As he stared at the cowardly child in his memories, he had no choice but to sit on the ducal seat, drowning his sorrow in wine and enduring the immense pain of his family’s collapse—and the tragic deaths of his father and brothers.

And the source of that pain was, for the most part, Huo Yuhao…

Guilt stabbed into that heart that had long been steeped in hatred.

Dai Huabin had been killed by him. Dai Yaoheng had watched himself die on the battlefield. Dai Hao had been driven into a corner by him and committed suicide… The downfall of the White Tiger Duke’s Estate had been deemed inevitable.

A rare trace of softness flickered across Huo Yuhao’s eyes.

He almost stepped out of the shadows, pulled back his hood, confessed everything to the teenager he had once called “little brother,” and then…

Should he use his current power to give him a different way to live? At the very least, so he wouldn’t sink into this swamp of despair.

His foot lifted slightly—the shadow swayed with it for an instant—

“Hm?!”

Huo Yuhao and Electrolux both became alert almost simultaneously within his Sea of Spirit.

Two sacred auras—completely different from the soul power of the mortal world—appeared without warning above the White Tiger Duke’s Estate, like two tiny stars. In the next moment, they descended into the manor at a speed beyond perception.

Their destination seemed to be this back courtyard.

“Yuhao, be careful.”

Electrolux’s ancient, solemn voice rang out quickly.

“That is the breath of gods. Not a clone of divine consciousness, but the arrival of physical bodies. At this very moment, gods are in the Lower Realm… It seems the changes on the Douluo Continent have put the God Realm on guard.”

Huo Yuhao’s heart jolted. He immediately suppressed his presence and hid perfectly within the shadow, silently activating the power of the Herrscher.

He was no longer that ignorant teenager from back then. He had lived through the chaos in Sun Moon City, confronted the Rakshasa God Bibi Dong, and personally witnessed the terror of god-level power. With a single glance, he could judge the opponent’s level—true god-class existence.

This was absolutely not the kind that merely inherited a divine throne.

Run?

The thought flashed through his mind, then vanished just as quickly. The moment those two divine beings swept into the courtyard, he was hidden well enough—yet he couldn’t help fearing he had already been discovered.

However, it seemed the newcomers were prioritizing the drunk, dispirited Dai Luoli’s presence.

“I’ll watch first.”

Huo Yuhao forced himself to calm down, focusing intensely.

They were gods, and their target seemed to be Dai Luoli. Why were they here? Allies or enemies?

He wanted answers.

At the same time, the guilt he felt toward Dai Luoli prevented him from turning around and leaving.

He had killed Dai Hao—yet Dai Luoli was still alive…

After all, this boy had once been innocent, and had offered him warmth.

And it wasn’t as if he had no support.

The core of the Herrscher, Electrolux, and the strange spiritual abilities bestowed by… as well as trump cards capable of saving lives—all gave him the confidence that even if he faced true gods, he could still respond or escape.

Naturally, the ones who had arrived in the courtyard were Dai Mubai and Zhu Zhuqing.

The moment the two stepped into the estate, their divine sense had already spread to envelop the surroundings.

Dai Mubai’s eyes flashed like lightning, instantly locking onto the black-clad figure hidden in the shade of the trees. That figure’s aura was strange—concealed, yet unmistakably present.

What startled him even more was that he could actually sense a trace of White Tiger bloodline resonance coming from the other party. It was extremely faint, but its essence was pure.

“Another of the Dai family’s bloodline? Didn’t they say only Dai Luoli was left?”

Dai Mubai was puzzled, but the drunken, fallen youth in the courtyard drew even more of his attention, stirring his emotions.

He suppressed the urge to interrogate the mysterious man in black and fixed his gaze on Dai Luoli instead.

As he watched the disheveled, drunken youth sprawled over the table, muttering to himself, disappointment and anger flashed uncontrollably through Dai Mubai’s golden eyes.

This was the last direct descendant of the White Tiger bloodline?

This was the descendant who inherited the White Tiger martial soul?

Unbearable. Weak. With enemies at the gates, with the family overturned, he refused to move forward and only knew how to get drunk.

If Dai Mubai hadn’t already realized how shockingly withered the Dai bloodline had become—if this “one peculiar sprout” hadn’t been all that remained—then with his fiery temper he would have awakened him with a tiger’s roar and beaten him down first.

At that moment, Dai Luoli seemed to feel a strange, oppressive gaze. He sluggishly lifted his head and, half-drunk, stared at the man and woman who had appeared in the courtyard.

“You… who are you? How did you get in?!”

Dai Luoli, momentarily sobering, demanded instinctively. He struggled to stand, swaying from the alcohol.

He glared at Dai Mubai and Zhu Zhuqing, sensing that the two carried extraordinary bearing… and appearance.

He felt a vague familiarity, as if he’d seen them somewhere before, but his gloomy mind couldn’t recall it.

Dai Mubai didn’t answer. He simply looked Dai Luoli up and down, shook his head, and spoke in a deep voice carrying long-held authority.

“Let me take a look at the last bloodline of the White Tiger. What a pity… what a disappointment.”

Those words stabbed into Dai Luoli’s already fragile, inferior heart like a needle.

The clan had suffered a catastrophic reversal—he was powerless—and now even strangers dared to knock on the door just to mock and look down on the White Tiger Duke’s Estate?

Humiliation, anger, and the shattered remnants of pride surged up and drowned his reason.

“What did you say?!”

Dai Luoli’s eyes turned red as he roared. The fact that the other party had infiltrated the heavily guarded ducal estate triggered his instincts. His four-ring soul power exploded, and a hazy White Tiger phantom rose behind him.

He actually lunged straight at Dai Mubai and swung a punch.

Seeing Dai Luoli act so impulsively and recklessly, the disappointment in Dai Mubai’s eyes only deepened.

He didn’t move his feet. He merely narrowed his gaze slightly.

Buzz—!

A terrifying tiger might surged from the deepest part of his bloodline, like an invisible mountain, crushing down on Dai Luoli.

This wasn’t suppression of soul power—this was coercion from a higher bloodline and divinity.

Behind Dai Mubai, a supremely majestic White Tiger phantom appeared for an instant, treading upon stars and overlooking the world—then vanished.

Dai Luoli’s momentum snapped. His knees gave out, and he fell to the ground, kneeling without any ability to resist. His bones creaked under the force; cold sweat soaked his clothes in an instant.

The wine—gone. Completely sober.

Yet at this moment, the fear in his heart far outweighed the pain in his body.

Because within that soul-shaking coercion, he sensed something extraordinarily familiar—an unparalleled gentleness, as if it came from the source of his own bloodline—

The purest, most ancient, most powerful aura of the White Tiger martial soul.

Compared to his father Dai Hao and his eldest brother Dai Yaoheng, this man’s bloodline was many times purer and stronger.

Dai Luoli struggled to lift his head, staring at Dai Mubai again, then falling silent as his gaze shifted to Zhu Zhuqing, whose temperament was cold as the moon.

Their figures matched the old portrait he had once seen as a child when he mischievously broke into his father’s secret room—an area strictly forbidden to outsiders…

Gradually, the two images overlapped.

In that portrait: a war god with blond hair and golden eyes—wild, wicked, and fierce—and beside him, a cold, peerless black-clad speed god…

Dai Luoli’s pupils shrank to pinpoints. His mouth fell open unconsciously. His mind went blank as if struck by lightning again and again.

“You… you are… you…!”

His voice trembled, overflowing with disbelief.

Seeing Dai Luoli’s expression as if he’d seen a ghost, Dai Mubai confirmed the boy recognized him.

The harshness in his face eased slightly. The corner of his mouth lifted into a faint arc.

“At least you’re not completely stupid.”

This time, Dai Luoli took the initiative. He slammed his forehead hard against the icy ground, his voice changing pitch from excitement and terror as he choked out a sob.

“This worthless descendant, Dai Luoli, greets the two honored ancestors! Just now… Luoli was drunk and let anger explode, offending ancestral divine might. I deserve death. Please forgive me, Ancestors!”

Joy and fear tangled in his heart.

The good news was that, in the depths of despair, the legendary ancestral gods had descended into the world.

The terrifying part was that his cowardice and earlier aggression had been seen—he feared he had already left a terrible impression.

From the shadows, Huo Yuhao watched it all, waves rising in his own heart as well.

“Dai Mubai… Zhu Zhuqing… gods descending to the mortal realm… so it really is them.”

Everything felt more complicated—far beyond what he had expected.

And when he noticed the thoughtful gaze Dai Mubai had cast toward the shadowed corner earlier, Huo Yuhao’s chest tightened.

Seeing Dai Luoli kneeling, Dai Mubai’s anger eased slightly.

At least this descendant still acknowledged his ancestors, and his attitude was respectful.

“Get up.”

Dai Mubai’s voice remained authoritative, but the oppressive pressure was gone.

A gentle divine power lifted Dai Luoli.

Dai Luoli staggered to his feet. He didn’t dare look the two ancestors directly in the eyes; he lowered his head and stood rigidly.

“Don’t be so restrained. We have important business in the Lower Realm this time. Tell me—how much do you know about the current state of the continent, the situation of the Star Luo Empire, and especially the recent condition of my White Tiger bloodline? There’s a long road ahead.”

Dai Mubai asked in a low voice. He wanted information directly from the only remaining bloodline.

Dai Luoli hurriedly recounted everything he knew: the Sun Moon Empire’s sudden launch of total war; the collapse of the defense line at Mingdou Mountain; the deaths of his father Dai Hao and eldest brother Dai Yaoheng; the loss of the White Tiger bloodline’s core generals and soul masters; and how the ducal estate had been plunged into cold desolation, with everyone in the army eyeing it…

In the end, during the early stages of the war he had been nothing more than an inconspicuous soldier. When he was pushed into a high position, he’d been dizzy and overwhelmed, with almost no access to deeper intelligence or hidden schemes.

Dai Mubai and Zhu Zhuqing listened quietly without interrupting.

They hadn’t expected a marginalized young duke to provide detailed classified information. Rather, they wanted to understand the direct process of the White Tiger bloodline’s decline—and this descendant’s temperament.

After listening to Dai Luoli’s account—filled with sorrow and confusion—Dai Mubai fell silent for a moment.

In Dai Luoli’s words were respect and memories of his father and brother, the pain of his family’s downfall, and deep inferiority and helplessness.

This child wasn’t malicious. After such catastrophic upheaval, it was almost unavoidable that he would collapse or become extreme.

But as a White Tiger descendant, this weakness and mediocrity still felt unjustifiable to Dai Mubai.

He stepped forward and said without question:

“Hold out your hand.”

Dai Luoli didn’t understand why, but he didn’t dare disobey. He quickly extended his right hand.

Dai Mubai lightly pressed a finger—like a blade—against the vein at his wrist. A thread of the War God’s divine power slipped silently into Dai Luoli’s body, instantly roaming through his limbs and bones, probing deep into the origin of his martial soul and the root of his bloodline.

At first, Dai Mubai frowned.

Dai Luoli’s meridians weren’t broad. His soul power condensation was average. His innate talent really was as mediocre as the rumors said.

But soon, when his divine power touched the sleeping origin of the White Tiger martial soul deep within Dai Luoli’s soul, a faint, strange fluctuation—hard to detect—caught his attention.

“Hm?”

Dai Mubai’s eyes shone with golden light as he sensed it carefully.

He discovered that Dai Luoli’s White Tiger martial soul wasn’t merely ordinary. Deep within its core, it concealed an extremely rare trait—bloodthirsty, fierce, tenacious—like a pearl buried under a thick layer of dust.

It was the possibility of a rare, unawakened mutation.

Under normal circumstances, such potential might never be stimulated in an entire lifetime. But under extreme emotional shock or the guidance of another force, it could break its cocoon and emerge like a butterfly.

“So that’s it… Not rotten wood—rather a pearl covered in dust. It needs to be tempered by fire, and harmonized with true gold.”

Dai Mubai’s heart stirred. His disappointment eased slightly, replaced by the intent to try.

The White Tiger bloodline truly could not be severed. Even if the talent was mediocre, if the potential could be awakened, it might still be able to hold up the gates.

“Boy, endure it. It might hurt a little—but this is your chance.”

Dai Mubai barked in a low voice, no longer hesitating.

He gripped Dai Luoli’s arm. A stronger, purer surge of the War God’s divine power poured in—not probing anymore, but dominant, burning, and forcefully stimulating as it speared straight into the origin of Dai Luoli’s White Tiger martial soul.

At the same time, a trace of Dai Mubai’s own god-grade White Tiger bloodline aura was cast into it like a spark.

“Aaah—!”

Dai Luoli felt an intensely scorching force—like it could melt the soul—flood his body in an instant. It was as if his limbs and bones had been thrown into a furnace; every inch of flesh and blood, every meridian, shook violently, tore apart, and reorganized.

Deep within his soul, the White Tiger martial soul let out a silent roar.

The dust covering its origin was washed away in an instant by the violent divine power. The hidden mutant trait fully activated and magnified, fiercely resonating and merging with the god-grade bloodline aura Dai Mubai had injected.

A dazzling blood-red light surged over the surface of Dai Luoli’s body. The previously vague White Tiger phantom rapidly solidified, its form beginning to change—

His hair dyed into a deep crimson. His fangs and claws grew sharper and more prominent. A wild, blood-like flame burned in his eyes. A fierce, tenacious, endless aura of terror filled the air.

His martial soul was transforming from an ordinary White Tiger into a more ferocious form—

A Blood Tiger.

At the same time, his originally mediocre innate soul power aptitude was forcibly raised and expanded under the stimulation of the origin and the infusion of divine blood.

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep