Spirit Hall's west side, training grounds.
When Qian Anci stepped inside, twelve figures were already standing at attention, waiting for him.
"Greetings, Your Highness the Holy Son!"
All twelve dropped to one knee in unison.
Qian Anci's gaze swept over their faces one by one.
The man at their head was thin and frail, wrapped in a black robe. His face was so gaunt he looked little more than a skeleton, but his eyes were deep as an abyss.
An eighty-seventh-rank Soul Douluo, codename Ya Yi, with the Dark Crow martial soul.
The eleven behind him included both men and women, all between thirty and fifty years old.
"Please rise."
Qian Anci's voice was calm.
The twelve stood, their gazes falling on the six-year-old Holy Son before them. Their expressions varied.
Ya Yi lowered his eyes and said nothing, his face giving nothing away.
Several of the others exchanged glances, each seeing suspicion in the other's eyes.
Innate twentieth-rank Soul Power, a ten-thousand-year Second Soul Ring—such talent was unheard of to them.
But in the end, he was only a child.
A child meant unpredictability, meant variables. It meant that they, blades that had spent half their lives killing in the dark, would be placed in the hands of a green boy still wet behind the ears.
"Has the Grand Worship Elder sent you here with an order, Your Highness?"
Ya Yi spoke, his voice dry as dead branches rubbing together, deliberately lowered to a hoarse rasp.
"No."
Qian Anci stood with his hands behind his back, his plain white robe striking against the dim hall.
"I just wanted to get to know you all."
He paused, a flash of gray light passing through his eyes.
"And, while I'm at it... find someone to spar with."
The hall fell silent for a moment.
The twelve looked at one another. Ya Yi furrowed his brow. "By sparring partner, Your Highness, do you mean...?"
"Exactly what it sounds like."
Qian Anci closed his right hand around empty air. The Scythe of Death coalesced in his palm as pale gray Death Qi curled around it like mist.
"I need to hone my combat experience. Your cultivation is profound, so you'll make suitable opponents."
"Absurd!"
A burly middle-aged man blurted out.
His muscles bulged, and his skin was an eerie bluish gray. He was Ya Liu, possessor of the Ghost Vine martial soul and a sixty-third-rank Soul Emperor.
"Your Highness is only six years old, a mere two-ring Soul Grandmaster. How could you possibly fight us?"
Ya Liu spoke roughly.
"If Your Highness gets hurt, I'll deserve a thousand deaths!"
The others chimed in one after another.
"Ya Liu is right. Your Highness is a precious treasure; you mustn't take such risks lightly."
"As for sparring, perhaps Your Highness should wait until he's a few years older..."
"We're heavy-handed folk. We truly wouldn't dare."
Qian Anci listened quietly. Only after the others had fallen silent did he speak.
"Are you afraid of hurting me, or afraid of being held responsible?"
The hall fell silent again.
Qian Anci's gaze swept over them. The corners of his mouth lifted slightly, but the smile never reached his eyes.
"What if I said I'd take full responsibility for whatever happens?"
Ya Yi lifted his eyes and stared at Qian Anci with those deep-set eyes. For a long time, he said nothing.
In those dark eyes, he saw none of the innocence or bravado expected of a six-year-old child.
Only a field of still gray.
As if... he were looking into a pool of stagnant water.
"If Your Highness insists on sparring, I do have a compromise."
"Say it."
"We won't suppress our Soul Power, but we'll only use our First Soul Skills against Your Highness."
Ya Yi spoke slowly, his thin fingers tapping lightly against the token at his waist.
"That way, we won't hurt Your Highness, and he'll still get a taste of real combat."
He paused, lowering his voice a little. "Of course, if Your Highness can force me to use my Second Soul Skill, then you win."
Qian Anci glanced at him.
What an old fox.
He wouldn't suppress his Soul Power, but he'd only use his First Soul Skill.
That gave the boy face while leaving himself room to maneuver.
An ordinary six-year-old child wouldn't stand a chance against even one of their attacks. But who was I, Qian Anci?
The current Saint Son of Spirit Hall, and its future Pope! Not to mention a possessor of Twin Martial Souls with innate twentieth-rank Soul Power!
"Agreed."
Ya Yi turned sideways, sweeping his gaze over the group until it settled on a slight figure.
"Ya Jiu, step forward."
The man came forward at once.
He looked to be in his early twenties, with a lean build, an ordinary face, and a gray robe washed nearly white. He was a sixty-first-rank Soul Emperor with the Shadow Owl martial soul.
Of the twelve, he was the youngest and had the lowest cultivation.
"Ya Jiu will spar with Your Highness."
Ya Yi lowered his eyes as he spoke.
"The rest of you, stand at the edge of the training ground."
At the center of the training grounds.
Gray-black stone slabs paved a hundred-zhang-wide arena. Runes flickered around it, and a translucent barrier separated the arena from the outside.
Qian Anci and Ya Jiu stood facing each other.
The Scythe of Death solidified in Qian Anci's palm. As pale gray Death Qi swirled around him, one purple and one black Soul Ring slowly rose from beneath his feet.
Ya Jiu took a deep breath and stirred his Soul Power. The phantom of a pitch-black owl appeared behind him.
He didn't release his Soul Rings.
"Pardon me, Your Highness."
As Ya Jiu finished speaking, his body abruptly turned into a streak of black shadow and vanished from sight.
Qian Anci's pupils contracted slightly.
So fast.
Not fast in terms of speed, but in how swiftly he concealed his presence.
The shadow melted into the darkness beneath the stone slabs, its Soul Power fluctuations suppressed to the bare minimum.
The Shadow Owl martial soul excelled at stealth and assassination to begin with. In the hands of Ya Jiu, a Soul Emperor, its abilities had reached perfection.
At the edge of the arena, Ya Liu crossed his arms and sneered. "Even I can barely track Ya Jiu's Shadow Evasion. His Highness is probably..."
Before he could finish, Qian Anci suddenly moved.
He didn't turn around or even tilt his head. He simply stood where he was, the Scythe of Death held across his body as pale gray Death Qi spread in every direction like tendrils.
"Don't use your eyes to see."
Castorice's voice sounded in his mind, carrying a trace of lazy amusement.
"Use death to sense it. Every living thing has an end. And endings belong to death's most familiar domain."
"Here!"
Qian Anci abruptly turned to the side and swung the Scythe of Death in a diagonal slash.
"First Soul Skill, Guidance of the Underworld Path!"
A thin line, pale gray streaked with dark red, tore through the air and slashed toward a patch of shadow three zhang behind and to the side.
Whoosh!
A figure stumbled out of the shadows.
Ya Jiu staggered back several steps and looked down at his left arm.
A long, thin cut split the sleeve of his gray robe. A layer of pale frost marked his skin—a trace of Death Qi's erosion.
His pupils contracted sharply.
In that instant, he'd felt something "hook" his soul.
If Qian Anci hadn't held back, that gray line wouldn't have cut his sleeve. It would have severed his soul.
"Your Highness has impressive skill."
Ya Jiu's expression turned grave, all traces of carelessness gone.
"Ya Jiu underestimated you."
He took a deep breath, and his First Soul Ring suddenly lit up.
"First Soul Skill, Shadow Assault!"
In an instant, the shadows within the training grounds seemed to come alive.
Countless black tendrils burst from the shadows beneath the floor, along the walls, and around the pillars, surging toward Qian Anci like a rising tide.
This wasn't a simple control skill.
The Shadow Tentacles carried the Shadow Owl martial soul's special ability. Once they ensnared their target, they would continually erode and devour their Soul Power until it ran dry.
Qian Anci watched the Shadow Tide rushing at him from every direction, gray light flickering in his eyes.
"Now we're talking."
Before you continue