A deafening roar cracked the silence.
From above, Qian Yu's blade, gleaming like moonlight on still water, came slicing down in an elegant arc. The air itself seemed to shudder under the weight of the attack.
A thunderclap of impact erupted, followed by the anguished, guttural cry of the soul beast—its scream sharp and primal, echoing across the canyon walls like the dying breath of a storm.
The Phantom-Feather Eagle, majestic even in its agony, plummeted from the skies, its enormous form crashing into the earth below with a ground-shaking thud. Dust and gravel flew like shrapnel as its wings crumpled beneath its weight.
Qian Yu landed lightly a short distance away, his gaze calm and steady, the dust parting around him like a curtain. His eyes were unreadable—neither pity nor pride. Just purpose.
With unhurried steps, he approached the fallen beast, the long sword still humming faintly with residual soul energy. He raised the blade for the finishing blow.
But before steel could meet flesh, the eagle's eyes snapped open—glinting with a desperate, defiant spark. With a sudden, violent beat of its tattered wings, it surged upward, launching itself back into the sky with a final act of defiance.
"So you still have some fight left in you?" Qian Yu muttered, amused. A wry smile touched his lips.
He took to the air again without hesitation, his own wings unfurling behind him in a burst of spectral light. He gave chase, moving with fluid grace, the wind bending to his will.
He had expected this. The beast's wounds were grave, yes, but not fatal—not yet. It had faked weakness, luring him close in a clever, if desperate, ruse. A feint to lower his guard.
But Qian Yu was not fooled. He had fought too many battles, seen too many tricks.
The Phantom-Feather Eagle climbed higher, flapping frantically. But Qian Yu's speed was blinding. In a heartbeat, he was upon it—landing squarely atop its back, straddling its neck like a seasoned rider.
The eagle screamed and thrashed in the sky, banking hard, spinning, diving, trying every maneuver to shake him off. But Qian Yu clung on with one hand, the other driving his blade again and again into the creature's hide, his strikes powered by concentrated soul energy.
Blood sprayed into the wind like crimson banners.
Each of the eagle's cries grew more frantic, each wingbeat more labored. It was nearing its limit—its once-proud form now riddled with injuries. Still, it fought.
Still, it resisted.
Below, a figure watched from the cliffs—Xuan Yi, his cloak flapping in the breeze, eyes narrowed with concern.
"He's trying to take Qian Yu down with him," Xuan Yi murmured. "A final dive. A death pact."
The eagle's trajectory suddenly shifted—climbing even higher until it was little more than a speck against the clouds.
And then it dove.
Headfirst.
Straight toward the jagged earth below.
Qian Yu didn't move.
He understood what the beast intended—to crash, to take them both to the grave in a fiery fall. If the eagle died, so would its soul ring. And that… was unacceptable.
"You want to drag me down with you?" he said softly, almost amused. "You'll have to do better than that."
His voice sharpened.
"But I control the ground beneath our feet."
In that instant, his Earth Element Martial Soul flared to life.
The landscape responded like an old friend. The cliffside crumbled into soft, shifting sand. The soil morphed into a vortex of wind and dust, swirling with energy.
The great bird was caught in it—its body slowed, its descent dampened by the sudden shift in terrain. At the last moment, Qian Yu spread his wings and launched himself backward, hovering in midair.
He raised his sword one final time.
With a cry that split the sky, he brought it down.
Boom.
The blade pierced the eagle's skull cleanly. The beast let out a final, trembling cry… and then fell silent, collapsing in the dust with a tremor that echoed through the gorge.
Its body lay still. Lifeless.
Above it, a soul ring began to materialize—a black-red glow radiating like a dying star. Qian Yu hovered down, stepping lightly onto the earth beside the fallen beast.
He stared at the ring, its dark hue threaded with crimson.
"Over eighty thousand years old," he murmured. "So that's your true age."
Black rings marked ten-thousand-year soul beasts. Red was reserved for the mythical hundred-thousand-year titans. This one hovered in between—dangerous, ancient, and priceless.
The canyon was quiet now, but the silence was heavy—not with peace, but with presence. All around, Qian Yu could feel it—deep, ancient energies, watching from the shadows of the forest beyond the cliff. He had descended into a realm where even apex predators treaded carefully.
Xuan Yi landed nearby, falling to his knees without hesitation. "Ancestor, this subordinate failed to protect you. I beg your forgiveness."
Qian Yu waved a hand. "You've done well. I wouldn't die so easily—not to a soul beast."
His tone was soft but firm. He turned toward the corpse again.
"Guard me. I'm absorbing the ring."
"Yes, Ancestor."
Xuan Yi stood and moved to patrol the perimeter, sword at the ready.
Qian Yu sat down cross-legged, carefully sprinkling soul-repelling powder in a wide circle. The air thickened with anticipation. He placed his hands on his knees, closed his eyes, and began the process.
The soul ring descended slowly.
It did not come willingly.
This was no offering—no sacrificial pact. The soul beast had died in battle, and its essence resisted him with ferocity.
Power surged. It slammed into his body like a tidal wave.
His muscles tensed, veins bulge. The soul ring refused entry, repelled by instinct.
Gritting his teeth, Qian Yu forced it inward.
The impact nearly tore him apart.
"Damn it—I'm going to break apart!" he screamed, his voice a mix of agony and rage.
His skin split.
Crimson lines webbed across his body, raw and violent.
But he didn't stop.
Calling forth his secondary Martial Soul—the Nether Blooming Begonia—he unleashed its regenerative powers. Cells multiplied, knitting tissue back together as fast as it tore.
Split. Heal. Split. Heal.
Over and over.
A hundred deaths and rebirths in the span of minutes.
At last, the ring quieted. Its resistance faded. The eagle's aura dissolved, consumed. The black-red soul ring shimmered, then slowly settled around him.
A long breath escaped his lips.
It was done.
Behind him, the soul rings flared into view—red, black, black… and now, red-black.
Four rings. Each one a monument to war and will.
In his right hand, the Reincarnation Disk pulsed with new power.
But he wasn't finished yet.
He pressed his soul energy, forcing it inward, refining it to the edge of his limit—until it stabilized at Rank 41.
He whispered to himself, a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth.
"So, what's the fourth soul skill?"
The answer came in a ripple of energy.
The Reincarnation Domain unfurled like a blooming lotus—yin and yang spiraling through the air. From the boundary of the domain, feathers began to form. Each one sharp, radiant, and thrumming with violent intent.
With a mere thought, the feathers surged forward.
Thousands of them.
Each one a silent dagger.
This… was Phantom Feather Onslaught.
Feathers condensed from soul power, transformed into a storm of blades. They could pierce armor, shred shields, and overwhelm even the most seasoned Soul Saints.
It wasn't just a skill. It was a storm of judgment.
And Qian Yu—at the eye of it—stood ready for what came next.
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