My Sign-in Life in Douluo

At first, Jiang Siming was indeed only using his first martial soul in a rational manner. One could even say he merely treated his martial soul as a weapon, forgetting that a martial soul is innate, hidden deep within the body of a soul master.

Why is it that once a tool-type martial soul master successfully cultivates, they are bound to be powerful?

The difference between a beast-type martial soul and a tool-type martial soul lies in the fact that a beast-type soul master never needs to consider their weapon, because their body is the weapon, resulting in an extremely strong sense of identification with the martial soul itself.

Conversely, tool-type soul masters always treat their martial soul as an external object, failing to achieve the unity of person and tool, and thus unable to use it flexibly from the heart. The reason why tool-type soul masters of the same rank as a Titled Douluo are stronger is that tool-type martial souls require enlightenment. Although beast souls have an innate sense of identification, they lack this enlightenment, and naturally cannot unleash greater energy. A person's time is limited; who would spend a vast amount of time not on cultivation, but on seeking enlightenment regarding their own martial soul?

Yet, tool-type soul masters are indeed forced to spend time seeking enlightenment for their martial souls, which is why high-level tool-type soul masters are stronger than their peers of the same rank.

Chapter 38 Asura Battlefield

He did not know how much time had passed.

Jiang Siming swung the Juexian Sword incessantly, gradually forgetting where he was. The sword intent surrounding him intensified, as if it were about to tear this white space apart.

Finally, Jiang Siming stopped abruptly, holding the Juexian Sword pointed toward the firmament. The blade transformed into specks of golden light, merging into Jiang Siming's body.

At this moment, Jiang Siming seemed to be a sword, and the sword was him. The sharp sword intent of the Juexian Sword surged out from the crown of Jiang Siming's head.

The artistic conception of the sword is truly unfathomable. Is it that the sword has become me? Or was the sword always me? Jiang Siming shook his head helplessly; the scars on his body had healed at some unknown point. Having said that, Jiang Siming withdrew his sword intent.

Regardless of why I came to this white space, it seems I need to obtain the recognition of the other three swords. Jiang Siming shook his head helplessly.

It turned out he had never understood his own martial soul, merely treating it as a tool. Is power that comes without thought or reason truly reliable? If one gains power but does not know where it comes from, then when will this power depart?

After pondering for a while, Jiang Siming walked toward the Luxian Sword.

He did not know how long he walked; Jiang Siming could see the Luxian Sword right there, yet he felt as if he had never drawn any closer.

As Jiang Siming walked, the surrounding white space gradually turned dim. Jiang Siming felt as if he had traversed countless eras, experiencing a loneliness he had never known before.

The white color all around had been exhausted, leaving only endless darkness and the Luxian Sword in the distance that he had never reached.

Gradually, Jiang Siming transformed from a dashing youth into an elderly man. He even forgot what he was supposed to do, simply moving forward toward the sword ahead. Jiang Siming slowly forgot what he was doing, and forgot his own name.

"Who am I?" Jiang Siming stopped for the first time. Loneliness and a sense of alienation flooded his heart.

Slowly, Jiang Siming finally collapsed. He closed his eyes in unwillingness, and at the very last moment before his eyes shut, he was still staring fixedly at that distant, unreachable Luxian Sword whose name he had already forgotten.

When Jiang Siming opened his eyes again.

He appeared on a battlefield, blood flying everywhere. Beside him were corpses of unknown people. Countless arrows whistled past Jiang Siming.

"Clang, clang..." The sound of blades clashing and the shouts of battle stimulated Jiang Siming's eardrums.

Strange images flashed rapidly through Jiang Siming's mind. Slaughter, nothing but slaughter.

"Who am I? Why am I here?" Jiang Siming struggled to recall, feeling one corpse after another falling before him. Suddenly, blood splashed onto Jiang Siming's face. His eyes turned incredibly crimson; in Jiang Siming's vision, the world turned blood-red, like a hell of slaughter.

"General!"

A hurried cry. When Jiang Siming turned his head, the soldier who had just called out to him was pierced through the chest by a sword, blood spraying once more.

"No!" Jiang Siming screamed with all his might. At some point, he was already clad in armor. In his hand, he gripped the Luxian Sword he had been pursuing earlier, though he had already forgotten it.

Jiang Siming slowly looked up; countless enemies were coming from all directions. Yet the soldiers guarding him fell one by one. Jiang Siming did not even know their names.

"Kill! Kill! Kill!" Jiang Siming shouted like a madman. He rushed crazily toward the enemies, the Luxian Sword swinging incessantly. Every swing took a life.

There were no combat techniques, no sword forms. This was the most primitive, most savage, and bloodiest slaughter.

"I am the vanguard general of Nanguo, Jiang Siming!" Jiang Siming shouted, not just to vent, but to try and awaken the soldiers who had fallen into an eternal sleep.

"I am the vanguard general of Nanguo, Jiang Siming!" Jiang Siming did not know how long he had been shouting, nor did he know how many he had killed.

When all the shouting ceased, there was silence all around. It was as if Jiang Siming was the only one left with life. Jiang Siming had countless arrows stuck in him, and who knew how many wounds? His pitch-black armor had been dyed blood-red. His clothes, soaked through with blood, made Jiang Siming feel as if he were submerged in water, unable to escape; the pungent smell of blood made it impossible for Jiang Siming to breathe.

All the enemies were dead, but all his subordinates were dead as well.

Jiang Siming looked at the corpses strewn across the field, looked at the endless expanse, and looked at the blood! He looked at his own blood-stained hands, and he could no longer distinguish whether it was the blood of the enemy or the blood his subordinates had shed to protect him.

The sound of shouting behind Jiang Siming rang out once more.

"Victory! Victory! Victory!"

The reinforcements from Nanguo had finally arrived, but of the soldiers who had held the line for Nanguo, only the vanguard general, Jiang Siming, remained.

"Congratulations to the General for your triumphant success in repelling the enemy. Another great achievement," a middle-aged man who looked like a civil official stepped out from the reinforcements to offer his congratulations.

Jiang Siming wanted to step forward and question him, "Why? Why did you only come now?"

But for every step Jiang Siming took, the middle-aged man retreated a step, and the arriving reinforcements retreated with him.

Jiang Siming saw fear in their eyes, as if he were a madman who knew only how to kill.

Jiang Siming joined the army at sixteen and had served for twenty years. Countless myths were forged by him; everyone called him the God of War, and the people of Nanguo revered Jiang Siming as their protector. Even a three-year-old child knew that as long as the Nanguo vanguard general Jiang Siming did not die, Nanguo would be worry-free. Perhaps they had all gradually forgotten that the vanguard troops and the vanguard general were merely there to test the enemy's strength.

"General, His Majesty had long foreseen that the General would surely win a flag-raising victory. He had me prepare a celebratory banquet in advance, which is why we were slightly late. The General has indeed lived up to expectations and successfully repelled the enemy nation," the middle-aged civil official said, as if summoning his courage, stopping his retreat and bowing.

"Hahaha, a celebratory banquet! Hahahaha!" Jiang Siming laughed like a madman!

The middle-aged civil official and the tens of thousands of reinforcements behind him were all terrified by this sudden laughter.

"Celebratory wine? Go drink it yourself! I am going to collect the bodies of my brothers." Jiang Siming plunged the Luxian Sword into the ground. Using the sword as a boundary, no one dared to cross it. Jiang Siming turned his back, leaving only a lonely back, a back filled with inexplicable emotions.

From then on, there was no longer a vanguard general named Jiang Siming in Nanguo. On the border battlefield, there was one more body collector whom no one dared to offend.

Decades of wind blew, decades of rain fell. Jiang Siming had become a twilight-aged old man. And that Luxian Sword still stood there, with no one daring to pull it out. The body of the sword was long since covered in rust. Perhaps he was old? Jiang Siming once again forgot who he was today. Once again, he forgot what he was supposed to do. He simply repeated the act of moving corpses, as always loathing the sword that was stuck in the ground.