Heaven Dou Imperial City was a monument to excess.
Massive walls of white granite rose fifty meters into the air, patrolled by soldiers in shining silver armor. Behind those walls, spires of gold and glass pierced the clouds, and the streets were paved with polished stone that cost more per square meter than a commoner earned in a lifetime.
Arthev stood at the southern gate, merging with the flow of merchants and travelers. He had removed his white porcelain mask, tucking it into his robe, but his hood remained pulled low.
'It smells like perfume and horse dung,' Shukaku complained in his mind. 'I hate cities. Too many humans. Too many walls. Can we knock one down?'
'Behave, One-Tail,' Matatabi said gently. 'We are here for a purpose. This is the heart of the Empire. The information Arthev seeks might hidden here.'
Arthev ignored them both, stepping up to the guard station.
"Entry fee. One gold soul coin," the guard said, wrinkling his nose at Arthev's appearance.
Arthev didn't hesitate. He reached into his robe and flicked a gold coin onto the counter with a practiced motion.
"Welcome to Heaven Dou," the guard grunted, waving him through.
-----
The city was loud. Carriages rattled, vendors shouted, and nobles in silk paraded their wealth. Arthev walked through the crowd like a ghost, his body weaving through the gaps in foot traffic without touching anyone.
He felt a profound isolation. The last time he was in a crowd this lively, it was at the Festival of Serenity. He saw a girl buying candied hawthorns and looked away sharply.
'Focus,' he commanded himself.
He needed access to the Imperial Library.
The "Broken Circle" organization was ancient or secretive, normal archives wouldn't have them. Only the Royal Family's records would go back far enough.
To get into the Library, he needed status.
To get status, he needed a sponsor.
And the best place to find a sponsor who valued violence over pedigree was the Great Spirit Arena.
------
The Heaven Dou Great Spirit Arena.
It was a colossal coliseum, shaped like an upside-down cone, glowing with lights. The roar of the crowd could be heard from blocks away.
Arthev walked to the registration desk. The receptionist, a young woman with too much makeup, looked up from her ledger and frowned at his ragged appearance.
"Contestant registration is at the back alley," she dismissed him, waving a hand. "Cleaning staff is through the side door."
"Registration," he said.
"Form requires a codename, Soul Rank, and Martial Soul," she said mechanically.
Arthev placed the registration fee on the counter. He had thought about this. He couldn't use Arthev. He needed something that sounded wise, detached, something that fit his cover.
"Codename: Sage," Arthev said.
"Rank?"
"Thirty-five."
The woman paused, her pen hovering over the paper. She looked at his stature, he was clearly young, maybe twelve or thirteen.
Rank 35 was a Soul Elder, bordering on prodigy status.
"Martial Soul?"
"Elemental Tree," Arthev lied smoothly.
"A plant spirit?" She raised an eyebrow, clearly skeptical that a plant spirit master was registering for 1v1 combat in the Soul Elder bracket. Usually, plant types were Control or Support.
"Fine. You're in the Iron Bracket. Match 42. You're up in ten minutes against 'The Iron Hoof'. Try not to get trampled, kid. We don't pay for medical bills."
Ten Minutes Later. Sub-Arena 4.
The crowd in the lower tiers was sparse but loud. They were gamblers, drunks, and low-level Soul Masters looking for blood.
"In the red corner!" the announcer shouted, his voice amplified by a microphone tool.
"Standing at two meters tall, the crusher of skulls, THE IRON HOOF!"
A massive man walked out. He looked more beast than human, with wild hair and tusks protruding from his lower lip. He flexed, activating his Spirit Essence, a Black Boar. Three rings, White, Yellow, Yellow, orbited him. He was a Level 37 Power Attack System Soul Elder.
"And in the blue corner..." The announcer paused, glancing at the card with a smirk.
"A newcomer? The master of wood? Give it up for... SAGE!"
Arthev walked out of the tunnel.
The crowd booed.
"Get him off the stage!"
"A tree spirit? Against a Boar? He's going to be firewood!"
"Iron Hoof, don't kill him too fast!"
The Iron Hoof laughed, cracking his knuckles. "Hey, little mask. Did you get lost on the way to the garden? Surrender now, and I'll only break one leg."
Arthev stood silently in the center of the ring. He didn't summon his Soul rings. He just stood there, arms hanging loosely by his sides.
'Level 38,' Matatabi analyzed instantly. 'He relies on brute force. His center of gravity is high.'
'Just slap him,' Shukaku yawned.
"BEGIN!"
The Iron Hoof roared. "Third Soul Skill: Boar Charge!"
His third ring lit up. His body glowed with a dark iron sheen, and he charged like a runaway train, the ground shaking with every step. He aimed a massive shoulder bash directly at Arthev's chest.
The crowd screamed, expecting the plant-user to be flattened.
The Iron Hoof was five meters away.
Three meters.
One meter.
Arthev didn't move. He didn't summon vines or roots.
At the very last fraction of a second, Arthev took one step forward into the charge.
He channeled the soul power into his right arm. The physical strength surged through his muscles, far surpassing what a normal human body could contain.
He didn't punch. He delivered a simple, sharp knife-hand strike, a chop, directly to the Iron Hoof's collarbone.
CRACK.
The sound traveled through the arena like a gunshot.
The massive momentum of the Iron Hoof stopped instantly, as if he had hit a wall of solid steel. The large man's eyes bulged out of his head. The sheer kinetic force of Arthev's strike shattered his spirit defense, broke his clavicle, and sent a shockwave down his spine.
The Iron Hoof's knees buckled. He collapsed face-first onto the stone floor, sliding past Arthev and coming to a stop at the edge of the ring. He twitched once, then fell unconscious.
Total silence.
The crowd stared. The announcer dropped his microphone.
Arthev stood there, his hand still extended. He hadn't used a single ring.
"Winner," Arthev said to the stunned referee. "Pay me."
High above, in the VIP Box.
The windows of the luxury suites were tinted, hiding the identities of the nobles who watched the commoners fight for entertainment.
In Suite 1, a young man sat in a velvet chair, sipping tea. He looked elegant, with mild features and a gentle demeanor. He wore the golden robes of the Imperial Family.
Xue Qinghe. The Crown Prince of Heaven Dou Empire.
Next to him stood a burly man, a Soul Douluo acting as his guard.
"Did you see that, Your Highness?" the guard asked, his eyes wide.
"That registration said Elemental Tree.That's a Plant Spirit. But he didn't use a single skill. That was pure physical dominance against a Power Attack system."
Xue Qinghe set his tea cup down. His eyes usually warm and kind sharpened with a hint of cold calculation.
"He calls himself Sage?" Xue Qinghe asked, his voice smooth.
"Yes, Your Highness. Registered today. Rank 35. Age... looks to be twelve or thirteen"
"A Plant type Soul master who fights like a dragon," Xue Qinghe murmured, intrigued. "A discrepancy. I like discrepancies."
"Keep an eye on him," Xue Qinghe ordered. "If he wins his next five matches... bring him to me."
Down in the arena, Arthev looked up. Even through the tinted glass, his instincts screamed that he was being watched.
He looked directly at Suite 1.
Under the mask, Arthev smirked coldly.
'Bait taken.'
To be continued....