Prologue

Dusk was as black as ink, pressing heavily upon the earth. The setting sun resembled a dying old man, using the last of its strength to dye the horizon deep crimson, as though a silent blood sacrifice had just come to an end, sending chills down one's spine.

At the edge of the village, ruined walls trembled in the wind like lonely ghosts, recounting former glory and hardship. The scents of soil and blood mingled into an evil torrent, pungent yet unable to conceal the deeper strangeness beneath, as if demons hidden in the darkness were quietly watching this world.

Five hours earlier...

"You can't escape. Surrender peacefully!" A deep shout echoed through the mountains. A burly middle-aged man stood steadily in midair, a heavy hammer in hand, looking down at the black-clad figure fleeing below.

The black-clad figure clutched his abdomen with one hand and gripped a small flag as scarlet as fresh blood with the other. Several vicious-looking vengeful spirits continuously flew out from the flag, clearing a path for him like evil ghosts. Before long, he shot several hundred meters away like an arrow loosed from its bow...

In the blink of an eye, the black-clad figure arrived at a village entrance like a phantom. The village was not large, with over sixty households scattered neatly across the mountainside. Some villagers weeded the fields, while others wove cloth at home, each busy with their own work—a lively scene of prosperity. Seeing this, an evil, seductive smile curved across the black-clad figure's lips. The blood-colored flag in his hand streaked toward the village like a crimson bolt of lightning...

When the pursuing middle-aged man saw this, his brow furrowed. He immediately roared, "Seventh Soul Skill—Spirit Avatar!" Eight dazzling rings appeared around him—yellow, yellow, purple, purple, black, black, black, black—shining brilliantly. The seventh black ring lit up once more, and the hammer in his hand rapidly expanded, rising like a towering mountain that blotted out the sky and inspired awe.

The villagers stared at the colossal hammer, which resembled a pillar holding up the heavens. For a moment, they stood frozen as stone, watching helplessly as it crashed down like Mount Tai crushing an egg.

Boom— After an earth-shaking explosion, dust billowed up and filled the entire field of vision. The middle-aged man slowly withdrew his Spirit Avatar, and the giant hammer gradually shrank back to its original form. Looking at the village where no one had survived, there was not a trace of pity in his eyes—only the joy of completing his mission.

"Hahaha... Asura God Trial... I-I completed it. Finally, Rank 90..." As the middle-aged man walked farther away, his increasingly faint voice reached the ears of someone from another world...

Gu Hengzhi was a university student from the Blue Star Dragon Kingdom. Like most college graduates, he had fallen into the predicament of unemployment after graduation. To cut expenses, he had no choice but to return to his hometown. At a rural market, he spotted an ancient-looking book. The moment he touched it, he was swept into a spatial-temporal torrent and brought to the world of the Douluo Continent.

Still dizzy, his soul seemed to be torn apart by a powerful force. It struggled bitterly in the abyss of darkness, attempting to regain itself. The chaotic meridians and blood energy within his body rampaged through his mind like wild horses freed from their reins, bringing waves of excruciating pain. Suddenly, a mouthful of heart's blood erupted like a volcano, staining the surrounding air red.

"Ugh—" Gu Hengzhi let out a muffled groan, his body trembling uncontrollably. He struggled to open his eyes, his gaze dazed and confused, as if he no longer recognized the world. "Where is this? I... did I transmigrate?" he muttered, his voice full of shock and fear.

As soon as the words left his mouth, his body seemed to lose its final shred of strength. Overwhelmed, he fainted. At that moment, he was like a guttering candle in the wind, the flame of his life flickering weakly.

The next morning, sunlight filtered through gaps in the leaves, casting mottled patches of light across the forest. A young man dressed in a Spirit Hall deacon's uniform moved nimbly through the woods. His steps were light and agile, as though he had become one with nature. Before long, he arrived at the site of the battle.

The forest's once lush scenery had vanished completely. Ancient trees that had once stood tall were snapped in half, their broken branches scattered across the ground. The earth had been overturned, exposing jagged rock formations, while enormous craters lay everywhere like wounds torn open in the land.

The battle's aftermath had swept through the nearby village like a tsunami. The thatched roofs had long since been blown away, and the earthen walls had collapsed with a roar, leaving only ruined walls to moan in the wind. The century-old locust tree at the village entrance had been broken in half, with torn clothing still hanging from its branches, silently recounting the life that had once been there. The air was thick with the smell of smoke and dust, mixed with a faint scent of blood that made it hard to breathe.

"Th-this... what exactly happened?" Faced with such a horrific sight, the young man seemed to have been struck by lightning. He froze in place, muttering in disbelief. His gaze slowly swept across the devastation, and an indescribable fear rose in his heart.

"The affected area is enormous. Only a Soul Sage or stronger could cause this kind of destruction. And even then, it would have to be an exceptional martial soul. This probably wasn't the Lightning Tyrant Dragon. It looks more like the legendary Clear Sky Hammer... Forget it. No matter which one it was, neither is someone a lowly Spirit Hall deacon like me can afford to provoke..." The young man's voice was filled with bitterness and helplessness.

Yet amid these ruins, his duty kept him from standing idly by. He forced himself to gather his strength and began searching the village for survivors. Every step felt especially heavy, as though he were treading upon countless wronged souls.

Finally, in a corner, he discovered a little boy around one year old. The child was covered in blood and breathing weakly, but a faint spark of life remained. Overjoyed, the young man hurried forward, picked up the boy, and carefully examined his injuries.

"Good, he can still be saved..." the young man murmured, a glint of determination flashing through his eyes. No matter what, he had decided to save the child. It was not only his duty, but also a conviction deep within his heart.

Three days later...

"You're awake. Come, drink this bowl of medicine."

Gu Hengzhi struggled to open his eyes and looked around through blurred vision. It was a small room, not spacious, but clean and tidy. Beside him, a young man was intently stirring medicine in a bowl before carefully bringing it to Gu Hengzhi.

"Where is this? Who are you? What happened?" Gu Hengzhi's voice was weak and hoarse. This string of questions surged into his mind like a tide, leaving him at a loss for a moment.

The young man was clearly stumped by the barrage of questions. He hesitated before softly saying, "I-I'm Su Yuntao, a Spirit Hall deacon. This is my home in Notting City. You... you should drink this medicine first. You'll feel better afterward."

However, at that moment, a powerful torrent of memories suddenly flooded into Gu Hengzhi's mind. His head felt as though it were about to explode, and the pain was unbearable. "Aah—" After a miserable scream, his eyes rolled back, and he fainted once again.