The Fall and the Forest
A thunderous crack split the quiet of the Soul Beast Forest as something plummeted from the sky, tearing through the canopy and slamming into the underbrush. Leaves scattered. A ten-year wind baboon, foraging peacefully moments before, collapsed where the impact struck.
A boy lay among the broken branches, dazed, breath ragged. He pushed himself upright, wincing at a sharp sting behind his eyes.
His surroundings were unfamiliar—the towering ancient trees, the heavy scent of damp soil, the distant calls of soul beasts. Nothing resembled the world he knew moments before.
He steadied himself, forcing his mind to clear.Focus. Assess. Move.
His palms brushed against something warm. The fallen baboon lay still beside him. A faint white glow rose from its body, coiling upward like mist.
He stared at it."A soul ring… so this really is the Soul Beast Forest."
The realization came with a weight he didn't expect. He had studied enough histories and accounts to know the dangers of this place. Soul beasts did not forgive trespassers, and they certainly did not spare the weak.
Instinct—more than memory—made him step back and observe the ring carefully. It pulsed with residual energy, but unstable, disanchored from the beast's fading life.
Then something else stirred.
A surge of unfamiliar memory—techniques, principles, and an intricate flow of internal force—flashed through his mind. Not a voice, not a system, not an external will. Rather, a fragment of knowledge, ancient and refined, as if someone had etched understanding directly into his consciousness. He fought through the ache in his skull until the rush settled.
Breathing uneven, he whispered,"…A cultivation method?"A structure of circulation, a discipline for reshaping strength from within—complex, powerful, and unmistakably foreign to Douluo Continent's typical soul-master techniques.
He closed his eyes and followed the first cycle.
Air thickened around him. His limbs tingled, strength condensing through muscle and bone. When he finally exhaled, he felt… steadier. His body, though small—five or six years old at most—no longer felt fragile.
A rustle echoed overhead. He snapped to attention. In this forest, even a moment of distraction could mean death.
He evaluated quickly:
He was alone.
He had no martial soul awakened.
He was surrounded by unknown dangers.
But he had knowledge—and a technique he didn't have before.
In the distance, a low growl rolled through the trees. The forest had taken notice.
The boy looked down at his small hands, then at the winding shadows between the trees.
He could not rely on anyone. Not here.
"Fine," he murmured, steadying his breath. "If this is the forest… then I survive it."
He stepped forward, deeper into the Soul Beast Forest—not as prey fleeing danger, but as a hunter learning to move through its domain.
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Tang san's fans just chill.
Spirit Hall & Bibi Dong's Admirers this MTL might be for you
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