Immortality Through Array Formations

Chapter 2475: Chapter 12: Eliminating Witnesses (Part 2)

This is an old mountain stronghold.

The blood on the gate has already formed a thick layer, turning black from the sun and rain.

Mo Hua glanced over it, and with his naked eyes, he could see the air saturated with thick, sticky death qi.

Many people must have died here over the years.

Mo Hua released his divine sense and scanned the area, sensing the presence of over a hundred living beings within the stronghold.

Each one was enveloped in filthy murderous karma, their divine souls mottled and grimy, clearly people with blood-stained hands and sordid histories.

This is a mountain stronghold of bandit cultivators, filled with filth.

Mo Hua instinctively thought of the Black Mountain Stronghold.

The Black Mountain Stronghold in Tongxian City, hidden deep within Big Black Mountain, was funded by the Qian Family’s patriarch, housing a large number of sin cultivators and evil cultivators, indulging in murder and robbery, cultivating evil skills, and amassing great sins.

The bandit cultivator stronghold before him was not as large as the Black Mountain Stronghold, but equally dark, stained with blood, acting as a "tumor."

Pain shot through Mo Hua’s meridians, his blood surged instantly, and his heart instinctively filled with a killing intent, but he gritted his teeth, forcing it down.

Under normal circumstances, he would destroy this stronghold.

But now he was afflicted by murderous karma, the evil qi had penetrated his heart, it was not wise to commit another massacre.

"I should leave here, report to the Taoist Court in Immortal City, let them destroy this stronghold, that way I won’t have to dirty my hands..."

Mo Hua quietly thought.

But the killing intent in his heart continued to agitate his emotions.

The evil qi also eroded his sea of consciousness, making him extremely irritable.

Mo Hua took a deep breath, forcing himself not to think about the mountain bandits, not to think about the stronghold, emptying his mind, calming his spirit.

Only after a long while did his mood gradually ease, and he resolutely turned away, walking in another direction away from the stronghold.

Out of sight, out of mind.

As long as he got away from this bandit cultivator stronghold, the influence of the evil qi would dissipate, and the source of the karmic cycle triggering murder would be gone.

Thinking this way, Mo Hua walked straight ahead without looking back, traveling over two miles.

The stronghold was obscured by rugged peaks, disappearing from Mo Hua’s view.

Sure enough, Mo Hua’s mood improved somewhat, the killing intent in his heart slowly unraveled.

He maintained a calm demeanor, continuing on to the other side of the mountain.

Getting further and further away from the stronghold.

Continuing on, he walked another mile, arriving beside a tall tree.

Sweeping his eyes over it, his gaze trembled slightly, and he fell silent.

The tree was large, its trunk thick, and hanging from it were dozens of headless corpses.

These corpses were emaciated, dressed in tattered clothing, clearly impoverished loose cultivators, with bloodthirsty flies buzzing around their bodies.

Their skulls had been severed and piled on the ground, faces frozen in fear.

Besides the hanging corpses, there were some women’s bodies on the ground, seemingly subjected to non-human abuse, limbs broken, exposing wounds to the bone.

Even a few children had their necks twisted like puppets, discarded carelessly to the side.

The scenes were bloody and cruel, unbearable to witness.

The bandit cultivators had deliberately arranged this at the path entrance to "intimidate," showcasing their brutality, instilling fear and dread in others.

But these things deeply rattled Mo Hua, who had been suppressing his emotions.

The anger in his heart spread rapidly.

The long-repressed killing intent overflowed like a flooding Yellow River, completely uncontrollable.

Mo Hua closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and when he opened them again, his eyes were pitch black, his demeanor as cold as the freezing winter.

"Enough, those who deserve death will sooner or later meet it..."

Thinking this, Mo Hua suddenly felt much lighter.

He slowly turned around, retracing his steps back.

He walked all the way to the stronghold’s front, concealing himself as he sat on a large rock not far from the stronghold.

The entire stronghold was noisy and bustling, no one could possibly realize that an invisible "ghost god" was sitting at their doorstep, watching them coldly.

Until the sun set and night fell.

The mountain bandits returning from "hunting" came back to the stronghold one after another.

Mo Hua calculated with his fingers, knowing that none had escaped his notice, and his gaze revealed a hint of cold sharpness. Then he slowly stood up, invisible and soundless, and began to walk toward the stronghold, step by step.

The night had descended.

Within the stronghold, bonfires were lit, glowing as red as blood.

The mountain bandits who had been busy all day drank and feasted in the stronghold.

The wine was of poor quality, harsh to the throat, the meat bloody and unknown.

They loudly talked about the money they had stolen, the caravans they had destroyed, the villages they had burned, the heads they had chopped off, the women they had assaulted...

Using these stories to enhance their drinking pleasure, showing off their prowess.

Sitting at the highest point was a scar-faced burly man, a foundation building cultivator, who was the camp leader of the stronghold.

He held a cup, watching his group of brothers in this desolate land, like wolves, murdering and plundering, eating meat and drinking wine, feeling greatly delighted, and he downed his cup of strong liquor in one gulp.

Amidst the clamor, after rounds of drinking, intoxication surged.

The group drank themselves into a daze.

A night wind suddenly blew past, the foundation establishment camp leader shivered, a chill inexplicably arising in his heart, he looked around, seeing the deep darkness surrounding the stronghold.

In the darkness, something seemed to be gradually approaching, "encircling" them.

The camp leader’s expression slightly changed.

Years of living on the edge of life and death, licking blood off the blade had honed his instincts, telling him there was definitely something wrong.

"Where’s Old Huang? Why haven’t I seen him?"

Someone below spoke: "The third camp leader went out to rob, he hasn’t returned yet."