A sudden roar tore through the forest like a thunderclap.
From the thick shroud of mist and foliage, a monstrous creature lunged into view—a massive white tiger with menacing, golden eyes and sleek fur like freshly fallen snow. Its two gleaming fangs jutted from its maw, sharp enough to tear through steel. Towering several times over a grown man, it barreled straight toward Qian Yu with terrifying speed.
The ground trembled beneath its paws.
Its roar shattered the silence again, loud enough to make the leaves tremble and the birds take flight in panic. This was no ordinary beast. As Qian Yu quickly darted back, his eyes narrowed in realization.
A Skywing Soul Tiger.
A rare spirit beast, ancient and intelligent—its lineage traced back over thirty thousand years. Qian Yu, having spent much of his life wandering the Douluo Continent, had read of such creatures but never seen one with his own eyes. They were known not just for their physical prowess, but for their uncanny mental abilities—able to mesmerize prey, bend weaker minds to their will... and fly.
A perfect fit, he thought, and a flicker of excitement sparked in his chest.
"You'll do nicely."
His voice was quiet, almost playful.
The great white tiger leapt again, a blur of muscle and fur crashing through the trees. But Qian Yu stood his ground, the corner of his mouth lifting with quiet confidence. With a whisper of wind, his body flickered—gone from the tiger's path as if swept away by the breeze.
Windstep Technique.
He moved like air itself—fluid, elusive, untouchable.
Until now, Qian Yu had kept his power hidden. Even during his duel with Tang Hao, he had held back—never unleashing the true force of his martial souls: the Divine Execution Sword, his mastery over fire and earth elements, the wheel of reincarnation. But here, in the depths of the Star Dou Great Forest, where the only witness was a spirit beast... there was no need for restraint.
"Let's try out a soul skill on you, shall we?"
With a calm breath, Qian Yu extended a hand. The air shimmered.
In a flash, an enormous millstone appeared before him—its surface etched with glowing, black-and-white yin-yang symbols. Energy rippled outward, spiraling from its core and forming a dome of light that enveloped the tiger.
The beast roared furiously, its form thrashing within the glowing vortex.
Cycle of Reincarnation—unleashed.
With precision and focus, Qian Yu summoned the next piece of his power. A sword—long, luminous, and crackling with divine energy—materialized in his hand.
The Divine Execution Sword.
It pulsed with ancient energy, its edge seeming to blur reality itself.
"This sword," he murmured, raising it to eye level, "can split heaven… and sever the divine."
Sword energy surged, layer upon layer, dancing like embers caught in a storm.
"Cut!"
He swung.
Dozens of blades of light exploded forward, converging on the tiger with unstoppable momentum. The very air screamed under their weight.
BOOM—!
A thunderous crash shook the forest.
The ancient Skywing Soul Tiger was hurled backward, crashing through the trees, its enormous body gouging a trail through the earth. It roared again in defiance, wings unfurling from its back in a flash of white feathers.
It tried to flee.
But Qian Yu's eyes sparkled with challenge.
"Oh? Trying to run?" he called after it, chuckling softly.
"You're not the only one with wings."
With a rip of fabric and a burst of crimson energy, two sleek, translucent wings erupted from his back—jagged and ethereal, like blades woven from starlight.
Void Wings.
With a single flap, he vanished from the ground—then reappeared high above, soaring after the tiger like a crimson arrow through the sky. The white tiger twisted mid-air, flapping desperately, but Qian Yu was gaining fast.
Far below, another scene was unfolding amidst the mossy woods.
A young girl, perhaps no older than five or six, chased a wounded soul beast through the underbrush. Her crisp white dress fluttered with every step, and her short, jet-black hair framed a face so delicate it seemed sculpted by moonlight. Her skin glowed with youth, dewy and soft like the flesh of a lychee.
"Stop running!" she cried, puffing indignantly. "You're going to be my soul ring today, you hear me?!"
There was fire in her voice—petulant, but determined.
Behind her, a silver-haired elder floated leisurely on a flying sword, trailing after her with a serene smile. His robe was immaculate, snow-white and flowing. His long hair, gleaming like moonlight, was tied back in a scholarly knot, his features as smooth and untroubled as a newborn's.
"Rongrong," he called gently, "take your time. It's not going anywhere."
"Don't worry, Grandpa Sword!" she replied without turning.
"I'll finish it in one strike!"
The beast finally collapsed, too weak to run any further. Rongrong approached cautiously, a dagger gleaming in her tiny hand. Her steps were quiet—focused.
One strike. Clean and fast.
Blood splattered as the blade found its mark. Her eyes widened.
"I… I did it…" she whispered, still breathless from the chase.
Then the sky roared again.
A massive form—several stories tall—came crashing down before her with apocalyptic force. The ground heaved. A deafening BOOM split the air, and a wave of dust and debris swallowed the clearing whole.
When the smoke finally cleared, Rongrong blinked through the haze.
An enormous white tiger knelt in the crater, its head bowed, blood pouring from its mouth. Its towering frame lay still... and on its head stood a boy.
A boy not much older than her.
He wore white from head to toe, stained now with streaks of battle, his expression calm and unreadable. A sword, still glowing faintly, was embedded in the beast's skull beneath him.
Rongrong started, heart hammering in her chest.
He wasn't just strong. He wasn't just fast.
He looked like something out of legend—like a figure stepped down from the heavens, serene and untouchable, his silhouette bathed in light.
Her tiny hand rose instinctively to her mouth.
"He… he's just a kid like me…"
"How can he be that strong?"
She stood frozen, eyes wide, as if trying to memorize the moment.
And there, atop the fallen titan, the white-clad boy turned slightly—his gaze calm, distant, and impossibly bright—like the last star visible at dawn.
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