The match shattered every preconception about soul masters.
A collective uproar swept through the massive audience. Just moments ago, countless people had scoffed at Lucien's drunken staggering. Now, with three purple spirit rings and a black one glowing beneath his feet, all those voices were silenced in awe and fear.
Davis staggered back to his feet, but his expression was twisted. That monstrous ring combination suffocated him. It was ridiculous—three purples, one black… from someone barely twelve!
"Zhuyun! Nether White Tiger!"
At his roar, he and Zhu Zhuyun charged toward one another. The moment they collided, light burst forth. A massive white tiger formed at the center of the arena, its dominating aura surging into the sky.
"ROAR—!"
The Nether White Tiger thundered forward, claws outstretched, fangs dripping cold light.
"Gulp… gulp… ha!"
Lucien tilted his jar back and belched a satisfied sigh. Then he squinted. "Oh? What a big cat."
Casually, he drifted into the air, sidestepping its strike. His hands latched onto the tiger's massive tail.
And then—he pulled.
The great beast was yanked fully off its feet, lifted like a toy. With one hand on each end, Lucien began to spin.
Once. Twice. Faster. Faster.
The towering Nether White Tiger whirled in the air like a windmill gone berserk.
The entire arena went still.
Qin Ming nearly fainted on the spot.
Yu Tianheng and the Emperor Team shrank back—their ten-meter safety radius was nowhere near enough. If Lucien ever looked in their direction, they knew they'd be next.
The referee trembled. The Xingluo Royal Academy members blanched.
The entire crowd of hundreds of thousands… panicked.
"Someone stop him!"
"If he lets go—who knows where that thing's landing!"
"If it lands on us… we're finished!"
Even soul masters felt a chill. For ordinary citizens, the fear was unbearable. Everyone's life hung by the random swing of a drunken boy.
The audience began hurling curses toward the arena's staff:
"The fools of Xingluo Royal Academy!"
"Who's in charge?! How can you let this happen?!"
"This isn't a competition—it's mass murder!"
Fear turned even nobles into screaming commoners.
At last, a figure materialized above, cloaked in the mantle of a Contra. His robes bore the insignia of Xingluo Royal Academy.
"Enough, boy! STOP!"
Lucien glanced up, eyes hazy but gleaming. "Oh? You want it?"
Without hesitation, he hurled the spinning Nether White Tiger into the heavens.
The Contra's eyes almost popped out of his skull. He caught the beast with immense spirit power, but the impact sent a tremor through his arms.
"This… this power… from a Soul Sect?" he muttered, unable to believe what he felt.
Still, it was fortunate he had intervened. Had Lucien thrown at the crowd… the chaos would've been catastrophic.
Lowering slowly, the Contra deposited Davis and Zhu Zhuyun safely—if not gracefully—onto the floor.
Both immediately collapsed to their knees. Their stomachs churned.
"Ughhh!" Vomit splattered to the ground. Their heads spun, bodies unable to find balance.
Shame burned their faces, but all they could do was retch.
Seeing their fate, the remaining members of Xingluo's team froze with blank faces.
Fight? Against him? Impossible.
They surrendered without a word.
Lucien staggered toward them with his jar. "Heh. You bastards won't fight? Then jump down the stage yourselves, or I'll kick your asses!"
Terrified, they retreated to the edge.
The outcome was decided. The Emperor Team was victorious.
…
But the arena's focus wasn't on the match anymore. Not on the victors, not on the losers.
It was all on Lucien.
The drunkard genius. The monster Soul Sect with impossible rings. The boy whose every stagger carried suffocating danger.
His reputation spread like fire that very night.
…
After leaving Xingluo City.
The carriage wheels clattered on the road. Inside, Qin Ming sat stiff-backed, pale. Cold sweat lined his spine.
"Never again," he muttered. He swore on his life: never again would he allow Lucien into a formal competition. It wasn't a match. It was a continental political incident waiting to happen.
Davis had suffered heavy organ damage. Zhu Zhuyun had ribs fractured. And that was after a Contra's intervention. Had Lucien really wanted them dead… nothing could have stopped him.
When word spread, the Star Luo Empire would gnash its teeth.
Already, the story of Lucien's rings had spread across the continent. Tiandou Royal Academy was shaken by the report, Meng Shenji ordering their immediate return for safety.
Even the Academic Affairs Council had underestimated him. Genius? No. He was a monster-level anomaly. If sects or the Spirit Hall truly took notice, could they even protect him?
The weight crushed Qin Ming's chest. And atop it all—Meng Shenji's "reward" decree meant Qin Ming was to oversee Lucien for an entire year.
A full year?!
The despair nearly broke him.
From across the carriage, Lucien raised a new jar.
"Gulp, gulp… ha!"
[Ding! Host detected inebriated. Fourth spirit ring age +80 years.]
"Hehh… good wine. Even better than the royal tribute. Who gave me this?"
Qin Ming's neck shrank instantly. "Cough. I… I'll go stretch outside."
He was the one buying these wines to keep Lucien calm. But he lived in terror each day that Lucien would remember. If he ever asks why… I'm dead.
"Kitten!" Lucien suddenly called. His glazed eyes turned toward Zhu Zhuqing. "Why don't you come back to Heaven Dou with me? Soto City's boring. But there… we can drink together."
Zhu Zhuqing kept her voice cold, though her heart trembled. "I have business in Soto City."
Lucien only grinned. "Fair. Do as you wish."
Then he pounded the carriage wall. "You bastards up front! Head to Soto City!"
"Gulp, gulp…"
…
Soto City.
Lucien stumbled between Dugu Yan and Ye Lingling's steadying arms. He pointed toward a hotel glowing pink with lanterns: the Rose Hotel.
"We'll live here."
His gaze was fixed entirely on the tavern sign below the hotel lettering, not the rose petals carved on the walls.
But as he entered—
"Isn't that the boy from Xingluo?"
"It's him, the genius drunkard!"
"Closer, he's even more handsome…"
Crowds recognized him instantly. Hundreds of thousands had witnessed that battle. His image—sword on back, wine jar in hand—had seared itself into the continent's memory.
For now, Lucien was the most famous name in Douluo.
Inside, his blurred gaze wandered—then landed.
Near the counter, long golden hair spilled over familiar shoulders. He was surrounded by four scantily clad women laughing at his every word.
Lucien narrowed his eyes.
Something about that man felt important, though his mind was too tipsy to remember why.
"Forget it," he muttered. "I'll just ask."
He staggered forward.
"Baby, today's catch was good. The fish I caught—dedicated to you forever."
Dai Mubai's words sent the women into bursts of laughter.
And then, the shadow of Lucien fell across them.