End-of-Volume Summary

Hmm, I'll look through everyone's comments when I have the time.

I'm a newcomer with a new book, so there are many shortcomings. I hope you'll be understanding.

There are indeed some issues in certain places, and I'm considering how to revise them.

As for the parts I personally think are fine, I'll reserve my opinion.

Seeking common ground while respecting differences. After all, fanfiction is derivative work based on the original, and a thousand readers see a thousand Hamlets in the original. Naturally, different opinions will arise. There's no way to satisfy everyone's ideas.

So, since I'm the one writing this book, I'll write it according to my own ideas.

All right, it's time to answer some questions.

Overall, there are three major points of contention.

The first is the gatekeeper's mockery.

I considered it carefully. It makes sense for the gatekeeper to look down on innate Soul Power level one. The entire academy consists of Soul Masters; cases like Yu Xiaogang's half-level are exceptions and should be rare. Thus, among levels one through ten, level one is practically at the bottom. The students in Nuoding City probably aren't that gifted, so most should be around levels one to three. At most, they might reach level four. Tang San and Xiao Wu having full innate Soul Power are exceptions.

Among levels one through three, level one is still at the very bottom. On top of that, the Martial Soul appraisal read, "Mutated Martial Soul: Black Pupil." Body Martial Souls only became known to others ten thousand years later, after the Body Sect emerged.

A Body-type mutated Martial Soul with absolutely no precedent, plus the worst Soul Power—ordinary people would know that he could at most become a Soul Master in his teens. If it was a bad mutation, like Yu Xiaogang's, it wasn't impossible for him to get stuck at level nine and be unable to advance.

At least on the surface, he looked far worse than the academy's other students.

So it was perfectly normal for a gatekeeper who had seen it all to look down on the protagonist. A company gatekeeper sees major leaders all the time—why would he think highly of some lowly junior clerk? (I don't think there's anything wrong with that mentality. There are plenty of people whose ambitions soar higher than the sky while their fate is thinner than paper, people who look down their noses at everyone. Just because I can't make money doesn't stop me from despising some big shot who failed at starting a business for being stupid.)

Of course, directly using "muttered under his breath" might have been a little too excessive and exaggerated, making it easy to offend people.

I thought about it for a long time and ultimately felt that changing it to "inwardly disparaged" was more appropriate. He didn't say it aloud, but he didn't think much of him in his heart. That should make the issue less significant.

The second concerns Zhu Zhuqing's attention toward the protagonist, and the Martial Soul Fusion Skill.

Before they held hands, Zhu Zhuqing paid attention to the protagonist, yet it ultimately wasn't a Martial Soul Fusion Skill. Some people felt that didn't make sense.

Actually, I thought carefully about Zhu Zhuqing's character setting. In a rather oppressive environment, she became listless and icy, and naturally wouldn't grow close to others.

But that didn't mean she would completely cut herself off from communicating with the outside world. People like that would constantly observe others from the sidelines, like spectators, coldly watching others be happy or sad, as though they didn't fit in with anything around them.

That was my interpretation of Zhu Zhuqing's character.

So before the "hand-holding," Zhu Zhuqing's attention was merely that of an observer watching a stranger.

But the protagonist had told many lies. Afraid of being exposed, harboring ulterior motives and lacking frankness, he easily began to doubt himself when someone watched him for too long.

I wanted to write the protagonist in a state of mind similar to when Cao Cao had Cao Pi keep vigil for Cao Chong—where every rustle of wind and movement of grass made him jump. Because he harbored ulterior motives, even the slightest glance from others felt as if they wanted to strip him bare from head to toe.

Therefore, the protagonist "misunderstood" Zhu Zhuqing's gaze.

After they held hands, there was no need for much explanation. I wrote it out through the narration in the main text.

This was Zhu Zhuqing's "misunderstanding" of the protagonist in return.

Those were my thoughts while writing. Perhaps many readers couldn't grasp that feeling while reading, or perhaps my writing ability was limited and I couldn't describe this sort of plot properly.

I truly feel ashamed. Please forgive me. I'm only a novice at writing novels, inferior to many people.

Third, regarding the protagonist fighting a Soul Emperor: his strength rose too quickly, and people suspected the power scaling had collapsed.

There was controversy over the protagonist defeating a Soul Emperor and a Soul King.

First, here is a passage from the original text of Part Two: When soul beasts reach ten thousand years, they undergo a qualitative leap. Generally speaking, for a human to deal with a ten-thousand-year soul beast alone, they must at least possess six rings. To deal with a soul beast over thirty thousand years old, they must have at least seven rings and possess a Martial Soul Avatar before they can attempt it.

My answer: A Dreadclaw Bear was equivalent to ten thousand years. The shadows' strength was weakened, but only by a small amount; this was mentioned earlier. Since they didn't fear death, they received a degree of "berserk" enhancement. On top of that, they could continuously revive, allowing for a war of attrition.

As for the Soul Power cost of revival, I did write earlier that he couldn't sustain too many revivals. But since I didn't write a system, I couldn't quantify the exact number of revivals with data. And quantification could easily lead to brainless bugs like the "hydrogen people" in the original. I could only write it based on intuitive feeling.

One pseudo-ten-thousand-year beast, one pseudo-five-thousand-year beast, and thirteen three-thousand-year beasts—relying on a limited number of revivals, they still had a chance to kill a Soul Emperor. In Honor of Kings, no matter how strong you are at level fifteen, you still can't beat five level-thirteen heroes on the enemy side who revive without interruption in a team fight, right?

A reader asked: Doesn't that make it seem even more game-like? Battles aren't just you throwing one punch and me throwing one punch.

1. You said it yourself—they were only comparable to ten thousand years, not truly ten-thousand-year soul beasts. They hadn't undergone a qualitative transformation. Besides, they weren't idiots. If they couldn't win, they would run.

2. It would have made sense if you had the protagonist hide. Could a level-twenty Soul Grandmaster withstand even one basic attack from a Soul Emperor? And that Soul Emperor had several Soul Kings with him. In a desperate moment, shouldn't they at least be able to drag someone down with them?

3. You could simply have a bird-type soul beast carry the protagonist into the sky, then have the shadows besiege them. I could still accept that. But as you wrote it, that group acted like idiots. The six-ring Soul Emperor could have cleared the field directly, and any Soul King could have captured the protagonist.

1. That made sense. I overlooked something: the Dreadclaw Bear was only comparable to a ten-thousand-year soul beast, not actually one. Even with undead "berserk" enhancement, whether it could stand shoulder to shoulder with a Soul Emperor remained unknown. So I'll mark this point for now and address it at the end.

But I don't agree that they would run if they couldn't defeat him. I never wrote that they couldn't. Both of them believed they had a chance to either wear the protagonist to death or charge in and kill him directly. They held the psychological advantage. Of course they would run if they weren't in an advantageous position, but if they already believed they could kill the protagonist, would they run?

2. He couldn't withstand a Soul Emperor's attack, but I hadn't considered basic attacks. I only considered soul skills.

From the start, the two wanted to go straight for the protagonist, so they used soul skills. But the Dreadclaw Bear's defense was extremely strong, making it ideal as a meat shield to protect the protagonist. If they used ordinary attacks, they would first have to get close.

But once they got close, they would be walking straight into the protagonist's trap.

I still remember the first time I encountered Graves while playing League of Legends. After being deprived of vision, I panicked and threw out all my skills, only to hit no one. In the end, I was counter-killed. That unexpected panic still remains vivid in my memory.

So the soul skill was designed to deprive them of vision through the shadows' dark nature when the sphere shattered.

Personally, I think depriving someone of vision is a very broken skill.

My original intention was this: the protagonist had always known that his second skill was very broken, so he intended to use the instant his second soul skill shattered to deprive them of vision and catch them off guard.

I wrote out the Soul Emperor's delight at breaking the sphere. The feeling of being deprived of vision amid that great joy, that sense of disparity, was an excellent opportunity. The Dreadclaw Bear had a chance to kill one blind man while taking advantage of it.

This sort of psychological contest is difficult to explain. Precisely because the Soul Emperor believed he could win, he wouldn't flee. And precisely because the protagonist was weak, he could lure his enemies into attacking, relying on the suddenness of his soul skill to seize the sole opportunity to kill them in an unexpected instant.

If he could kill with a single blow, why would they self-destruct?

Only those at a disadvantage would self-destruct in desperation. Why would those with the advantage think of self-destruction? Those with the advantage never considered that option, and they weren't given time to think. Self-destruction simply wouldn't happen.

On the contrary, if the protagonist possessed overwhelming power, then if the battle dragged on even a little longer, they would self-destruct, wouldn't they?

3. Taking to the sky was unlikely. As you said, there was also the question of the number of revivals. The shadows couldn't revive too many times. They couldn't win by directly fighting soul beasts head-on; if it dragged on, their Soul Power would run out, and the protagonist would lose.

The outcomes of "the Soul Emperor clears the field and the Soul Kings capture him" were essentially the same. To get close enough to capture him, they would have to suffer vision deprivation, and a Soul King might die from the surprise attack.

Of course, dealing with the Soul Emperor afterward would be troublesome for the protagonist. Without the element of surprise, the protagonist might lose as well. That was beyond doubt.

But then again, conflict between both sides was originally about anticipating the enemy, finding the right opportunity, and making instant choices.

Of course the Soul Emperor and Soul Kings had countless ways to kill the protagonist! The protagonist also had countless ways to lose his own advantage, such as the flying into the sky mentioned above, where he wouldn't have enough Soul Power to sustain it.

The protagonist naturally wasn't without opportunities. When the weak faced the strong, they could only rely on "catching them off guard" and "the opponent's mistakes." If they seized those two points and didn't miss a single opportunity, was there truly no chance at all of winning?

In a battle of life and death, insufficient information could lead to someone setting a trap for you. A moment of hesitation could mean never having another chance to choose. One mistake could mean death.

The protagonist held an information advantage—the bug-like nature of his soul skill. What he waited for was that instant of hesitation when they lost vision. That was the opponent's mistake. If he seized it, he could turn defeat into victory.

Emmmm, the Soul Emperor and Soul Kings truly weren't idiots. But I can't write out every possible scenario in a novel, can I? Do I have to add narration saying that if the Soul Emperor and Soul Kings had done such-and-such at a certain moment, the outcome would have been completely different, the protagonist would inevitably have been killed by them, blah blah blah?

When writing a book, the protagonist obviously has to win. Otherwise, why call him the protagonist? Among the countless possibilities in battle, I can't choose the one most unfavorable to the protagonist to write, can I? How unlucky would the protagonist have to be to never encounter even a single opportunity? If I wrote an enemy as exceptionally difficult to deal with and had the protagonist repeatedly suffer setbacks, readers probably wouldn't like it either. It would be abusing the protagonist too much.

Unless the protagonist was far stronger than his enemies and didn't need to play any tricks at all, simply crushing his way through.

But crushing them would lead to one consequence: returning to point one, if they couldn't win, they would run. If they couldn't run, they would self-destruct.

So how should that be handled?

There are countless possibilities. It's impossible to cover them all.

Returning to the mark in point one: the Soul Emperor's strength was too high, and the Dreadclaw Bear wasn't truly ten thousand years old, so could it withstand him? I have considered changing the Soul Emperor into a Soul King, but I'm still hesitant. After changing it, would they still have the psychological advantage of believing they could kill the protagonist? Give me some time. I'll think about whether to change it or not.

That concludes the explanation.

A few rambling thoughts from me:

My ability is limited, and what I write may not be very good. I'm doing my best, and I hope everyone can be more understanding.

Writing fanfiction is a thankless and demanding task. I previously thought that writing fanfiction would be relatively easy: just follow the original's timeline and go through the outline, while getting some writing practice.

Only after writing it did I realize that fanfiction was difficult—more difficult than original work.

Because it must be created on the foundation of the original work, whose settings have long been established, and because people have different opinions, fanfiction receives many different criticisms and suggestions.

It isn't easy to accommodate every opinion.

If it were original work, there wouldn't be so many problems. All authority to interpret it would belong to the author.

I want the traffic of fanfiction, yet I also want the freedom and interpretive authority of original work. It's hard...

Good night, everyone.

Next volume: Dragon in the Fields.

See you in Heaven Dou City.