Personal Disciple

"That is... the Rakshasa Scythe!"

Even Bibi Dong, seated in the place of honor, could no longer remain composed.

No one understood better than she did that Fang Mo's second Martial Soul was the Rakshasa Scythe, the divine weapon of the Rakshasa God she had inherited.

"He awakened two Martial Souls! The first is a humanoid spirit body, and the second is a scythe. These are Twin Martial Souls!"

The main hall erupted completely.

The old man from the Elder Hall sprang from his chair and looked uncertainly at the middle-aged man from the Consecrated Hall.

"Are you certain they are Twin Martial Souls? Across the entire Douluo Continent, how many cases of Twin Martial Souls have ever existed in history?"

The middle-aged man from the Consecrated Hall drew a deep breath and tried to keep his voice steady. "No more than three have been clearly documented. And..."

His tone paused as his gaze slowly shifted toward Bibi Dong in the seat of honor. "And one of them is sitting here."

Everyone turned to look at Bibi Dong. The main hall was so quiet that heartbeats could be heard.

Bibi Dong sat silently, her face beneath the Pope's crown revealing no expression.

Of course she knew.

She was the possessor of Twin Martial Souls: the Death Spider Emperor and the Soul-Eater Spider Emperor. More than anyone else in this world, she understood what Twin Martial Souls meant.

Their cultivation was several times more difficult than that of a single Martial Soul.

Every time one added a soul ring, one had to endure the repulsive force between the two Martial Souls.

One small mistake could mean a setback in cultivation and minor injuries; in severe cases, it could lead to deviation and damage the mind.

At the same time, the upper limit of Twin Martial Souls was beyond the reach of any single Martial Soul.

Bibi Dong closed her eyes.

She recalled the detours she had taken during her cultivation, the pain she had endured, and the countless struggles at the brink of collapse.

There had been no predecessor's experience to draw from, no successful example to follow. Relying on nothing but her talent and determination, she had forcibly forged a cultivation path unique to Twin Martial Souls.

She had walked that path for more than a decade.

And now, this six-year-old child stood before the exact same path she had once faced.

No one was more qualified than she was to guide him.

Most importantly, the child's two Martial Souls seemed connected to the divine position of the Rakshasa God she had inherited.

Bibi Dong opened her eyes. A sharp glint flashed through her violet pupils, revealing that she had made up her mind.

"The test results are already clear."

Bibi Dong regained the Pope's composure, her voice carrying a certainty no one had heard from her before.

"Innate Full Soul Power, Twin Martial Souls of the dark attribute. The first Martial Soul is a humanoid spirit body, while the second is a weapon-type scythe. No one is more suited than I am to teach him."

Bibi Dong swept her gaze around the main hall, passing in turn over the old man from the Elder Hall and the middle-aged man from the Consecrated Hall.

"Do either of you still have objections?"

The old man from the Elder Hall opened his mouth, his expression exceptionally complicated.

Instinctively, he wanted to object, but the words "Twin Martial Souls" directly blocked every reason he could have offered.

Twin Martial Souls were simply too rare.

So rare that if Spirit Hall voluntarily gave them up, it would become the laughingstock of the entire continent.

Moreover, such Martial Souls were extraordinarily difficult to cultivate. They could not be guided by just any teacher.

The only person on the continent who had successfully cultivated Twin Martial Souls was sitting right in front of him.

So Bibi Dong's rise is already inevitable. For Spirit Hall's long-term future, remnants like us from the old regime have no choice but to bow our heads.

The old man swallowed and finally said, "...This old servant has no objections.

"However, this child's identity remains unknown. We do not know whether he is a remnant of Haotian. If the Pope wishes to accept him as a disciple, she must provide the Elder Hall with an explanation."

Bibi Dong remained expressionless.

"An explanation? Dark-attributed Twin Martial Souls similar to my own, personally tested by me, personally guided by me, personally cultivated by me. Is that not enough?"

The old man was instantly left speechless.

Having received word from his eldest brother, the man from the Consecrated Hall spoke up as well, his tone noticeably more courteous.

"The Consecrated Hall's view is that if Twin Martial Souls receive proper guidance, they will be an immeasurable asset to Spirit Hall.

"The Pope is the only person with successful experience. The Consecrated Hall has no objection to placing him under the Pope's personal guidance."

He paused, then added, "However, the Consecrated Hall hopes to be regularly informed of this child's cultivation progress. If..."

"I will handle it myself."

Bibi Dong cut him off directly.

Her tone was not harsh, but it allowed no room for negotiation.

The middle-aged man from the Consecrated Hall looked at her, nodded slightly, and said no more. Bibi Dong's reaction had been within their expectations.

The old man from the Elder Hall still wanted to say something, but Bibi Dong had already turned toward the researcher.

"Organize the test records. Send copies to the Elder Hall and the Consecrated Hall for their archives."

Then she looked at Fang Mo.

Fang Mo still stood where he was, with just the right amount of confusion and unease on his face.

A six-year-old child being pushed back and forth amid the arguments of powerful figures, unaware of what was happening and unaware of who was deciding his fate.

But he understood perfectly well.

Twin Martial Souls.

This was an unexpected variable.

Could Dong'er have done this?

Fang Mo did not dare question her in the Spirit Sea. With so many eyes watching him in the main hall, any unusual mental fluctuation might be noticed.

Bibi Dong walked over to Fang Mo and slowly crouched down, meeting his gaze just as she had outside the orphanage last night.

Her violet eyes were close at hand.

"Fang Mo." Her voice was soft, audible only to the two of them. "From today onward, you are my personal disciple."

This was neither a question nor an invitation. It was a notification that allowed no refusal.

Fang Mo looked into those eyes, lowered his head slightly, and spoke in a faintly trembling voice.

"This disciple, Fang Mo, greets Teacher."

The corner of Bibi Dong's mouth shifted.

"Mm. Rise."

Bibi Dong slowly stood as well and turned to face everyone in the main hall.

"From this day forward, Fang Mo is my personal disciple. His food, clothing, residence, travel, cultivation resources, and security will all be arranged according to the standards for the Pope's personal disciple."

She paused again, her gaze sweeping over the old man from the Elder Hall. "If anyone has objections, submit them in writing."

The old man closed his mouth as well.

Bibi Dong walked toward the side door of the main hall. As she passed Fang Mo, her steps paused for a moment.

She did not turn around.

She softly said to Fang Mo, "Follow me."

Fang Mo followed Bibi Dong through the side door of the main hall and into a narrower corridor.

There were no portraits along the corridor walls, only several sconces casting dim yellow light. Their footsteps echoed between the stone walls, one ahead and one behind, one heavy and one light.

Bibi Dong walked in front, her pace slower than it had been the night before, and Fang Mo no longer needed to jog to keep up.

At the end of the corridor stood a wooden door. When it opened, Fang Mo caught the faint scent of medicine.

This was a study.

The room was not large, but it had been furnished with exceptional care.

Bookshelves filled three walls, densely packed with all manner of books and scrolls.

A mahogany desk stood by the window, several open notebooks spread across its surface, their handwriting neat and sharp.

Bibi Dong sat behind the desk, removed the Pope's crown, and placed it in a corner of the desktop.

Freed from the restraint of the crown, her long hair cascaded down like a waterfall, slowly falling over her shoulders and the back of her chair.

Her expression relaxed, and the Pope's coldness faded away.

Only exhaustion remained.