He Yunlong knelt on the ground, blood streaming from his wounds, the remnants of his Black Iron Tyrant Ape long vanished. Despite his weakened state, a twisted, cruel smile formed on his bloodied face.
"This… this is the pain I've given you," he gasped, voice trembling but defiant. "How does it feel? Losing someone you care about… losing your position… I lost everything, and now I snatched yours, I snatched your loved ones…"
Before the final words could fully settle in the air, Zhao Qing's eyes blazed with fury. He stepped forward, thunder energy coiling violently around his fists, and struck. The force of the blow smashed He Yunlong to the ground, head and body reverberating under the impact.
Zhao Qing's voice rang cold and decisive: "There is nothing to say… we should just kill him."
Wang Yan tightened his grip on his sword. Crimson energy spiraled around the blade, a furious aura crackling with the culmination of his grief, anger, and wrath. With precise, unstoppable force, he thrust the sword into He Yunlong's chest. The blade pierced deeply, slicing through muscle, bone, and heart. He Yunlong gasped violently as the sword cut through, and Wang Yan pulled it out, blood spilling across the ground. In that final strike, He Yunlong's life ended completely.
Then it collapsed.
He Yunlong was dead.
For a long moment, no one moved.
The courtyard was silent except for the faint sound of blood dripping onto the cracked ground. Wang Yan stood there with his sword lowered, the blade still embedded in He Yunlong's chest before he slowly pulled it free. He did not look at the corpse again.
Zhao Qing let out a slow breath he hadn't realized he was holding. His hands trembled faintly before he clenched them into fists. Chen Yu remained still, his gaze fixed on the fallen body, jaw tight.
There was no sense of victory.
Only heaviness.
Then—
Crack.
A sharp, brittle sound echoed from He Yunlong's corpse.
A dense glow began to rise from his body. It was metallic in nature, heavy and solid, carrying a golden sheen that reflected coldly in the night air. The light condensed slowly, piece by piece, until a solid form emerged.
A soul bone.
Zhao Qing sucked in a sharp breath.
"This… this is a real treasure."
Everyone in the Soul Land knew what this meant. A soul bone was rarer than soul rings—something entire sects would massacre each other over. Even powerful clans might not possess a single one.
Chen Yu stepped forward and carefully caught it as it descended. The moment his hand closed around it, a faint metallic hum echoed, the weight of the bone far heavier than it looked.
He turned toward Wang Yan. "It carries metallic attributes. This should belong to you."
Wang Yan did not immediately respond. His gaze lingered on the soul bone, the remnants of crimson fury still flickering in his eyes, but his mind was clear.
"This soul bone enhances power," he said calmly. "More than that… it doubles the force of an attack."
He paused.
"But only when the user already relies on weight, mass, or overwhelming impact."
He shook his head slightly.
"My sword focuses on precision and cutting. It's an attacking type, but it doesn't depend on raw weight. I wouldn't be able to draw out its true potential."
Chen Yu frowned. "Then who?"
Wang Yan answered without hesitation.
"Liu Ming."
Zhao Qing looked startled. "Liu Ming?"
"Yes," Wang Yan said. "This soul bone isn't limited to weapons. Its core attribute is momentum. Whether it's a heavy-beast martial soul or a combat style that relies on crushing force—it amplifies weight itself."
He continued, voice steady.
"Liu Ming's spear techniques already rely on forward momentum and penetration. This soul bone will make every strike heavier. More decisive."
Chen Yu lowered his gaze to the soul bone in his hands and nodded slowly.
"Then we'll give it to him."
With that decision made, none of them spoke again.
They turned back together.
The three of them walked toward the lifeless body lying quietly behind them. Wang Yan knelt first, carefully lifting his grandfather as if he were only asleep. Zhao Qing and Chen Yu helped in silence, their movements slow and respectful.
They performed the last rites themselves.
He was laid to rest in the courtyard of their residence, beneath the old tree that stood there. No ceremony. No onlookers. Only the three of them, bowing their heads as earth covered the grave.
They remained there, seated quietly in the courtyard, until evening.
As dusk settled, Wang Yan finally rose. Tears clung to his lashes as he bowed deeply before the grave, his voice barely above a whisper.
"Rest well, Grandfather."
Zhao Qing and Chen Yu bowed beside him.
Then, without looking back, the three of them turned and left the village together—leaving behind the grave, and carrying a loss that would follow them wherever they went.
They reached Green Pearl City late at night and returned directly to the base of the Iron Guards. The journey had drained them, but none of them spoke of rest.
There, they met Liu Ming.
He was already carrying his own grief, having lost his parents not long ago. When he saw them, he immediately sensed something was wrong. Beside him stood Teacher Qiu, whose expression grew heavy the moment he noticed their silence.
That night, Wang Yan explained everything.
From Graystone Village, to the battle, to their grandfather's death, and the fall of He Yunlong—nothing was left unsaid. Liu Ming listened quietly, his fists slowly tightening. Teacher Qiu remained silent, but sorrow was clear in his eyes.
The courtyard fell into quiet mourning.
After that night, they began to cultivate with renewed focus—not to chase power, but so that they would never again be unable to protect those close to them.
Soon after, the soul bone obtained from He Yunlong was given to Liu Ming. It was a right-hand soul bone, heavy with metallic attributes. Liu Ming secluded himself to absorb it, enduring the pressure it placed on his body.
When he emerged, his soul power had advanced to Level 45.
From then on, their days settled into a steady rhythm—training, cultivation, sparring, and rest. No one rushed. No one lagged behind.
Days passed.
Then months.
Slowly and slowly, the wounds in their hearts began to heal. Grief did not disappear, but it no longer ruled them. Memories of loss remained, yet they no longer brought unbearable pain.
In time, they came to understand that time itself was the greatest medicine.
And so, without any clear boundary or sudden change, a full year passed.
End of Chapter.