This was an iron law Spirit Hall had upheld for centuries.
It was also a universally accepted principle in the soul master world.
Only by personally delivering the killing blow could one use soul power to draw out a soul beast's lifetime of cultivation, condense it into a soul ring, and absorb it.
Two young people, a boy and a girl, stepped out of the formation of sixteen Soul Emperors.
The boy had a tall, slender frame. Standing over one meter ninety, he cut a striking figure in the dense forest, his shoulders broad, his waist narrow, his stance straight as a pine.
He wore silver-white clothes.
Subtle pale-silver patterns were embroidered into the fabric, flowing with his movements like moonlight spilling over the ground.
As his hem brushed the rotting leaves, it stirred a faint trail of silver light.
His skin was so pale it was nearly translucent, and his face was extraordinarily handsome, its features sharp and finely sculpted.
His brow bones were prominent, his nose straight, and his jawline clean as a knife cut, lending him a cold severity that kept others a thousand miles away.
His short silver hair was soft and lay neatly against his head.
At the ends, however, one lock shaded into red, like a drop of blood bleeding across a silver canvas.
The red spread upward from the tips, mingling with the silver in a strange, magnificent gradient.
Most striking of all were his eyes.
His crimson pupils shone like solidified pigeon-blood rubies, glittering in the dim light.
That red was deep yet luminous, as though two inextinguishable cold flames burned within.
A pair of scarlet, butterfly-shaped markings adorned the corners of his eyes.
They spread outward from the outer corners, like crimson butterflies resting on his cheeks with their wings unfurled.