The eastern forest lay draped in the hush of dawn, its towering pines whispering in the breeze like sentinels sharing secrets. In a clearing veiled by mist, Arthev stood face-to-face with a legend.
Tang Hao.
The Haotian Douluo.
Level 95—his presence distorted the very air, a black-cloaked force of gravity that bent the forest around him. His eyes, hard as obsidian, locked onto Arthev with piercing finality, the weight of his aura pressing like stone on the younger soul master's chest.
Still, Arthev held his ground.
His posture remained composed, his gaze steady. He did not bow. He did not flinch.
"Senior," he said evenly, every word deliberate, like stepping across blades. "May I ask your purpose here?"
Tang Hao did not answer immediately. The silence grew taut, thick with something heavier than mere tension. Even the forest seemed to still.
When he spoke, his voice was low and rough—gravel stirred by thunder.
"You know who I am, boy. And you know why I'm here."
The chill deepened.
Arthev's mind surged through possibilities—but one rose above the rest: the spar. Tang San's defeat hadn't drawn blood, but it had carved into something deeper—his pride. For Tang Hao, that was more than enough.
Still, Arthev's expression betrayed nothing. He waited.
Tang Hao stepped forward, the earth beneath his boots giving a subtle tremor, as if the land itself feared to offend him.
"You shamed my son."
His words landed like a hammer.
"You pinned him down with a blade and made him look weak. Tang San is my blood—my legacy. You think you can humiliate him and walk away whole?"
Arthev's pulse spiked, but his voice remained calm, cool.
"There was no malice, Senior. It was a spar—a test of skill. He challenged me. I responded. If offense was taken, it was never intended."
Tang Hao's lip curled into something close to a sneer.
"Intent does not erase consequence, boy."
He circled slightly, each step radiating pressure.
"Soul power level 18, yet you move like a fighter twice your age. Your blades are part of you. You fight like someone who's lived a hundred battles. Do not insult me by pretending to be ordinary."
Arthev remained silent, mind whirring beneath his composed exterior.
He's probing.
He must've caught the edge of my speed—maybe even brushed against Shukaku's aura before I sealed it.
Deflect. Don't confirm.
He offered a slight incline of his head, just enough to acknowledge, not submit.
"I train hard, Senior. Tang San's control is exceptional. Our spar… was close."
Tang Hao's eyes narrowed, reading the lie between Arthev's calm words.
"Close?"
His voice was low, tinged with a razor edge.
"You used no rings. No soul skills. And still, you won."
He took another step, the forest seeming to lean with him.
"That's not diligence. That's something else."
Arthev's gut clenched, but he kept his expression unreadable. Inwardly, he dipped into the quiet of his subconscious.
There, sprawled across a vast desert of soul-sand, Shukaku lazed under the sun, his massive amber eyes gleaming with equal parts warning and amusement.
"Stunned Face," the beast rasped, voice low and gravelly.
"He's riled. You humiliated his runt, and now Daddy Hammer's lookin' for a reason to swing. Tread light."
"Stay buried," Arthev replied mentally, sharp and quick.
"He's reading me. If he attacks, we'll respond—but not before. Mask your power."
Shukaku gave a dry chuckle, sand swirling lazily around his claws.
"Mask it? Sure. But don't expect me to nap if he brings that hammer down. You're the nail right now, kid."
With a blink, Arthev resurfaced into reality—just as Tang Hao stepped closer.
The air thickened, laced with an unspoken challenge.
Tang Hao's voice dropped to a quieter, more dangerous register.
"I'm not here to crush you. Not yet."
He studied Arthev like a smith examines flawed metal.
"But Tang San is mine to protect. You've got secrets, boy—I can smell them. Keep them away from him… or I'll make sure you regret ever drawing that blade."
Arthev's eyes narrowed, his calm veneer slipping for the first time.
"Secrets?" he echoed, voice edged with cold precision.
"I'm a student, Senior. Nothing more. If Tang San seeks another spar, I'll meet him as an equal—not to shame him. You assume too much."
Tang Hao's stare darkened, a storm brewing behind it.
"Assume?" he hissed, a spark of wrath flashing in his gaze.
"You dare lecture me? You think your tricks make you untouchable?"
Arthev stood his ground, spine straight, voice steady.
"I lecture no one. I respect your son's strength. But I won't bow to threats—not for a fair fight."
For a heartbeat, the forest held its breath.
Then the atmosphere snapped—Tang Hao's aura surged like a rising tide, pressing down with crushing intensity.
"Fair?" the Haotian Douluo growled, stepping forward, a shadow across the dawn.
"You mocked my blood. Let's see how fair you fare against me."
Instinct screamed, but Arthev didn't retreat.
He read the intent—this wasn't to kill. It was a lesson. A test cloaked in fury.
He shifted his stance, feet sliding into position, hands loose at his sides.
"If you insist, Senior… I'll defend myself."
Tang Hao's sneer curved crueler—
—and then he vanished.
A black blur tore through the clearing. Air shrieked as his fist carved past Arthev's shoulder, close enough to rattle bone.
Arthev twisted, barely a breath ahead, boots skidding over moss and root.
Each of the Douluo's strikes landed like thunder made flesh—controlled detonations of terrifying strength—but Arthev was wind and will, weaving between trees, flickering through shadows.
He inhaled once—centered. Then summoned.
The Tree Martial Soul summoned.
Green light threaded down his arms, coalescing into twisting tendrils that burst forth like living wood, coiled and rapid, lashing for Tang Hao's legs.
But the titan didn't falter.
With a single raised hand, soul power erupted from Tang Hao in a crushing wave—
The tendrils met it midair and shattered like brittle glass, disintegrating before they touched cloth.
The earth quaked from the force.
"You're holding back," Tang Hao barked, advancing.
"You think tricks and civility will save you? Show me what you really are."
Arthev spun mid-retreat, a kunai flicking into his palm. In one smooth motion, he hurled it. The blade sang through the air, gleaming—Tang Hao tilted his head, letting it slice a line across his cloak before it embedded in a tree with a solid thunk.
His eyes narrowed.
Fast, Tang Hao thought.
Arthev didn't stop. He surged forward, twisting into a spinning kick that cracked the air as it struck Tang Hao's guard. The blow rattled through bone—enough to stagger a normal man—but the Douluo absorbed it on his forearm. Even so, Arthev landed light, knees bent, eyes calculating.
He's untouchable, Arthev noted. But I'm not breaking.
He dropped low. Hands slammed into the earth.
Green light pulsed. The ground shuddered—
and from it, ancient wooden pillars erupted, one after another, titanic in scale, each etched in glowing emerald.
They rose in a wide ring around Tang Hao, looming like the hands of a forgotten deity.
From the summit of each pillar, the wood split, twisted—
and sharpened.
Hundreds—no, thousands—of needle-like spikes protruded from every side.
The forest dimmed under their shadow.
Arthev's eyes flashed. His voice rang out across the glade:
"Forest's Judgement—Heavenly Thorns!"
The pillars trembled.
The storm began.
A deluge of wooden spears screamed from above, spiraling downward in a deathblow—
A rain of vengeance and control, crafted with precision and raw soulforce. Each spike was guided by intent, every volley coordinated with terrifying grace.
Tang Hao looked up, and for the first time, his expression shifted. Not fear—recognition.
So many... at his level?
But he was still a Titled Douluo.
A deep breath.
His soul power ignited—an oppressive surge of force erupted from his core. In a blink, an invisible shockwave pulsed outward, detonating the entire attack midair.
The forest howled with the backlash.
Wooden shards exploded across the sky. Dust choked the clearing. Trees bent and groaned under the pressure of clashing power.
When the silence returned, Tang Hao stood untouched—his aura burning like a forge.
"A storm of spears," he muttered, brushing ash from his cloak.
"And no soul ring to power it…"
His gaze bore into Arthev.
"Who are you really, boy?"
But Arthev had already won something—he had made the Haotian Douluo move.
He lunged forward, fists blurring in a flurry—left jab, right hook, a sudden feint, and then a sweeping low kick aimed at the knee.
Every strike was razor-precise, a storm of intent and instinct.
But Tang Hao was a wall.
He parried with minimal movement, each block effortless—mastery sculpted by war.
He's a fortress.
Arthev's breath hitched, sweat beading on his brow. But I'm making him try.
For the first time, Tang Hao's face shifted—disdain giving way to grim seriousness.
"Enough."
His soul power surged.
In an instant, he vanished.
Arthev's senses screamed—too late.
A palm crashed into his chest like a falling mountain. Bone crunched. Air fled his lungs.
He flew backwards, crashing through a pine tree, the trunk exploding into splinters.
He hit the ground hard.
Agony bloomed in his ribs, sharp and ragged.
Too strong…
His thoughts reeled. Level 95—it's a different world…
Tang Hao stalked forward, cloaked in silent fury. Each step felt like thunder, the weight of a legend bearing down.
Then—
It happened.
A spark, deep within.
Dormant power stirred. Then flared.
Arthev's vision warped. His pupils shrank—and the world shifted.
His irises ignited crimson.
Three black tomoe spun into place, orbiting in a smooth, deliberate dance.
From the edges of his sclera, a soft silver-white glow bled outward, wrapping the scarlet hue in an ethereal, predatory shimmer.
To be continued.....