Nether Ghost Tiger

Xu Jiawei's words had deeply imprinted themselves on Xu Jiujiu's heart.

She understood that for an unparalleled raw gem like Yin Chen, his future achievements would be limitless.

If they relied solely on the resources and protection they currently provided, they might earn his gratitude and secure his service to the empire for a time. But that connection was fragile. Once a greater temptation appeared, or once he grew strong enough to fear no restraints, the bond could break.

But feelings cultivated from childhood were different.

While he was still weak and had yet to fully reveal his brilliance, she could enter his life as an elder sister, care for his growth, share his joys and troubles, and subtly make him accustomed to her presence, so that they would see each other as trusted insiders they could rely on.

The emotional bonds formed while growing up were far purer—and far more reassuring—than dealings based on profit.

She was investing in the future, and emotions were the best safeguard to ensure that investment brought the richest and most stable returns.

Therefore, her attentiveness toward Yin Chen came not only from political foresight, but also from her recognition of him as a person.

Watching him grow step by step and become ever more outstanding genuinely filled her with gratification and a sense of accomplishment.

As the carriage left the academy, Xu Jiujiu leaned against the soft seat. Recalling Yin Chen's limit-defying Soul Ring configuration and those two absurd Soul Skills, a satisfied curve formed at the corner of her lips.

Deep within the Evil Demon Forest, all was deathly silent. Even the sound of rotten branches and leaves falling seemed especially piercing.

The scent of death in the air was so dense it felt tangible, oppressive enough to make breathing difficult.

In a clearing amid the forest, an unequal hunt was nearing its end.

A colossal creature—a Nether Ghost Tiger with cultivation nearing fifteen thousand years—was letting out a soundless, despairing roar.

Its body was enormous, its fur an ominous dark purple. Tangible resentment coiled around it, while pale soul-fire burned within its tiger eyes.

Once a feared apex predator of the Evil Demon Forest's outskirts, it was now like an insect caught in a spiderweb, bound firmly in place by countless crimson threads as fine as hair yet incomparably tough.

Those crimson threads were not physical objects, but condensed from pure spiritual power and Soul Power. They wrapped precisely around the Nether Ghost Tiger's joints and throat, leaving it unable to mobilize even a trace of Soul Power. Its massive body remained frozen in mid-pounce, and only the towering fury and terror in its pale tiger eyes still burned.

Not far behind the Soul Beast, Feiyan stood quietly in Gothic lolita attire. There was no ripple in her scarlet eyes. She merely raised one small hand casually, her fingers slightly spread, as though controlling invisible puppet strings.

For a level ninety-seven Super Douluo like her, subduing a Ten-Thousand-Year Soul Beast was no different from playing with an actual doll.

"It is ready, Saintess."

Feiyan's voice carried a trace of childish sweetness, sounding especially clear in the deathly still forest.

As her words fell, Castorice, who had been standing silently by and observing, moved.

She wore a purple-and-white dress, and her long silver-white hair flowed with a faint gleam beneath the dim light.

Facing the utterly restrained Nether Ghost Tiger, her face remained expressionless, her amethyst-like eyes as tranquil as a deep pool.

A massive, unusually shaped scythe silently appeared in her hand, formed entirely from black-purple death energy—her first Soul Skill, the Styx Death Scythe.

Without the slightest hesitation, she darted forward. The Styx Death Scythe in her hand traced a cold arc, sweeping precisely across the Nether Ghost Tiger's throat.

There was no violent collision, no overflowing energy.

Where the scythe blade passed, a thin purple wound filled with dense deathly aura appeared on the Nether Ghost Tiger's neck.

The wound did not bleed, but the power of death upon it instantly eroded its life force and extinguished the soul-fire burning in its eyes.

The Nether Ghost Tiger's enormous body convulsed violently once. Its pale eyes completely dimmed, and the resentment coiling around it abruptly collapsed as though it had lost all support.

Feiyan withdrew the crimson threads at the right moment.

The Styx Death Scythe in Castorice's hand dissipated as well.

Without even glancing at the Soul Beast corpse that was rapidly losing its remaining life force, she walked directly to one side and sat down cross-legged.

A profound black Soul Ring emerged from the Nether Ghost Tiger's corpse. Carrying the immense energy and vicious resentment unique to a Ten-Thousand-Year Soul Beast, it was slowly drawn toward her.

The instant that Ten-Thousand-Year Soul Ring enveloped her, its immense energy surged into her body like a breached flood.

Her petite body trembled slightly, and faint golden patterns surfaced across her skin. That was the Chrysos Heirs bloodline manifesting instinctively under the impact.

At the same time, two dazzling purple Soul Rings emerged behind her of their own accord, slowly pulsing around her body.

First Soul Ring, purple!

Second Soul Ring, purple!

An eight-year-old child bearing two thousand-year Soul Rings was already a sight enough to overturn the common sense of the Soul Master world.

And now, she was attempting to absorb a third—one at the Ten-Thousand-Year level.

Terrifying energy and spiritual resentment rampaged through her body, seeking to tear apart her meridians and corrode her soul.

Yet Castorice's meridians were like they had been forged from the toughest alloy, remaining utterly unmoved with the support of her Chrysos Heirs bloodline.

And the spiritual resentment that would have driven Soul Masters of the same level mad crashed against her sea of consciousness, tempered by the Archon of Death Martial Soul, like waves against a reef, able only to disperse in vain.

Throughout the entire process, Castorice did not even furrow her brow.

Time quietly passed. When the third profound black Soul Ring finally stabilized beside the first two, radiating a heart-palpitating glow, the Soul Power fluctuations around Castorice suddenly shattered through a bottleneck and stabilized at level thirty-three.

Purple, purple, black.

Three brilliant Soul Rings floated behind an eight-year-old girl. This scene, so contrary to reason, possessed an ultimate beauty and a silent, overwhelming shock.

Even Feiyan, who had personally brought this about, could not conceal the flash of astonishment and conflicted emotion that crossed her scarlet eyes as she looked at this unimaginable sight.

Two years. In merely two years, this little girl whom the Supreme Cult Leader had accepted as a disciple had risen from level thirteen, just after obtaining her first Soul Ring, all the way to level thirty-three.

Even subtracting the increase from absorbing Soul Rings beyond her level, she had raised her Soul Power by an average of seven levels each year.

What a terrifying cultivation speed!

Feiyan knew very well that Castorice had never cultivated any of the Holy Spirit Cult's evil arts that devoured life and souls.

What she relied upon entirely was her own unique bloodline, her heaven-defying talent, and her innate affinity for and control over the laws of death.

All the Holy Spirit Cult had provided were mountains of top-tier resources and the cruelest possible environment for real combat.