The name echoed in the minds of the elders like a bell struck in an ancient temple.
The Blackstone Abyss Hammer.
None had heard of such a Martial Soul before—not even the most well-traveled or well-read among them. And yet, it stood there, hovering behind Qiang Ming like a silent monolith. Heavy. Primal. Breathing with power that didn't belong in a child's body.
The air in the Spirit Awakening Chamber still crackled with residual energy. Purple trails of light faded slowly from the curved ceiling, and the elder-scribes at the edge of the room were furiously scribbling notes onto jade tablets, their fingers trembling with excitement—or dread.
Duke Qiang Shen approached his son, but with careful steps. The boy, now changed, looked up at him.
His purple eyes gleamed with a kind of intensity Qiang Shen had never seen before. And he had seen many things in his years—wars, assassinations, spirit battles, family betrayals—but this quiet boy with the abyssal hammer on his back made him hesitate.
"Ming'er," he said softly, kneeling so they were eye level. "How do you feel?"
The boy blinked, then spoke slowly, thoughtfully. "Strange. I can hear it, father. Not with my ears, but inside me. Like it's alive."
One of the elders flinched.
"Did he say… hear it?" murmured Elder Xiu, a cautious man known for his extensive study of mutated Martial Spirits.
Another, Elder Rong, stroked his beard. "A sentient Martial Spirit?"
"Impossible," whispered a third. "He's too young for hallucinations."
But Qiang Shen wasn't listening to them. He was watching his son. "What is it saying, Ming'er?"
"It doesn't speak with words," Qiang Ming replied. "More like… it urges me. It wants to move. To swing. To fall."
"To fall?" Qiang Shen frowned.
The boy nodded. "Like a stone pulled into an abyss. But not to sink. To shatter what's beneath."
The silence that followed was palpable. The elders exchanged glances, and one of the clan's spiritual consultants, a thin man named He Wu, finally stepped forward.
"I would advise caution, my Duke," he said. "This… spirit is unlike any we've recorded in the annals of the Clear Flow Clan. It may not even share the lineage of the Clear Sky. It could be a deviation born of ancient trauma, or worse—an unknown inheritance from an external source."
Qiang Shen turned to him, voice cold. "Are you suggesting my son was... tampered with?"
"N-no, of course not. But the Clear Flow Hammer has been defunct for centuries. The emergence of something so radically different... it deserves research."
"It deserves training," interrupted Elder Rong. "If this Martial Soul is powerful, then we must develop it immediately. It could be the salvation we've been praying for."
"Or the final nail in our clan's coffin," countered Elder Xiu. "If it's unstable, or worse—malevolent—he could be a danger to himself. Or others."
Qiang Ming listened in silence. Their words passed over him like distant thunder, their meanings strange but their concern clear. In his small hands, he clenched his fists slightly. The hammer behind him trembled once in response, sensing his emotion.
"I'm not afraid," he said suddenly, and the room quieted. "I want to learn. To understand it."
Qiang Shen looked at his son and nodded.
"Then so you shall."
The next few days were a blur of movement.
After the awakening ceremony, Qiang Ming was secluded in his personal courtyard, which was now reinforced with spirit arrays and guarded day and night. Physicians checked his physical condition. Spirit masters scanned his energy channels. In the evenings, scholars came to analyze the unique traits of his Martial Soul.
But through it all, the boy remained calm. He woke early, trained, meditated, and spent hours simply holding the Blackstone Abyss Hammer in his hands, studying how it reacted to his thoughts and emotions.
When others wielded hammers, they felt force. He felt weight.
Not just physical heaviness, but emotional density. As if every swing of the weapon carried a thousand silent echoes behind it. Rage, sorrow, purpose. He could feel the pressure of something vast lurking within the hammer's purple depths—like a mountain chained underwater, waiting for the sea to part.
"I don't think it wants to destroy things," he once told his father during dinner. "I think it wants to destroy... barriers."
Qiang Shen had paused, holding his teacup midway to his lips.
"What kind of barriers?"
"Walls between things. Between soul and spirit. Between what I am and what I could be."
The Duke said nothing in reply. But that night, he doubled the security around the boy's room.
A week later, the time had come.
It was tradition among noble clans that a child who awakened a Martial Soul with Innate Full Soul Power—the rarest of blessings—would be taken promptly to the Spirit Pagoda to obtain their first Spirit Soul.
Qiang Ming, of course, had Full Soul Power. His awakening had practically boiled the measuring crystal.
So now, clad in a dark training robe with silver trim and his hair tied back in a simple topknot, Qiang Ming stood on the clan's jade stairway, watching as the caravan assembled.
There were six black carriages with golden wheels, drawn by spirit-tamed beasts of the third rank. Each carried a section of the clan's elite: elders, guards, spirit masters, and hired protectors. A trip to the Spirit Pagoda was not without risk—even in peacetime. Spirit beasts sometimes attacked urban borders, and rival clans weren't above sending assassins to disrupt potential prodigies.
"Do you understand what this trip means?" Qiang Shen asked, standing beside his son.
The boy nodded. "I'm to choose my first Spirit Soul."
"Yes. But more than that… you are to prove to the clan that your spirit is worthy of investment. Your choice matters, Ming'er. Not just in power, but in direction."
Qiang Ming turned toward the horizon. "I understand."
With a wave of his hand, the Duke signaled the convoy to depart.
The journey to the East Sea Spirit Pagoda was uneventful. The pagoda itself towered over the city like a lance aimed at the sky—twelve floors of reinforced spirit jade and living crystal, glowing with protective enchantments. The emblem of the Spirit Pagoda Organization, an open eye within a halo, gleamed at the entrance.
Inside, Qiang Ming was ushered through golden gates and brought to the reception hall. A high-ranking attendant—a middle-aged woman with a bright green Spirit Badge—greeted them politely.
"We are honored to receive the Clear Flow Clan," she said with a bow. "Young master Qiang Ming, please follow me. The Spirit Soul Archive has been prepared for your selection."
He nodded and stepped forward without hesitation.
As the large doors slid open, the Archive was revealed: a circular hall with tiered glass pillars, each containing a Spirit Soul in stasis. Flickers of energy moved within the transparent cells—tiny creatures, elemental wraiths, animated tools, spectral beasts.
The array was vast.
The attendant began listing off options. "Here we have a 200-year Iron-Back Beetle Soul, quite durable for a first ring. Over here, a 380-year Storm Fox—nimble, but volatile. This one is a 450-year Ember Lizard, decent elemental affinity..."
Qiang Ming wandered slowly, eyes scanning the displays. None of them called to him.
Until he reached a pedestal tucked slightly away, its glass shimmering with a dim violet light.
Inside it floated a Soulful Hammer—a spiritual imprint of a hammer-shaped beast forged from condensed earth and lingering intent. It was not flashy. Its age was listed at 503 years. Its temperament, docile. Its compatibility score with hammer-type Martial Souls: excellent.
But what drew Qiang Ming was its silence.
No noise. No flare. Just presence.
"I want this one," he said.
The attendant blinked. "That one? Are you certain, young master? We have beasts of higher grades—"
He shook his head. "This one is waiting."
The woman hesitated. Then, bowing, she nodded. "As you wish."
That night, Qiang Ming sat cross-legged in his bedroom. His hands rested on his knees, the Soulful Hammer essence pulsing between his palms. He had begun the fusion process, spirit energy flowing through his meridians in disciplined rhythm.
And then—it happened.
The moment his Martial Soul connected with the Spirit Soul, the hammer behind him erupted with power. The Soulful Hammer twisted, warping as if being pulled into a chasm. Its gentle glow dimmed, its form cracking, shattering—then reforming.
It was no longer the Soulful Hammer.
It had become something else.
The Abyss Soul Hammer.
Qiang Ming opened his eyes—now a brighter, deeper violet.
Without a word, he stood up, left his chambers, and walked silently through the corridor into his courtyard. There, beneath the moonlight, he lifted the newly enhanced hammer and took a breath.
He swung it once. The ground beneath his feet trembled.
A smile touched his lips.
"Now we begin."