Tang Yan's eyes didn't merely sharpen; they were a needle point of piercing intensity, cutting through the remaining fog of change. Within, an anxious energy ignited, a combination of anticipation and shudder at the unexplored. He had sensed the change, the deep transformation in his very nature, but the details were still hidden. "System," he instructed, his voice firm against the buzzing within his blood, "display all the martial souls I currently possess."
A gentle, near-silent chime resonated only within his mind, and then, right in front of his eyes, a ghostly panel glowed into being. It wasn't obtrusive, more a window imposed over his sight, inscribed with otherworldly light. When Tang Yan's eyes swept the list that coalesced line by line, they did not just expand; they flicked open, his breath freezing in his throat. Every name that showed up was a shock to his perception of himself, and indeed, to the laws of the world he understood.
* Blue Gold Trident (old martial soul)
* Clear Sky Hammer (old martial soul)
* Undead Monarch Scythe
* Demon King Slaughter Sword
* Dragon God Gauntlets
* Hell's Champion Armour
Six martial souls. The mere impossibility robbed his lungs of air. Throughout the history of the Douluo Continent, even to have two martial souls was a wonder, a mark of monstrous ability bordering on the legendary. Three was unheard of, a theoretical impossibility. Six? It was illogical, broke established facts, seemed like a joke by destiny itself. His head spun, attempting to comprehend the significance of wielding such a varied and powerful set of abilities. The Blue Gold Trident, his initial, simple yet unbreakable essence, now existed together with myth and monstrosity. The Clear Sky Hammer – the undisputed emblem of strength, the very cornerstone of the most powerful sect, now *hers*. And the rest. names that spoke of death, ruin, ancient power, and hellish guardianship.
Each with a number attached: (10 Rings). Ten rings. The greatest goal of any soul master, the mythical Titled Douluo world. Not on one, or two, but *all six*. His chest pounded against his bones, a wild beating of sheer, unbridled joy. Potential, unlimited and mind-shattering, unrolled before him like an open stage.
Then the asterisk, the fine print that brought the euphoria back to earth.
> System: "Host, please note: the 10th ring of every martial soul has special conditions to open. And the 3rd to 9th rings are sealed as well. They can only be opened when you pass the corresponding bottlenecks. Your current soul power is level 30, so you can only utilize the first two rings of every martial soul."
The voice of the system was emotionless, a sharp contrast to the turmoil in Tang Yan's heart. That initial rush of power he had experienced was true, but this explanation brought him back to reality harshly. Sealed rings. Bottlenecks. Level 30. The huge, towering summit of ten rings on six martial souls was true, but at present only reachable at its lowest ridge. The third ring, the level of reaching Soul Elder, was behind locked doors at level 30. The fourth, the Soul Ancestor, behind level 40, and so on, through to the ninth, sealed until level 90. The tenth, the world of the Titled Douluo, something *special* for each, a challenge or condition still unknown.
Disappointment flashed, a momentary shadow over the blinding light of possibility. So much power, and so much locked up, needing so much work and time to open. It wasn't immediate godhood. It was a promise, a possibility, a road drawn out before him that was breathtaking in its scale but intimidating in its route. But the disillusion was short-lived. Even with only the first two rings on *six* martial souls, at level 30, his strength was obviously well beyond any ordinary Soul Elder. He could sense it – a dormant strength, a flexibility that no master of a single-martial soul could ever dream of having. The thrill, briefly restrained, broke back out more subdued, but deeper. Six martial souls… still unimaginable.
> System: "Also, host, on the second time travel, you decided to return with knowledge, body changes, and some artifacts. On the first time travel, you might have brought even more, but you declined, being afraid of something happening."
The system presented another tidbit of information, connecting his state now to the insane, reality-warped experiences he had been through. The 'second time travel' – the one that had obviously remolded him so profoundly. The 'first time travel'. a recollection came up, indistinct around the borders, of a different point of decision, a time when he had drawn back, cautious of changing destiny too sharply, of the possible retribution of existence itself. He might have seized more power, more information, maybe even more concrete gain, but an underlying reluctance, a dread of becoming something he no longer knew himself, of triggering unforeseen disasters, had kept him in check. The system's blunt phrase, "refused, fearing consequences," read like a plain recap, but it captured something of the tangled inner conflict of that earlier moment. Tang Yan did not answer aloud, his throat constricting, but he bent his head slowly in a silent assent. Yes, he recalled. He had made his decisions, and this existing, phenomenal, slightly frightening reality was the outcome.
His inner contemplation was suddenly broken. A shattering, primal, earth-shaking sound ripped through the silence of the air, a huge, resonant bellow that shook through the very ground under him and rang in his bones. His senses, narrowed in upon the system prompts and himself, rebounded into the outside world with disjunctive speed. Where before he had been lost in thought, now he was forced to pay sharp attention to the world around him, to the dark, primeval forest, the smell of wet earth and green leaves, the sensation of the air on his skin.
And there, before him, between the tall trees, stood two figures of literally gigantic proportion. They were immediately, deeply recognizable, their gigantic presence both awe-inspiring and comforting. Da Ming, the Titan Giant Ape, a muscle mountain of fur, towered tall and daunting. At his side lay Er Ming, the Sky Blue Bull Python, his great snake-like body a river of power and scales. They were guardians of this space, creatures of mythical strength and ages-old wisdom, friends and companions from another era, or rather, maybe the same one, depending on how one interpreted his complicated past.
They were looking at him. Their eyes, old and profound, contained a complicated blend of feelings. Surprise, no doubt, at his unanticipated arrival and the presence he now carried. But beyond that, plain and unmistakable, was familiarity. They knew him. Even with the deep changes that he was experiencing, even with the power that now coursed through him, they knew the essence of who he was. It was a anchor to the storm of his change, a confirmation that he was still *him*.
Tang Yan slowly, carefully, opened and closed his fists. It wasn't so much a clench, really; it was an active probing of the power that now flowed through his arms. It was… different. Not merely stronger, though it certainly was, but multifaceted. He could sense the crude, unyielding power of the Clear Sky Hammer, the glacial potential of the Undead Monarch Scythe, the elemental, ancient power of the Dragon God Gauntlets, all intertwined under his flesh. It was like controlling multiple rivers of power simultaneously, each distinct, yet flowing together within him.
As he dropped his eyes, still working his hands, something else made him stop and stare. His breath caught once again, this time more constrictedly, with simple amazement. Delicate, intricate patterns wrapped around both of his arms, curling from shoulder to wrist. But these were hardly decorative tattoos. They were inscribed into his actual flesh, lines of meaning and power knotted into his skin.
On the right arm, drawn in harsh, blood-red lines that appeared to throb with a faint, unsanctified glow, was the image of a devil. It was gaunt, muscular, and brandished a scythe, an abyssal blade that appeared to seethe with palpable darkness, a void given form. The vision was horrifying, potent, and felt somehow connected to the Undead Monarch Scythe and Demon King Slaughter Sword on his list. It wasn't a vision; it felt like the *essence* of such power was seared into his flesh.
On his left arm, a counterpoint, a regal purple dragon coiled. Its scales weren't merely colored; they appeared to glimmer and change with reflected light, emitting an aura of ancient power and regal authority. The dragon was bright, full of energy, obviously depicting the Dragon God Gauntlets and possibly other draconic elements sewn into his persona.
Looking at these markings, a deluge of information swirled in his mind. It wasn't a slow learning; it was as if an old library opened its doors after centuries, wisdom flooding his mind. Arrays, sophisticated patterns of energy control which could distort space and time. Soul guides, sophisticated machines driven by soul force, technologies he was far from familiar with. Methods of cultivation, not only for him, but profound, basic understanding of how herbs and soul beasts grow and change, the secrets of life and strength in nature. His heart raced, unable to cope with the mass and depth of this sudden awareness. It was an overwhelming, world-changing understanding. But curiously, in the midst of the internal commotion and the wildly pounding heartbeat, there fell a great stillness upon him. This awareness felt… right. It could have been a part of him, as if it were a thread heaved into the tapestry of his new life. He welcomed it, not with alarm or bewilderment, but with a strange feeling of coming home.
He gazed down, towards the peaceful surface of the lake that lay close by, searching for his reflection. The face that gazed back was familiar and yet strange. His own was there, but overlaid with the signs of his change. Across his chest, stark on his skin, was the clean, undeniable mark of the Clear Sky Hammer, not inked or etched, but appearing as if hammered into his skin itself, a badge of power and heritage. A thin, but noticeable, scar traveled from his forehead, crossing over his right eyebrow and eyelid, to his chin, giving him a sharp, nearly fearsome glance. It told of battles fought, of adversities overcome. And marked on his back, a long, narrow scar, sharp and defined, the unmistakable mark of a trident – a sign left possibly by the very weapon that had been his initial martial essence, a sign of change or maybe a crucible through which he had emerged. He gazed at the reflection, the devil and dragon wrapping his arms, the hammer mark above his chest, the scars that testified of former and current power. He gazed at the ancient soul beasts who identified him in spite of everything. He sensed the huge, multi-dimensional power throbbing under his skin, the enormous potential defined by the system, the ancient wisdom now in his head.
"So this…" he whispered, the words hardly audible, spoken to the reflection, to the world, to himself, ".is me now." It wasn't so much a fact; it was an acceptance. This complicated, powerful, scarred, and marked figure, possessing the impossible amount of six martial souls, was the sum total of his journey, his decisions, his changes. It was a start and finish, a horrifying reality and thrilling promise. He was Tang Yan, reborn, remolded, ready to take on whatever lay ahead with the strength of devils, dragons, hammers, and tridents running through his veins.