The week following the Awakening Ceremony was not a period of celebration, but of rigorous, self-imposed tempering. The Spirit Hall was busy with the chaotic preparations for the Tang Hao hunt, leaving the Supreme Pontiff's private residence in a bubble of relative isolation. For Yorrichi and Renxue, this week became known as the "Week of Iron."
Daybreak. The sky was a bruised purple, the sun still hiding below the horizon, but in the training courtyard, a different kind of heat was already rising.
Yorrichi stood motionless, his wooden practice sword held loosely at his side. He wasn't just breathing; he was engineeering his breath. The Total Concentration Breathing (TCB) he had initiated days ago was no longer a jagged, painful experiment. It was becoming a rhythm, a bellows stoking the fire in his veins.
Inhale. Compress. Circulate.
He visualized the sun not as a distant star, but as a molten core residing in his chest.
Sun Breathing, First Form: Dance.
He moved.
In the past few days, the movement had been a sketch. Today, it was a painting. He stepped forward, his body twisting in a vertical 360-degree rotation. The wooden blade didn't just cut the air; it sang. A vibrant, visible orange-gold streak trailed the tip of the sword, illuminating the dim courtyard.
Slash.
The blade connected with the iron-reinforced redwood trunk. It didn't thud. It hissed. The wood groaned as a deep, cauterized gash appeared instantly, smoke curling up into the morning air.
"Too slow on the recovery," a calm voice noted.
Bibi Dong sat on a stone bench nearby, her eyes sharp as eagle talons. She wasn't just watching; she was analyzing every twitch of muscle fiber. She walked over, tapping Yorrichi's elbow. "You are putting too much torque on your shoulder. The power of that strike—that strange heat you generate—it comes from the hips and the breath, not the arm. If you rely on your arm, you will tear a ligament before you even get your first ring."
Yorrichi nodded, sweat dripping from his chin. "Understood, Mother."
"Again," she commanded, her tone strict but encouraging. "And Renxue, stop giggling and fix your stance. You are a Seraphim, not a flamingo. Stop standing on one leg."
Renxue, who had been trying to imitate a "graceful flying pose" she saw in a painting, stuck her tongue out but corrected her footing. "I'm practicing aerial superiority, Mother! Even without flying, I must be light!"
"Lightness does not mean instability," Bibi Dong countered, moving to adjust Renxue's posture. "Come. Spar with your brother. No Soul Skills. Pure technique."
The siblings faced off. It was a game they played daily, but the intensity had ratcheted up. Renxue, fueled by her Level 20 physique, was naturally faster and stronger. She lunged, her wooden sword a blur of golden intent.
"Take this! Angelic Thrust!" she shouted, inventing names on the fly.
Yorrichi didn't block. He exhaled a short, sharp breath—breath of the sun, defensive adaptation—and pivoted. He stepped into her guard, his body low, flowing like water around a rock. He tapped her wrist gently with his hilt, disrupting her momentum, and she stumbled past him.
"You're open," Yorrichi said calmly.
"You cheater! You moved weirdly!" Renxue spun around, laughing, and swung again.
Bibi Dong watched them, a profound satisfaction settling in her chest. They were not advancing in Soul Power rank—that was impossible without a Ring—but their combat sense was evolving at a terrifying rate. Renxue was learning to temper her brute force with precision, and Yorrichi... Yorrichi was refining a technique that defied the laws of this world.
That heat, Bibi Dong thought, eyeing the smoking sword in Yorrichi's hand. It isn't soul power. It is biological friction amplified by spiritual will. If he masters this before he gets a Fire-attribute ring... he will be a monster.
By mid-week, the physical toll of the morning training required a mental counterbalance. While Renxue often napped or played with her dolls to recover, Yorrichi had a different destination.
He had discovered the Spirit Hall Grand Library.
It was a cathedral of knowledge, a massive structure of white stone filled with the scent of old parchment and dry ink. It was the largest repository of knowledge on the continent, containing millennia of Spirit Master history.
For Yorrichi, who came from a world where knowledge was often lost to demons or fire, this place was a paradise. He didn't go for the flashy sections—the "Ultimate Titled Douluo Techniques" or "Secret Soul Bone Locations." Those were useless to him right now.
He went to the foundational sections: Geography, Political History, and The Encyclopedia of Soul Beasts.
He sat at a large oak table, a stack of books towering beside him. He read with a voracious hunger. He needed to know the terrain. He needed to know the enemy. He needed to know what a "Ten Thousand Year Soul Beast" actually looked like, beyond the few he had seen.
In my world, demons had specific weaknesses: the neck, sunlight, wisteria, he mused, flipping a page depicting a Man-Faced Demon Spider. Here, every beast is different. Some have hard shells, some use poison, some use mental attacks. I cannot just rely on cutting heads. I need to understand their biology.
"Psst."
A sound came from behind a nearby bookshelf. Yorrichi didn't turn around. He simply turned the page.
"Sister, your breathing is too loud. You sound like a small steam engine."
Renxue popped her head out from behind a stack of scrolls on "Ancient Agriculture." She looked indignant. "I was being stealthy! I used the Ghost Shadow step Mother taught us!"
"You knocked over a scroll three aisles back," Yorrichi noted dryly.
Renxue huffed and marched over, dragging a chair noisily across the floor to sit next to him. "Why do you come here? It smells like dust and old men. Aren't we supposed to be learning cool sword moves?"
"Knowledge is a weapon, Renxue," Yorrichi said, pointing to a map of the Star Luo Empire. "Look. If we ever have to fight a Spirit Master from the Star Luo Royal Family, we need to know their inheritance. The White Tiger. They rely on brute force and physical augmentation. If you try to overpower them directly, you might lose energy. But if you use your flight advantage..."
Renxue looked at the map, her interest piqued. "I can drop rocks on them?"
"Or shoot light beams," Yorrichi suggested. "But yes. Rocks work too."
He spent the next hour patiently explaining the geopolitical landscape to her. He simplified the complex relations between the two Empires and Spirit Hall, framing it as a strategy game. Renxue, who was sharp despite her playfulness, absorbed it quickly.
"So," Renxue said, tapping her chin. "Spirit Hall is in the middle. We are the referees?"
"We are the judges," Yorrichi corrected, his eyes darkening slightly as he read a passage about Spirit Hall's 'interventions' in past wars. "Or perhaps the executioners. It depends on who is holding the sword."
Bibi Dong, who had been observing them from the upper balcony using her stealth capabilities, felt a chill run down her spine. He understands, she realized. At Six years old, he understands the nature of power better than other children or even adults.
The days blurred into nights. The cycle of train, study, and rest became a forge, tempering the twins for the new life that awaited them.
On the final evening before the Academy was set to open, the atmosphere in the private training ground reached a fever pitch.
The sun had set, and the courtyard was bathed in the cool light of the moon. Yorrichi stood alone. He had sent Renxue inside to rest, wanting to attempt one final breakthrough without distraction.
His wooden sword was battered, chipped, and scorched black from his previous attempts. It was barely holding together.
One last time, he told himself. I need to feel the connection flow without resistance.
He closed his eyes. He recalled the sensation of the sun. Not the physical sun above, but the concept of it—the relentless, life-giving, all-consuming fire.
Total Concentration Breathing.
The air rushed in. His chest expanded. His heart beat like a war drum.
He opened his eyes. In the darkness of the night, his maroon pupils seemed to glow.
"Sun Breathing, First Form: Dance."
He swung.
This time, there was no smoke. There was no char.
There was fire.
A genuine, tangible arc of solar flame erupted from the wooden blade. It wasn't Soul Power. It was the atmosphere itself igniting from the sheer friction and perfection of the technique. The slash carved a perfect, glowing crescent into the night air, illuminating the entire courtyard for a heartbeat.
CRACK!
The wooden sword, unable to withstand the majesty of the technique, disintegrated into ash mid-swing.
But the strike had landed. The massive branch he had been targeting for a week didn't just get a cut. The tip of the branch, thick as a man's thigh, sheared off completely, the cut surface glowing with lingering heat.
Yorrichi stood amidst the falling ash of his weapon, his chest heaving, his body screaming with exhaustion, but his spirit soaring.
I did it.
He looked at his hands. He had manifested the sun in a world of moonlight.
A slow clapping sound broke the silence.
Yorrichi turned to see Bibi Dong standing by the corridor entrance, her silhouette framed by the lantern light. Her face was unreadable, but her eyes burned with a fierce, terrifying pride.
"You have destroyed my best training sword," she said, her voice teasing but laced with awe.
"I apologize, Mother," Yorrichi said, bowing slightly, though he was grinning. "It... couldn't handle the heat."
Bibi Dong walked over and placed a hand on his shoulder. She could feel the residual heat radiating from his small body. It was frightening. It was magnificent.
"Tomorrow," she whispered, looking down at him, "you enter the Academy. You will be surrounded by children who think a fireball is a miracle. You will be surrounded by teachers who think Level 10 is the peak of talent."
She squeezed his shoulder. "Do not show them this. Not yet. Let the this Katana of yours be the mask. Keep the Sun... for the enemies who truly deserve to burn."
Yorrichi nodded, understanding the command. "I will be a shadow, Mother. Until the time is right."
Renxue ran out onto the porch in her nightgown, rubbing her eyes. "Why is it so bright? Did the sun come up early?"
Bibi Dong laughed, the tension breaking. She scooped up Yorrichi, who was trembling with fatigue, and walked toward the house.
"No, Renxue," she said. "Just your brother playing with fire. Come. Tomorrow, your legend begins."
As they entered the house, Yorrichi looked back one last time at the severed tree branch, glowing faintly in the dark. He was ready. The books were read. The body was forged. The technique was mastered.
The Spirit Hall Academy wouldn't know what hit it.
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I am writing a new BTTH fanfic with the same Yorrichi as MC. Check it out below, u will like it. Pls support me with trying to read my original one.