Blood and Storm, Where Lone Cloud Breaks Souls

Yang Guyun fell silent for a moment, seemingly considering how to put it.

In the end, his tone carried a touch of Zhou Qiubai's lightness. "I was born into the Breaking Clan. My grandfather is Yang Wudi, and my father is Yang Pojun, but..."

He paused. "I do not like the path of the clan—refining medicine, brewing poison, attaching ourselves to the strong. That is not the Spear Dao I seek. So I left, and named myself Lone Cloud. Amid blood and storm, Lone Cloud breaks souls. My spear is called Returnless, so I am Yang Guyun."

Zhou Qiubai's eyes widened as he listened.

Was he really copying what he had just learned?

"The Breaking Clan?" He caught a key phrase.

The Breaking Clan was one of the four single-attribute clans, famed for its unparalleled offensive power. Its inherited Martial Soul, the Soul Breaking Spear, bore the title: "Whatever stands in its way shall be broken."

That title was no empty boast in the Soul Master world. Especially among weapon Martial Soul Soul Masters who focused on offense, the Soul Breaking Spear had practically become synonymous with "absolute destructive power."

If not for the fact that this Martial Soul came with a ninth Soul Ring, making it even harder than other Martial Souls to break through to the Titled Douluo realm, and for Tang Chen's sudden rise, the title of foremost weapon Martial Soul might never have gone to the Clear Sky Hammer.

"That's right." Yang Guyun nodded. "But that is all in the past. From the day I left, I have only been an ordinary Yang Guyun."

Though he said that, his birth had already made it impossible for him to completely sever himself from his clan.

"Doesn't the Breaking Clan live in the Star Luo Empire?" Zhou Qiubai asked curiously. "How did you end up so far away?"

"Leaving home." Yang Guyun's answer was so brief it almost seemed cold.

"Why?"

Yang Guyun's fingers lightly traced the blood-red patterns on the spear shaft.

"The Soul Breaking Spear comes with a ninth Soul Ring. Its offensive power is unmatched, but that is also why it is difficult to break through to the Titled Douluo realm." His voice was calm. "The clan's path is too cluttered, but the Spear Dao in my heart must never be reduced to a tool."

His gaze passed through the leaping flames. "My spear is not a tool."

Zhou Qiubai's heart trembled.

He could hear the stubborn pride hidden beneath that calm tone.

"So~" He pointed at the pitch-black spear, faintly veined with blood-red patterns. "Your Martial Soul must be a mutation."

"Mm." Yang Guyun nodded, his voice steady. "The Soul Breaking Spear mutated. I named it Returnless."

The moment he spoke that name, the air around them suddenly turned sharp.

Zhou Qiubai carefully savored the name of that Martial Soul.

Once the spear was thrust, there was no return. Once it departed, it never came back.

That was not merely the nature of the Martial Soul, but the nature of its wielder as well.

"What a Returnless." Zhou Qiubai praised him. "Then why are you going to Heaven Dou City this time?"

"To train with the spear." Yang Guyun answered without hesitation. "The clan's spear techniques emphasize momentum and breaking through, but they are too rigid. I want to walk my own path and create my own spear technique."

He paused, then added, "Now, taking my Martial Soul's name, I have created the first three forms of the No Return Spear Technique."

Zhou Qiubai's eyes lit up.

It was the particular curiosity and excitement that came from meeting someone of like mind.

Everyone on Douluo Continent focused only on obtaining soul skills from Soul Rings, while neglecting their own development.

Even Chen Xin—if his soul skills had been a little worse, the Seven Kill Sword likely would not have possessed so many tricks.

"I want to see it," he said.

His tone revealed the straightforward eagerness unique to youth.

Yang Guyun glanced at him. In those deep-pool eyes, something like a spark seemed to flicker.

He slowly rose to his feet and gripped the spear resting across his knees.

"Fine."

The night had deepened, and moonlight washed over the clearing in the forest.

Yang Guyun stood in the center of the clearing, Returnless Spear in hand and its tip slanted toward the ground. He was like a silent statue; only the faintly surging Soul Power around him showed the strength gathering beneath that calm exterior.

Zhou Qiubai retreated ten paces and stood with his arms folded, his white clothes gently fluttering in the night breeze.

He did not draw his sword. He simply watched in silence.

"First form." Yang Guyun spoke, his voice especially clear in the silent forest. "Go Without Return."

The instant his words fell, he moved.

Yang Guyun took a simple step forward and thrust his spear straight out.

That thrust was so fast it nearly tore apart the moonlight.

Zhou Qiubai's pupils contracted at once.

In his perception, Yang Guyun seemed to merge with the spear, becoming a straight, resolute black line.

The air let out a piercing ripping shriek before the spear tip. Soul Power condensed at a single point, without the slightest leakage or waste.

Every ounce of Soul Power was poured into that thrust.

Once the spear moved, there was no room to turn back.

It was not that it could not turn back, but that the will had already been decided, pressing forward without hesitation.

That thrust was not aimed at Zhou Qiubai, but at an ancient tree three zhang to his side.

The instant the spear tip touched the trunk, there was utter silence.

Pfft!

Then, a fist-sized hole appeared in the center of the ancient tree's trunk.

Yang Guyun, meanwhile, had already appeared three zhang beyond the tree, his spear tip still slanted toward the ground as though he had never moved.

Only the black Soul Power lingering around the spear tip proved that the thrust had existed.

Zhou Qiubai took a deep breath.

Fast—and accurate.

The essence of that thrust was not its power, but the will of "departing without return."

Once the spear was thrust, it abandoned every path of retreat, seeking only to pierce through, seeking only to strike its target in one blow.

"Second form." Yang Guyun's voice sounded again, still without a trace of fluctuation. "Abandon Self."

He turned and faced Zhou Qiubai directly.

At that moment, Zhou Qiubai clearly sensed a change in Yang Guyun's aura.

If the first form had been ultimate "focus," then this form was ultimate "abandonment."

Yang Guyun slowly raised his spear, its tip pointing at Zhou Qiubai.

He stepped forward and charged.

His speed was no faster than in the first form, even seeming slightly heavier.

But in Zhou Qiubai's perception, the instant Yang Guyun thrust that spear, every defense around his body vanished.

It was not concealed. It had truly been "abandoned."

While the spear remained, the man remained. If the spear perished, the man perished.

The spear tip stopped three cun before Zhou Qiubai's throat.

Yang Guyun's hand gripping the spear was as steady as a boulder.

"This form," he said slowly, "I have not yet mastered. Abandoning oneself is easy. Withdrawing the spear is difficult."

Zhou Qiubai looked at the spear tip halted before his throat, then suddenly smiled.

He reached out and lightly tapped the side of the spear tip with his forefinger.

It felt icy cold, its sharpness contained within.

"It is not that withdrawing the spear is difficult." Zhou Qiubai spoke slowly, his gaze clear. "It is that you have not yet understood what remains after abandoning yourself."

Yang Guyun's eyes shifted slightly.

"Once the spear is thrust, there is no return; life and death do not return." Zhou Qiubai withdrew his finger. "If the moment truly comes to abandon yourself, then there is no afterward. Since there is no afterward, why would you need to withdraw the spear? Your fixation on the difficulty of withdrawing it proves that, deep down, you still hold on to that sliver of an afterward."

He paused, and his smile gained a touch more meaning. "True abandonment of self is not gambling with your life. It is having no attachments left. You still have attachments."

Yang Guyun was silent for a long time before slowly withdrawing his spear.