In a secluded corner shrouded in dusk's shadows, a lone figure stood silently, eyes fixed on the battlefield unfolding before him. His lips curled into a cold, calculated smirk. Clad in a black uniform that clung neatly to his wiry frame, his short hair bore streaks of silver that caught the dim light like worn steel.
This was none other than Yu Xiaogang—the man known across the Spirit Realm as "The Grandmaster." Once a celebrated theorist of martial spirits, now a schemer with a vendetta, he had come to witness a reckoning he himself had orchestrated.
He knew Tang Hao would confront Qian Yu. In fact, he had goaded him into it. A puppet master hiding in plain sight.
To the Grandmaster, Qian Yu represented a threat too great to ignore. The boy's existence undermined his legacy, his theories, and his pride. So long as Qian Yu lived, Yu Xiaogang's name could no longer stand unrivaled. The solution, then, was simple—Qian Yu must die.
He didn't care whose hands were stained with the boy's blood. What mattered was the outcome.
With Tang Hao—one of the most formidable Title Douluo in the land—set to face a mere Spirit Elder, the odds seemed laughably one-sided. To the Grandmaster, this wasn't a battle. It was an execution.
His smile deepened as he whispered under his breath, "Crush him, Tang Hao. Make him pay."
His tone was low, but edged with something close to madness. A cold glint flickered in his eyes. This is it, he thought. Today, Qian Yu dies, and my legacy breathes again.
On the stone-paved field, tension crackled like static. Qian Yu and Tang Hao faced each other—two warriors bound by fate, ready to clash like thunder meeting steel.
Tang Hao's presence was overwhelming. He released his spirit, and nine luminous rings flared into existence around him—golden-yellow, amethyst-purple, midnight-black, and a single glowing red ring pulsing like a heartbeat. A legendary configuration. The mark of a peak Title Douluo.
Yet curiously, the power radiating from him was subdued. Of his nine rings, only the first three glimmered with active energy. He had sealed the rest.
Even with just these three, I'll end this quickly, Tang Hao thought. He didn't know Qian Yu well, but a single spirit skill and a ten-thousand-year spirit ring? The boy might as well have walked into a storm with a candle.
Across from him, Qian Yu stood calm, unflinching. And then—the wind stirred.
A golden spear coalesced in his hands, its blade long and radiant, humming with deadly intent.
The War God Spear.
Tang Hao's brows furrowed. That spirit… It rivals my Clear Sky Hammer. No—it might even surpass it.
The seasoned warrior let out a slow breath and nodded. "Come," he said coolly, "Show me what you've got."
There was no arrogance in his voice—only expectation. He knew this boy wouldn't hold back. Neither would he.
But even so, he never expected what happened next.
Qian Yu moved—no, vanished.
The air split with a rush of wind, and before Tang Hao could react, Qian Yu's spear lunged forward, a streak of gold aimed directly at his heart.
Killing intent. Pure, suffocating, and impossibly dense. It crashed over Tang Hao like a tidal wave. His eyes widened.
This boy… this aura…
He recognized it. The unmistakable scent of bloodlust. Only those who had bathed their hands in death, who had survived carnage and slaughter, could emit it. Tang Hao himself had once earned the title of "Killing God" after surviving the City of Slaughter.
And yet—this child, no older than seven, had a killing aura stronger than his?
"How many people have you killed…?" Tang Hao muttered, eyes locked on the golden spear hurtling toward him.
He swung the Clear Sky Hammer just in time—
CLANG!
The impact rang like thunder. Sparks lit up the space between them as Tang Hao was forced backward, his boots scraping across the stone floor, leaving deep gouges in his wake. Dozens of steps later, he came to a halt, eyes wide with disbelief.
Qian Yu hadn't moved an inch. He stood there, spear still in hand, expression as still and placid as moonlight on a lake.
From the shadows, another observer caught the scene—the mysterious Qian Daoliu, his robes rustling in the breeze.
He watched Qian Yu with narrowed eyes, his breath catching. "Impossible…" he whispered.
"A third spirit? But spirits are inherited from one's parents. No one has more than two."
His voice trembled with awe. "This child… this killing intent… Could he be the reincarnation of an ancestor?"
Whether he was or not, one thing was clear—Qian Yu was no ordinary boy.
Back on the battlefield, Tang Hao's shock hadn't yet faded. He could no longer dismiss Qian Yu as a fledgling with one spirit ring. The boy had hidden depths. Power. Speed. Instinct.
He's not just talented—he's dangerous.
Tang Hao gripped the Clear Sky Hammer tighter and launched himself forward, his aura blazing as the massive weapon swept down in an arc of devastating force.
This time, he wasn't holding back.
And still, Qian Yu didn't retreat.
He raised his spear, the tip flashing with a sharp gleam like moonlight on steel. In one smooth motion, he thrust it forward—straight into the path of the descending hammer.
BOOM!
The clash echoed through the mountains, a shockwave rippling through the air.
Qian Yu had met Tang Hao's strike head-on.
In that moment, everything changed.
Tang Hao no longer saw a child. He saw a warrior. A monster cloaked in innocence. A prodigy born from blood and fire.
And deep in the night, watching from afar, Yu Xiaogang's confident grin began to falter.
Thought for a couple of seconds.
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