The pain was not a sharp, piercing thing anymore. It had settled into a dull, throbbing drumbeat against the right side of Bill's skull, a heavy rhythm that seemed to echo the grim cadence of his own heart.
Bill sat on the edge of his bed, the rough linen sheets bunched beneath his calloused fingers. The air in the room smelled faintly of antiseptic herbs and old wood. He raised a hand, his fingers trembling slightly, and brushed the thick gauze bandages that covered the right half of his face. Beneath the cotton, there was nothing but a hollow, inflamed socket and a jagged line of sutures.
He was thirty-seven years old. He was a Soul Ancestor, having finally broken through the bottleneck of rank 40. And he was a cripple.
"Three days," he whispered, his voice rasping like sandpaper over stone.
It had been three days since the disaster in the Sunset Forest. It was supposed to be a routine hunt. He and Kael, his colleague and best friend of ten years, had pooled their savings to hire a team to help Bill secure his fourth soul ring. They hadn't ventured into the core area; they had stayed on the periphery, hunting for a thousand-year Ghost Leopard.
They found the leopard. But they hadn't seen the immature Man-Faced Demon Spider lurking in the canopy above.
The memory assaulted him, vivid and nauseating. The chittering scream of the arachnid. The spray of corrosive web. Kael, shoving Bill out of the way of a scything leg that was sharp enough to shear through iron. Kael had taken the blow meant for Bill's heart. Bill had taken the secondary strike to his face.
He had killed the beast in a frenzy of grief and adrenaline, absorbing its ring because he had no other choice if he wanted to survive the poison coursing through his veins. But Kael didn't come back. Kael was buried in the damp earth of the forest, and Bill had returned to the city of Silvershade—a satellite city of the great Heaven Dou Imperial City—minus an eye and a soul.
But the physical loss was only half of the turmoil roiling inside him.
Bill closed his remaining left eye, leaning his head back against the wall. Since waking up from the fever induced by the spider's toxin and the violent absorption of the soul ring, his mind had been… crowded.
It wasn't just the trauma. It was as if the trauma had cracked open a door in his subconscious that should have remained sealed. Strange, alien memories were floating in the murky waters of his mind like debris after a shipwreck.
He saw tall towers made of glass and steel that touched the clouds, not powered by soul power but by electricity. He saw metal carriages moving without horses. He saw a world where "Soul Masters" didn't exist, but where knowledge was so vast it could split the very atoms of existence.
And, most terrifying of all, he saw a story. A story about this world.
"Tang San… Spirit Hall… Shrek Academy…"
The names tasted foreign yet familiar on his tongue. In these fragmented visions, he saw the timeline of the Douluo Dalu. He saw the coming chaos. He saw the rise of a genius from another world, the tyranny of the Supreme Pontiff, the wars that would bathe the two great empires in blood.
"Is it a delusion?" Bill muttered, gripping his knees. "Brain damage from the poison?"
It felt too real to be madness. The logic inherent in those other-worldly memories—principles of physics, mathematics, and biology—was too consistent, too structured. It felt less like he was imagining things and more like he was remembering a past life that had suddenly decided to merge with his current one.
He stood up, his equilibrium slightly off due to the loss of binocular vision. He stumbled, catching himself on the nightstand. The mirror above the dresser reflected a weary man. His brown hair was greying at the temples, messy and unkempt. His remaining eye was a dark, muddy hazel, currently bloodshot and wide with anxiety. The bandages made him look like a war veteran, which, in a way, he was.
He couldn't stay here. He couldn't wallow. He had Sarah. He had the triplets. Kael was gone, leaving behind a widow who would need support. Bill had bills to pay, mouths to feed, and a life that demanded his participation regardless of his suffering.
He dressed slowly, pulling on the standard grey tunic of the Greenwood Elementary Soul Master Academy. It was a humble institution, catering to the children of commoners and low-level merchants in Silvershade City. It wasn't the illustrious Shrek, nor the prestigious Heaven Dou Imperial Academy. It was a place for people like Bill—mediocre, hardworking, and destined to be the background characters of history.
He grabbed his satchel. Inside lay his teaching notes, battered and stained with ink.
"Rank 41," Bill said to the empty room. He summoned his soul power. Four rings rose from beneath his feet: White, Yellow, Yellow, Purple.
It was a suboptimal configuration. The first ring being white (ten years) was a mark of his humble origins and lack of guidance in his youth. It meant his potential had always been capped. Most people would look at a ten-year first ring and sneer. In the memories of the "other world," the protagonist had a seemingly impossible configuration. Bill was the reality of this world: a struggle just to be average.
He dismissed the rings, took a deep breath, and walked out the door.
—————
The streets of Silvershade were bustling. The morning sun cast long shadows over the cobblestones. Vendors were shouting their wares, the smell of roasted buns and soy milk filling the air.
Usually, Bill enjoyed the walk to the academy. Today, it felt like running a gauntlet. Every glance from a passerby felt like it lingered on his eyepatch. He felt the phantom itch of the eye that wasn't there. He felt vulnerable on his right side, a blind spot that his instincts screamed was a death sentence.
Check your six. Watch the periphery.
The tactical thoughts were sharper than usual. The "memories" seemed to have imbued him with a heightened sense of analytical caution. He wasn't just seeing a street; he was seeing vectors of movement, potential ambush points, and the structural integrity of the buildings. It was disorienting.
He arrived at the Greenwood Academy gates just as the bell tower chimed eight. The academy was a modest collection of stone buildings surrounding a central training field. The Spirit Pagoda symbol was etched above the main archway, though the paint was peeling.
"Bill?"
A soft voice called out from the staff entrance. It was Director Hanes, a rotund man with a benevolent face and a Book Spirit. He was a Rank 45 Soul Ancestor, the strongest person in the school.
Hanes hurried over, his eyes widening as he took in Bill's appearance. "Great Heavens, Bill. We heard the hunt went poorly, but… your eye."
"It's gone, Director," Bill said, his voice steady despite the trembling in his hands. "The price of the fourth ring."
Hanes winced, a look of genuine pity crossing his face. "And Kael?"
"Dead."
The word hung in the air, heavy and final. Hanes slumped slightly, closing his eyes. "A tragedy. truly. He was a good man. A good teacher."
"He was," Bill agreed. "I'll… I'll need to visit his wife later. But right now, I have a class."
Hanes looked at him incredulously. "Bill, go home. You look like you've been chewed up by a Dragon. Take the week off. We can find a substitute."
"I can't," Bill said, perhaps too quickly. He needed the distraction. He needed the routine. And if the premonitions in his head were true, he needed money. War was expensive. Survival was expensive. "I need to work, Director. Standing still makes the pain worse."
Hanes studied him for a long moment, then sighed, nodding. "Very well. But sit down if you feel faint. Your students… they've been asking about you."
Bill nodded and made his way to the Year 3 building. His students were children between the ages of eight and nine, mostly ranging from Rank 7 to Rank 10. They were at the critical stage just before obtaining their first soul ring, or having just obtained it.
He paused outside the heavy oak door of Classroom 3-B. He could hear the chaotic din of twenty children inside. He took a deep breath, adjusted his eyepatch, and pushed the door open.
The noise died instantly.
Twenty pairs of eyes locked onto him. Silence descended like a heavy blanket. They stared at the bandages, at the way he held himself a little stiffer than usual.
"Good morning, class," Bill said, walking to the podium. He placed his satchel down.
"Teacher Bill?" A small girl in the front row, Lily, raised her hand. Her spirit was a Blue River Grass—common, weak, but she worked hard. "Are… are you okay? Your eye…"
"I had a disagreement with a spider," Bill said, trying to keep his tone light. "The spider lost its life. I lost an eye. It was a fair trade."
A collective gasp rippled through the room. To these kids, a spirit beast hunt was a legendary adventure, something from the storybooks. The reality of the violence was rarely brought into the classroom so visibly.
"Let that be your first lesson of the day," Bill said, his voice hardening slightly. "The path of a Soul Master is not a game. It is not just about glory or titles. It is about survival. Every ring you see on a master's body was bought with blood. Sometimes the beast's, sometimes the master's."
He saw the fear in their eyes, but also a new kind of respect. He wasn't just the boring theory teacher anymore. He was a survivor.
"Open your textbooks to page forty-two," Bill instructed. "Today, we discuss the manifestation of Soul Skills and the classification of Control Systems."
As the students shuffled their books, Bill felt a headache spiking. He looked at the standard text. It was dry, archaic, and frankly, inefficient. It spoke of 'feeling the flow' and 'praying to the spirit.'
Rubbish, the voice in his head—the voice of the memories—scoffed. It's not prayer. It's energy manipulation. It's fluid dynamics applied to spiritual energy.
He looked at the chalkboard. Usually, he would draw a diagram of a spirit beast. Today, his hand moved on its own. He drew a circle. Then, he drew vectors. Arrows indicating force, resistance, and velocity.
"Forget the book for a moment," Bill said abruptly.
The class looked up, surprised. Bill never deviated from the syllabus.
"Who here has a tool spirit?" Bill asked.
A boy named Marcus raised his hand. "Me, teacher. I have the Iron Rod spirit."
"Come here, Marcus."
The boy, sturdy for his age, walked up. He summoned his spirit. A heavy, dark iron rod appeared in his hand. He was Rank 8.
"Swing it," Bill ordered. "As hard as you can."
Marcus grunted and swung the rod in a horizontal arc. It whooshed through the air.
"Good," Bill said. "Now, Marcus, why does the rod hurt when it hits something?"
"Because… it's heavy?" Marcus frowned.
"Weight is part of it," Bill corrected. "But force equals mass times acceleration."
The class stared at him blankly.
Bill paused. Right. Different world. He had to translate.
"The damage isn't just the iron," Bill tapped his own temple, the memories flooding him with clarity. "It is the speed at which you move the weight. Most of you channel your soul power into the spirit itself to make it harder or heavier. That is a waste of energy at your level."
He grabbed a piece of chalk. "Instead of pouring your limited soul power into the rod, pour it into your arms and waist. Use the soul power to explode the muscle fibers for a split second. Increase the speed. If you double the weight, you hit twice as hard. If you double the speed, you hit four times as hard."
He saw the confusion, but also the intrigue. This was practical. This was math, but it was math that promised power.
"Lily," Bill pointed. "Blue River Grass. Control system. What is your goal?"
"To… to bind the enemy," she squeaked.
"How?"
"By… wrapping them up?"
"Wrong," Bill said, his tone intense. The memories of physics were overlaying his vision of the girl's spirit. "Grass is weak. If a boar charges you, wrapping it won't stop it; the grass will snap. You don't wrap to hold; you wrap to redirect."
He drew a lever and a fulcrum on the board.
"You don't fight their strength," Bill explained, his eye gleaming with a strange fervor. "You trip them. You apply force to their center of gravity. A single blade of grass, placed correctly around an ankle at high speed, can bring down a giant if you understand leverage."
He spent the next hour speaking with a passion he hadn't felt in years. He integrated the foreign concepts of kinetic energy, friction, and leverage into the rigid dogmas of Soul Land. He explained that Fire spirits shouldn't just "burn," they should "consume oxygen." He explained that Defense spirits shouldn't just "harden," they should "angle" their armor to deflect rather than absorb.
He saw lights turning on behind their eyes. Marcus was looking at his rod not as a club, but as a kinetic delivery system. Lily was looking at her grass not as a weed, but as a tripwire.
Bill felt a strange heat in his chest. It wasn't the pain. It was… flow. For the first time, he understood why these things worked. He wasn't just parroting the text; he was deconstructing the reality of the world.
"Teacher," a noble-born kid in the back, usually arrogant, raised his hand slowly. "I… I think I understand why my Lightning Web fails. I'm trying to shock their whole body. I should be focusing the voltage on a single point to bypass resistance, right?"
Bill smiled. It was a terrifying expression with the bandages, but it was genuine. "Exactly. Path of least resistance. Don't fry the skin; stop the heart."
The bell rang.
The students didn't bolt for the door as usual. They sat there for a moment, processing, scribbling down final notes.
"Class dismissed," Bill said, exhaling a breath he didn't know he was holding.
As the children filed out, chatting excitedly about "kinetic impact" and "voltage concentration," Bill felt a sudden vibration in his soul realm.
He waited until the room was empty. He locked the door.
"Come out," he whispered.
His Martial Soul, the Celestial Scroll, materialized in his hands.
It was a Junk Spirit, or so he had been told. It wasn't a weapon. It wasn't a beast. It was a blank scroll made of energy. His soul skills usually involved minor buffs—Rank 1: Map (creates a layout of the immediate area), Rank 2: Record (memorizes a scene perfectly), Rank 3: Silence (dampens sound in an area). They were utility skills. Useful for scouting, useless for combat.
Hence why he needed Kael. Hence why Kael died.
But now, as he unrolled the scroll, the parchment wasn't blank.
Glowing golden script, unlike the language of the Heaven Dou Empire, was etching itself onto the paper. Yet, Bill could read it perfectly.
[Teaching Session Complete.][Subject: Basic Soul Theory / Applied Physics.][Audience Receptivity: High.][Concept Integration: Successful.]
Bill stared, his heart hammering against his ribs. The text continued to scroll.
[Host Understanding of Martial Essence updated.][By teaching the underlying laws of the world, the Host has deepened his connection to the Origin.][Calculation complete…][Soul Power Density: +1%.][Martial Soul Evolution Progress: 0.01%.]
"What…?" Bill breathed.
He felt it. It was subtle, but undeniable. The soul power in his veins, usually sluggish and thin, felt a tiny bit heavier. More condensed.
He had been stuck at the door to Rank 40 for three years. He had just broken through to 41 with the ring, but he knew his talent was exhausted. He was destined to maybe reach Rank 50 by the time he was sixty.
But this…
Teaching increased my power?
He looked at the scroll again.
[New Directive: The Sage teaches to learn. The Sage learns to ascend. Spread the Truth of the Laws.]
Bill slumped into his chair. The scroll hovered before him, the four rings gently oscillating. His new fourth ring, the purple one from the Man-Faced Demon Spider, was pulsing in sync with the golden text.
Wait. The fourth skill. He hadn't checked it yet. He had been too in pain.
He focused on the purple ring.
[Fourth Soul Skill Detected: Analysis.][Effect: Allows the user to perceive the structural weakness and energy flow of any target within visual range. Consumes Soul Power continuously.]
It wasn't a combat skill. It wasn't a poison spray or a web net like the spider used. It was… an information skill.
"Analysis," Bill whispered. He activated it.
His remaining eye burned with a cool violet light. He looked at the wooden desk.
Suddenly, the wood became translucent. He saw the grain, the knots, the stress points where the legs joined the top. He saw the faint residue of soul power left by years of students leaning on it. He instinctively knew exactly where to strike the desk to shatter it with a single finger.
He deactivated the skill, gasping as the drain on his soul power cut off.
"A teacher's cheat," he muttered, a hysterical laugh bubbling in his throat. "I have a library in my head and eyes that can see the truth."
He rolled up the scroll. The implications were terrifying. If he could increase his power by teaching… and if he could see the weaknesses in everything…
He wasn't just a cripple anymore. He was something else entirely.
—————
The walk home was a blur. Bill's mind was racing so fast he barely noticed the setting sun painting the sky in hues of orange and purple.
He lived in the residential district, in a modest two-story house with a small garden. As he unlatched the gate, the smell of stew drifted from the open window.
"Daddy!"
The shout came from the yard. Three small missiles launched themselves at him.
His triplets. Two boys, one girl. Six years old. Just weeks away from their Spirit Awakening ceremony.
"Easy, easy!" Bill laughed, bracing himself as they collided with his legs. He winced as the impact jarred his ribs, but he didn't push them away. He knelt down, hugging them with his one good arm.
"Daddy, your eye looks scary!" his daughter, Elara, said, pointing at the patch.
"It's a pirate eye!" one of the boys, Jory, shouted. "Arrgh!"
"Is Uncle Kael coming for dinner?" the other boy, Finn, asked, looking behind Bill.
The question was a knife to the gut. Bill's smile faltered. He swallowed the lump in his throat. "No, Finn. Uncle Kael… went on a long trip. He won't be coming for dinner."
The door to the house opened. Sarah stood there. She was a beautiful woman, with soft features and hair the color of wheat. She was a Level 32 Spirit Elder, her spirit a Faithful Hound. It made her fiercely protective and incredibly perceptive.
She saw the look on Bill's face. She saw the droop in his shoulders that he tried to hide from the kids.
"Kids, go wash up," she commanded gently. "Daddy needs to sit down."
The triplets scampered off, sensing the shift in mood.
Sarah walked down the path. She didn't say anything. She just wrapped her arms around him, burying her face in his chest.
"You went to work," she whispered, her voice tight. "You stubborn, stupid man."
"I had to," Bill said, resting his chin on her head. "If I stopped, I would have broken."
"I know." She pulled back, her hands cupping his face, avoiding the bandages. "But you're home now. You're safe."
Bill looked at her. He looked at the warm light spilling from the windows of his home. He heard the laughter of his children splashing water in the bathroom.
Safe?
The memories in his head roared. He saw the banners of the Spirit Hall. He saw the Angel of Judgment descending. He saw cities burning. He saw the massive wars that were barely a decade away.
Silvershade City was near the Heaven Dou capital. When the war started, this place would be a frontline. These wooden walls, this garden, these laughing children… they were kindling for the fires of ambition that were already being stoked in the Supreme Pontiff's palace.
He was Rank 41. Sarah was Rank 32. In the face of Titled Douluos, in the face of the calamities to come, they were ants.
Bill looked at his hand. He thought of the scroll. He thought of the 1% increase.
He had been content to be mediocre. He had accepted his fate as a background character in the grand tapestry of the world.
But now, he knew the script. And he knew the ending.
"I'm not strong enough, Sarah," Bill whispered, the realization terrifying him.
"We are doing fine, Bill," she said, confused. "We have savings. We'll manage without the hunting income for a while."
"No," Bill shook his head, his single eye hardening with a resolve that frightened her. "I mean… I need to be stronger. For you. For the kids. The world… the world is going to change. I can feel it."
He looked at the Awakening Date on the calendar visible through the window. His kids would awaken their spirits soon.
With his new knowledge, with his understanding of the "true physics" of soul power, he wouldn't let them be mediocre. He wouldn't let them be ants.
He would teach them. He would teach his students. He would create a generation of monsters if that's what it took to keep this house standing.
"Bill?" Sarah asked, concerned by the intensity of his gaze.
Bill kissed her forehead. "I'm okay. I just… I have a new lesson plan to work on."
He walked into the house, the warmth enveloping him. But inside his mind, the cold gears of the future were turning, and Bill—the one-eyed teacher of Silvershade—was determined to jam them before they crushed everything he loved.
[Current Status: Bill][Rank: 41 (Spirit Ancestor)][Martial Soul: Celestial Scroll (Evolving)][Next Class: Tomorrow, 08:00.]