"I am not the strongest, in the young generation."
Yang Wudi did not reply. He turned and strode toward the entrance, Jiang Mo followed behind him calmly.
When they stepped outside, the scene that greeted them was already settled.
Tian Yue stood at the center of the training ground, hands planted firmly on her hips, her posture proud and unyielding. Not a trace of guilt could be seen on her face—only a faint impatience.
Around her, the young Soul Masters of the Breaking Clan lay scattered across the ground.
Some were clutching their chests, others struggling to stand. A few had already lost consciousness entirely. The training ground, once orderly, was now scarred with cracked stone and shallow impact marks.
It was obvious—
Tian Yue had defeated them all.
Yang Wudi's expression darkened instantly.
Before he could speak, Jiang Mo's gaze swept across the surroundings with practiced calm. His eyes paused briefly on two figures standing to the side.
Jun Wuhen and Chu Yue.
Both of them gave small, helpless shakes of their heads, their expressions strained.
Their meaning was clear without words.
'We tried to stop her. She challenged them herself. And then she defeated the entire younger generation of the Breaking Clan.'
Jiang Mo let out a silent sigh.
'…Tian Yue. When will you ever learn restraint?'
His temples throbbed faintly.
'Now things are troublesome. It seems I may truly need to use the method Qian Renxue mentioned.'
His gaze lingered briefly, almost unconsciously, on Chu Yue and Jun Wuhen, who were standing noticeably closer than before.
'Hm? When did their relationship become so… close?'
The thought flickered through his mind—But it vanished just as quickly, due to Yang Wudi's voice, heavy with suppressed fury, thundered across the training ground.
"So this is the sincerity of Spirit Hall?"
His aura erupted.
With a sharp cry, Yang Wudi summoned his Martial Soul.
A Soul-Breaking Spear materialized in his grasp.
The weapon was nearly twelve feet long, its surface pitch-black and smooth, the spearhead glistened with a chilling luster that made the surrounding air feel heavy and sharp.
Yang Wudi took a single step forward.
The ground beneath his feet cracked, as eight soul rings rose from behind him signifying his cultivation as Soul Douluo.
He leveled the spear directly at Jiang Mo, the tip unwavering, radiating pressure that caused the surrounding disciples to instinctively retreat.
"Jiang Mo."
His voice was cold, resolute, and filled with the pride of a clan that refused to kneel.
"Prove to this patriarch that the rumors of your genius are not merely empty words."
Jiang Mo let out a slow breath, the faintest hint of helplessness in his eyes.
Then, he raised his hand.
"Martial Soul—Heavenly Evil Breaking Cudgel."
Light erupted.
Black, gold, and crimson radiance intertwined violently, spiraling together as if answering a primordial call. The air trembled as a massive weapon condensed into Jiang Mo's grasp.
It was a black-gold cudgel, enormous yet strangely refined. Faint golden light traced every carving, while streaks of scarlet and deep azure coiled around its core like twin serpents bound in eternal conflict.
The moment it appeared, the training ground let out a dull groan.
The stone beneath Jiang Mo's feet cracked.
Then—
Eight soul rings rose behind him, one after another, radiating immense pressure.
Yellow… purple… purple… black… black… black.... black —
And finally— Red.
Yang Wudi's pupils contracted sharply.
'He's already a Soul Douluo…'
His breathing unconsciously slowed.
But what truly struck him was that eighth soul ring—the unmistakable crimson that symbolized only one thing.
'A hundred-thousand-year soul ring…'
The surroundings fell silent.
Yang Wudi's expression gradually grew solemn.
'If Spirit Hall has a young talent like this…Their future is already terrifyingly bright.'
He subtly adjusted his stance.
'I'll need to restrain myself. Escalating this too far may truly provoke Spirit Hall.'
As if sensing his thoughts, Jiang Mo lifted his cudgel slightly and spoke loudly, his voice calm but clear.
"Patriarch of the Breaking Clan—show me your strongest attack."
Yang Wudi froze for a brief moment.
Then he burst into laughter, his voice resounding like thunder.
"Good! You asked for it, brat!"
He spun his spear once, soul power surging.
"Remember this well—my attack is no weaker than a Titled Douluo's!"
The pressure skyrocketed.
Seeing Jiang Mo remain completely unfazed, Yang Wudi's eyes sharpened. His soul power erupted fully as he began stacking his skills without hesitation.
"First Soul Skill—Shocking!"
"Second Soul Skill—Pierce!"
"Third Soul Skill—Explosion!"
"Fourth Soul Skill—Lock!"
"Fifth Soul Skill—Black Fire!"
"Seventh Soul Skill—Martial Soul Avatar!"
The Soul-Breaking Spear roared.
Its shaft expanded, dark flames wrapping around it as countless runes flared to life. The spearhead glowed with terrifying destructive force, the surrounding space distorting as if unable to withstand the pressure.
This was the reason Yang Wudi had issued his warning—
This strike truly possessed Titled Douluo-level might.
Jiang Mo smiled faintly.
"Fourth Soul Skill—Magnitude Alter."
"Seventh Soul Skill—Martial Soul Avatar."
Black-gold light surged as his body expanded, merging with the Heavenly Evil Breaking Cudgel. His aura stabilized instead of exploding, becoming deep and vast like an abyss.
Yang Wudi roared angrily.
"Boy! Do you despise my attack so much that you refuse to use your hundred-thousand-year soul ring?!"
Jiang Mo's smile remained unchanged.
"Patriarch Yang— I will use it… if it is truly necessary."
That calm response ignited the last sparks of Yang Wudi's pride.
"Arrogant!"
With a furious shout, he thrust his spear forward.
The Soul-Breaking Spear descended like a falling star, black fire tearing through the air.
Jiang Mo planted his feet.
The oversized Heavenly Evil Breaking Cudgel swept forward in a crushing arc.
BOOOOOOM—!!!
The moment the two weapons collided, the world seemed to freeze.
A deafening explosion erupted, shockwaves rolling outward in concentric rings. The ground beneath them shattered instantly, spiderweb cracks racing across the training field. Dust and debris were blasted skyward, while violent soul power storms raged in all directions.
Several younger disciples were thrown backward despite standing dozens of meters away.
At the center—
The spear and cudgel were locked together.
Black flames and crimson light clashed violently, yet neither weapon advanced.
Yang Wudi's eyes widened in disbelief.
His arms trembled.
Yet— Jiang Mo did not retreat a single step, though from his bulging arms one can understand that he had put every ounce of his strength to restrain the move.
Slowly, the pressure eased and the flames dissipated.
Yang Wudi withdrew his spear, breathing slightly heavier than before.
The anger in his eyes had already faded. What replaced it was appreciation.
"Very good."
Then, lowering his weapon, he said solemnly:
"Now… we can talk."