Old Yang

"Old Yang, come lend a hand."

A lean, wheat-skinned old man answered and hurried over to help the man haul the crate onto the carriage.

"I never expected you to still be so strong at your age." The man wiped away his sweat and laughed.

Old Yang smiled. "Back when I was young and fought for the Empire, I was famous for my strength. If I'd had Innate Soul Power, I would've joined the ranks of Soul Masters long ago."

"You've said that so many times my ears are growing calluses." The man shook his head helplessly and turned to carry more things.

Old Yang smiled and continued working.

By nightfall, the caravan stopped to rest, and everyone gathered together to chat and relax.

"Old people really are old people. They sure do get sleepy a lot..."

Old Yang was leaning alone beneath a large tree by the roadside, dozing off. A bracelet made of stones on his wrist emitted a faint glow.

Suddenly, he opened his eyes. A sharp glint flashed through them as he forcibly snapped off one of his little fingers and tossed it onto the ground. The instant it landed, the finger seeped into the soil.

Fresh flesh rapidly grew from the severed stump, and it soon returned to normal.

This old man was An Chen, who had disguised himself as an ordinary person and infiltrated the caravan several days ago.

Originally, he had planned to head to Spirit City and see whether he could hide behind the many Titled Douluo to avoid the storm.

After all, he had already suffered an assassination attempt and a pursuit. He vaguely sensed that those people were acting in an organized manner.

He had not expected that, along the way, a message from Elder Chen would suddenly appear in