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Chapter 2 – Martial Soul Planning: A New Path to Cultivation
🕑 Added 2025-07-11 04:12:48 +0000 UTCJiang Ping looked at Ignaz, who seemed a little disheartened, and said with a warm smile,
“Kid, if your spear spirit was able to awaken soul power, that proves it’s not a weak one…”
But even as he said this, Jiang Ping sighed inwardly.
That rusty old spear—if he was being honest—wasn’t even as good as his own second-rate seahorse martial soul.
Still, Ignaz was just a child. Crushing his confidence wouldn’t do him any good.
Jiang Ping crouched down, placing both hands gently on the boy’s shoulders, speaking sincerely:
“Ignaz, would you like to join the Spirit Hall? They offer the best soul master training available—and they can help you cultivate your martial soul.”
The other children nearby—none of whom had awakened any soul power—cast envious glances his way upon hearing this.
But Ignaz just shook his head and gave a polite excuse.
“Thank you, Master Soul Master, but I’m still young, and there’s a lot of work waiting for me back home. I don’t think I’ll be joining Spirit Hall.”
It was a casual brush-off, nothing too forceful—but enough.
Sure, Spirit Hall offered free awakenings to commoners. It was a generous act.
But having only Rank 3 innate soul power was hardly impressive.
Even if he joined Spirit Hall, he wouldn’t be treated as a top talent.
The best he could hope for—if he managed to get a soul ring—would be a random hundred-year ring.
Not much help in the long run.
So rather than fade into the background at Spirit Hall, he’d be better off enrolling in a basic soul master academy, where most students had less than Rank 5 soul power.
There, at least, he’d get noticed.
Seeing that Ignaz had made up his mind, Jiang Ping didn’t press the matter.
The boy’s martial soul quality was too low, and his soul power wasn’t much better. There wasn’t much more to say.
“Well then, if you ever change your mind, come find me at the Spirit Hall branch in Vast Sea City.
The doors of Spirit Hall are always open to you.”
With that, Jiang Ping wrote out a Martial Soul Certificate, handed it to Ignaz, and added,
“Take this with you. In three months, report to the beginner-level soul master academy in Vast Sea City.”
“Thank you, Master Soul Master!”
Ignaz bowed deeply.
As the doors to the hall opened, the village elder—who had been waiting anxiously—hurried up to them.
“Master Soul Master, did any of our village’s children qualify to become a soul master this year?”
Jiang Ping let out a long sigh.
“Old man, this child has Rank 3 innate soul power. With proper training, he could reach the level of Soul Exalt one day.”
Then, without waiting for a response, Jiang Ping turned and left in haste.
After all, there might be other villages out there with even more promising children.
The elder began to speak, “Little Iggy, for the next few days you should—”
But before he could finish, Ignaz had already sprinted off—covering more than three hundred meters in moments—rushing home to load up two crates of forged weapons onto a produce cart bound for Vast Sea City.
Sitting in the cart, Ignaz summoned his martial soul.
A spear materialized in his hands—nine feet long with a nine-inch blade.
Roughly two and a half meters in total. Covered in rust. Heavy, awkward, and unimpressive at a glance.
“Rusty spear… Rank 3 innate soul power.”
He stared at the weapon in silence, deep in thought.
In this world, martial souls were generally judged by the level of innate soul power awakened alongside them.
His? Rank 3. Barely above the threshold.
That meant his spear was classified as low-grade, a bottom-tier martial soul.
Aside from the rust—its only notable feature—it had nothing going for it.
No edge. No shine. No aura.
His grip tightened.
And then—with a loud crack—
“Bang—”
The spear snapped in two in his hands.
For a moment, Ignaz just sat there, dazed.
He slowly came back to his senses, ran his fingers across his chin, and began analyzing the weapon’s flaws.
The spear’s shaft was riddled with tiny hollow points, weakening its integrity.
In battle, it could easily snap mid-swing.
As for using it to strike or pierce a real enemy?
Practically useless.
Then suddenly—a thought struck him like lightning.
“Wait a minute… why didn’t I think of this before?”
He clapped his hands, his eyes lighting up.
A thousand years from now, a member of his own family line—Ji Juechen, the sword fanatic—had awakened a martial soul that was literally just a chunk of meteorite from space.
And yet, Ji Juechen eventually became a Titled Douluo—one of the most powerful soul masters in existence.
And that meteorite? On paper, it was probably even worse than his rusty old spear.
If he could make it… why couldn’t I?
Besides, Ignaz was no ordinary kid—he was a skilled blacksmith.
If anyone could explore ways to modify or evolve a martial soul, it was someone like him.
Maybe he could even pioneer a whole new cultivation path for soul masters with low innate soul power.
His eyes sharpened.
That said, he couldn’t forget the current era he was living in.
Back when Qian Xunji was still the High Priest of Spirit Hall, the legendary Ice and Fire Yin-Yang Well still existed in secret.
If he could get his hands on one or two immortal-grade herbs from there, they’d be game-changers.
Of course, it all hinged on whether Dugu Bo had discovered the place yet.
If so, no problem—he just needed to find a way to cure the poison afflicting Dugu Bo and bargain for the herbs.
As for soul rings? That could wait.
Right now, what he needed most was to fully understand Ji Juechen’s martial soul evolution theory.
That was the key.
Ignaz tucked away the snapped spear.
His expression hardened with resolve.
“Four years. I’ve got four years to break through to Rank 10.”
About an hour later, Ignaz arrived at the Xu Family Smithy just inside Vast Sea City.
“Uncle Xu,” he called out, pointing to the two large crates on the cart,
“Here are ten great broadswords and twenty top-grade iron swords—all forged to your exact specs, using that fine steel you provided. Quality guaranteed.”
Master Xu, the seasoned blacksmith, stepped out from the shop and picked up a few of the blades to inspect.
After testing their weight and edge, he beamed with satisfaction and waved over a shop assistant to carry the crates inside.
He then reached into his belt pouch and pulled out a hefty coin pouch.
“Little Iggy, your craftsmanship never disappoints. Honestly, if I hadn’t seen it with my own eyes, I’d swear you were using the legendary Clear Sky hammer technique—that ‘Chaotic Wind Hammer Method.’”
Ignaz scratched his head sheepishly.
“Come on now, Uncle Xu. I’m not from the Clear Sky Clan. I wouldn’t know how to use one of their forging techniques.”
He smiled, but deep down, he was glowing with pride.
The Chaotic Wind Hammer Method was a famous continuous forging style—powerful, precise, and exhausting to master.
But even that couldn’t compare to the Longquan Forging Art he had trained in for nearly twenty years—a secret method passed down through ten generations in his family.
Xu the blacksmith looked at the boy, a warm gleam in his eye.
The more he saw of him, the more impressed he became.
“Little Iggy, it’s getting late. Roads at night aren’t safe.
If you don’t mind staying the night at my place, we’ll head back to the village together in the morning. How about it?”
Ignaz waved him off with a smile.
“Thanks, Uncle Xu. But the village elder’s expecting me back today. I’ll definitely come visit another time.”
With that, he turned and headed out.
As he walked through the bustling city streets, Ignaz kept a close hand over the inside of his tunic—making sure the three gold soul coins he had earned were still safely tucked away.
That was a small fortune for someone like him, and he wasn’t about to let his guard down.
As Ignaz passed by the Spirit Hall branch in Vast Sea City, he noticed something unusual.
The entire building was under heavy lockdown—the gates were sealed, and several powerful soul masters stood guard at the entrance, alert and unmoving.
It looked like something serious had gone down.
Ignaz didn’t linger. He kept moving and slipped into a nearby tavern to grab a bite before heading home.
He found a seat, ordered a couple of dishes—nothing fancy, just a twenty-year-old stir-fried phosphor shrimp platter—and started eating.
At the table next to him, a fat, well-dressed merchant was holding court like he owned the place, waving his arms and speaking loudly to anyone who’d listen.
“Hey, did you hear? Just last month, the Pope of Spirit Hall—Qian Xunji—officially announced his retirement!
He’s passing the title to his personal disciple… the Holy Maiden, Bibi Dong!”
The moment those words left his mouth, the entire tavern buzzed with interest.
Plenty of people had heard whispers of this, but no one knew the full story.
“Spirit Hall rules most of the continent,” someone said. “A new Pope? Everyone’s going to feel that ripple.
But Qian Xunji was still in his prime. Why step down so suddenly?”
The question came from a weathered, grizzled man, his face lined with years of hard living.
Clearly, he found the whole thing suspicious.
Ignaz perked up as well. He kept his eyes on his food but tuned in closely.
He knew exactly which story this was—the one where the two Clear Sky brothers clashed with Qian Xunji.
And if his memory served him, this also meant that Tang San—that aggravating, fate-blessed brat—had just been born.
That meant Tang San was about six years younger than him.
Six years.
That was all the head start Ignaz had in this life.
The merchant went on, lowering his voice slightly for dramatic effect.
“Word is, one of the Clear Sky Clan’s twin stars—Tang Hao—stole something big from Spirit Hall.
Qian Xunji personally led the chase, but Tang Hao broke through mid-fight and ascended to Titled Douluo on the spot!
Then he nearly beat Qian Xunji to death!”
Gasps and mutters spread across the room.
“Wait, what did he steal that could possibly shake the Pope himself?” someone asked.
“Maybe he seduced the Holy Maiden?” another joked.
“Or maybe he ran off with some elder’s daughter?”
Laughter followed—but Ignaz just scoffed inwardly.
As if they had any idea.
He knew the truth.
It wasn’t a stolen treasure or a scandal—it was the appearance of a 100,000-year soul beast that had taken human form.
That incident was just the spark that would eventually lead to a continent-wide war and the downfall of Spirit Hall.
But since Spirit Hall was clearly trying to bury the real story, Ignaz wasn’t about to expose it.
No need to stir up trouble early.
He finished his meal, dropped three silver soul coins on the table, and made his way to the nearest apothecary to buy a few herbs.
With a full belly and about an hour of daylight left, Ignaz hurried back toward the village—his mind already racing ahead.
By the time Ignaz made it back to the village, the sun was already dipping below the horizon.
The air was cooler now, the wind carrying the scent of earth and metal. The crates were lighter, his coin pouch heavier, and his mind sharper than it had been in years.
He had a plan now—not just to survive in this world, but to carve out a new path for soul masters like himself.
A path for those born with weak spirits and low innate soul power, who would otherwise be forgotten.
The broken rusty spear tucked inside his storage belt was no longer a symbol of shame.
It was a challenge.
He thought of Ji Juechen—the sword-obsessed monster who had refined his soul and blade until the two became one.
Ignaz wasn’t aiming to imitate him.
He planned to surpass him.
He didn’t need a noble background or a legendary martial soul.
He had his blacksmithing, his brain, and six years before Tang San started gaining traction.
He would use every day of that head start to forge himself into someone impossible to ignore.
Back in his modest workshop, he laid out the herbs he’d bought, lit a lamp, and pulled out his forging notes.
No time to rest. Not yet.
His goal was clear:
“Within four years… I must break through to Rank 10.”
And from there?
He’d blaze a trail no one else dared to walk.
