Yu Tianheng did not wait.
The moment the word left the old man's lips, he exploded. He was a creature of pride, the heir to the most domineering Martial Spirit on the continent. The humiliating, one-sided defeat of his teammate had been a slap to his face, and he intended to repay it with interest.
'This will be quick,' he thought, his eyes, now crackling with a brilliant blue light, fixed on the calm, handsome boy who stood opposite him. 'I will put this pretty boy in his place. I will show Yan-yan what true power looks like.'
A brilliant, dazzling, and incredibly powerful blue light erupted from his body. A magnificent, terrifying phantom of a Blue Lightning Tyrant Dragon appeared behind him, its serpentine form crackling with a raw, untamed electrical energy.
His first Spirit Ring, a simple, yellow one that seemed to hum with a contained, violent power, flared to life.
"First Spirit Ability: Thunder Dragon Claw!" he roared, his voice a clap of thunder.
He slashed his right hand through the air. A massive, five-meter-long claw of pure, condensed blue-purple lightning shot from his fingertips. It tore through the air with a menacing crackle, its speed so immense that to the eyes of the other students, it was just a blur of violent, destructive light.
Opposite him, Zhang Tian was a picture of calm, understated power. He simply raised a hand, and a single, unassuming, and almost laughably weak-looking crimson blade of grass appeared in his palm.
He just smiled.
The Thunder Dragon Claw, a technique that could have shattered steel and pulverized rock, was just inches from his chest.
And then, it stopped.
A wall of crimson vines, as thick as a man's arm, had erupted from the ground before him in a single, silent, and impossibly fast instant. It was not a simple wall. It was a perfectly woven, intricate shield, its surface covered in a complex, spiraling pattern.
'Crimson Shield,' Zhang Tian thought, his expression one of faint, academic interest.
The Thunder Dragon Claw slammed into the shield. There was no explosion. No violent clash of energies. The crimson vines simply… pulsed. A soft, reddish light glowed from within them, and the violent, chaotic lightning of the dragon's claw was absorbed, neutralized, and dissipated into nothing.
A profound, stunned silence fell over the entire training field.
The members of the Emperor Team just stared, their faces a mask of pure, unadulterated disbelief.
"He… he just blocked it?" Shi Mò, one of the twin turtle brothers, grunted, his eyes wide. "Tianheng's Thunder Dragon Claw… it can shatter a thirty-meter-thick stone wall. And he just… blocked it? With grass?"
Dugu Yan's beautiful, seductive face, which had been a mask of excited anticipation, was now one of pure, unadulterated shock. 'He… he is not just handsome,' she thought, her heart giving a small, traitorous flutter. 'He is… powerful.'
On the sidelines, Ning Rongrong just giggled, a soft, happy sound. She leaned over to Zhu Zhuqing. "He's playing with him," she whispered, her voice filled with a proud, proprietary glee.
"Of course, he is," Zhu Zhuqing replied, her own voice a low, cool murmur, though a faint, almost imperceptible smile touched her perfect lips. "He is testing his new skills."
Yu Tianheng stared, his own handsome face a mask of pure, unadulterated shock. His most powerful, single-target attack, an ability that had never failed to overwhelm an opponent of his own rank, had been neutralized. Effortlessly.
Zhang Tian did not give him time to recover. He raised a hand.
'Thousand Crimson Needles,' his mind commanded.
The crimson shield before him dissolved, its vines breaking apart into a thousand, ten thousand, a hundred thousand tiny, impossibly sharp, and crimson-red needles. They shot through the air, a silent, beautiful, and deadly storm that sought to turn Yu Tianheng into a human pincushion.
Yu Tianheng roared in a mixture of rage and a new, dawning sense of alarm. He moved, his body a blur of motion as he desperately dodged the rain of needles. They were too fast, too numerous. He was forced to retreat, his arrogant, confident charge now a clumsy, undignified dance of evasion.
He finally found an opening. He stamped his foot, and his second Spirit Ring, another yellow one, flared with a brilliant, chaotic light.
"Second Spirit Ability: Thunder Crash!"
The countless snakes of blue lightning that had been coiling around his body suddenly expanded, exploding outwards in a brilliant, chaotic storm of pure, electrical energy. It was a wide-area, indiscriminate attack, designed to annihilate everything within a ten-meter radius.
Zhang Tian just watched the oncoming storm of lightning, his expression one of faint, almost bored, indifference.
His third Spirit Ring, a deep, majestic purple one, pulsed with a calm, steady light. "Third Spirit Ability: Vine Constructs," he whispered to himself.
He raised a hand, and the ground around him came alive. The crimson grass at his feet grew with an impossible, breathtaking speed, weaving itself together, forming a perfect, seamless, and completely enclosed dome around his body.
The storm of lightning slammed into the crimson dome. The air was filled with a high-pitched, screeching symphony of crackling energy. But the dome held. It did not even tremble. The violent, chaotic lightning was simply absorbed, grounded, its power completely, utterly, and almost insultingly nullified.
When the lightning storm faded, the dome dissolved back into the earth, leaving Zhang Tian standing in the center of a small, untouched circle of grass, his dark robes not even slightly ruffled.
"Is that all you have?" he asked, his voice a calm, almost gentle sound that was somehow more condescending than any shout.
Yu Tianheng was no longer just angry. He was furious. He was the proud heir of the Blue Lightning Tyrant Dragon Clan. He was the captain of the Emperor Team. And he was being played with. Humiliated. By a boy with a trash-tier grass Spirit.
"You dare to mock me?!" he roared, his voice a sound of pure, unadulterated, and utterly, completely, and soul-crushingly humiliated rage.
He unleashed his own, innate ability. A brilliant, dazzling blue light erupted from his right arm. The skin began to shift, to harden, to grow a layer of thick, powerful, and incredibly sharp-looking blue scales. His fingers elongated, his nails sharpening into wicked, curved claws.
"Dragon Transformation!"
His entire right arm was now the arm of a true dragon, crackling with a raw, untamed electrical energy that was far more potent, far more dangerous than before.
And he was not finished.
His third Spirit Ring, the deep, majestic purple one, flared with a brilliant, blinding light.
"Third Spirit Ability: Thunder Fury!"
A storm of blinding, brilliant blue lightning burst forth from his entire body, accompanied by the tremendous sound of a deafening explosion. His aura, which had been that of a powerful Spirit Elder, now surged, skyrocketed, reaching a level that was almost that of a true Spirit Ancestor. His lightning abilities were increased by a full one hundred percent. His spirit power was increased by fifty percent.
He was now a monster. A beautiful, terrifying, and utterly, completely, and almost unstoppable engine of pure, destructive power.
He combined his two most powerful abilities. He raised his transformed dragon arm, and the amplified, furious lightning coalesced around his claws.
"Thunder Dragon Claw!" he bellowed again, his voice now a deep, distorted, and draconic roar.
The new claw was not a simple projectile. It was a massive, ten-meter-long avatar of a dragon's claw, a thing of pure, solid, and almost physically tangible lightning. It screamed through the air, a beautiful, terrifying, and seemingly unstoppable force of nature.
Zhang Tian looked at the oncoming attack, and for the first time, a flicker of genuine, serious interest entered his calm, blue eyes.
'Now this,' he thought, a slow, predatory smile spreading across his face, 'is a little more entertaining.'
He did not defend. He attacked.
He raised his own hand, and a dozen thick, powerful crimson vines shot from the ground. They were not just red. This time, they were coated in a thin, beautiful, and utterly, completely, and terrifyingly cold layer of black ice.
'Frost Serpent's Lash,' he thought, his mind a calm, creative forge of new, deadly techniques.
But he was not just trying to block. He was doing something else. Something impossible. Something that defied all known principles of Spirit mechanics.
His first Spirit Ring, a deep, almost ancient-looking yellow, flared with a strange, hungry light. "First Spirit Ability: Devour," he whispered.
The twelve, ice-coated vines did not meet the Thunder Dragon Claw in a head-on collision. They wrapped around it. They latched onto it like a swarm of hungry, crimson leeches.
The members of the Emperor Team braced themselves for the inevitable, cataclysmic explosion.
But it never came.
Instead, a strange, beautiful, and utterly, completely, and terrifyingly unnatural sight occurred. The crimson vines began to glow. A brilliant, blue-purple light, the very essence of the Thunder Dragon Claw, was being pulled from the attack, drawn into the vines, and absorbed into Zhang Tian's own body.
He was not just blocking the attack. He was eating it.
The massive, ten-meter-long dragon's claw, a technique that could have leveled a small building, began to shrink, to flicker, to die. In a matter of seconds, it was gone, its immense, violent power completely, utterly, and almost insultingly consumed.
A profound, stunned, and almost religious silence fell over the entire training field.
"What… what just happened?" Meng Shenji breathed, his voice a choked, disbelieving whisper. He looked at his two companions, the other two powerful, respected Spirit Douluos, and he saw the same look of pure, unadulterated, and utterly, completely, and soul-shattering shock on their faces. "Did he just… did he just eat the attack?"
Dugu Yan just stared, her beautiful, seductive face a mask of pure, unadulterated, and almost comically profound shock. 'He can absorb spirit power directly from an attack?' her mind screamed. 'With a grass Spirit? That's… that's impossible!'
Yu Tianheng was in a similar state. He just stood there, his magnificent, transformed dragon arm crackling with a useless, impotent energy, his mind a blank, white haze of pure, unadulterated disbelief.
Zhang Tian did not give him time to recover. During the brief, chaotic moment of the clash, a dozen tiny, invisible, and utterly, completely, and terrifyingly potent spores had been released from his vines, settling, unnoticed, on Yu Tianheng's skin, on his clothes, on his very spirit.
'A little gift for later,' Zhang Tian thought, a cold, cruel smile touching his lips.
He then ended the fight.
He raised a hand, and his third Spirit Ring flared to life once more. "Vine Constructs."
The ground beneath Yu Tianheng's feet exploded. Not in a violent, destructive way. But in a beautiful, intricate, and utterly, completely, and terrifyingly fast display of pure, creative power.
A dozen massive, crimson vines shot from the earth, weaving themselves together, forming a perfect, seamless, and completely inescapable cage around his body. Before he could even think to resist, another set of vines erupted, forming a second, inner cage. And then a third. And a fourth.
In a matter of seconds, he was trapped. Encased in a beautiful, intricate, and utterly, completely, and soul-crushingly solid prison of living, crimson grass.
Zhang Tian then made a fist.
The cage contracted. Violently.
Yu Tianheng let out a sharp, choked cry of pain as the vines squeezed, the pressure immense, suffocating. He tried to resist, to unleash his draconic power. But it was no use. The vines were not just strong. They were… alive. They seemed to sap his strength, to drain his spirit power, to crush his very will to fight.
He collapsed to his knees inside the cage, his magnificent, transformed dragon arm going limp, the brilliant, blue lightning fading to a pathetic, flickering spark.
The fight was over.
Zhang Tian stood there, his expression unchanged. Calm. Bored. He had not even broken a sweat.
He just looked at the defeated, humiliated, and utterly, completely, and soul-crushingly broken form of the proud heir of the Blue Lightning Tyrant Dragon Clan, and a faint, almost pitying, smile touched his perfect lips.
The crimson cage of vines dissolved back into the earth, leaving Yu Tianheng a crumpled, defeated heap on the soft grass. The battle was over. The victory was absolute.
Zhang Tian pivoted on his heel, his expression flat and uninterested, as if the skirmish had been nothing more than a minor distraction. He strode back toward his two fiancées, who were already hurrying to him, their eyes alight with undisguised admiration.
"Zhang Tian!" Ning Rongrong exclaimed, launching herself at him with arms wrapping firmly around his neck. She lingered for a moment before easing back, her lips curving into a playful frown. "That was disappointingly easy. I expected more from the Emperor Team's captain—the so-called twin star of the Blue Lightning Tyrant Dragon Clan. You barely broke a sweat!"
Zhu Zhuqing leaned in next, her embrace quieter but no less affectionate, her voice a smooth whisper. "She's got a point. His lightning control was erratic, all brute force without finesse. And his reactions in battle? Sluggish at best."
Their comments, delivered with the effortless disdain of those who knew their own strength far surpassed the ordinary, hung in the air. The training field had fallen into a heavy hush, making every syllable echo like a distant rumble.
The Emperor Team caught each word, and it stung like fresh cuts on raw skin. Yu Tianheng, propped up on one elbow, his muscles screaming in protest, felt them pierce deepest.
'Weak...' The accusation looped in his thoughts, a venom that burned through the haze of his loss. 'They see me as... weak.'
He glanced at Zhang Tian, the composed young man who'd dismantled him without effort. Then at the two women flanking him, their loyalty radiating like heat from a forge. And finally at his teammates, their expressions a mix of shock and unwanted sympathy.
This wasn't just a defeat—it was a public unraveling, a spectacle that diminished him before his squad and the girl he'd hoped to impress. A tide of raw hopelessness surged through him, tightening his chest.
No one approached to help. The air crackled with intimidation from the trio dominating the field.
With a choked growl that bordered on anguish, Yu Tianheng hauled himself upright. He avoided all eyes, spine rigid, and stalked away, a wounded leader seeking solitude to mend.
The oppressive quiet shattered with Ning Rongrong's bright, eager tone.
"Alright then," she announced, her smile sharp and full of anticipation, like a predator spotting easy prey. "My turn now."
She advanced, scanning the dazed Emperor Team with a gaze that sparkled with challenge. The warmth she'd shown Zhang Tian moments ago had vanished, replaced by a fierce hunger for dominance.
Shi Mò, the burly defense specialist, drew in a long breath to steady himself. He moved to confront her, his features set in a determined scowl. He'd witnessed his captain's downfall; he vowed not to repeat it.
They positioned themselves across the grass, the faint scent of churned earth and sweat lingering in the breeze.
Meng Shenji exhaled heavily, his tone laced with resignation, as if overseeing a foregone conclusion. "Begin the third match."
Shi Mò wasted no time. He bellowed—a deep, resonant boom that vibrated through the ground—and summoned his spirit. "Black Turtle, possess!"
A surge of thick yellow energy burst from him, his arms and legs compacting, skin hardening into a rugged hide. On his back, a enormous shell emerged, dark and gleaming, spanning a meter and a half, turning him into an impregnable barrier.
He stood there, a human stronghold, ready to weather any assault.
But Ning Rongrong's response flipped expectations.
She didn't call forth her Nine Treasure Glazed Tile Pagoda. No iconic tower materialized.
Instead, she grinned—a wide, confident curve that screamed self-assurance. A subtle nine-hued glow enveloped her, soft yet intensely concentrated, like a coiled spring of raw energy.
The spectators exchanged puzzled glances.
"What's her plan?" Zhi Lin muttered, leaning forward with knitted brows. "No spirit? Is she backing down?"
Zhang Tian let out a soft laugh. "Backing down? Just keep watching, Teacher Zhi."
Shi Mò, equally baffled, pushed aside doubt. He was built for combat, and she stood exposed. His second spirit ring ignited, yellow light flaring. "Second Spirit Ability: Shield Form!"
A secondary shell formed in his grip, compact at a meter across, linked by a faint energy thread. With a guttural yell, he hurled it like a whirling blade, the air whistling sharply as it sliced toward her—'whoosh'—a deadly projectile aimed to maim.
Ning Rongrong didn't flinch. Her feet glided across the turf in intricate, elusive steps—the Ghost Shadow Perplexing Track. She twisted like a shadow in twilight, body flowing around the shield's path with effortless grace. The disc spun harmlessly past, embedding in the ground with a dull 'thud', grass flying in clods.
Shi Mò snarled in irritation, yanking the shield back via its tether. He lumbered forward, surprisingly swift for his bulk, like a charging bull. His first spirit ring activated, crackling electricity dancing over his primary shell—'zzzzt'—a paralyzing trap for any who dared touch.
Ning Rongrong advanced to meet him, undeterred. The multicolored aura around her funneled into her palms, making them shimmer with vibrant power.
A support fighter charging into melee against a defender? It defied logic.
She deflected his grasping swings with precise, glowing strikes—'tap-tap-tap'—each contact sending jolts of dense spirit energy rippling through his frame. The shocks ignored his armored exterior, numbing his channels from within, like needles piercing vital points.
'This can't be,' Shi Mò thought, frustration mounting. 'She's toying with me. Me—a wall of defense!'
He leaped back, face twisted in fury. Desperation fueled his ultimate move. His third spirit ring blazed purple, energy exploding outward.
"Third Spirit Ability: Turtle Shell Burst!"
The great shell on his back fragmented with a sharp 'crack', thirty-two jagged segments launching skyward—'whirr-whirr'—before hurtling down in a chaotic barrage, converging on her from all sides. A storm of lethal debris, impossible to evade entirely.
Ning Rongrong lifted her gaze to the descending hail, her grin widening into something triumphant and mocking. 'Predictable,' she mused. 'All power, no imagination.'
Her eyes shifted, glowing with an intense purple hue—the Purple Demon Eye. In that clarity, the frenzy resolved into clear paths: every shard's arc, every collision point laid bare.
As the assault closed in, she channeled her innovation. The nine-colored light compressed into her hands, forming a volatile orb—swirling, expanding to a meter wide, its surface a mesmerizing whirl of colors.
The shards struck—'clang-clang-crash'—but met annihilation. The sphere erupted forward, pulverizing the fragments into fine black powder that scattered like ash on the wind—'poof'.
Unstopped, the orb barreled on, slamming into Shi Mò's exposed form with a resounding 'boom'. He flew back, limbs flailing, crashing thirty meters away in a heap—'thump'—unconscious, defeated.
Silence gripped the field once more, thick and awed.
Ning Rongrong dusted her hands, her posture radiating smug satisfaction. 'That was almost too straightforward,' she thought, a spark of delight in her chest. She thrived on these moments—proving her superiority, turning expectations on their head with flair and precision.
Her fighting style mirrored her essence: vibrant, teasing, unyieldingly confident. She didn't bulldoze; she danced through threats, mocking their futility with agile dodges and pinpoint counters. Each move was a statement—I see through you, and you're beneath me. No raw clashes; instead, elegant disruptions, spirit power woven like threads to unravel foes from inside. It was arrogant, yes, but earned through relentless talent and wit.
She sauntered back to Zhang Tian and Zhu Zhuqing, her step light, almost bouncy. "Well, that was fun," she quipped, voice laced with sarcasm. "Though I expected a bit more resistance from a powerful defensive spirit master."
Zhu Zhuqing arched an eyebrow, a faint smile playing on her lips. "You made it look effortless. As always."
Zhang Tian nodded, his calm demeanor unbroken. The trio turned as one to face the board members, who appeared drained, faces pale under the afternoon sun.
"I think we've settled this," Zhang Tian stated evenly, leaving no room for debate. "We've claimed our spots on the Emperor Team. Agreed?"
Meng Shenji met his gaze, the weight of the displays evident in his slumped shoulders. He nodded slowly. "Agreed. Welcome to the team."
"There will be, of course," Bai Baoshan stammered, his voice a little shaky, "a period of… adjustment. You will need to practice your coordination with the rest of the team. To build chemistry for the team battles.
"Naturally," Zhang Tian replied. "We'll attend every training."
He paused, then added his stipulation. "But we won't stay on campus. Our estate suits us better. We'll arrive for sessions and depart afterward."
The board exchanged glances, the air thick with unspoken concessions. They had no leverage here—these three had proven themselves forces beyond reckoning.
"Fine," Meng Shenji conceded. "As you wish."