Twelve Patrol Envoys [Revised]

West side of Martial Soul Hall, training grounds.

As Qian Anci stepped inside, twelve figures were already standing in solemn wait.

"Greetings, Your Highness the Saint Son!"

The twelve knelt on one knee in perfect unison.

Qian Anci's gaze swept across their faces one by one.

The leader was thin and frail, wrapped in a black robe, his face so gaunt it seemed like nothing but bone, save for a pair of eyes as deep as an abyss.

Level 87 Soul Douluo, codenamed Ya Yi, Martial Soul: Dark Crow.

The eleven behind him, both men and women, were all between thirty and fifty years of age.

"Everyone, please rise."

Qian Anci's voice was calm.

The twelve stood up, their gazes falling upon the six-year-old Saint Son before them, their expressions varied.

Ya Yi lowered his eyes, silent, his face revealing no emotion.

Several behind him exchanged glances, all seeing shock and suspicion in each other's eyes.

Innate full soul power of level 20, a second soul ring that was ten thousand years old—such talent was something they had never heard of.

Yet, he was ultimately just a child.

A child meant uncontrollability, meant variables, and meant that they, blades who had spent half their lives killing in the darkness, were to be held in the hands of a wet-behind-the-ears brat.

"Your Highness has come this time—does the Great Elder have an order?"

Ya Yi spoke, his voice as dry as rubbing dead branches, carrying a deliberately lowered rasp.

"Nothing of the sort."

Qian Anci stood with his hands behind his back, his plain white robe particularly striking in the dim hall.

"I simply wish to get to know you all."

He paused, a flash of gray light flickering in his eyes.

"And, by the way... find a sparring partner."

The hall fell silent for a moment.

The twelve looked at one another, and Ya Yi frowned slightly: "By sparring partner, Your Highness means..."

"Exactly what it sounds like."

Qian Anci gripped the air with his right hand, the Scythe of Death coalescing in his palm, gray-white death energy swirling around it like a thin mist.

"I need to hone my combat experience. Since you all possess profound cultivation, you are perfect to serve as my opponents."

"Absurd!"

A burly, middle-aged man blurted out.

His muscles were knotted, his skin a strange blue-gray; he was Ya Liu, possessor of the Ghost Vine Martial Soul, a level 63 Soul Emperor.

"Your Highness is only six years old, merely a two-ring Soul Grand Master. How could you possibly trade blows with us?"

Ya Liu said gruffly.

"If we were to accidentally injure Your Highness, we would deserve death ten thousand times over!"

The others chimed in one after another.

"Ya Liu is right. Your Highness has a body of gold and jade; you must not risk yourself lightly."

"As for sparring, it would be better to wait until Your Highness is a few years older..."

"We are clumsy and heavy-handed; we truly dare not."

Qian Anci listened quietly, and only when the voices had faded did he speak slowly.

"Are you afraid of hurting me, or are you afraid of taking the blame?"

The hall fell silent once more.

Qian Anci's gaze swept over the group, the corners of his mouth lifting slightly, though the smile did not reach his eyes.

"What if I said that I would bear all consequences myself?"

Ya Yi raised his eyelids, his deep eyes fixed on Qian Anci, remaining silent for a long time.

In those pitch-black eyes, he did not see the innocence or bravado one would expect from a six-year-old child.

There was only a vast, silent gray.

It was like... looking into a pool of stagnant water.

"If Your Highness insists on sparring, I do have a compromise."

"Speak."

"We will not suppress our soul power, but we will only use our first soul skills to trade blows with Your Highness."

Ya Yi spoke slowly, his withered fingers tapping lightly against the token at his waist.

"This way, we do not harm His Highness in the slightest, yet we still allow His Highness to witness a true battle."

He paused, his voice dropping half a tone: "Of course, if His Highness can force out this subordinate's second soul skill, then His Highness shall be considered the victor."

Qian Anci glanced at him.

What an old fox.

He would not suppress his soul power, yet he would only use his first soul skill.

It gave face while leaving room for maneuver.

An ordinary six-year-old child would certainly not be able to withstand a single blow from them, but who is this Qian Anci?

The current Holy Son of the Martial Soul Hall, the future Pope of the Martial Soul Hall! Furthermore, he possessed Twin Martial Souls and an innate full soul power of twenty levels!

"Agreed."

Ya Yi turned to the side, his gaze sweeping across the crowd before finally landing on a small, thin figure.

"Ya Jiu, come out."

The man stepped forward in response.

He appeared to be in his early twenties, with a gaunt frame and an ordinary face, dressed in a gray robe washed until it had faded to white. He was a level sixty-one Soul Emperor with the Shadow Owl martial soul.

Among these twelve, he was the youngest and had the lowest cultivation.

"Ya Jiu shall accompany His Highness in this sparring match."

Ya Yi lowered his eyes and said.

"The rest of you, withdraw to the edge of the arena."

In the center of the training grounds.

A hundred-zhang wide arena paved with gray-black stone slabs lay before them, runes flickering around the perimeter as a translucent barrier isolated the inside from the outside.

Qian Anci and Ya Jiu stood facing each other.

The Scythe of Death solidified in Qian Anci's palm, and as gray-white death energy swirled, one purple and one black soul ring rose slowly from beneath his feet.

Ya Jiu took a deep breath, his soul power surging as the phantom of a pitch-black owl appeared behind him.

He did not release his soul rings.

"Your Highness, forgive me."

As Ya Jiu's voice fell, his figure suddenly transformed into a streak of black shadow, vanishing from where he stood.

Qian Anci's pupils constricted.

So fast.

It was not the speed of movement, but the speed of his aura's concealment.

The black shadow merged into the shade beneath the stone slabs, and even his soul power fluctuations were suppressed to the absolute limit.

The Shadow Owl martial soul was inherently adept at stealth and assassination, and in the hands of a Soul Emperor like Ya Jiu, it was nothing short of masterful.

At the edge of the arena, Ya Liu crossed his arms and sneered: "Even I find it difficult to track Ya Jiu's Shadow Evasion. I fear His Highness will..."

Before he could finish his sentence.

Qian Anci suddenly moved.

He did not turn around, nor did he tilt his head; he simply stood quietly in place, the Scythe of Death held horizontally before him, gray-white death energy spreading outward like tentacles.

Do not use your eyes to see.

Castorice's voice echoed in his mind, carrying a hint of a lazy smile.

Use death to perceive. All life has its end. And the end is the domain most familiar to death.

"There!"

Qian Anci suddenly turned, the Scythe of Death slashing out diagonally.

"First Soul Skill, Guidance of the Underworld Path!"

A thin line of gray-white mixed with dark red tore through the void, slashing toward a patch of shadow three zhang to his rear.

Ssh!

From within the shadow, a figure stumbled out in a disheveled state.

Ya Jiu retreated several steps, lowering his head to look at his left arm.

A long, thin gash had been cut into the sleeve of his gray robe, and a layer of gray-white frost had formed on the surface of his skin—the mark of death energy erosion.

His pupils shrank to pinpricks.

In that instant just now, he felt as if his soul had been "hooked" by something.

It felt as if, had Qian Anci not held back, that gray line would not have just cut his sleeve, but his soul itself.

"Your Highness has quite the repertoire."

Ya Jiu's expression turned grave, shedding any trace of his former levity.

"It was Ya Jiu who underestimated you."

He drew a deep breath, and his first soul ring suddenly flared to life.

"First Soul Skill, Shadow Assault!"

In an instant, the shadows within the training grounds seemed to come alive.

Countless pitch-black tentacles erupted from the shadows of the floor, walls, and pillars, surging toward Qian Anci like a tidal wave.

This was no mere crowd-control skill.

Those shadow tentacles contained the unique properties of the Shadow Owl martial soul; once ensnared, one's soul power would be continuously eroded and devoured until it ran dry.

Qian Anci watched the tide of shadows surging from every direction, a gray glint flickering in his eyes.

"Now this is more like it."