Spirit Hall's Killing Intent

"Tang Hao."

Tang Ling called out his name, his tone as calm as if he were greeting an old friend.

Tang Hao's pupils contracted sharply. The soul power within him instantly surged to its limit, and a fierce aura erupted from his body.

Though he was severely injured and far weaker than before, the instincts of the Clear Sky Douluo remained. His identity was top secret; no one in Holy Soul Village knew of his past. How could this stranger possibly...

"Sit." As if he had not felt that aura at all, Tang Ling pointed to the chair across from him. "Tea doesn't taste good once it goes cold."

Tang Hao did not sit. His voice was low. "Who are you? Are you from Spirit Hall?"

To Tang Hao's surprise, the unfamiliar young man showed no reaction upon hearing the words "Spirit Hall."

Tang Ling merely lifted his teacup and gently blew on the floating tea leaves, speaking as calmly as if discussing the weather.

"Compared to those imperial nobles who treat commoners as less than grass, Spirit Hall has at least done some practical things. At the very least, they have given low-born soul masters a way to survive. They have also given the lowest commoners a shred of hope."

Those words were not false.

During his years in Soul Land, Tang Ling had long since seen clearly that the two great empires and those ancient sects cared only about their own privileges and inheritances.

Only Spirit Hall ignored one's origins and family status, expending vast manpower and resources every year to travel deep into every remote, impoverished village, awakening martial souls for commoners' children free of charge and providing stipends to low-ranking soul masters.

After Tang Ling finished speaking, his tone shifted. His gaze fell upon Tang Hao, calm yet seemingly able to see through everything.

"However, I am not from Spirit Hall." That indifference came from the depths of his heart, carrying the detached scrutiny of one beyond worldly concerns, without the slightest pretense.

Tang Hao caught that detail. The wariness in his heart eased slightly, but he still did not let down his guard.

"Then who are you? Why do you know my name?"

Tang Ling did not answer. Instead, he said, "You are no match for me. You would do better not to stir the soul power in your body recklessly, or the injuries within you will only worsen."

Tang Hao's entire body trembled.

His old injuries were his greatest secret, and the root cause of his greatly diminished strength. Over the years, he had tried every possible method and sought out countless famous physicians, yet nothing had improved.

How had this young man seen through it?

He had clearly not released any soul power, yet he had seen through his injuries at a glance.

"Who exactly are you?"

Tang Hao's voice unconsciously lowered several degrees.

Tang Ling set down his teacup and rose to his feet.

He walked up to Tang Hao and met his gaze calmly.

"A traveler who wishes to stay here for a while, nothing more. As for your name..." He paused, a faint smile appearing on his lips. "I calculated it. Believe it or not."

Of course Tang Hao did not believe him. But neither did he press the matter further.

From this young man, he sensed an extremely obscure fluctuation of power. Even at his peak, he might not have been able to reach that level.

This man was stronger than him. Far, far stronger.

A storm of shock rose within Tang Hao's heart, yet none of it showed on his face.

After a moment of silence, he slowly withdrew the soul power within him and said in a deep voice, "Since Your Excellency merely wishes to stay here for a while, then Tang will not disturb you."

"You are welcome to visit anytime." Tang Ling returned to the rattan chair and lifted his teacup, as though seeing him out.

Tang Hao turned and left, his footsteps steady, though his thoughts were in complete chaos. The moment he stepped out of the courtyard gate, he looked back at the small courtyard, deep unease flashing through his eyes.

A profoundly unfathomable expert had come to Holy Soul Village. This person knew his identity but did not expose it. This person possessed the strength to crush him, yet had not acted. What exactly did he want?

Tang Hao did not dare dwell on it. He merely quickened his pace and returned to the blacksmith shop.

Inside the shop, the infant in the cradle lay with his deep blue eyes open, quietly staring at the ceiling.

As Tang Hao looked at his son, a sense of helplessness suddenly surged within him.

If that person had come for him, then his death would not matter. But Little San was still so young. He could not drag his son down with him.

"Little San..." Tang Hao murmured. "Should Father never have brought you into this world?"

Outside the cradle, Tang Hao continued staring out the window with a troubled expression.

Tang San looked at his father's profile, a complicated emotion flashing through his eyes.

And so the days passed one by one.

Tang Ling's life in Holy Soul Village was far more ordinary than anyone had imagined.

Every day, he rose early to drink tea, basked in the sun at noon, and took walks around the village in the evening. Occasionally, he would greet passing villagers and chat with them for a few moments.

Old Jack's grandson fell ill, and Tang Ling casually prescribed some medicine. The illness vanished as soon as the medicine was taken.

Old Li's cow at the eastern end of the village refused to eat grass. Tang Ling went to take a look, patted the cow's head twice, and by the next day, it was lively and full of energy again.

In less than half a month, all of Holy Soul Village had grown fond of the newly arrived young man.

Only Tang Hao continued to keep his distance.

He still forged iron every day, still took care of Little San every day, and did whatever he needed to do. Tang Ling occasionally passed by the blacksmith shop, and the two would nod to each other in greeting, but they never exchanged any unnecessary words.

Tang Hao had never let down his guard.

Until that evening at dusk.

Tang Hao was putting away his tools in the blacksmith shop when his movements suddenly froze. His gaze shot toward the southeastern sky, his pupils contracting violently.

That aura was far too familiar to him.

Spirit Hall. And there was more than one. Two Titled Douluo and four Soul Sages.

Tang Hao's face turned livid. He rushed into the inner room, scooped Tang San from the cradle, and a flicker of despair crossed his eyes.

They had still found him.

He had anticipated this day, but he had never imagined it would come so soon. In his current condition, let alone two Titled Douluo and four Soul Sages, he could not even defeat a single Titled Douluo.

Run? Where could he run?

How far could he get with an infant?

Fight?

That would be suicide.

And he would be taking his son to his death with him.

Tang Hao's hands trembled. He had experienced countless life-and-death battles in his lifetime and had never once been afraid. But now, he was afraid. Not because he feared death, but because he feared his son would die.

Just then, six figures descended from the sky and completely surrounded the blacksmith shop.

At their head stood an old man in a platinum robe. His beard and hair were completely white, his expression sinister, and the badge of a Spirit Hall elder was pinned to his chest.

"Tang Hao." The old man's voice was cold. "You're quite good at hiding."

Tang Hao held Tang San tightly against his chest and said nothing.

"Hand over everything and surrender," another Titled Douluo beside the old man said, his tone filled with obvious contempt. "His Holiness the Pope is merciful. Perhaps he may leave you with intact corpses."

Tang Hao still did not speak, but his right hand had quietly pressed against the corner of the blacksmith shop's wall.

His Clear Sky Hammer was hidden there.

"Not willing?" The old man sneered. "Then die together."

Nine spirit rings rose from beneath his feet at once, eight of them flashing with dazzling light in the dusk.

The other five released their martial souls as well. In an instant, the entire Holy Soul Village was shrouded in terrifying fluctuations of soul power.

The villagers fled in all directions in terror.

Old Jack watched the scene from afar, his legs going weak as he collapsed onto the ground.