The massive obsidian gates of the Spirit Hall Primary Academy swung open with a deep, resonant groan, admitting a flood of new students. The courtyard was a sea of bright silks and nervous energy, filled with children from the most prestigious Spirit Master lineages on the continent.
The air smelled of expensive perfume, polished leather, and the faint, underlying scent of ozone from so many awakening spirits converging in one place.
Yorrichi walked with his hands tucked into the sleeves of his new uniform, his gaze drifting lazily over the ornate architecture. He noted the high walls, the strategic placement of the guard towers, and the flow of the crowd. A school... but built like a fortress, he mused.
Renxue, however, marched like she owned the very stones beneath her feet. Her golden hair caught the morning sun, making her look like a beacon of divine authority even at six years old.
"Lady Renxue! Over here!" a boy from the Golden Turtle clan shouted, waving a silk fan aggressively. "My grandfather knows your grandfather!"
"Ignore him," another boy hissed, shoving past with a velvet-clad shoulder. "Lady Renxue, my father is the Platinum Bishop of Silves City! I can show you the best seats in the lecture hall!"
Renxue let out a dramatic, irritated huff. She grabbed Yorrichi's sleeve and yanked him forward, using him as a physical barrier against her admirers.
"Keep walking, brother," she whispered fiercely, her eyes darting around like a trapped bird. "If one more boy asks me about the span of my wings, I'm going to kick him. Hard."
Yorrichi stumbled slightly but regained his footing with fluid grace. "You wanted minions, remember? This is the price of fame, Sister. Heavy is the head that wears the halo."
"I wanted minions who listen, not minions who drool!" she complained.
They explored the grounds—the massive library tower that scraped the sky, the elemental cultivation rooms humming with contained energy, and the pristine dueling arenas. Yorrichi noted the strategic layout; the academy was designed to breed loyalty and strength, a microcosm of the Spirit Hall's ambition.
The first period began in the Assessment Hall, a vast amphitheater where the new intake was processed. A Soul Saint instructor, a stern woman with glasses that gleamed ominously, called the roll.
When Renxue stepped up to verify her Soul Power for the school records, the crystal orb blazed with that familiar, blinding Level 20 light. The class erupted in gasps. Even the instructor's stern face cracked into a smile of pure reverence.
"Level 20... truly the heavens blessing Spirit Hall," the instructor murmured, marking the paper with a gold seal.
When Yorrichi stepped up, the reaction was noticeably cooler. "Yorrichi. Level 8," the instructor noted, her tone professional but lacking the awe she'd shown Renxue. "An excellent foundation. Work hard, and you will be a pillar of the Hall."
Yorrichi simply nodded and returned to his seat. He could feel the eyes on him—calculating, judgmental. Whispers floated through the air like poisonous butterflies.
"That's the twin? Only Level 8?"
"He looks strong, but compared to the Seraphim..."
"Maybe he's just the spare."
Yorrichi ignored them, his mind calm. Let them talk. A hidden blade cuts deeper.
The afternoon session shifted to the Physical Arts. The instructor here was a burly man named Teacher Iron, a whose martial soul was a Crimson Rhino and a soul saint of level 79. He led them through grueling calisthenics—stances, lunges, and balance drills designed to break the pampered spirits of noble children.
"Legs wider! Back straight! You are Soul Masters, not wet noodles!" Teacher Iron bellowed, walking through the ranks.
Yorrichi observed the man's form with clinical admiration. His center of gravity is immovable. Spirit Hall's foundational training is indeed top-tier. While other children complained about sore legs or collapsed panting, Yorrichi executed every move with fluid, mechanical perfection, his breathing rhythm never faltering. He was not just exercising; he was refining.
Then came Weapons Training. The class moved to the armory, where racks of wooden weapons lined the walls. Most children picked flashy spears or heavy axes, eager to look powerful. Renxue grabbed a sleek wooden longsword, swinging it with a surprisingly practiced arc. Yorrichi selected a simple, slightly curved wooden blade—the closest thing to a katana he could find.
"Sparring time!" Teacher Iron bellowed, blowing a whistle. "I will call names. The winner stays in the ring. First up: Yorrichi versus Lin Feng!"
A boy of about seven years old stepped forward. He was taller than Yorrichi, broad-shouldered, and already had the arrogant sneer of a bully. Lin Feng had entered the academy six months late due to a family matter but was a Level 9 Warrior Soul master. He was older, heavier, and technically higher ranked.
Lin Feng cracked his knuckles, glancing over at the sidelines where Renxue stood. He saw her jumping up and down, shouting, "Beat him up, Brother! Don't hold back!"
Jealousy flared in Lin Feng's chest. If I humiliate the brother, the sister will see who the real man is. Level 8 trash...
"Ready?" Teacher Iron raised his hand.
Lin Feng didn't wait for the whistle. He lunged, his wooden greatsword raised high for a crushing overhead smash, channeling a burst of soul power to increase his speed. "Eat dirt, Level 8!"
The strike was fast for a child. To the other students, it looked like a blur.
But to Yorrichi, it was moving through molasses.
Yorrichi didn't flinch. He didn't even raise his sword to block. He simply exhaled a short, sharp breath.
Breath of the Sun... Defensive Adaptation.
Just as the greatsword was about to crack his skull, Yorrichi stepped to the left. It was a movement so minimal, so precise, it looked like he had merely shifted his weight. Lin Feng's blade slammed into the stone floor with a jarring thud, the vibration traveling up the bully's arms.
Before Lin Feng could recover, Yorrichi pivoted on his heel. He didn't strike with the blade; he struck with the hilt. A short, sharp jab to Lin Feng's solar plexus.
"Guh!"
Lin Feng's eyes bulged. All the air left his lungs instantly. He collapsed to his knees, gasping like a fish on dry land, clutching his stomach.
Yorrichi stood over him, his expression bored. He looked at Teacher Iron. "Is he done? I barely touched him."
The class was dead silent. Renxue broke it with a cheer. "That's my brother! One hit! I told you!"
Teacher Iron stared at the gasping boy, then at the calm six-year-old who hadn't even broken a sweat. A slow grin spread across his face. "Winner, Yorrichi."
Yorrichi walked back to the line, twirling the wooden sword. He hadn't used a single drop of soul power. Pure technique. The other students looked at him differently now. The "Lesser Twin" had teeth.
Hundreds of miles away, in the shadowy outskirts of Blackwater City at Heaven Dou Empire, the atmosphere was thick with the scent of blood and desperation.
The private room of the "Shadow's Rest" inn was a chaotic mess of hot water basins and bloody towels. Ah Yin lay on the bed, her face pale and beaded with sweat, her knuckles white as she gripped the sheets.
Tang Hao paced the room like a caged tiger. His Clear Sky Hammer was summoned, floating ominously in the corner, ready to smash any intruder who dared approach. But his enemy today wasn't a Spirit Hall elder; it was nature itself.
"Push, Madam! You must push!" An old man's voice cracked with urgency.
Ye Xiaoling, the level 84 healer of the Nine Heart Begonia lineage, was sweating profusely. He was cursing his luck. He had been traveling to visit his daughter when he literally bumped into the murderous Clear Sky Douluo. Now, he was delivering a baby for a man who could flatten a mountain with a sneeze.
Ye Xiaoling activated his martial soul. A beautiful, pink begonia flower bloomed in his hands, its petals drifting down to cover Ah Yin. The healing light stabilized her chaotic pulse, but the strain was immense.
By the name of gods, Ye Xiaoling thought, his hands trembling as he felt the pulse of the mother. Her aura... it's not human. It's a 100,000-year soul beast! This madman actually impregnated a beast empress! He admired the sheer audacity, but fear kept his mouth shut. If he spoke a word of this, the Clear Sky Hammer would turn him into paste.
Inside the womb, the soul of Tang San felt the constriction. The walls of his world were closing in.
Finally! Tang San thought, his spiritual sense flaring. The pressure is immense. It's time.
He could hear the voices outside. The gruff panic of his father, the strained encouragement of the healer.
Nine Heart Begonia? Tang San's mind raced, recognizing the name from the annals of history. That is the legendary healing spirit. Father found a master healer. Good. Mother will be safe.
For the past week, floating in the amniotic fluid, Tang San had done nothing but think. He had mourned the destruction of the Divine Realm, the loss of his friends, and his status as a God-King. But as the days passed, a darker, more insidious thought had taken root.
He remembered his past life—the endless righteousness, the strict adherence to rules, the self-sacrifice. He remembered looking down from the Divine Realm and seeing his old friends—Dai Mubai, Oscar, Ma Hongjun—visiting mortal worlds. He had seen them indulging in pleasures he had denied himself.
They had harems, Tang San realized, a cold bitterness seeping into his thoughts. Dai Mubai, the lustful tiger... Oscar, the charming food god... they claimed to be loyal, yet they enjoyed the company of mortal beauties in secret. And I? I was the Law Enforcer. I was the perfect husband to Xiao Wu. I followed every rule. And what did it get me?
He remembered the black hole. The helplessness. The end of everything he had built.
If I am to live again... why should I be the same rigid fool?
The thought was seductive. He was a God-King reborn. He possessed knowledge of cultivation techniques, herbs, and hidden realms that no one in this era knew. He could have everything. Power. Wealth. And women.
Why limit myself to just Xiao Wu? The thought shocked him at first, but then it settled, comfortable and dark. I can protect her, yes. But I can also have others. I can build a dynasty that will surpass the Spirit Hall. I can be an Emperor, not just a hero. I can taste the fruits I denied myself for eons. Hahahaha!!
A surge of adrenaline pushed him forward. He aligned his body, using the Mysterious Heaven Skill to soften his bones and make the passage easier for his mother.
"WAAAAH!"
The cry pierced the tense air of the inn.
Tang Hao stopped pacing. He rushed to the bedside, his eyes wide with awe.
Ye Xiaoling held up a small, blood-streaked infant. "It is a boy, Sir Tang. A healthy, strong boy."
Ah Yin let out a sob of relief, reaching out with trembling arms. "My baby... my San..."
Tang San opened his eyes. They were not the cloudy eyes of a newborn. They were clear, deep, and shone with a purple light—the Purple Demon Eye.
He looked at his mother, feeling a surge of genuine love. Then he looked at his father, seeing the strength and the sorrow.
I am back, Tang San thought, his tiny fist clenching. And this time, I will take everything the world owes me.
Outside the window, a crow cawed, signaling the setting sun. Far away, in the Spirit Hall, Bibi Dong was preparing for her own hunt. The threads of fate were tangling, and the players were finally on the board. The God-King had arrived, but he was no longer the saint the world remembered. He was hungry.