Dawn had barely broken over Gray Stone Village when metal cut through the cold air.
A six-year-old boy stood barefoot in the hard-packed yard behind a small wooden house. The ground was stiff from the night's frost, cold enough that most children would have cried and rushed back indoors. The stone well nearby glistened faintly, its rim edged with ice, while the northern wind swept through the open land beyond the village, carrying dust, dryness, and a sharp bite that seeped into skin and bone alike.
But the boy did not retreat.
In his right hand, an Iron Sword shimmered faintly.
Yesterday, it had appeared in his palm for the first time.
The awakening ceremony had been brief and impersonal. A Spirit Hall deacon had arrived from a nearby town early that morning, robes marked with travel dust, expression calm and indifferent. The village children were lined up one by one. Some whispered nervously. Some stared at the ground. Others looked around with excitement they did not yet understand.
Light flared.
Martial souls emerged.
When it was Wang Yan's turn, he stepped forward quietly. Pale white radiance gathered at his palm and condensed steadily, without resistance or brilliance, forming a straight-edged iron sword. No patterns ran along its surface. No aura radiated outward. No pressure filled the air.
The Spirit Hall deacon glanced once and spoke in a professional tone.
"Tool-type martial soul. Iron Sword."
He tested the soul power briefly, then announced,
"Innate soul power—level three."
The words carried no judgment. Only fact.
Still, compared to many awakenings that yielded nothing, this was acceptable. The deacon allowed a faint nod and handed over a thin parchment stamped with the seal of Spirit Hall.
"This is your awakening certificate," the deacon said. "You are eligible to enroll in a Junior Soul Master Academy under the Heaven Dou Empire."
Wang Yan accepted the certificate with both hands.
Now, standing alone in the yard, he felt the difference clearly.
The Iron Sword was heavier than the wooden blade he had used for two years. More importantly, it was connected to him. A faint stream of soul power flowed from his chest, down his arm, and into the sword itself, responding subtly to his control.
He stepped forward.
Exhale.
The sword descended in a compact vertical cut. At the moment of impact, he released a controlled thread of soul power.
The blade stopped cleanly.
Two Years Earlier
When Wang Yan was four, he had begun sword training and daily physical conditioning under his grandfather's guidance.
Training started before sunrise.
First came physical conditioning.
Running around the perimeter of the village until his breathing burned.
Carrying buckets filled halfway with water, arms trembling as balance was tested.
Squat holds in horse stance until his thighs shook violently.
Push-ups on clenched fists pressed into hard earth.
Static grip holds until his fingers trembled uncontrollably.
His wrists bruised.
His shoulders burned.
His legs shook so badly some mornings that standing became difficult.
Yet he never complained.
He was disciplined.
He was hardworking.
And he had a goal—to reach his personal limit, whatever that might be.
His grandfather, Wang Lan, supported him in everything he did, though concern often lingered in his eyes. The old man worried about the boy's extreme training, but he never stopped him. He did not want to discourage determination born from within.
With time, Wang Yan noticed something unusual during training.
When he breathed randomly, exhaustion arrived quickly.
When he held his breath, his muscles stiffened and strength collapsed.
So he experimented.
While running, he inhaled slowly through his nose and exhaled steadily through his mouth.
While holding stance, he took deep breaths and released only part of the air to prevent trembling.
During sword swings, he timed short breaths to the moment of downward acceleration.
Over weeks, the pattern refined itself.
By the age of five, it stabilized into a rhythm.
Inhale while preparing.
A brief pause to stabilize the core.
Compressed exhale during the strike.
Natural inhale during recovery.
It was not mystical.
It did not absorb heaven and earth energy.
It simply conserved oxygen and stabilized muscle tension.
He called it the Tempered Breath Method.
The sword technique changed as well.
The forms his grandfather taught were wide and heavy, suitable for battlefield stability but inefficient for prolonged combat. Wang Yan reduced motion. He shortened the arc. He tucked his elbow closer to his ribs and tightened the sword path.
He tested both versions carefully.
Wide form—fifty-two cuts before degradation.
Compact form—eighty-nine cuts.
Eighty-nine mattered more.
So he kept refining.
Step length shortened to prevent overextension.
Weight distribution shifted slightly forward.
Recovery time reduced by half a breath.
Over two years, he built something new from old pieces.
He called it Extreme.
Not a grand technique.
Not a legendary inheritance.
Just a version that fit his body.
Present
Wang Yan's sword continued to cut through the air in steady rhythm.
"Little Yan."
The calm voice came from behind.
Wang Yan stopped immediately and lowered the sword.
An old man stood a few steps away, holding the Spirit Hall certificate. This was his grandfather, Wang Lan.
"You have trained enough today, Little Yan," Wang Lan said. "Come here."
Wang Yan approached and stood straight.
Wang Lan looked at him for a moment before speaking.
"The Junior Soul Master Academy in Green Pearl City begins its term the day after tomorrow," he said, raising the parchment slightly. "You must decide. Do you wish to go?"
"Yes," Wang Yan answered without hesitation. "I want to go."
Wang Lan nodded once.
"Good. Then listen carefully."
He clasped his hands behind his back and spoke with the steadiness of a former soldier.
"You have lived only in this village. The world beyond is far larger than you imagine. This continent is called Douluo Continent."
Wang Yan listened silently.
"To the north and west lies the Heaven Dou Empire. To the south lies the Star Luo Empire. Between them exist countless cities, sects, academies, and noble families that have been passed down for generations. Some of these families possess powerful martial soul inheritances and deep foundations, holding great influence within their regions. Above them all stands Spirit Hall, its branches spread across the continent, silently affecting the balance between both empires."
"In this world," Wang Lan continued, "strength determines status."
He raised one finger.
"Rank one to ten—Spirit Scholar."
"Rank eleven to twenty—Spirit Master."
"Rank twenty-one to thirty—Grand Spirit Master."
He paused briefly.
"Rank thirty-one to forty—Spirit Elder."
"I am level thirty-six," Wang Lan said calmly. "A Spirit Elder."
Wang Yan nodded.
"Beyond that are levels most villagers never see," Wang Lan continued.
"Spirit Ancestor. Spirit King. Spirit Emperor. Spirit Sage. Spirit Douluo."
"At the peak," he added, "stands Titled Douluo."
He looked directly at Wang Yan.
"Every ten levels require a spirit ring. Without one, advancement stops."
"Your innate soul power is level three," Wang Lan said plainly. "Your starting speed is slower than many. Do not compare starting lines. Compare endurance."
"Yes, Grandfather," Wang Yan replied.
"In the academy," Wang Lan continued, "you will learn cultivation methods, theory, spirit beasts, spirit rings, and martial soul classifications. Tool-type spirits like yours rely heavily on control and skill. Do not envy others."
"I won't," Wang Yan said quietly.
Wang Lan nodded.
"Pack only what you need. We leave at dawn."
Wang Yan looked down at the certificate in his hands.
"Grandfather," he said softly, "I will not waste this opportunity."
Wang Lan stopped at the doorway but did not turn.
"See that you don't," he replied.
The yard fell silent once more.
Wang Yan looked at the fading sky, then at the wooden sword resting against the wall. Tomorrow, he would step beyond Gray Stone Village—not as a prodigy, not as someone chosen, but as himself.
He picked up the sword and completed ten final repetitions before night fully fell.
Dawn would come quickly.
End of Chapter 1