Respects to the Titled Douluo! That Blood-Red Spirit Ring!

Gu Rong's pupils contracted sharply.

Soul rings began appearing beneath Yang Xing's feet, one after another.

The first.

A yellow hundred-year soul ring.

The second.

Another yellow hundred-year soul ring.

Then came the third and fourth.

Two deep-purple thousand-year soul rings appeared almost simultaneously.

Then the fifth.

Black.

Gu Rong narrowed his eyes.

But it was not over yet. The sixth, seventh, and eighth.

All four soul rings emerged in rapid succession.

Every one of them was black.

By now, the strength Yang Xing had displayed before Gu Rong was that of an eight-ringed Soul Douluo with a perfectly matched soul ring configuration.

It had already moved Gu Rong somewhat.

But it still was not over.

Immediately afterward, a dark-red soul ring glowing with red light seemed to release a heavy hum unlike any of the previous eight rings, then suddenly bloomed.

The instant that red light appeared, the air throughout the hall seemed to ignite. It was not scorching heat, but an instinctive tremor originating from the deepest level of life itself.

Blood-red.

A Titled Douluo?

Gu Rong could no longer contain his shock.

How was that possible? This man was actually a Titled Douluo?

There were fewer than ten Titled Douluo openly known across Douluo Continent.

No matter how highly he, Ning Fengzhi, and that old swordsman had estimated this man's Soul Power, no matter how gifted they had imagined him to be, they had only thought he might be an expert at the Soul King or Soul Emperor level.

They had never considered the possibility of a Titled Douluo.

No!

That was not right!

A Titled Douluo had indeed completely shattered Gu Rong's worldview.

But he realized that was not the most critical point right now.

It was that blood-red soul ring!

Th-this... how could that be possible?

Was that not a phenomenon unique to a hundred-thousand-year soul ring?

A hundred-thousand-year soul ring?

A hundred-thousand-year soul ring?

Gu Rong was not some fool like the lord of Suotuo City, incapable of even comprehending a hundred-thousand-year soul ring upon seeing one.

He knew full well what a hundred-thousand-year soul ring represented.

In an instant, his mind went blank with a buzz. His head spun, his vision blurred, and he felt as though he might faint.

Had he seen it wrong?

As far as he knew, among all the Titled Douluo on Douluo Continent, only a handful possessed hundred-thousand-year soul rings.

The only possible exceptions were the heads of major sects and halls, and even they were exceedingly rare.

How could one appear on such a young brat standing before him?

Impossible, impossible!

Absolutely impossible!

Gu Rong, a level ninety-five Super Douluo, actually thought his eyes were playing tricks on him. He even rubbed them deliberately, yet when he looked again, that blood-red hundred-thousand-year soul ring was still at the very bottom beneath Yang Xing's feet.

Only then did Gu Rong truly feel it.

He felt something that had almost never appeared in his decades as a Soul Master.

Heart palpitations.

Nine soul rings, their four colors intertwining around Yang Xing, surrounded the eighteen-year-old seated in the grandmaster's chair, dressed in a loose sleeping robe with traces of lipstick still on his face.

Especially that red soul ring, which made Yang Xing look like a deity who had stepped out of ancient times.

Yet Yang Xing merely sat there.

His posture did not change. His expression did not change. He did not even lower his crossed leg.

He looked at Gu Rong.

At those murky old eyes, now frozen on him and filled with utter shock.

Then he spoke.

"My name is Yang Xing."

His voice was not loud. He stated it plainly, as though making the most ordinary introduction.

"Nine rings."

He raised one finger and waved it at Gu Rong.

"A Titled Douluo."

After a brief pause, he tilted his head, a hint of amusement touching his lips.

"As for my title, I haven't chosen one yet. I haven't decided what to call myself."

He lowered his finger, lifted his teacup, and raised it toward Gu Rong.

"Pleased to make your acquaintance again, Bone Douluo."

The surface of the tea in the cup was still as a mirror.

The light of nine soul rings flowed behind him.

The hall fell deathly silent.

Gu Rong finally fell completely silent. He stared fixedly at Yang Xing.

Those murky old eyes sunk deep in their sockets now shot out sharp beams of light, scraping inch by inch across Yang Xing's face as though he wanted to carve out every secret hidden beneath that young visage.

Gu Rong scrutinized him for a full ten seconds.

"Who exactly are you?"

His voice was hoarse, each word deliberate.

Yang Xing held his teacup in a relaxed posture, as if answering the most ordinary question.

"An ordinary person. I just turned eighteen this year."

Gu Rong's cheek twitched.

An ordinary person. Eighteen years old.

Yet a Titled Douluo.

And with a hundred-thousand-year soul ring that he had only seen a few times in his entire life.

For Yang Xing to say such words so casually was simply outrageously arrogant!

If it was true.

Then the thousands of years of cultivation history on Douluo Continent were a joke.

But Gu Rong no longer had the mind to question him outright.

Although this mysterious young man, Rongrong's nominal master, had already made him feel deeply wary.

What stood before him now was the honor of the Seven Treasure Glazed Tile Sect.

He could not retreat, and the pride he had carried for decades would not allow him to retreat.

He slowly narrowed his eyes.

Under the lamplight, his withered face appeared especially grim. Faint glimmers flickered within his sunken eye sockets.

"I do not care who you are."

Gu Rong's words grew heavier one by one.

"Nor do I care what faction you belong to."

He straightened. His two-and-a-half-meter frame cast an enormous shadow beneath the lamplight.

"Still less do I care whether your cultivation and those soul rings are real or fake."

At that point, Gu Rong steadily and slowly rose from the ground.

His two-and-a-half-meter body stretched out, his astonishing skeletal frame blocking more than half the oil lamp's light. The shadow he cast covered the entire square table.

Then nine rings rose beneath his feet.

Two yellow. Three purple. Four black.

Nine soul rings.

The radiance belonging to another Titled Douluo bloomed within the main hall, forming a stark contrast to the nine soul rings Yang Xing had displayed moments earlier.

As the soul rings emerged, Gu Rong's aura began to climb. Though this oppressive force was slightly weaker than Yang Xing's nine soul rings, within mere seconds it still surged from his body at a terrifying speed like floodwaters pouring through opened gates.

Buzz!

An invisible shockwave expanded outward from Gu Rong.

This was not merely Soul Power being released. It was a spiritual domain pressure unique to the possessors of the Bone Dragon martial soul. Mixed with spatial fluctuations inherent to his top-tier Bone Dragon martial soul, it was even more formidable than his previous aura, like an invisible wall crashing out from Gu Rong and rushing straight at Yang Xing.

The remaining half-pot of tea on the table shattered.

Porcelain shards flew through the air.

The oil lamp's flame swayed violently three times, nearly going out.

The four legs of the square table creaked beneath the blast, sliding back half a foot.

Buzz!

At almost the exact same moment, a completely different kind of fluctuation surged around Yang Xing's body.

It was a side effect produced when Wind Empress Qimen activated the power of space. Centered on Yang Xing, an invisible ripple spread outward like a drop of water falling into a pond.

The two shockwaves collided in the center of the main hall.

Boom!

A soundless roar. It was not an audible explosion, but a spatial tremor produced by the collision of two forces. A violent wind suddenly swept through the hall, tearing the curtains into strips that danced through the air. Paintings and calligraphy on the walls fell one after another, chairs toppled over, and every bowl and plate shattered.

The two force fields pressed and ground against each other above the square table that had already been pushed into the corner.

Yang Xing's side was calm as water. He remained seated in the grandmaster's chair without moving, not even lowering his crossed leg. That shockwave was like an invisible barrier, steadily blocking Gu Rong's pressure three feet in front of him.