Chen Yu trailed behind the other children as they shuffled back to the orphanage, the morning sun climbing higher and casting long shadows across the village square. The excitement of the awakening ceremony lingered in the air, but for him, it was a weight pressing against his chest. Level six innate soul power. A mysterious relic-type martial soul. He should have been elated, but every glance from the villagers felt like a spotlight, and the Spirit Hall envoy's lingering stare burned in his memory. He knew enough from the novels to understand that talent like his didn't go unnoticed, and in Douluo Dalu, attention from the wrong people could be deadly.
The square was nearly empty now, save for a few stragglers cleaning up the platform. The envoy had packed up his formation stones and was speaking in low tones to a village elder, his white robe stark against the dusty cobblestones. Chen Yu kept his head down, hoping to slip away unnoticed, but the envoy's voice cut through the murmur of the crowd.
"Chen Yu," he called, his tone calm but firm. "A word."
Chen Yu froze, his heart lurching. The other kids glanced back, some curious, others smirking as if he'd already gotten himself in trouble. Old Mei, who was herding them toward the orphanage, gave him a sharp look but nodded, signaling him to go. He swallowed hard and turned back, his small frame feeling even smaller as he approached the envoy.
Up close, the man was more imposing. His robe was pristine, embroidered with subtle gold threads, and his eyes held a calculating glint. A faint pressure radiated from him, not aggressive but enough to remind Chen Yu of the gap between them. This was no low-ranking deacon. A Spirit Ancestor, at least, Chen Yu guessed, based on the novels' descriptions of soul power auras.
"You're an orphan, correct?" the envoy asked, his voice smooth as polished stone. He didn't wait for an answer, flipping through a small notebook. "No family, no known lineage. Yet you awaken a relic-type martial soul and level six soul power. Unusual, to say the least."
Chen Yu nodded, unsure what to say. His mind raced, trying to recall every detail he'd read about Spirit Hall. They were the continent's most powerful organization, controlling soul master registration and training, but they were also ruthless, especially when it came to prodigious talents. In the novels, they'd hunted Tang San for his twin martial souls. Chen Yu's soul wasn't twin, but it was strange, and strange was enough to draw their interest.
The envoy tilted his head, studying him. "I am Deacon Wei of Spirit Hall. Your potential is significant, boy. With proper training, you could rise far—perhaps even join our ranks. But first, tell me about your martial soul. Did you feel anything… unusual during the awakening?"
Chen Yu hesitated. The hum in his chest was still there, faint but persistent, like a heartbeat that wasn't his own. He'd felt the sphere's presence, its almost sentient curiosity, but admitting that felt like stepping into a trap. "It just… appeared," he said, keeping his voice steady. "I don't know what it is."
Deacon Wei's eyes narrowed slightly, but he didn't press. "Very well. We'll need to observe it further. For now, you're to report to the village elder tomorrow morning. Spirit Hall will arrange for your initial training. Don't squander this opportunity, Chen Yu. It's rare for a village like this to produce someone of your caliber."
Chen Yu nodded again, his throat tight. "Thank you, sir."
The deacon waved him off, already turning back to the elder. Chen Yu hurried away, his mind a tangle of fear and questions. Training from Spirit Hall was a golden ticket, but it came with strings—strings that could choke him if he wasn't careful. He needed to understand his martial soul before they did, and that meant experimenting, away from prying eyes.
Back at the orphanage, the other kids were buzzing with talk of the ceremony. The lanky boy, whose name Chen Yu learned was Liang Hao, cornered him as soon as he stepped inside. "Level six, Yu! You're practically a genius! Bet you'll be off to some fancy academy by next month."
Chen Yu forced a smile, dodging Liang Hao's enthusiastic clap on the back. "Maybe. We'll see." He didn't want to talk about it. The hum in his chest was growing stronger, almost impatient, and it was making him restless. He needed to be alone.
Slipping out of the orphanage was easier than he'd expected. Old Mei was busy scolding one of the younger kids for stealing an extra rice bun, and the others were too caught up in their own excitement to notice him sneak through the back door. He headed for the forest at the village's edge, where the trees grew thick and the air was cool with shade. It wasn't safe—soul beasts roamed the outskirts, even if they were mostly low-level—but it was the only place he could think clearly.
The forest was quiet, save for the rustle of leaves and the distant call of a bird. Chen Yu found a small clearing, far enough from the village to avoid being seen. He sat cross-legged on the grass, closing his eyes and focusing inward, the way he'd read about in the novels. Soul masters meditated to connect with their martial souls, to feel their power and shape it. He wasn't a soul master yet—no soul ring, no rank—but his soul power was there, a faint warmth pulsing in his core.
"Come on," he muttered, feeling a bit foolish. "Show me what you are."
He reached for the hum, picturing the sphere from the ceremony. The warmth in his chest flared, and his breath caught as the air around him shimmered. He opened his eyes, and there it was—the sphere, floating just above his palm. It was smaller than before, barely the size of a walnut, its surface rippling with dark, iridescent colors. Black, blue, and silver swirled together, like a miniature galaxy trapped in glass. The hum was louder now, vibrating through his bones, and that sense of presence was unmistakable. It wasn't just a soul. It was alive, or close to it.
"What are you?" he whispered, half-expecting an answer. The sphere pulsed, and for a moment, he felt a surge of emotion—not his own. Curiosity, again, but also something deeper, like a question directed back at him. He shivered, his hand trembling as he held it closer. The novels hadn't mentioned anything like this. Even Tang San's Clear Sky Hammer, a top-tier relic soul, didn't act sentient. Was this a mutation? A spirit beast's influence? Or something older, something the continent had forgotten?
He focused, trying to channel his soul power into the sphere, the way soul masters did to activate their abilities. The warmth in his chest flowed outward, sluggish at first, then stronger, like water breaking through a dam. The sphere glowed brighter, and a faint ripple spread through the air, distorting the space around it. Chen Yu's eyes widened. The grass beneath the sphere bent slightly, as if pressed by an invisible weight. A gravity effect? No, it was subtler, more like a vibration, a resonance that tugged at the world around it.
He pushed harder, and the sphere expanded slightly, its surface shimmering faster. The hum became a low, almost musical tone, and the air grew heavy. A twig nearby snapped, and a small stone rolled across the ground, drawn toward the sphere. Chen Yu's heart raced. This wasn't just a relic soul. It was manipulating the space around it, bending reality in a way he'd never read about in Soul Land.
Then, pain lanced through his chest, sharp and sudden. He gasped, cutting off the flow of soul power, and the sphere vanished. He fell forward, catching himself on his hands, his breath ragged. His body felt drained, like he'd run for miles. So that was the limit of level six soul power without a soul ring—barely a minute of use, and it left him dizzy and weak.
"Great," he muttered, wiping sweat from his brow. "Powerful, but useless if I pass out every time I use it."
A rustle in the bushes made him freeze. He scrambled to his feet, his small body tense. The forest wasn't safe, not even this close to the village. Low-level soul beasts like spirit wolves or venomous snakes roamed these woods, and a six-year-old with no combat training was easy prey. He scanned the trees, his heart pounding, but nothing emerged. Just the wind, maybe. Or his nerves playing tricks.
He needed to get back. The experiment had confirmed one thing: his martial soul was powerful, but it was also dangerous, and he didn't understand it. If Spirit Hall figured out what it could do before he did, he'd be at their mercy. And if it was tied to some ancient power, as his gut was starting to suspect, that could draw even worse attention—maybe even from the gods mentioned in the later novels.
As he trudged back to the village, the sun dipping low, he couldn't shake the feeling that he was being watched. Not by the envoy, but by something else, something tied to the hum in his chest. The sphere had felt alive, and that scared him more than Spirit Hall ever could. He was no Tang San, no destined hero. He was just Ethan—Chen Yu—a guy who'd stumbled into a world he wasn't ready for.
Back at the orphanage, he slipped inside just as Old Mei was serving dinner—thin rice porridge and a few boiled vegetables. The other kids were still talking about the ceremony, but Chen Yu kept to himself, picking at his food. Liang Hao tried to draw him into conversation, but he brushed it off with a tired smile. His mind was elsewhere, replaying the sphere's glow, the way it had bent the world around it.
Tomorrow, he'd meet with the village elder and, presumably, start whatever training Spirit Hall had planned. He needed to play along, at least for now, but he also needed answers. What was his martial soul? Why did it feel alive? And how was he supposed to survive in a world where power attracted predators?
As he lay on his straw mat that night, the hum in his chest pulsed faintly, like a lullaby only he could hear. Sleep came slowly, filled with dreams of a dark sphere spinning in an endless void, whispering secrets he wasn't ready to understand.