Chapter Seventy: One Thousand Nine Hundred and Ninety-Nine Mothers

What does the fusion of shaman and demon mean? It is the study of shamanic artifacts and demon artifacts together, cross-referencing them in hopes of discerning the crucial secrets within. Previously, Tang had gifted him a single-horned white bone rat skull and a piece of beast hide. The rat skull could be used for divination, while the hide served to store items—these two shamanic artifacts had been frequently studied by Luo Zu, yet he had failed to unravel any significant mysteries from them.

The rat skull was too enigmatic; Luo Zu even suspected it might be an ordinary skull, only that the shaman who used it for divination possessed great power or secret methods, with the true key lying in those hidden arts. As for the beast hide, Luo Zu could not decipher the shamanic incantations inscribed upon it. Tang had left in haste and did not pass them on, merely telling him one incantation to activate the hide—“Aya Kaya, Ding Ding Baka.” Luo Zu still found this baffling.

But there was no helping it; things were as they were, and Luo Zu could not catch a shaman to answer his questions. Perhaps even ordinary shamans would not know such incantations. Moreover, the shamans’ stance remained unclear, their relationship with the humans rather “ambiguous.” They bore humanoid forms—peculiar appearances, yet still somewhat humanlike—and thus, everyone could get along reasonably well.

Unlike the demon clan, Luo Zu’s impressions of them were far from favorable. If he were to seek an ally for humanity, it would certainly be the shamans. Yet Luo Zu was uncertain—was the Lady Nuwa of the primordial world a demon…? This could not be confirmed, and Lady Nuwa herself had not clarified, nor did Tang seem to know.

Regardless, whatever her race, whatever her allegiance, Luo Zu would always put the human clan first in all he did. Thus, adopting the methods of shaman and demon alike for the benefit of humanity gave him no qualms. At worst, others could borrow human techniques in the future; Luo Zu would be magnanimous enough.

He would not encrypt or hide anything, letting all living beings learn as they wished. Success or failure would depend on themselves—Luo Zu would have no further thoughts. In fact, the participation of more races meant the exchange and fusion of greater wisdom, which could only benefit humanity and Luo Zu alike.

Returning to the matter at hand, Luo Zu’s research into artifact forging had never ceased; after all, in the primordial wilds, one could not survive without a worthy weapon. A weapon must be suited to its wielder—Luo Zu found his Giant Que Sword especially fitting: when he wielded it, the air was thick with awe, its force mighty and imposing, and a single strike could shatter granite as easily as tofu.

Moreover, an artifact must be attuned to oneself—in harmony with one’s intent, magic, and true energy—so as to be used with ease. This was Luo Zu’s forging maxim, shared with the “cave dwellers” on the mountain. After witnessing the might of his Giant Que, everyone sought his methods for forging and consecrating artifacts. Luo Zu withheld nothing, writing a treatise titled “Summary of Artifact Consecration,” explaining his experiences in clear and accessible terms.

From appearance to materials, everything must suit oneself, and the artifact must be consecrated often with true energy, infused until it wholly becomes one’s own “shape.” Only then can it be forged well, and its use will yield twice the results with half the effort. Luo Zu believed there were no fools among the primordial humans; all were crafted by the sages, not dullards, and must not disgrace Lady Nuwa.

Yet, after writing the “Summary of Artifact Consecration,” Luo Zu found himself in a predicament. How should he proceed? He had ideas but no clear path, and must explore step by step. Fortunately, Luo Zu was accustomed to this. Often leading the way, he forgot the dangers and obstacles ahead, regarding them as commonplace. Only thus could he build and ascend the celestial ladder, climbing ever higher into the clouds.

With this self-consolation, Luo Zu threw himself back into his research with renewed vigor. Fire melted the metal, and he channeled prepared runes into the molten iron in the form of true energy. Yet once melted, the metal became like water—more lively than before—and the runes dissolved into it, only to be scattered and jumbled by the restless metal, losing their original meaning.

Luo Zu was helpless before this; he had yet to devise a solution. Even with nine avatars’ brains working in concert, no conclusion could be reached.

“Ruined,” Luo Zu said stiffly to his assistant nearby.

He had cast another avatar in the world within the pot, returning to his old trade of forging weapons. This time, however, he was not the famed master smith, but merely a village blacksmith. Yet even as such, he rarely made the usual farm implements—scythes, hoes, forks, rakes—instead forging knives, swords, and stranger weapons, as well as peculiar magical blades.

The villagers knew nothing of his background and seldom heard the clang of iron from his workshop, so assumed his business was poor and tools unsold. In their eyes, he was eccentric; when asked to forge tools, he would always refuse, never crafting farm implements. Yet they suspected nothing further, thinking him merely lazy.

As for his assistant, he was an orphan Luo Zu had found—seventeen years of age, tall and sturdy, bearing some barbarian blood, though not much, but still abandoned in the wilds.

“Understood,” the assistant, named Gu, replied.

Gu grabbed the handle of the furnace and poured the molten iron into a nearby ditch, already lined with black, rough iron residue. The varying depths of the ditch showed that much iron had been poured out here before. Surely, Luo Zu had uttered “ruined” many times.

He then took up a notebook, recording the experiment’s data, and said to his assistant, “Start another furnace.”

The fire was lit, heating the furnace until it glowed red. Gu took the shovel and scooped iron fragments from the basket. Soon, the iron melted into liquid, and Luo Zu infused it with runes once again. Failure came swiftly, yet Luo Zu felt no frustration. He simply sent his assistant to rest, and to fetch dinner from the village inn.

After Gu left, Luo Zu continued his research, adjusting minute details.

“One thousand nine hundred and ninety-nine times now, just one more to make a round number,” Luo Zu murmured, sighing.

Failure is the mother of success; his current achievement had nineteen hundred and ninety-nine mothers. Yet Luo Zu remained determined to find it another parent, even if it meant another thousand attempts.

By the way, Luo Zu’s assistant served another vital purpose.

He was the current vessel for the Barbarian God Hammer.

This was due to his bloodline, and Luo Zu’s arrangement.

Luo Zu wished to reference the Barbarian God Hammer as well, mainly because its forging and consecration methods were quite unique, markedly different from Luo Zu’s own techniques.

However, anyone bearing the Barbarian God Hammer must also bear its blood feud. Thus, his assistant spent every night restless, transforming into the Barbarian Lord and engaging in desperate battle with the greatest human masters.