It Was Actually Fang Mo's Martial Soul

"What was that?"

Yan's voice dropped half a beat.

Fang Mo did not answer.

He raised his right hand, Soul Power surging.

His first Soul Ring lit up.

It was not yellow, but deep yellow.

Ringed by a faint purple edge, it was far darker than a four-hundred-year Soul Ring.

"That is..."

Hu Liena's pupils abruptly contracted.

Though she was young, Spirit Hall's education had given her a knowledge of Soul Ring ages far beyond that of her peers.

A Soul Ring of that color was absolutely not at the three- or four-hundred-year level.

"How many years was that Soul Ring?"

Xie Yue asked in a low voice, uncertainty entering his tone for the first time.

The instructor's expression changed.

He had been an instructor for over a decade and had seen countless gifted youths, but this was his first time seeing a six-year-old with such a Soul Ring.

"At least five hundred years."

The instructor's voice tightened slightly.

Five hundred years.

A six-year-old child whose first Soul Ring was over five hundred years old.

How was that possible!

Didn't the Ten Core Competencies of Martial Soul say that the limit for a first Soul Ring was 423 years?

The number was like a stone cast into still water, stirring massive waves across the training ground.

Fang Mo did not give them much time to process it.

Darkness gathered in his right hand. Spirit Dong'er's phantom leaned slightly forward, its dark red eyes locking onto Yan.

First soul skill, Shadow Erosion.

It eroded defensive protection and the Soul Power within the body.

A dense mass of Dark Purple Mist surged from Dong'er's hand.

Like a gigantic python, it spread rapidly across the ground and lunged toward Yan.

Yan reacted quickly.

His first Soul Ring lit up, and a wall of fire rose before him, attempting to halt the advancing shadows.

But the purple mist was not vaporized by the flames.

It flowed around the fire wall.

As if alive, the mist circled around both sides of the wall, sealing off Yan's retreat from the left and right.

Yan's expression finally changed.

"What the hell is this—!"

He swung his fist at the approaching mist. Flames collided with darkness, producing a sizzling sound of corrosion.

But the purple mist was only scattered for an instant before immediately gathering again and continuing to close in on him.

Fang Mo stood where he was, not moving at all.

He merely raised his right hand and gently clenched his fingers.

The Dark Purple Mist suddenly accelerated, contracting from three directions at once and wrapping Yan within it.

Yan felt an icy force eroding the Soul Power protecting his body.

It was not the scorching burn of flames, but a penetrating weakening that seeped from the outside inward.

His Soul Power was diminishing at a visible rate.

"Enough."

The instructor's voice rang out at just the right moment.

Fang Mo withdrew his Soul Power, and the Dark Purple Mist instantly dispersed.

Yan panted heavily, his face flushed red.

Not because he was injured. Fang Mo's control had been precise, and he had not truly hurt him.

More importantly, it was because of his pride.

An eighteenth-level Soul Master had been utterly suppressed by a six-year-old, thirteenth-level child in less than thirty breaths.

From beginning to end, his opponent had not even taken a single step.

The entire training ground fell silent.

Hu Liena's lips parted slightly, complex emotions flickering in her violet eyes.

Shock, curiosity, and a faint hint of... wariness.

Xie Yue's gaze lingered on Fang Mo for a long time. His expression revealed neither joy nor anger, but his clenched fists betrayed the unrest in his heart.

Yan lowered his head and remained silent for several seconds.

Then, he abruptly raised his head.

"What is your name?"

"Fang Mo."

Yan stared at him for three seconds.

"I'll remember it."

His tone no longer held its earlier contempt, but the seriousness reserved for an opponent.

"Next time, I won't lose again."

Fang Mo gave a slight nod.

"I'll wait."

Yan's mouth twitched, and he turned to return to the ranks.

The instructor's gaze toward Fang Mo had completely changed, shifting from routine indifference to the look of someone who had discovered a priceless treasure.

"The test is over." The instructor's voice was slightly hoarse. "Fang Mo, you will temporarily be assigned to..."

He hesitated.

According to the training camp's ranking system, the groups from lowest to highest were the Reserve Group, Cultivation Group, and Core Group.

But the strength Fang Mo had displayed had already far exceeded the limits of both the Reserve Group and Cultivation Group.

"You'll enter the Cultivation Group first." The instructor made a cautious decision. "Your placement will be adjusted later based on your performance."

Fang Mo nodded.

He returned to the edge of the training ground, found a corner, and quietly sat down.

Hu Liena's gaze drifted toward him from time to time, filled with scrutiny and curiosity.

Fang Mo closed his eyes to rest in the corner. Within his Spirit Sea, Spirit Dong'er's voice sounded faintly.

"You deliberately held back."

"Mm."

"If Shadow Erosion had been used at full strength, that brat Yan wouldn't have lasted even three breaths."

Fang Mo did not answer.

Because he had indeed held back.

They were Spirit Hall's future core fighters, as well as the people Bibi Dong trusted most.

What Fang Mo needed were future allies.

Meanwhile.

A figure had appeared at the entrance of the training ground, standing there quietly.

She did not enter. She merely leaned against the doorframe, her pale golden eyes gazing through the crowd toward Fang Mo in the distance.

It was... Qian Renxue.

Qian Renxue stood in the shadows at the training ground entrance, her body slightly leaning against a stone pillar, half her face hidden from the light.

She had not come for Fang Mo.

That morning, she had been meditating and cultivating in an attic of the Worship Hall.

After finishing her cultivation, she had habitually taken a walk along the corridor. This route passed by the outer wall of the Pope Palace East Wing.

She had merely been passing through.

When she reached the outer wall, she stopped.

Because she sensed an aura.

It was extremely faint, nearly imperceptible through the thick stone wall.

Yet something mixed within that aura caused a strange resonance deep within her soul.

It was a cold fluctuation carrying the aura of death, yet one that somehow made her feel at ease.

Qian Renxue's pupils contracted slightly.

She was no stranger to this aura.

A few days earlier, at dusk beneath the Silver-Leaf Wutong, that phantom had given off this very aura.

Qian Renxue's heartbeat suddenly quickened.

She did not alert anyone. Instead, she quietly circled around to the training ground entrance and peered inside from behind the cover of the doorframe and stone pillar.

Then she saw it.

At the center of the training ground stood a six-year-old boy, his right hand raised as a mass of Dark Purple Mist gathered before him.

Within the mist, a humanoid outline slowly took shape.

It had a slender figure, graceful curves, a voluptuous form, and hair cascading like a waterfall.

The phantom's face was veiled by thin mist. Qian Renxue's pupils shrank violently as she saw those eyes clearly.

Dark red, cold, proud, and carrying disdain carved into its very bones.

Yet deep beneath that contemptuous gaze was an extremely well-hidden trace of gentleness.

She had seen that gentleness only once, beneath the Silver-Leaf Wutong.

Qian Renxue gripped the edge of the stone pillar tightly, her nails digging into the cracks in the stone. She seemed completely unable to feel the pain in her fingertips.

That phantom.

It was Fang Mo's Martial Soul.

It was the mother who had spoken to her at dusk.

It was actually Fang Mo's Martial Soul!