The following morning dawned crisp and clear, a gentle breeze wafting through the forest surrounding my personal wooden house. Sea God Lake shimmered like liquid crystal in the distance, but my mind was anything but calm. Today would mark a turning point — the beginning of my foundational studies in soul tool crafting, something that would define the path I had chosen to walk alongside Heaven's Gate.
Clad in my combat attire, the Voidshadow Mantle flowing behind me like a living shadow, I made my way briskly toward the Soul Tool Department. The rhythmic hum of gears, the crackle of soul energy conduits, and the faint aroma of heated alloys filled the air as I entered the temple of invention once more.
Dean Xian Lin'er awaited me in the atrium, arms crossed, eyes as sharp as tempered steel.
"Punctual," she said with the faintest hint of approval. "Follow."
Without another word, she led me down a different path today—away from the open training fields and weapon test areas, toward a more solemn wing known as the "Refinement Wing."
Inside, the air felt heavier, more focused. Rows of precision workstations lined the polished stone floor, each one outfitted with specialized tools: soul drills, rune inscribers, alloy crucibles, and stabilization matrices. Glass cases displayed rare ores, their surfaces shimmering with natural soul energy patterns.
Dean Xian Lin'er stopped before a long table covered with unrefined materials.
"If you are to be a true Soul Engineer, Xiao Tian," she said, picking up a rough ingot of Skysteel Iron, "you must understand more than just assembly. You must comprehend creation. You must feel the spirit of the material itself."
She placed the Skysteel Iron in my hands. It was cold—so dense that it felt heavier than it looked. I closed my eyes for a moment, letting my spiritual perception expand. Beneath its solid surface, I could feel faint vibrations, like a slow, steady heartbeat.
"Every metal has a resonance," she explained. "A frequency. When soul energy passes through, the metal reacts. It amplifies, dampens, channels—depending on its nature."
For hours, I sat at that table, learning.
She taught me about alloys:
Moonlight Silver amplified soul energy.
Starflame Copper retained thermal energy.
Spirit-Etched Blacksteel resisted distortion and heat.
Phantom Mithril blurred visual detection, perfect for stealth.
Each had unique properties. Choosing the right materials for a tool wasn't just science; it was intuition, artistry.
"A good soul tool," Dean Xian Lin'er said as she guided my hand over a vibrating resonance tuning fork, "is not merely built. It is forged — from mind, spirit, and intent."
Next came the rune arrays.
She conjured a luminous diagram into the air—basic stabilization runes, amplification circuits, soul power condensers.
"Rune arrays are the soul of the soul tool," she said. "If the metals are the flesh, the arrays are the nerves and blood vessels. Craft them poorly, and the whole body fails."
I practiced with a rune-inscribing pen. The first attempts were miserable—jagged lines, broken circuits. The soul energy wouldn't even flow through them.
"Again," she said calmly, never raising her voice.
By the tenth attempt, my breathing synchronized naturally with my strokes. My perception expanded, feeling the energy as much as seeing it. The rune arrays began to glow faintly—weak, imperfect, but alive.
"Good," she said, her expression unreadable. "You have the perception. But perception is only the beginning."
By midday, my hands were shaking slightly from the effort, but I pushed on.
We moved on to basic component assembly.
I learned to solder energy channels between power cores and stabilization nodes without disrupting the soul circuit flow. Every minor misalignment could cause leakage, wasted energy, or even explosions.
"You must respect the craft," Dean Xian Lin'er warned. "Sloppiness kills."
In the late afternoon, when the twin suns began their descent, she finally called a halt.
I stood there—sweaty, exhausted, but exhilarated.
"Good," she said simply. "You have the will."
She walked to the wall and pulled down an old scroll, a yellowed tapestry covered in faded ink.
"Do you know who this is?" she asked.
The scroll depicted an ancient figure: an old man clad in scholar's robes, hammer and compass in hand, standing atop a field of floating soul arrays.
"The Grandmaster of Forging," I said quietly. "Yu Tianxin's ancestor… from before the Sun Moon Empire split."
Dean Xian Lin'er nodded.
"Before martial strength ruled everything, there was a time when craftsmen-scholars stood equal to Titled Douluo. When cities rose and fell not by armies, but by invention. You have the potential to walk that path, Xiao Tian—if you retain your balance."
She turned sharply, her eyes hard.
"Remember this: technology is a blade with two edges. It can defend—or enslave. Soul Engineers who forget their martial path… who grow lazy and over-reliant… become weak. Vulnerable. Tools to be used by others."
I met her gaze without flinching.
"I will never abandon my cultivation," I said simply. "Soul tools are a shield and spear. Not a crutch."
For a moment, her severe expression softened.
"Good."
As I packed my things to leave, she added:
"Tomorrow, you begin constructing your first prototype. But do not simply copy the designs you see. Imagine new forms. New strategies. Let your soul guide your creation."
I bowed deeply.
"Yes, Dean."
That night, in the quiet of my cabin, I placed a soul crystal core on my desk.
I sat there for a long time, staring at it.
Visions floated through my mind:
Shadow-infused crossbows that could strike unseen.
Deployable crystal barriers that could block even spirit attacks.
Concealable energy mines to protect key positions.
Not monstrous constructs, not mechanical beasts—but precise tools of war.
Careful. Elegant. Deadly.
I would forge my own future. Brick by brick. Gear by gear.
If Heaven's Gate was the fortress of my beasts, then soul tools would become the armor I wore, the sword I wielded when my strength alone was not enough.
This—this was the path I would carve.
My forge had been lit.