Chapter 627: Fireball Technique?
Puppet Grandpa's "Fireball Technique" surfaced vividly in Mo Hua's mind.
He fell into deep contemplation…
Using divine sense to compress fireballs one by one, condensing them into threads—then weaving and fusing them together into a new reconstructed spell within a limited space, unleashing immense power…
This was the profound spell theory that Puppet Grandpa had demonstrated—hidden within something as ordinary as a fireball technique.
After a complex transformation, even a simple spell like Fireball could evolve into something strange and devastatingly powerful.
It was a bit like array formations… but not quite the same.
After all, spells and formations were fundamentally different.
Mo Hua hadn't yet reached that legendary realm of "all paths lead to the Dao" where formations and techniques became one. In his current understanding of cultivation, the two disciplines still had vast differences.
But then… how was this kind of Fireball Technique supposed to be cultivated?
"Compression… reconstruction…"
"A powerful Fireball Technique…"
Yu'er's face turned pale.
Inside the room was a spell puppet, used by disciples to practice and test the power of spells.
Yu'er looked up and saw Mo Hua gazing at her with a warm expression.
Just like that, Mo Hua took Yu'er by the hand and led her along the narrow mountain path, the evening growing darker as they headed toward the disciples' dorms, lit by warm yellow lantern light.
After returning, he stayed with Yu'er for a bit longer. Once she fell asleep, he squeezed in time to draw a few array scrolls—then dove back into thinking about the Fireball Technique…
The room had protective formations.
Yu'er's face slowly blossomed into a content smile.
The next day, Mo Hua found time to visit the Dao Technique Hall.
Night fell completely.
In the depths of night, instinct leftover from endless nightmares stirred: the fear of darkness.
Spells weren't like formations.
The Dao Technique Hall, as the name suggested, not only taught Daoist techniques but also had private rooms for disciples to train in spells.
The sunset had fully vanished. Suddenly, darkness fell across the land.
"Hmm!"
"I'll master Fireball Technique to its absolute limit!"
"I won't just be a spell master—I'll be a Fireball Master!"
After all, sword techniques, divine-sense sword techniques—they were all still far off. For now, he could only rely on Fireball.
"It's dark… let's head back."
Darkness or demons, nothing was worth fearing.
Fireball had been by his side for so long. He had to stay loyal—no cheating on it with fancier spells.
But spellcasting was no joke.
Yu'er sat curled up, hugging her knees, trembling slightly.
Mo Hua's divine sense was strong, and his spell control was extremely precise. To this day, he'd never lost control or injured himself with his own magic.
He blinked—he couldn't even imagine how someone could blow themselves up with their own spell.
Mo Hua had an idea forming… but when it came to the actual spell patterns, he was still lost, unable to crack it.
After all, in cultivation, mistakes are inevitable.
For array formations, he had the Dao Tablet—he could practice endlessly, deduce continuously.
But if a disciple messed up while practicing a spell and hurt themselves, alchemists would step in to treat them with spiritual medicine or stabilize their foundation with pills to prevent further damage.
That's why there were alchemists stationed outside the Dao Technique Hall.
Yu'er didn't fully understand, but she quietly stayed off to the side, not disturbing Mo Hua.
Being led by Mo Hua, Yu'er suddenly felt courage bloom again in her bones, enough to drive away all fear and unease.
If he had to choose one offensive spell among the five elements, he'd still choose Fireball.
Mo Hua kept replaying the fireball Puppet Grandpa had shown him, again and again. But there was still no breakthrough.
He stared blankly in the direction of the setting sun.
It was as if countless monsters and unknown evils lurked in the darkness beyond.
Mo Hua figured it was time to get hands-on—to test out every possible variation of the Fireball Technique.
Yu'er was startled but then smiled in relief.
Even if he learned sword techniques or divine-sense sword arts in the future, he'd never abandon Fireball for something new and shiny.
Since he'd started hunting evil cultivators and collecting their spell inheritances, Mo Hua occasionally rented rooms at the Dao Technique Hall to practice.
Yu'er shivered instinctively—her eyes still haunted by leftover fear and anxiety.
She had already finished her assignments and was rolling around on the soft grass. Eventually bored, she looked back and saw Mo Hua frowning in thought.
This kind of scene was common.
At some point, a warm hand gently patted her head.
Renting a spell room required spirit stones and registration with the Dao Technique Elder.
Mo Hua was on familiar terms with that elder.
Although his spellcraft grades were only rated "C", it wasn't because he lacked effort—it was because his spiritual roots were limited, and he simply couldn't learn high-grade spells.
The elder understood this and didn't mind Mo Hua attending his classes, even if he could only scrape a "C" in the end.
But Mo Hua had a deep understanding of low-grade spells, and his creative techniques had a style all his own.
The elder quite liked that.
He was idly playing chess with an alchemist elder when Mo Hua showed up. He greeted him kindly and reminded him, "Be careful—don't hurt yourself," before letting him in.
Mo Hua entered a private practice room and immediately began experimenting with improvements to his Fireball Technique.
He started with compression.
He tried replicating what Puppet Grandpa had shown—compressing the fireball into a thread using divine sense.
But… he failed.
His divine sense wasn't strong enough. Or maybe, his cultivation level was still too low. His control over spiritual power simply hadn't reached that threadlike precision.
All he could do was shrink a large fireball into a smaller one.
It was now about fist-sized, darker in color, and yes—slightly more powerful. But it wasn't a game-changer.
Mo Hua tested it on the practice puppet.
The early Foundation Establishment-level puppet got scorched with a darker burn mark—but then slowly regenerated.
These puppets were made from special materials, inscribed with formations that let them self-repair.
Mo Hua had been amazed the first time he saw it. He was especially curious about the internal formations—and even tried taking the puppet apart to study it…
But that triggered an alarm, and the Dao Technique Elder rushed in to stop his "rude behavior."
So he gave up.
Now, using his compressed "mini fireball" to blast the puppet, Mo Hua could tell that the spell had improved in power…
But only a little.
And since the "compression" process took extra time, the spell's casting speed suffered. In real combat, it would be way too clunky to be useful.
This "fist-sized mini fireball" was the current limit of his compression ability.
Mo Hua sighed.
"Still far too weak…"
His mastery of spellcraft was worlds apart from Puppet Grandpa's.
But thinking about it again—that made sense.
Puppet Grandpa's cultivation was astronomically higher than his.
Even his Senior Uncle feared him, unwilling to fight him directly, and had to use some sort of "Blood Dao" technique to restrain him…
It took Mo Hua a moment to remember the name:
Blood of Dao-Annihilation…
Dao-Annihilation…
"I hope Grandpa Puppet is okay…"
He remembered what Grandpa said that day to his Senior Uncle: "If I see you again, I'll kill you."
That meant the one who had been with him all this time—was just a clone or a puppet, not Grandpa's true body.
Mo Hua felt a little relieved—but also worried.
He didn't know how Grandpa was doing now…
Where he was…
And then there was that "Blood Daoist."
He'd heard that name twice now.
The first time: when the Saint Child tried to block Mo Hua's path. Terrified by his uncle, the Saint Child begged for mercy, revealing that he was a descendant of the "Blood Daoist." Only then did the uncle let him live.
The second time: when his uncle used the Dao-Annihilation Blood of the "Blood Daoist" to suppress Puppet Grandpa.
If even someone called "Daoist" could make his uncle so cautious—and needed to borrow his blood—then the Blood Daoist must be a terrifying figure…
Still, it was too early to worry about such things. For now, it was out of his league.
Mo Hua silently etched the name "Blood Daoist" into his memory.
Then, he focused again, determined to keep refining his Fireball Technique.
He might not be able to reach Puppet Grandpa's level…
But he could learn from the method.
Spell-threading, compression, reconstruction.
Spell Threading, Compression and Reconstruction.
If he couldn't reach Grandpa Puppet's level… then he'd simplify it. Even if he could only copy a fraction—one-tenth, even one-twentieth—the power should still be impressive.
If he couldn't thread a spell, then compress it into a sphere.
If he couldn't weave and reconstruct it—then… maybe fuse them?
"What if I fused two fireballs into one?"
Mo Hua's eyes lit up.
He began trying to cast two Fireball Techniques and then merge them…
But the moment he tried—failure.
That's when he recalled a basic magical principle he'd learned in Dao Technique class:
Humans can't cast two spells simultaneously.
Even if they're the same spell, there must be a time difference between them.
Mo Hua's own fireball casts, no matter how fast, always had a front-and-back order.
You had to conjure the first, release it, and only then could you conjure the second.
No matter how fast—it was still sequential.
The same applies to sustained spells—like Golden Body or Golden Bell Barrier:
First cast Golden Body, then control the sword.
First cast Golden Bell for protection, then cast another spell.
It may look like two spells are active at once, but the casting process was always one-after-the-other.
Mo Hua stroked his chin, thinking:
"Even Grandpa Puppet's fireball sequence—he conjured them one by one, and then merged them into a single spell…"
But that level of complexity… was beyond him.
"I need a different approach…"
Mo Hua frowned, pondering.
He was no longer a rogue cultivator without foundation.
Now that he was in the Great Void Sect, training daily, receiving formal teachings, his understanding of cultivation had deepened greatly.
Through constant exposure, he'd absorbed a lot of foundational spell theory.
One such theory: humans couldn't dual-cast because their divine sense is singular—it can't multitask.
"Can't multitask…"
Mo Hua's eyebrows shot up.
"Heavenly Mechanism—Phantom Computation!"
His divine sense might be singular…
But like his Senior Uncle, if he used Heavenly Mechanism—Phantom Computation, he could split it!
Once split, he'd have two streams of divine sense—wouldn't that allow him to break the standard magical limit and cast two spells at once?
And if he could cast two simultaneously… couldn't he attempt spell fusion?
Mo Hua's spirits lifted.
His pupils deepened, divine sense split into dual phantom thoughts, creating double vision—he began attempting to simultaneously conjure two fireballs.
But—he failed repeatedly.
He had never tried dual-casting with split sense before, so he was clumsy.
Either his divine sense wasn't stable, or his spiritual energy went off-track, or the spells failed to form properly…
But Fireball Technique was something Mo Hua had practiced to perfection. After a few tries, his phantom thoughts stabilized, energy flowed smoothly, and the dual spell constructs finally formed—
At some point, a flash of insight struck.
His eyes gleamed, and he extended both hands.
A fireball glowed in his left palm.
A second fireball blazed in his right.
Divine sense split—dual spellcasting achieved!
Mo Hua was ecstatic.
But then, a thought struck—wait, if he could dual-cast like this, why even bother researching complex fireball variants? Two fireballs at once should be stronger already.
He decided to test it. Extending both hands, he launched the fireballs. They streaked through the air and struck the spell puppet.
Two burn marks appeared on the puppet—before slowly healing as usual.
Mo Hua shook his head.
"Not good enough…"
The power of the split-cast fireballs had weakened.
One reason was his lack of practice.
The other was his limited spiritual energy—his meridians didn't hold enough to sustain two full-strength fireballs at once without some loss in output.
At this point, it was actually better to stick to the old method: casting fireballs one after another.
He was fast, so the delay was minimal—and the power didn't drop.
Unless…
Mo Hua paused to think.
Unless he needed to bombard rapidly, launching a flurry of fireballs in a short burst.
In that case, dual-casting would be valuable.
But if so, both his divine sense and spiritual energy would have to pour out like a flood.
His divine sense might hold—but his energy wouldn't.
Not something he could do right now.
Mo Hua sighed with regret.
If dual-casting wasn't viable, then he'd have to keep exploring spell fusion.
He nodded, then darkened his pupils once more, splitting his divine sense again. He conjured one fireball in each hand.
Mo Hua frowned slightly from the strain. Slowly, he began pushing the two fireballs toward each other—trying to fuse them…
But the fireballs repelled one another like two magnets with the same pole.
The closer they got, the stronger the repulsion.
Before long, Mo Hua couldn't hold them—the spell structure collapsed, and the fireballs fizzled out.
He panted heavily, sighing inwardly:
"Still not working…"
"The fireballs repel each other and can't be fused…"
"But why?"
Mo Hua thought for a while, then took out his copy of Essentials of Great Void Dao Techniques and began flipping through the pages, hunting for clues in the recorded magical principles.
After the time it takes to drink a cup of tea, he found a page titled 'Spell Structure.' Recalling what the elder had taught in class, he suddenly had a revelation.
Every spell has a specific internal structure.
This structure is stable and standardized, refined by generations of powerful cultivators. It forms the "template" that defines the essence of the spell.
Spell structures are also energy structures, containing the flow and variation of spiritual power within them.
And—importantly—different spells have incompatible internal structures.
That's why, when spell cultivators clash, the outcome is often decided by these internal structures.
High-grade spells have more stable structures and stronger energy—they crush lower-grade ones, causing them to collapse and disintegrate.
If two spells of equal strength clash, they may mutually collapse due to structural repulsion, resulting in a spiritual explosion.
Mo Hua nodded, but then hesitated—something didn't add up.
"Spell collision… mutual collapse… spiritual explosion…"
"But when I pushed my own two fireballs together—they just repelled. No explosion."
"Why?"
The more Mo Hua thought, the more bewildered he felt. He couldn't help but sigh—
Array formations are vast and profound… but spell techniques aren't simple either.
Once you dive deep into them, you discover they're full of intricate, obscure knowledge…
Mo Hua could only start by examining himself.
His two fireballs, though conjured with split divine thoughts, still originated from the same source—they were ultimately cast by the same divine sense, using the same spiritual power, and the same spell structure.
Like a "copy," each was the other's shadow.
So the two spells, sharing the same root, had a natural affinity.
But since they were independently cast, each had a separate spell structure—even if identical in form, they were still isolated frameworks.
And spell structures, by nature, repel one another.
So despite being of the same origin and compatible on one level, their separate structures caused them to reject each other.
A contradiction—spiritual energies tangled, unable to resolve.
Mo Hua's head started to ache.
If they shared a source, then fusion should be possible…
But if their frameworks were fundamentally separate and rejecting one another, then fusion was impossible…
It made no sense.
But Mo Hua didn't get discouraged.
For the next several days, he tried everything he could think of to force a spell fusion between the two same-source fireballs cast through dual technique.
He tried compressing the fireballs little by little using divine sense, hoping that would force them to merge.
He tried spinning them into a spiral, attempting to create alignment through rotation…
No matter what he tried, he failed.
Mo Hua frowned deeply and reflected:
"Maybe I'm… being too gentle…"
All these "compression," "spiral," "coalescing" fusion attempts—he'd been carefully and cautiously experimenting.
But the fireballs—were naughty. Disobedient.
Maybe he needed to be more aggressive?
But how?
Mo Hua recalled scenes of magical clashes he'd witnessed before… and suddenly, his eyes lit up.
"Collision?"
"What if I smashed the two fireballs into each other?"
He had strong divine sense—if he forced the two fireballs to crash into each other violently, maybe they'd fuse?
Muscle through it with brute force? Make a miracle?
Mo Hua hesitated—but then realized… he didn't have any better ideas. Might as well try.
After all, he was in the Dao Technique Room. Elders were nearby. These were just two little fireballs. What's the worst that could happen?
Mo Hua nodded.
Then, once again, he activated his old technique—his pupils darkened, phantom thoughts split, and one fireball formed in each hand.
This time, he didn't cautiously approach.
His expression focused. In that instant, he pushed his Sixteen-Rune Mutated Divine Sense to the limit!
Divine sense surged—crushing down—
The spells mutated.
Under this overwhelming pressure, the two fireballs began to violently tremble.
Suddenly, they turned from stillness to motion—blazing trails of light as they howled toward each other, colliding with devastating force—
A force enough to shatter spell structures.
It all happened in a split-second.
Moments later, Mo Hua felt dizzy, ears ringing, eyes blinded by searing light—
Then he heard a muffled boom—
Then nothing.
All sound vanished, swallowed by silence. A deafening, dead stillness.
In the fading clarity of his divine sense, Mo Hua realized—
His spiritual energy was completely out of control.
The fireball fusion had somehow birthed an unrestrained torrent of wild spiritual power.
Like a raging dragon, roaring and rampaging—refusing to be tamed, ready to devour everything—
Mo Hua, with the last wisp of divine sense, lassoed the wild energy with a metaphysical rope—
And hurled it forward in one final attack—
Then his vision went black. He collapsed onto the floor—unconscious.
Outside, the Dao Technique Elder was still playing chess.
Suddenly, a powerful sense of foreboding struck him.
He looked down—
And saw the central jade slip controlling the Dao Technique Rooms flashing red—a blinding crimson alert.
At the same time, a ripple of spiritual energy swept out—it was just at Foundation Establishment level, but warped,twisted, and tinged with something terrifying.
The elder's heart clenched. In a flash, he appeared at the source.
From the outside, the room looked intact.
But his hand trembled slightly as he opened the door—
Inside—
Devastation.
Cracks everywhere. Rubble and chaos.
A gnarled, charred scorch mark ran across the floor, trailing far into the distance.
The spiritual force still lingering in the air had been so strong, it activated the room's Grade-3 defensive formation.
The formation itself was still intact, but the walls had been scorched so severely the protective runes beneath were exposed, etched into the raw stone.
It looked like the entire room had been shredded from the inside.
At the start of the burn trail—lay a small cultivator.
Collapsed. Burnt hand on the left, cracked skin on the right, blood at the corner of his mouth.
And at the end of the trail…
There should have been a spell puppet.
The puppet meant to test Foundation Establishment spell strength?
It was gone.
Not broken.
Erased.
There wasn't even dust left behind.
The Dao Technique Elder's mouth fell open. He sucked in a sharp, cold breath.
"What the hell… was that…"
"A… Fireball Technique?!"
(End of this Chapter)