In the secluded valley behind Notting Junior Soul Master Academy, morning mist curled gently around the rocks as Sanhartha sat in quiet meditation. His breathing was steady, his consciousness immersed in the rhythm of the Three Treasures Refining Visualization Technique. The faint crimson glow around him flickered like a restrained flame.
A full year had passed since he first entered the academy. He had turned seven not long ago, yet his cultivation speed far surpassed that of ordinary children. When his soul power reached its peak, his body trembled faintly.
A wave of clarity washed over him.
He slowly opened his eyes.
"Level ten," he whispered.
A quiet satisfaction rose within him. The first major threshold of cultivation—he had reached it. Without a soul ring, he could no longer advance. It was finally time.
In the past year, Sanhartha had trained with relentless discipline. When others slept, he cultivated. When others rested, he read. The Spirit Hall library had become his second home, and he had consumed its books like water—martial soul theory, soul beast classifications, records of ancient hunts… anything that could help.
Now, as he considered his first soul ring, the problem was not desire—but limitation.
Fire-attributed soul beasts with powerful fire control were rare in the Soul Hunting Forest. The ones he truly wanted…
Flame-Scaled Lizard King, Crimson Ember Fox, Molten Silk Moth…
Such higher-bloodline beasts existed only in the outskirts of Star Dou Great Forest or Sunset Forest. Places far beyond the reach of a seven-year-old child.
Even if he could go, he could not survive.
He exhaled lightly and shifted his thoughts.
Only the lower-grade fire beasts in the Soul Hunting Forest were realistic options.
Blazing Ridge Gecko, Heat-Tail Salamander, Flame-Back Monitor…
Among them, the one with the best balance of control, fire purity, and early compatibility was—
Ember-Scaled Lizard.
Not ideal. But suitable.
Sanhartha gazed at the sky, calm but thoughtful.
"It's time to find Uncle Mo Fan."
Over the past year, he had secretly asked around.
Mo Fan had already disbanded the Starlight Hunters and now lived a quiet life in Notting City. He was not wealthy, nor outstanding, but he had principles. The kind of man who would carry a newborn child to safety and hand over a valuable storage tool without hesitation.
That alone was enough for Sanhartha.
He rose, dusted off his robe, and walked back toward the dormitory.
Inside, Wang Sheng stretched lazily on his bed.
"Hey, you done with morning practice?" he yawned.
"Mm. Morning, Wang Sheng," Sanhartha replied with a small smile.
Wang Sheng shook his head with helpless admiration. Of all the working students, Sanhartha was the most diligent—and strangely, that diligence had pushed the others to train harder as well.
Sanhartha looked at him.
"Brother Wang Sheng, I am going to take a one-year leave from the academy."
Wang Sheng sat up straight. "One year? What happened?"
"Nothing serious," Sanhartha replied calmly. "Just need to meet a relative."
Wang Sheng nodded. He didn't pry further—he had long learned that Sanhartha always had his own reasons, and his calm tone rarely lied.
After breakfast, Sanhartha headed to the academy office.
A one-year leave request was unusual, but his academic performance was outstanding, his conduct impeccable, and his cultivation talent undeniable. After a short discussion, the academy approved it.
Back in the dormitory, he packed his belongings. Even though he had a storage pouch, he still carried a normal travel bag—to avoid unnecessary attention.
By noon, he stood outside the academy gates.
He walked through the streets of Notting City with purpose. The prosperous central streets eventually thinned out into quieter, less maintained areas. Houses became smaller, the noise more distant.
Mo Fan lived here.
As he walked, he quietly organized his thoughts.
Will he help me?
He wasn't certain.
But Mo Fan was not a reckless man. He valued loyalty and remembered kindness. Even though Sanhartha's parents had died during a hunt, Mo Fan had already done everything he could—saving the infant, entrusting him to a village, and leaving behind the storage pouch.
A storage tool wasn't something poor soul masters casually gave away.
Men like Mo Fan were few.
And this was why Sanhartha was here.
After a while, he finally reached a small, simple courtyard. The walls were faded, but the place felt clean, orderly.
Sanhartha stood before the gate.
Uncle Mo Fan…
He took a quiet breath and lifted his hand.
He knocked.