Volume 1, Chapter 17: Not Seeking Fairness or Justice, Only a Clear Conscience

As Qianjun Douluo finished speaking, She Long stepped forward and picked up the three hundred-thousand-year soul bones from the pool of blood. A flicker of greed crossed his eyes. To be honest, She Long did not care much for the True Dragon Nine Crowns; while powerful, the artifact was known to backfire and kill its host. Ultimately, it was a tool for desperate gambles. As someone who cherished his own life, he had no interest in it. These three hundred-thousand-year dragon-type soul bones, however, were far more alluring. If the chance arose, he would certainly claim credit before Bibi Dong and petition for one as a reward.

Likewise, Qianjun and Jiangmo shared the same sentiment. The True Dragon Nine Crowns held little utility for the Spirit Hall; it was merely a suicidal trump card. Once in hand, no one would dare use it, making the other three soul bones far more practical.

With that, the four of them quickly distributed the soul bones and prepared to hasten their assault on the Seven Treasure Glazed Tile Sect.

"The folks at the Seven Treasure Glazed Tile Sect surely have no idea that the Blue Lightning Tyrant Dragon Sect has already fallen. They are next," She Long said, activating his Avatar of the Martial Soul and carrying Fang Yuan toward the sect.

Qianjun and Jiangmo insisted on gathering the spoils of war, telling Fang Yuan and She Long to head out first.

"Hey, Brother Fang Yuan, do you hold a grudge against the Blue Lightning Tyrant Dragon Sect? You look quite refined, but you show no hesitation when you strike. You know who you remind me of? Our former Pontiff, Qian Xunji," She Long remarked with interest. He had originally assumed that, despite Fang Yuan's immense power, his youth would lead to some measure of softness or womanish mercy. He had not expected the young man to be even more ruthless than he, a Title Douluo who had lived for nearly a century. The level of his cold-bloodedness was on par with Qian Xunji.

"Hmph! A piece of scum like Qian Xunji is not worthy of being compared to me. He only liked to use shady, backhanded methods. I, Fang Yuan, am different. Whatever I do, I do it openly and honestly. Whether I win or lose, I bear the consequences alone. As for why I hit the Blue Lightning Tyrant Dragon Sect so hard, it is simply because I cannot stand those pieces of trash who get arrogant based solely on their bloodline and trample over capable people," Fang Yuan sighed. He had once been nothing more than a corporate slave, brought to the Douluo Continent by a stroke of fate and bound to a system that granted him the power of instant kills. Naturally, he had to do something. He did not claim to be perfectly just, but he sought to have a clear conscience. The Spirit Hall, which valued ability above all else, suited his tastes perfectly. If one wanted to forge a path without relying on background, choosing the Spirit Hall was the right decision.

Of course, this was precisely why the major sects and the two great empires pushed back against the Spirit Hall. The resources of the entire Douluo Continent were finite. If the Spirit Hall allowed those without backgrounds to claim the lion's share, how would the two empires and the bloodline-obsessed sects divide the spoils? Thus, the Spirit Hall, which sought to secure benefits for commoners, became a target for various factions. It was, in essence, a struggle between common soul masters and noble soul masters.

As the mastermind behind this soul-hunting operation, Bibi Dong had long understood this underlying nature. Now that the time was ripe and the hearts of the people were shifting, it was the moment to subvert those noble soul masters. Of course, war would inevitably be accompanied by bloodshed, sacrifice, and plunder, but these were merely labor pains. For the sake of a brand-new world, a bit of pain was necessary.

"Well said, Brother Fang Yuan! I joined the Spirit Hall in the first place because I refused to bow and scrape before the elites of the Heaven Dou Empire. Those people throw their weight around simply because of their so-called royal bloodline. Setting aside their backgrounds, they are nothing but low-level weaklings," She Long resonated deeply. The waters of the Heaven Dou Empire ran too deep; it was a dying beast that refused to collapse, needing only a final push from the Spirit Hall.

On the journey toward the Seven Treasure Glazed Tile Sect, Fang Yuan and She Long chatted idly, exchanging unique insights. Through She Long, Fang Yuan deepened his understanding of the Douluo Continent. The lowest tier of this world consisted of commoners who could be snatched away by the two empires at any moment to be treated as slaves. Some with good looks even became playthings for local lords, left scarred and broken while still young.

The most terrifying part was that commoners were viewed as scum—a concept deeply ingrained in the hearts of every soul master. Changing such a perception was as difficult as ascending to heaven.

Of course, Fang Yuan knew his own limits. He did not have the ability to change the fate of every commoner, but he was confident that he could provide a path for the common soul masters without backgrounds to rise up.

Soon, Fang Yuan and She Long reached the outskirts of the Seven Treasure Glazed Tile Sect. The night was blood-red, the moonlight thin, and sparse stars flickered in the sky. As the saying goes, a dark night and a high wind is the perfect time for killing and arson.

Outside the sect, tall stone walls stood imposingly, winding along the mountains like an endless Great Wall.

On the ramparts, the lights were dim. The patrolling soul masters were swaying, and faint snoring could be heard. Years of peaceful living had caused the soul masters of the Seven Treasure Glazed Tile Sect to long forget the importance of remaining vigilant.

Fang Yuan and She Long hid at the designated spot, waiting for the Pufferfish Douluo to appear.

A gust of night wind blew, causing the leaves to rustle as if trembling in anticipation of the coming storm.

"Hey! She Long, long time no see. Why are you bringing along a commoner without any soul power? What is it? Have your tastes changed recently?" The Pufferfish Douluo had appeared beside She Long, his pale purple face showing both the joy of seeing an old friend and disdain for Fang Yuan.

"Wait! Do not speak recklessly. Wait until Qianjun Douluo and Jiangmo Douluo arrive," She Long hurriedly stopped the Pufferfish Douluo from further rudeness. He did not want to see his old friend get beaten to a pulp; he cared for him as a brother.

The Pufferfish Douluo was baffled by She Long's frantic reaction. He had only said a word about that brat; was there any need to be so nervous? Could that brat have some incredibly noble status?

Though filled with doubts, the Pufferfish Douluo decided to listen and said nothing more.

An incense stick of time later, two powerful auras surged from the distance, heavy as mountains, causing the surrounding air to solidify. A low dragon roar could be vaguely heard. Qianjun Douluo and Jiangmo Douluo had arrived. The two moved in tandem, their momentum like a rainbow, and they stood before the group in an instant.

Qianjun Douluo spoke first. He pointed at Fang Yuan and said sternly to the Pufferfish Douluo, "Pufferfish, this is Lord Fang Yuan, an ally of our Spirit Hall. I expect you to treat him with the same attitude you show the Pontiff, or I will not be able to save you."

"What! You want me to be careful around this brat with no soul power?"

Upon hearing this, the Pufferfish Douluo wore a look of disdain. He even thought he had misheard. Why were She Long, Qianjun Douluo, and Jiangmo Douluo all showing such respect to this powerless brat? He had not detected any trump cards on Fang Yuan; how could he possibly be an ally of the Spirit Hall?

Faced with the Pufferfish Douluo's skepticism, She Long did not want to waste any more breath, only shaking his head with a sense of frustrated disappointment. Qianjun Douluo and Jiangmo Douluo’s expressions darkened, and they stepped back several paces, clearing a circular space.