Shocking! The Little Beggar Was a Genius with Level-Six Innate Soul Power-Old Jack Was Thrilled

The road from Yelin City to Nuoding City was not particularly long, but for a six-year-old child whose severe injuries had yet to heal, every step felt like dancing on a knife's edge.

The dull ache in his broken ribs rose and fell with each breath, constantly reminding Mu Rong Chen of the humiliation he had suffered that day.

There was no healing-type Soul Master, no medicine—only his own body, slowly mending itself.

When thirsty, he bent down beside a stream to drink. When hungry, he speared fish with branches he picked up along the way, or gathered sour wild fruit to fill his stomach.

This primitive struggle for survival reduced his already ragged coarse hemp clothes to strips of cloth that barely covered his body.

His once-fair skin was caked in grime and bloody scabs, giving off a sour stench that made people cover their noses.

One month.

It took Mu Rong Chen an entire month to finally see the stone marker engraved with the words "Holy Soul Village."

Weathered by wind and rain, the marker's faded lettering carried the worn air of passing years.

Mu Rong Chen leaned against it, his chest heaving. A sharp glint flashed in the eyes hidden beneath his tangled hair.

Finally.

This would be the starting point of my rise.

He dragged his heavy legs through the village entrance.

It was early morning, and most of the farmers were shouldering their hoes, preparing to head to the fields.

At the sight of this filthy, foul-smelling child who looked as though he had crawled out of a pile of corpses, everyone stepped aside, their disgust plain on their faces.

"Where did this little beggar come from? What's he doing in our village?"

"Shoo, shoo! Don't bring your bad luck here. Stay away from my doorstep!"

Several mischievous children in split-crotch trousers were playing in the mud near the entrance. They immediately grew excited, scooping up stones and clods of dirt to throw at Mu Rong Chen.

"Get the beggar! Get the beggar!"

"Nyah, nyah! You stink!"

The clods struck him without doing any real harm. Mu Rong Chen did not even lift his eyelids.

In the past, he would have given these little brats a thorough beating, but now he needed to play the pitiful victim.

Rather than dodge, he deliberately stumbled and fell into the dust, making himself look even more wretched.

"Whoa—"

An ox cart piled high with goods stopped beside him.

The young man driving it pulled on the reins, his brow furrowed, and waved the jeering children away.

"Shoo! Stop that, all of you! Do you want a beating when you get home?"

After chasing the brats away, the man jumped down from the cart. He hesitated, then moved a little closer and asked tentatively:

"Little fellow, you're not from our village, are you? How did you end up like this?"

Mu Rong Chen lay on the ground, in no hurry to get up.

He steadied his breathing, working himself into the right emotional state.

When he raised his head again, his formerly cold eyes were red and brimming with tears that he stubbornly refused to let fall.

Anyone who saw him like this would have felt a pang of pity.

"Big brother..."

Mu Rong Chen's voice was hoarse, with a faint tremor:

"I... I fled here from the north."

"Fled?"

The man froze.

"My village... it's gone."

Mu Rong Chen lowered his head and clutched the hem of his clothes, his knuckles turning white:

"A Soul Master came that night. He was a fallen one who used the villagers to cultivate. My parents risked their lives to hold him back and fight him. They told me to run..."

At that moment, two trails of tears slipped down his cheeks, washing through the grime and leaving clear tracks.

"Waaah... the fire was so big, and there was blood everywhere... I didn't dare look back..."

The young man sucked in a sharp breath, his face instantly turning pale.

A Fallen Soul Master!

To ordinary people, those words were practically another name for a nightmare.

Although Spirit Hall had a Branch Hall in every major city, the protection it could offer remote villages was limited.

Those fallen ones who practiced evil cultivation methods loved nothing more than preying on defenseless commoners.

"Those animals!"

The man slammed his fist against the cart shaft, sending wood splinters flying:

"Why do they always go after ordinary people? Damn them! Damn them all!"

His eyes reddened and his chest heaved. He had clearly recalled some terrible rumor, or felt that helplessness as though it were his own.

"If only I had soul power... if only I could become a Soul Master..."

The man gritted his teeth, veins bulging at his temples:

"I'd kill every last one of those bastards!"

Mu Rong Chen secretly watched the man's reaction. The emotions were right where he wanted them.

Sure enough, in this world, the lowest-ranking commoners shared a hatred of Fallen Soul Masters. It was also the easiest opening to exploit.

But that was not enough.

Sympathy alone would earn him a full meal at best. To put down roots in Holy Soul Village and secure that work-study student spot, he had to prove his worth.

"What good are Soul Masters..."

Mu Rong Chen sniffled and spoke in a voice thick with tears and hatred:

"My mom and dad were both Soul Masters, but that bad man still killed them."

Everything suddenly went quiet.

The young man had still been cursing, but those words left him rooted to the spot.

His eyes widened as though he had heard something utterly unbelievable.

"You... what did you say?"

The man stammered, almost convinced he had misheard:

"Your mom and dad... were Soul Masters?"

In a backwater like Holy Soul Village, not a single Soul Master might emerge in a hundred years.

If a family produced one, it was a glorious achievement that brought honor to all their ancestors.

"Yes."

Mu Rong Chen nodded, his expression downcast:

"Dad was a level-twenty-nine Soul Grandmaster. Mom was a level-nineteen Soul Master."

That was half true and half false.

The original owner of this body had indeed had Soul Masters for parents, but they had died in Starry Sky Forest. That did not stop him from using them to fabricate his current identity.

In this world where bloodline reigned supreme, the child of Soul Masters—even an orphan—held a far higher status than ordinary commoners.

"Then you..."

The man swallowed, his gaze traveling over Mu Rong Chen as his breathing quickened:

"Have you awakened your martial soul?"

"I have."

Mu Rong Chen rose from the ground and brushed the dust from his knees, his voice frighteningly calm:

"I inherited my father's martial soul, the Ice Spirit Snake. My innate soul power is level six."

Boom!

Those words exploded like a thunderclap in the young man's ears.

Level-six innate soul power!

This was no little beggar. He was a hidden genius!

"You... stay right there! Don't move! Whatever you do, don't move!"

The man was so excited that he could barely speak coherently. Forgetting even his ox cart, he turned and sprinted into the village.

As he ran, he shouted at the top of his lungs:

"Village chief! Village Chief Old Jack! Something incredible has happened! A genius Soul Master has come to our village!"

His shout was louder than the bronze gong at the village entrance.

The villagers working in the fields straightened up and craned their necks to look.

The women and children who had been watching the commotion were startled too.

"A Soul Master? What Soul Master?"

"Has Ergouzi gone mad? What's he yelling about this early in the morning?"

Before long, hurried footsteps approached.

An elderly man with graying hair came briskly toward them, leaning on a cane while the young man supported him.