapter)
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