The Strong Treated Human Lives Like Grass

The sun rose and moon set, while the stars shifted across the sky.

As the days passed and the annual awakening ceremony drew near, the village was steeped in a tense atmosphere much like the days before the college entrance exams.

Douluo Continent had two great empires, though it would not be wrong to call them two alliances. Within them, vast territories were parceled out to feudal lords, and nobles with armed forces were countless.

Because the two great empires had existed for so long, the social classes had long since solidified. For ordinary people to rise above their station was no easier than clearing a hell-difficulty challenge—practically impossible.

Of course, nothing was absolute. For ordinary people, there was only one chance to turn their lives around: cultivating a Martial Soul.

It was said that everyone possessed their own Martial Soul. Among them, only a very small number could be cultivated, giving rise to a profession known as Spirit Masters. Across the continent, Spirit Masters were the most prestigious profession.

It could be said that the village's annual awakening ceremony was no less than a small-scale college entrance exam. Describing it as an army of thousands crossing a single-log bridge was no exaggeration.

If one awakened a Martial Soul, especially one that could be cultivated, one could stand out overnight. Not only would they prosper, but their family could live a wealthy life as well. If they failed, they could only remain an ordinary person for the rest of their life, working from sunrise to sunset, marrying an ordinary wife, having a brood of children, and muddling through life.

Since he had come to Douluo Continent, Yang Ming did not want to be an ordinary person. He yearned to become strong, to leave this village, and to explore the splendor and wonders of this world!

At the first light of dawn, Yang Ming had already run two kilometers on the small hill outside the village. A long spear, longer than he was tall, was slung diagonally across his back.

He took the spear from his back and, facing the morning glow rising in the east, began practicing his spear techniques with meticulous precision.

In Honor of Kings, both Han Xin and Zhao Yun were masters of the spear, but their styles were completely different.

If Han Xin's style was sharp and clean, light and graceful, then Zhao Yun's was swift as thunder, fierce and powerful.

The spear techniques Yang Ming practiced contained none of the flashy routines or set moves. They followed a purely practical combat style.

Han Xin's lifting, thrusting, rebounding, and shaking, along with Zhao Yun's sweeping, chopping, slashing, and wiping, blended naturally into one within Yang Ming. There was not the slightest sense of discord, as though spear techniques had always been meant to look this way.

Yang Ming stepped forward into a bow stance and let out a low shout. Gripping the spear tightly in his right hand, he struck like a venomous snake darting from the grass. The force in his hand traveled straight to the spear tip. A cold flash streaked past, and the spear pierced a fallen leaf. The force was concentrated at a single point, leaving a hole in the center of the palm-sized leaf.

After practicing his spear techniques for the entire morning, Yang Ming was already drenched in sweat. He looked up at the sky and saw that the sun hung high overhead. It was nearly time for lunch.

Putting away his spear, Yang Ming hurried back to the village from the hill.

Holy Soul Village was as it had always been: simple villagers, a simple village, the crowing of roosters and barking of dogs, and no one picking up what had been lost on the road.

As the grandson of Old Jack, the village chief, Yang Ming was greeted warmly wherever he went. He was not some saint detached from worldly life, and he always returned their greetings. Over time, Yang Ming unexpectedly became quite popular in the village.

Just then, a burst of urgent hoofbeats and a woman's scream came from the village entrance.

Yang Ming halted and abruptly turned around.

It would have been better if he had not looked. The moment he did, fury surged within him.

A young man rode a black horse at full gallop down the village road.

Holy Soul Village was a very traditional farming village, and its economy was underdeveloped. As a result, its roads were not particularly wide. The young man could not possibly have been unaware of this, yet he still allowed the black horse beneath him to run wildly. It was like driving a BMW through a red light on a public road—he had no regard whatsoever for other people's lives!

Yang Ming had been in Douluo Continent for nearly six years. The villagers were honest and kind, and every household had treated him well. He had long since regarded this place as his home.

How could he not be furious at such a sight? Moreover, the pedestrians on the road had already descended into chaos as they scrambled to dodge the black horse. A pregnant woman, nine months along, stumbled and nearly fell to the ground. Yet the young man behind her showed no intention of slowing down and continued driving the black horse forward at full speed. Even if he did not strike the pregnant woman, he might frighten her into premature labor!

In this village, where medical care was extremely poor, premature labor for a pregnant woman could easily mean death!

"Stop!"

Yang Ming was enraged. His starry eyes widened, his thick brows stood on end, and he jabbed his spear against the ground. Like a flying swallow, he swept through the air in a half arc. Before the black horse charged over, he grabbed the pregnant woman, helped her up, and brought her to rest beside a nearby shop.

After doing all this, Yang Ming stood in the middle of the road with his spear held crosswise before him. Its tip pointed diagonally at the young man on the black horse as he demanded angrily,

"Who are you? How dare you gallop recklessly through the village roads? Do you know you nearly got many people killed just now?"

"Whoa!"

The young man yanked hard on the reins and pulled the horse's head back. The black horse rose onto its hind legs, its front hooves leaving the ground. Only then did it narrowly avoid crashing into Yang Ming.

The black horse shook its head irritably, its bell-sized eyes glaring at Yang Ming. Two streams of white vapor burst from its large nostrils.

Even the horse was arrogant and overbearing!

Only now that they were close did Yang Ming narrow his eyes and clearly make out the young man's appearance.

The man looked to be in his twenties. He had swordlike brows, bright eyes, and a remarkably handsome face. He wore a fitted white outfit and a black cloak, and at the center of his chest was a fist-sized character for "Spirit."

This was the standard attire of personnel directly affiliated with Spirit Hall.

On his left breast was a badge engraved with longswords. Three longswords crossed over one another on the badge.

Yang Ming frowned. His grandfather, Old Jack, had once taught him some common knowledge. The number three represented the third rank of Spirit Master, Great Spirit Master, while the longswords signified that this Spirit Hall deacon was a Battle Spirit Master.

All Spirit Masters possessed their own Martial Soul power. According to the strength of that power, there were ten ranks in total, with each rank divided into ten levels.

Soul Scholar, Spirit Master, Great Spirit Master, Spirit Elder, Spirit Ancestor, Spirit King, Spirit Emperor, Soul Saint, Spirit Douluo, Titled Douluo.

Yang Ming found the situation rather troublesome and said hoarsely,

"You're from Spirit Hall?"

The young man soothed the black horse beneath him. Hearing this, he glanced down at Yang Ming from above. Seeing that he was merely a six-year-old boy, a faint pride and disdain appeared between his brows. He raised his riding whip, pointed it rudely at Yang Ming, and said flatly,

"I am Cao Mengyun, a Battle Spirit Master from Notting City and a patrolling deacon of Spirit Hall. Little brat, don't block my way!"

Yang Ming's expression darkened. Pointing at the pregnant woman Cao Mengyun had nearly knocked down, he demanded angrily,

"You nearly hit her just now. Shouldn't you apologize to her?"

Cao Mengyun remained unmoved and said coldly,

"Didn't I miss her?"

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