The atmosphere within the central hall of First Prince Xue Qinghe's private pavilion did not merely grow cold; it hardened into an absolute, suffocating void.
Prince Xue Xing, his judgment thoroughly eroded by the continuous flow of plum wine and a lifetime of unyielding royal privilege, failed entirely to comprehend the abyss standing directly before him. His heavy face flushed a deep, unhealthy crimson, his narrow, bloodshot eyes flaring with wild, drunken outrage at having his wrist caught in full view of the capital's high society.
"You dare touch a prince of the Empire?!" Xue Xing roared, his slurred voice echoing off the vaulted sandalwood ceilings and drawing the horrified attention of every noble, minister, and guard in the room.
Driven by humiliated fury, he wrenched his free left arm upward, pooling what little spirit power his bloated body possessed into a heavy, wild strike aimed directly to grab Tang Yuehua once more.
"Guards! Drag this insolent dog down and butcher him!"
Wang Luan did not flinch. His dark eyes remained completely calm, devoid of anger, fear, or hesitation—as if he were merely observing an ant crawling across a marble counter.
He simply tightened his right hand.
CRACK!
A sickening, wet crunch of broken bone, tearing tendons, and crushing cartilage echoed through the dead silence of the hall. Wang Luan's grip compressed with raw, terrifying physical force, instantly grinding every bone and rupturing every blood vessel in Prince Xue Xing's right hand into useless, splintered fragments.
"AAAGHH! MY HAND! MY HAND!"
Xue Xing's drunken roar instantly dissolved into a shrill, earth-shattering shriek of pure, unadulterated agony. Pain so blinding and absolute flooded his mind that his eyes bulged from their sockets, the flushed red color instantly draining from his face until he was as pale as a fresh corpse. Blood welled beneath his bruised skin, his fingers twisting into unnatural, mangled angles as his wrist collapsed into a ruined mass of flesh and pulverized bone.
Before the screaming prince could even sink to his knees from the shock, Wang Luan took a single, deliberate step forward.
He did not summon a martial spirit. He did not execute a spirit skill. He simply allowed a fraction of his true, unrestrained aura to flood the room.
Nine brilliant, terrifying rings of light erupted from beneath Wang Luan's boots, rising into the air in a breathtaking, majestic display of absolute power.
Yellow. Yellow. Purple. Purple. Black. Black. Black. Black... and at the absolute apex, hovering above his shoulders, a deep, blood-red ninth spirit ring pulsed softly, casting an ominous crimson aura across the pristine white marble floors and the frozen faces of the court.
The aura of a Level Ninety-Two Titled Douluo hit the grand hall like a celestial mountain collapsing from the sky.
The heavy air solidified into an immovable wall of crushing atmospheric pressure. Spiderweb fractures rippled outward across the polished marble floor beneath Wang Luan's boots, spreading in every direction. Every single individual in the room—from the wealthy merchant guild leaders and regional governors to the four Soul Ancestor bodyguards standing post near the grand doors—was instantly pinned to the ground.
Lungs froze mid-breath. Heartbeats stuttered in sheer survival instinct. Legs buckled beneath an invisible, oppressive gravity that felt as though the heavens themselves were pressing down upon their shoulders. Dozens of lower-ranking nobles collapsed directly onto their knees, clutching their chests as tears of terror welled in their eyes.
Even the three Spirit Douluo elders serving on the Board of Directors for the Heaven Dou Imperial Academy—seasoned, high-tier cultivators who represented the absolute martial peak of the capital—found their knees trembling, their spirit power instantly suppressed deep within their dantians by the overwhelming majesty of a hundred-thousand-year ninth ring.
[System notification: Host aura released at 12% capacity.]
[Target status: Entire room neutralized. High-tier threat assessment: 0.00%.]
[Biological anomaly detected in immediate target: Prince Xue Xing suffering extreme pain shock, acute nervous system distress, and complete loss of pelvic sphincter control.]
Helios's cold, analytical voice chimed within Wang Luan's mind, reporting the exact state of the man standing inches from his chest.
In the absolute center of this terrifying storm, Prince Xue Xing stood trapped directly within the crosshairs of a Titled Douluo's unfiltered killing intent.
The agonizing pain in his shattered hand was instantly eclipsed by a primal, soul-crushing terror that reduced his mind to absolute ash. Looking up into Wang Luan's dark, indifferent eyes, surrounded by the crimson glow of that blood-red ninth ring, Xue Xing realized with horrifying clarity that this man could obliterate his soul from existence before a single royal guard could even draw a weapon.
A wet, pathetic puddle rapidly spread across the marble floor at Xue Xing's feet. A foul, sharp stench filled the immediate air as the prince's bladder and bowels completely gave out in total, involuntary panic, his lavish crimson-and-gold silk trousers stained in full view of the entire paralyzed court. Tears, sweat, and snot poured uncontrollably down his pale face as he choked on his own terror, shuddering helplessly in his own filth.
For three agonizingly long seconds, Wang Luan maintained his cold gaze, letting the silence settle like a fog. Then, with an effortless flick of his wrist, he retracted his aura. The nine terrifying spirit rings dissolved into faint colored motes, and the suffocating gravity lifted from the room like a passing hurricane.
Gasping for air, dozens of nobles slumped against pillars, tables and chairs, clutching their throats and trembling as they tried to regain their breath.
The instant the physical paralysis shattered, First Prince Xue Qinghe rushed forward across the hall, his golden silk robes sweeping behind him. Cold sweat drenched his back, his usual warm, composed face completely pale as he faced the reality of a living Titled Douluo standing within his private estate.
Beside Xue Qinghe, the three Spirit Douluo Board Elders of the Heaven Dou Imperial Academy—Meng Shenji, Bai Baoshan, and Zhi Lin—stumbled forward, their faces chalk-white as they dropped to their knees before Wang Luan.
"Senior! Senior Douluo, please hold back!" Meng Shenji, the lead Board Elder, pressed his hands and forehead directly against the cold marble, his voice shaking with desperation. "Prince Xue Xing acted out of foolish ignorance! We beg Senior to grant mercy upon the royal family and spare his life!"
Wang Luan looked down at the three kneeling elders. A faint, smile touched his lips, though his dark eyes remained as deep and unfathomable as an abyss.
"Senior?" Wang Luan's voice was smooth, quiet, yet possessed a strange carrying power that resonated clearly off every pillar in the hall. "Meng Shenji, Bai Baoshan, Zhi Lin... have the three of you grown so old that you no longer recognize a former junior?"
The three elders froze in mid-bow, lifting their heads in utter astonishment.
"Has time dulled your eyes so thoroughly?" Wang Luan continued smoothly, his tone entirely casual. "Years ago, in the deep perimeter of the Sunset Forest, I cocealed my face and sought the assistance of three Spirit Douluo to hunt a sixty-thousand-year spirit beast for his sixth ring. I did not reveal my age, name, or origins. But in exchange for your martial assistance, I handed you a box containing a top-tier celestial herb that allowed all three of you to break through your long-standing bottlenecks."
Meng Shenji's breath hitched sharply. Memory flooded back into his mind like a breaking dam—a mysterious, cloaked cultivator from years ago who spoke with worldly wisdom, concealed his true features beneath powerful spiritual disguises, and possessed an array of priceless medicinal treasures. The three elders had assumed back then that they were dealing with an ancient, reclusive hermit expert who had chosen to retain a youthful appearance through divine herbs.
Never in their wildest imaginations had they considered that the veiled trader from the forest was a rising titan who would attain a hundred-thousand-year red ring and stand at the apex of the continent before hitting middle age.
"It... it was you?!" Bai Baoshan gasped, his eyes wide with profound shock as he looked up at Wang Luan. "The hooded spirit emperor from the Sunset Forest..."
"I concealed my age and face then because I preferred quiet transactions over academy talent hunts," Wang Luan said coolly, looking down at them without a trace of arrogance. "I respected you as my seniors then, and I harbor no inherent malice toward the Heaven Dou Imperial Academy. But today, this man reached his hand toward someone he had no right to touch."
"Senior Douluo—no, Your Excellency," First Prince Xue Qinghe spoke rapidly, stepping forward and bowing his head in a gesture of absolute, flawless humility. "I, Xue Qinghe, offer my deepest and most sincere apologies on behalf of the Heaven Dou Imperial Family for this unforgivable transgression. Prince Xue Xing's conduct tonight is a stain upon our bloodline. I humbly beg you and Mistress Tang to grant the crown the opportunity to offer a proper, full restitution for this grievance."
Wang Luan slowly released his grip on Xue Xing's mangled wrist.
Without his support, Prince Xue Xing collapsed onto the cold marble like a sack of wet laundry. He curled into a tight ball, clutching his ruined, permanently crippled right hand to his chest, weeping hysterically in his own waste. He was so utterly shattered by physical agony, shame, and sheer terror that he could barely process the words being spoken around him.
At a furious gesture from Xue Qinghe, six royal attendants rushed forward with pale faces, hastily hauling the whimpering, ruined prince out of the main hall through a private side exit.
With the disgraced prince removed, the heavy, terrified silence of the grand hall returned to Wang Luan.
Every eyes in the room—ministers, generals, nobles, and elders—was fixed upon him.
Wang Luan adjusted his cuffs casually, sweeping his dark gaze across the entire gathered court of Heaven Dou City. His voice rose, smooth as velvet yet carrying the crushing authority of an undisputed peak powerhouse.
"Let my words be heard clearly by the court, the noble houses, and the imperial crown," Wang Luan declared, his voice echoing through every corner of the palace. "My name is Wang Luan. 25 years old. Level 92 Titled Douluo. Title: Celestial Sword."
A sharp collective gasp rippled through the ministers and elders. A new Titled Douluo—and a young one possessing a hundred-thousand-year red spirit ring at that—had officially declared his title to the world.
Wang Luan turned slightly, extending his arm toward Tang Yuehua. She stepped gracefully to his side, her posture impeccably calm, her sapphire-and-silver gown pristine, though a faint, beautiful warmth shone deep within her clear eyes.
Wang Luan placed his hand gently over hers, looking down at First Prince Xue Qinghe and the surrounding lords.
"And let it be known from this night forth," Wang Luan added, his tone cold and uncompromising, "Tang Yuehua is my fiancée. Whoever dares to disrespect her, touches the Celestial Sword. And whoever lays a hand upon her, will not live to see another sunrise."
The declaration struck the banquet hall like a lightning bolt.
The ministers and noble lords exchanged looks of utter, wide-eyed astonishment. Tang Yuehua—the revered Mistress of the Moon Pavilion, a woman believed by the court to be a powerless non-cultivator—was now officially backed by a Level Ninety-Two Titled Douluo carrying a red spirit ring.
In a single sentence, her political standing in Heaven Dou City had been elevated from a respected cultural figure to an absolutely untouchable power in the continent.
First Prince Xue Qinghe bowed deeply once more, his mind racing with intense political calculations even as he maintained his respectful posture. "The Imperial Family hears and respects the declaration of the Celestial Sword Douluo. I shall personally inform my father, His Majesty Emperor Xue Ye, of tonight's events. Rest assured, the crown will deliver a formal apology and an imperial treasure worthy of making amends to both you and Lady Tang within the week."
"See that you do, First Prince," Wang Luan replied calmly. "You possess far more wisdom than your relatives. Do not let their stupidity ruin your domain."
"I shall remember Senior's guidance," Xue Qinghe answered smoothly.
Without sparing another glance for the stunned, terrified nobility of the capital, Wang Luan offered his arm to Tang Yuehua. She placed her slender fingers over his sleeve, resting her head slightly closer to his shoulder with quiet, unshakeable trust.
Together, the two of them turned and walked side by side down the central aisle of the hall. The surrounding crowd of high-ranking lords, generals, and ministers scrambled backward in sheer reverence, parting like the red sea to form a wide, clear path for them.
As they stepped out of the palace doors and into the crisp, starry autumn night, the grand hall of First Prince Xue Qinghe remained frozen in stunned, breathless awe—the name of the Celestial Sword Douluo forever etched into the heart of Heaven Dou high society.