Passione, Part One

What was the first thing that came to mind when someone mentioned the Douluo Continent?

For most people, it was probably Martial Souls and Spirit Beasts, Brother Tang's absurd antics, and all the beautiful girls and women in the story. Jodio's answer was much the same. Whatever else you could say about Douluo, it certainly had plenty of pretty women. Red hair, blue hair, green hair, yellow hair, gold, silver, gray, brown—you name it. Tall, petite, mature, slender—you name it. Elegant, aloof, passionate, uninhibited, foxy, bunny-cute, catlike and alluring—it had them all.

But Jodio was getting sidetracked. His point was that, however nice the place seemed, it was still a feudal society at heart. It only looked somewhat more advanced culturally. The poor were still poor, and the rich still exploited them. You couldn't look only at the good parts and decide the Douluo world was wonderful. You had to look at its ugly side too.

Jodio had recovered the bodies of countless soldiers from the continent's conflicts, and pulled plenty of ordinary soldiers out of piles of corpses alive. Their experiences, along with his own, proved that this continent was no good at all. For ordinary people, conditions were probably only a little better than in the magnetic-field world. At any moment, they could be treated like freshly spawned extras and wiped out by some mighty Soul Master or evil Soul Master. Dead beyond saving.

And then there was Little Huo, a direct victim of the feudal system and the continent's conflicts. Compared with the world of Part Two, Part One was actually fairly mild. At least Spirit Hall existed as a slightly more progressive organization born of self-interest, providing some balance. Soul Masters, at any rate, were unlikely to suffer much. But by the time of Part Two, Jodio couldn't say the same.

For ten thousand years, relentless pressure had kept anyone from becoming a god, while advances in theory had caused the number of Soul Masters to multiply exponentially. Yet their prospects and opportunities had shrunk drastically, and the pressures they faced had grown several times worse. Some gifted children couldn't even afford to awaken their Martial Souls, leaving their talent to go to waste. Jodio despised that era, but he had endured it for the sake of becoming a god. Then his conflict with Tang San finally erupted.

Sometimes Jodio thought calling the man an emperor at heart gave him too much credit. From beginning to end, Tang San had thought like the head of a sect—a gang. Even the old sects at least tried to save face. This guy didn't bother pretending. Jodio had put up with him anyway, never interfering with his plans. Only when his own ascension was blocked did Jodio finally break with that old bastard and start thwarting him at every turn.

"A true emperor ought to have the magnanimity to tolerate others and the confidence to stand above them," Jodio grumbled from the rooftop.

The weather was lousy that night. Dark clouds hid the moon, casting all of Suotuo City in gloom. The dogs were making a racket, and even the night market had closed early. Everyone expected a downpour. Judging by the sky, going home seemed the wiser choice.

"Extra chili. Go easy on the cilantro," a Soul Master said, pointing and gesturing at a street vendor. A noble Soul Master—or one steeped in the attitudes of this age—had little reason to be polite to ordinary people. Martial Soul power, like magnetic-field power, made people a little self-centered without their even noticing. It gave them a touch of that magnetic-field lunatic air.

"Sir, it's late, and travel won't be easy. You'd best head home soon," the vendor advised as he made the man's jianbing.

"What? Afraid of a little trouble?" the Soul Grandmaster asked disdainfully. Suotuo City was sizeable, but its strongest residents were only Soul Kings or Soul Emperors. As a Soul Grandmaster, he still stood above thousands here. He fancied that no one would dare provoke him, and that he had no one to fear.

"A gang's appeared in the city recently. They call themselves something like... Passione? I hear they've been searching for all kinds of ancient books. Supposedly they're after some kind of... bone?" the vendor explained.

"A Spirit Bone?!" The Soul Grandmaster's head shot up.

"I don't think so. They say they're looking for a person's bones," the vendor replied, puzzled.

"A person's bones?" Now the Soul Grandmaster was baffled. He could understand hunting for a Spirit Bone, but what did a person's bones have to do with anything?

"Sir, your jianbing's ready. Don't worry about paying me. It's dangerous at night, so get some rest," the vendor said, wheeling his cart away.

"Hold on. If there's a gang in the city, why haven't Spirit Hall or the City Lord done anything?" the Soul Grandmaster asked.

"Oh, because they don't seem to bully ordinary folk like us. They've got principles, from what I hear, and they've even opened two restaurants. They're not that big, really. They only control one street," the vendor explained.

"One street? Interesting. I wonder who's behind it," the Soul Grandmaster mused.

"My lord, my dear lord, please, you have to help me! I'd give you my heart for it!"

Inside a barbecue restaurant, in a private room, a middle-aged man sat across from Jodio, weeping as he pressed both hands to his knees and pleaded. Jodio sipped tea at his leisure, listening to the lively sounds outside. Beyond the curtain lay the familiar Devilishly Hot Barbecue Shop. Behind it sat Jodio, every inch an emperor.

In two months, Jodio had swept through the neighborhood. Without much effort, he had dealt with the ordinary gangs and a few less-than-reputable Soul Masters. To the City Lord of Suotuo City and the local Spirit Hall branch, this street barely mattered, so it was hardly likely to attract their attention.

And even if it did, Jodio wasn't afraid. For one thing, he could crush anyone at his own level. An opponent needed to be a whole major realm above him just to fight him, and two realms above—a Soul Ancestor—to beat him decisively. For another, he had two Soul Sages and three Soul Emperors behind him, all fiercely protective. Going by Shrek's usual creed, what Jodio was doing probably met its "requirements" perfectly.

Ma Hongjun and Oscar stood to either side like guardian statues, each striking a JoJo pose—Wamuu's and Esidisi's. The room was unlit, lending them a hint of youthful gravitas and making them look at least somewhat worthy of respect. Most of the effect, though, came from the Araki-style lines on their faces. Those were what made them look like little adults.

Two more Soul Masters sat nearby, legs crossed: a man and a woman with unreadable expressions. They looked more like gang leaders. But the middle-aged man knew that only Jodio could settle his affairs on this street. In all of Suotuo City, few others would even be willing to stand up for an ordinary person like him. Though Jodio looked only seven or eight, he was a big shot the man could neither afford to offend nor fail to respect.

"Lord Jodio, you're the only one I trust! Please avenge me! I'm begging you! I can't bear to have that hateful maggot, that filthy sewer rat, that unwanted old cur, that blind bear, that arrogant beast, that rotten fool, that witless thug, that colossal idiot, that despicable villain lording it over me and mocking me any longer!" the middle-aged man sobbed.

"Why are there so many of them? Didn't he say it was one person?" Ma Hongjun asked Oscar with a discreet glance.

Oscar was speechless. He barely moved his lips as he mouthed two words.

"What an idiot!"