The sun was beginning to dip beyond the stone walls of Nuoding Academy, its last golden rays cutting long shadows across the courtyard. A quiet tension simmered in the air, like the hush before a thunderclap.
Xiao Chenyu, firstborn of the city lord, stood tall with a confident sneer tugging at the corners of his lips. His brother, Xiao Huo, loomed just beside him—brawny, proud, and radiating fire as naturally as he breathed. It was through Xiao Chenyu's influence that his brother had managed to step onto the academy's sacred grounds, circumventing rules that others would be punished for even daring to bend.
"Brother Xiao Huo!" one of the silk-robed young elites cried out, pointing toward a younger boy in a plain, worn uniform. "That working student attacked us! Please, put him in his place!"
"Yeah! He beat us up, big bro. You've got to make him pay!" Xiao Chenyu chimed in, trying to mask the tremble in his voice with righteous fury.
The crowd of servants and working students behind the boy named Qian Yu fell into a frightened hush. They had just realized whom they'd defied. Defying a noble was foolish enough—but a city lord's son?
That was suicide.
"Boss... what do we do?" one whispered. "He's the city lord's son. We're dead if this goes any further!"
"Should we back off? Even if we win... what if the city lord retaliates?" another added, his face pale.
Qian Yu didn't answer right away. Instead, it was a girl—sharp-eyed and calm—who stepped forward. She crossed her arms and tilted her head. "So, what if he's the city lord? Does that give him the right to trample others at will?"
"Xiao Wu don't!" someone hissed, their voice barely audible.
But Qian Yu only scoffed. His gaze swept over the cowering crowd behind him, each one lowering their eyes like sheep too weary to protest.
"If you're that scared," he said coldly, "go wag your tails and be their lapdogs. But I'll face this alone."
His words cut sharper than any blade. And for a moment, silence fell.
But not all of them bowed to fear.
"Hell no," said Wang Sheng, stepping forward, fists clenched at his sides. "To hell with the city lord. Boss—we're with you."
Qian Yu's expression softened, if only slightly. A glimmer of warmth, brief and fleeting, passed over his otherwise unreadable face.
"Big mistake, brat," Xiao Huo growled. "No one lays a hand on my brother and walks away."
The ground trembled as Xiao Huo charged forward, his body wreathed in flames. His fist—engulfed in searing fire—hurtled toward Qian Yu with explosive force, the air crackling in its wake.
A few gasps escaped the onlookers. Someone even covered their eyes.
"He's done for," someone whispered. "That's a Level 28 Soul Master!"
Qian Yu stood still.
Unmoving.
Expressionless.
"Why isn't he dodging?"
"Boss!"
Then—
BOOM.
The impact echoed like a thunderclap.
But it wasn't Qian Yu who flew backward—it was Xiao Huo.
He crashed into the earth like a broken marionette, skidding across the courtyard and carving a trench in the dirt. The crowd started in wide-eyed silence. They had just witnessed something impossible.
Xiao Huo—a powerful Soul Master, ten years older, burning with the strength of his martial spirit—had been knocked aside by a boy barely six years old. And Qian Yu hadn't even used his soul power.
The older boy staggered to his feet, eyes blazing with disbelief and shame.
"You little—"
But before he could finish, the wind itself seemed to twist.
Invisible blades sliced through the air.
Shhhkt—
Ribbons of blood appeared across Xiao Huo's body, slashes blooming like crimson flowers on his skin. He gasped, staggered, and dropped to one knee.
Qian Yu had held back. It was clear from the precision of the wounds—none of them fatal. Not yet.
The guards Xiao Huo had brought with him rushed forward, weapons drawn and a roar of fury on their lips.
"How dare you harm the young master! Kill him!"
Their power surged, glowing with martial energy as they charged.
Qian Yu narrowed his eyes.
A soft sigh left his lips.
"Perfect timing," he murmured. "Let's test this."
The world shifted.
With the flick of a thought, he unleashed his second soul skill—Phantom of Yin and Yang.
A dome of iridescent light bloomed around the battlefield, rippling like water. Inside, reality fractured. Time bent. Illusion merged with memory.
Then came the second trigger.
Qian Yu's pupils glowed blood-red.
His Soulbone Art: Eye of Possession activated, flooding the minds of his enemies with dread and confusion.
Inside the dome, chaos erupted.
Guards turned on each other, faces twisted by hallucinations and unseen horrors.
"He's the enemy!" one shouted, slashing wildly with a conjured broadsword. Blood sprayed. Another screamed as a dagger pierced his heart. Friends became foes. The illusion was too powerful—every man saw the person he most hated, wore his face, smelled his sweat, heard his voice.
"Why are they fighting each other?"
"What did Qian Yu do?"
He hadn't moved. Hadn't lifted a finger.
And yet, his enemies were slaughtering themselves.
One after another, they fell—slashing, stabbing, writhing.
Until only one remained.
The final guard stood trembling in the quiet that followed, eyes wide, weapon slick with blood.
Qian Yu spoke again, voice low and unyielding.
"End it."
The man obeyed.
He raised the blade and, without hesitation, drew it across his throat.
Silence.
A deadly, absolute silence.
The courtyard was still, save for the drip of blood pooling at Qian Yu's feet. Every face—noble or servant—was frozen in disbelief. The very air felt thick, heavy with awe and horror.
Xiao Huo lay gasping, his wounds still bleeding. Xiao Chenyu had gone pale, his mouth ajar.
No one dared speak.
No one dared breathe too loudly.
Qian Yu stepped forward, his gaze steady.
"You came looking for trouble," he said, voice soft and final. "You found it. You won't be walking away."
Thud.
Xiao Huo dropped to his knees, trembling as he bowed his head before the boy who had just dismantled him—body and spirit.
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