The deeper they walked, the denser the Soul Hunting Forest became, shadows layering like scales beneath towering trees. Fallen branches and claw-marked stone split the earth, each sign a quiet footprint of the beasts that ruled this place. Mo Fan, once a seasoned hunter, led the way through brush and root with steady footing, while Sanhartha followed behind, absorbing every scene with sharp eyes.
Based on the details Sanhartha had gathered, Mo Fan found several trails — threads of heat-dried earth, scorch marks on bark, and faint reptilian tracks. Step by step, they tracked the creature until, at last, it appeared.
An Ember-Scaled Lizard rested beside a cracked stone hollow, faint smoke curling from its nostrils.
Mo Fan's voice dropped to a murmur.
"San boy, is that the one you spoke of?"
Sanhartha's gaze sharpened.
"Yes. That's it."
He examined the creature quietly — its scales deep crimson, not the light red of a youngling. Along its spine and tail, the joints gleamed with a faint golden light. Not one, but five separate joints.
A hundred-year beast only bore one.
More joints meant more years — roughly five hundred.
And the light was not pure gold, but tinged with crimson.
A mutation. Higher purity fire. Stronger potential.
He said nothing.
If Mo Fan knew the truth, he would stop him without hesitation — no first-ring soul master in recorded history had absorbed such a ring. The accepted theoretical maximum was 427 years. Even Spirit Hall treated it as the edge of death.
But Sanhartha never intended to stay within limits.
Mo Fan, unaware, gestured Sanhartha into hiding.
"Stay low. Watch how I weaken it. When I call you, finish the kill."
Sanhartha hid among the brush.
Mo Fan stepped forward — and the beast woke.
Flame burst from its throat like a furnace wind, the forest trembling beneath sudden heat. Mo Fan did not retreat. Instead, his martial soul ignited around him — the Blazing Lion roared into existence, mane of fire rippling across his back. Three soul rings rose — white, yellow, purple, turning like slow, burning halos.
He charged.
"First soul skill — Blast Mane Strike!"
Flame exploded up his arm. His fist struck the lizard with violent force, sending it tumbling through broken roots. The beast screeched, rolling to its feet, claws digging trenches into the earth. It spat controlled fire — steady, refined, powerful.
A young hundred-year beast could never channel fire so cleanly. Definitely past four hundred… perhaps more.
Sanhartha watched, calm, breathing even.
Mo Fan answered fire with fire.
"Second soul skill — Burning Roar Shockwave!"
His chest expanded — then burst.
A thunderous lion's roar shook the clearing, heat waves scattering leaves like sparks. The lizard staggered, momentarily stunned.
"That opening — watch it carefully!" Mo Fan called, voice firm.
His aura surged.
"Third soul skill — Lion King Flame Cloak!"
Flame wrapped his body like molten armor. His steps cracked the ground as he lunged — not for the head, nor heart, but for the lizard's tail base, where gold gleamed faintly between old scales.
His fist struck like a falling sun.
CRACK.
The Ember-Scaled Lizard shrieked, body convulsing. Its internal fire circulation collapsed — flames sputtering uncontrolled, limbs shuddering as balance failed.
Mo Fan exhaled.
"San boy — now. Finish it."
Sanhartha emerged without hesitation. His dagger slid clean across scaled throat — decisive, unflinching. The beast's final breath faded into smoke.
Moments later, a yellow soul ring rose from the corpse — not pale, but dense with age and heat.
Five golden joints. A red-tinted shine.
A five-hundred-year mutated ring.
Only Sanhartha understood what he was attempting.
Mo Fan simply nodded, satisfied.
"Absorb it. I'll guard you."
Sanhartha bowed slightly.
"Thank you, Uncle Mo."
He sat before the floating ring. Behind him unfurled the Desire Heart Phoenix, wings radiant like burning silk, flames curling off its feathers like breath itself.
With a slow breath, he began circulation of the Three Treasures Refining Visualization Technique.
The soul ring descended.
Fire surged into his veins like molten metal. His meridians trembled violently, pain striking like heated blades. His muscles tightened, bones vibrating — this was a force that should overpower him.
But in the darkness of his inner world, the phoenix spread its wings.
He visualized fire drawn from heaven and earth, devoured, refined, made his own.
Soul power roared through him like a tidal blaze — wild yet contained, destructive yet guided. Sweat rolled down his skin, his breath sharp, yet steady.
Mo Fan frowned slightly at the intensity.
"This ring… unusually potent."
He sensed danger — but not the truth.
Sanhartha endured in silence.
The phoenix in his mind swallowed fire after fire, purifying and swallowing the mutated heat.
Pain became pressure.
Pressure became breakthrough.
The soul ring quivered — then sank fully into him.