So old that its foundations were laid during an era when humanity was still clawing its way out of extinction.
In that ancient age, soul beasts ruled the wilderness, and humans fought not for territory—but for survival itself. Every inch of land was soaked in blood. Every victory was paid for with countless lives.
At the forefront of those desperate battlefields stood the Titled Douluo of that era.
Whenever one of them fell, their bodies were brought back and buried here—not in mourning, but in honor.
Douluo Palace was built as a mausoleum of heroes, a place where humanity remembered the names of those who had traded their lives for the future.
Time flowed. Dynasties rose and fell.
But one ritual never disappeared—The honoring of fallen Titled Douluo.
Even now, the Douluo Palace retained that ancient solemnity. It seemed that every brick, every pillar, every silent corridor was soaked in willpower, regret, and unyielding resolve.
It was into this place that Qian Daoliu walking. His steps steady—but his heart was heavy.
The duty of guarding Douluo Palace rested upon the High Priest of the Angel Goddess.
In name, he was a High Priest. In truth— he was a grave keeper.
The last guardian of fallen heroes.
As he advanced through the long corridor, he placed a thin booklet into his spatial soul guide.
The cover bore a simple name:Nine Sun Sword Style
It was a sword technique personally created by Qian Renxue.
At first, Qian Daoliu had indulged her. He thought his granddaughter was merely trying to impress him, perhaps imitating ancient sword manuals or seeking his rather than true insight.
But after reading it—
He had fallen silent for a long time.
The sword style was not flashy, it was too profound. Each stance layered intent upon intent, refining the human body until it resembled a blazing furnace.
By the time he reached the ninth form, Qian Daoliu understood something terrifying.
If a mortal truly mastered this sword style—They might possess a chance.
To stand against a God, with nothing but a mortal body. That realization alone had shaken him deeply that he always carried the manual to learn the sword style.
Yet today—He had no heart to comprehend the sword.
The events of the morning weighed heavily on him, forming a haze that refused to disperse.
Not long before the Sermon of the Angel Goddess came to an end, Qian Daoliu's heart grew increasingly restless.
It was an unease that had no clear source—like standing beneath a cloudless sky yet feeling that thunder would soon fall.
Ever since he had sensed that corrupted divine energy erupt from Bibi Dong, his heart had refused to calm.
'I don't know why…I don't feel well. I should have followed ....'
That thought surfaced again and again, only to be suppressed.
With a heavy sigh, Qian Daoliu sat down on the cold stone steps leading into the palace. The ancient stairs were worn smooth by time, just like the role he had inherited.
He could not understand why his heart felt so unsettled.
Using his perception, he had already confirmed that Bibi Dong had returned safely to Spirit City. Her aura was restrained.
Everything appeared… normal. Yet the unease remained.
After a long moment of silence, Qian Daoliu came to a conclusion.
'Perhaps I need to speak with her.'
'Renxue is already in Spirit City. No matter what hatred exists, she should not recklessly use such corrupted power. It is not good for Renxue.'
In his mind, Eve who had arrived with Xue Qinghe for the final matches of the tournament was Qian renxue
Just as he came to the main gate and the saw the person standing oustside, he finally understood, the reason his heart had been restless all day.
Not far from him, Qian Renxue stood silently.
He did not smile in relief at seeing his granddaughter. Because floating beside her—Was a crude, makeshift wooden coffin.
And within it lay a body that Qian Daoliu would recognize even if his eyes were gouged out.
Qian Xunji, His son.
Time seemed to freeze, it felt as though he had suddenly aged ten years.
He simply stared—unblinkingly—at the still figure inside the coffin.
The man who had been both his greatest disappointment and his only son.
With his vast experience and sharp perception, Qian Daoliu immediately sensed the residual corrupted divine energy lingering around the fatal wound.
Instantly, he knew, Who had killed him.
'This… is the fruit of your own karma…'
The thought arose naturally, without hatred or denial.Yet understanding did nothing to ease the pain.
Sorrow surged silently, like a tide breaking against an immovable cliff.
Qian Renxue, who had shown no emotion until now, finally spoke.
"Grandfather.Please take Father to the Douluo Palace.As a Titled Douluo… his final resting place is there."
This was the first time Qian Renxue had ever called Qian Xunji father.
Qian Daoliu's body shook and his hands trembled as he reached out.
When he took the coffin, he held it tightly, as if afraid it might disappear the moment he loosened his grip.
With heavy steps, Qian Daoliu ascended toward Douluo Palace, each step echoing like a tolling bell.
He did not hear Qian Renxue's whisper, carried away by the wind.
"Your sacrifice… at least warrants redemption through rest in Douluo Palace…"
Her gaze lingered on his back.
"Grandpa… you need to become stronger."
Suddenly, her brows lifted.
She looked toward a distant direction, her lips curling into a faint, knowing smile.
"Well....I can fulfill this wish."
In the next instant, her form collapsed inward, imploding into a cluster of shimmering bubbles.