The Eternal Farmer: I Trade My Harvest for Immortality

Chapter 282: Mo Sha

The moment Jiang Chen touched down at the tournament grounds, the roar of the crowd washed over him. Battles raged across all nine arenas, but the activity around Arena Seven was at a fever pitch. The spectators were packed three layers deep, shouting and craning their necks.

“Is that him? The guy who almost took down Long Ao?”

“That’s Mo Sha! Look at him!”

Hearing the name “Mo Sha,” Jiang Chen immediately pushed through the crowd. He had been curious about this man for a long time—the brute who had traumatized Shui Wuhen and nearly crippled Long Ao. Now, he finally had a chance to see the monster in the flesh.

On the arena stood a figure that looked less like a cultivator and more like a humanoid beast.

Mo Sha was a towering wall of muscle, his skin the color of burnished bronze and mapped with scars of varying depths. His face was a landscape of hard angles: high cheekbones, deep-set eyes, and a jawline that looked carved from granite. A mane of thick, messy black hair spilled over his shoulders, adding to his feral appearance.

While other disciples wore the elegant, flowing robes of the sect, Mo Sha wore a crude tunic fashioned from the hide of some unknown beast. His belt was a brutal contraption of leather and iron chains, hung heavy with macabre trophies: broken blade shards, dried monster claws, and several bloodstained Storage Bags.

His eyes glowed with a savage, predatory light.

Like Jiang Chen, Mo Sha possessed the three mutually generating Spirit Roots: Wood, Fire, and Earth. But his mastery over them was on a completely different level.

His Wood Spirit Root manifested as a tangled forest of thorny vines that choked half the arena, restricting his opponent’s movement while providing him with cover and regeneration.

His Earth Spirit Root encased him in a heavy, yellow armor of light, while simultaneously launching jagged stone spikes from the floor at unpredictable angles.

And his Fire Spirit Root… that was the true nightmare. He breathed roaring flames and summoned massive, spiraling firestorms. But these weren’t normal orange flames; they burned with an eerie, sickly green hue.

Mutated Poison Fire.

It didn’t just burn flesh; it corroded Meridians and poisoned the blood.

On the surface, Mo Sha fought like a berserker—wild, violent, and reckless. He seemed to attack with zero regard for his own safety, driven only by a thirst for violence.

But Jiang Chen saw deeper.

Beneath the savagery lay a terrifyingly precise tactical mind. Mo Sha’s rhythm was flawless. His elemental combinations were perfectly timed to layer effects and trap his opponent. He was bold, yes, but meticulously so.

“I finally understand why Shui Wuhen has psychological trauma,” Jiang Chen muttered to himself. “Compared to this monster, Shui Wuhen was outclassed in every possible metric.”

Water Spirit Roots were known for their endurance and fluid power. But a tri-element cultivator like Mo Sha had equal endurance and three times the versatility. If Long Ao hadn’t possessed a contracted thousand-year-old spirit beast during their fight, Mo Sha would likely have crushed him too.

However, Mo Sha’s current opponent was no pushover.

His name was Ling Chuan, a rare Ice Spirit Root cultivator who had fought his way into the semi-finals.

Ling Chuan was the antithesis of Mo Sha. He was slender and pale, with delicate, handsome features and eyes as calm as a frozen lake. He wore a crisp water-blue martial outfit draped in white gauze, embroidered with cyan wave patterns.

At his waist hung a flask radiating intense glacial Qi. On his ankles were silver Spirit Weapon anklets etched with speed runes.

While Water Spirit Roots created soft, resilient barriers, Ice Spirit Roots forged shields of diamond-hard frost. Mo Sha’s attacks—whether wood, earth, or even his potent poison fire—lost nearly 40% of their power the moment they struck Ling Chuan’s defenses.

“I’ve never seen him at the Rain Pavilion,” Jiang Chen mused aloud.

“Of course you haven’t. Like Chen Tian, he just returned from a long excursion to participate in the competition.”

The familiar voice came from behind him. Jiang Chen didn’t turn; he had sensed their approach moments ago.

“Senior Brother Long,” Jiang Chen greeted, looking at the pair of “brothers in misfortune.” “What brings you here?”

Long Ao stared grimly at the arena. “It’s Mo Sha. We had to see this.”

Beside him, Shui Wuhen was trembling. He stared at the brutish figure on the stage with a complex mix of terror, envy, and a strange, twisted admiration. He tried to speak, but his lips just quivered silently.

On the stage, the battle was gridlocked.

Mo Sha, with his three elements, should have been dominating. But Ling Chuan’s defense was impenetrable, his Ice attribute offering natural resistance to Mo Sha’s fire. Neither could land a decisive blow.

“Who do you think will win, Senior Brother Long?” Jiang Chen asked.

“Mo Sha,” Long Ao replied instantly.

“Why?”

“Endurance,” Long Ao said, his voice grave. “Mo Sha has the cycle of mutual generation: Wood feeds Fire, Fire feeds Earth. His reserves are deep. Ling Chuan has incredible defense, but Ice consumes massive amounts of Qi to maintain. He’ll run dry first.”

His prediction was dead on.

After a quarter of an hour of high-intensity bombardment, Ling Chuan began to falter. His glacial shield, once thick and impervious, had been whittled down to a razor-thin layer.

Mo Sha sensed blood. He unleashed a frenzied barrage of tri-elemental techniques, hammering the failing shield without mercy.

CRACK!

The sound was sharp and final. The ice barrier shattered into a million glittering shards.

Ling Chuan stood exposed, defenseless against the oncoming monster.

He didn’t hesitate.

“I concede!”

The referee stepped in, ending the match.

The crowd erupted. It had been a spectacular display of power and resilience. The Ice Spirit Root’s performance had been brilliant, but the savage versatility of the tri-element beast had won the day.

As Mo Sha stood panting on the stage, he turned his gaze to the audience. His eyes locked onto Long Ao and Shui Wuhen.

Slowly, deliberately, a wide, feral grin split his face. It was a look of pure malice—a promise that he was ready for round two whenever they were.