The week following Shrek Academy's humiliating public execution at the hands of the Blazing Academy was a miserable affair. The temporary quarters at the Blue Tyrant Academy, which had been buzzing with the triumphant energy of a rising star, were now as quiet and as somber as a tomb. The usual boisterous laughter of Ma Hongjun, the cheerful, flirtatious banter of Oscar, it was all gone, replaced by a heavy, suffocating silence.
Yu Xiaogang had locked himself in his office for three full days. When he emerged, his face was a pale, gaunt mask of pure, intellectual fury. He had not slept. He had not eaten. He had simply… thought. And he had found his answer.
The debriefing that followed was not a simple review. It was a brutal, multi-day autopsy of their failure. He had them stand in the center of the training field for hours, a grim, silent line of defeated warriors, as he tore their every strategy, their every assumption, their every weakness, to shreds.
"Arrogance!" he had roared, his voice a raw, ragged sound of pure, academic rage as he paced before them like a caged animal. "You were arrogant! You thought your individual power, your monstrous talent, was enough! You thought you could simply walk onto that stage and overwhelm them with brute force! And you were wrong!"
He had then turned his cold, analytical gaze on Tang San, his most prized, and most disappointing, disciple.
"And you," he had said, his voice dropping to a low, dangerous sound that was somehow more terrifying than his earlier shouts. "You were the most arrogant of all. You believed your clever little tricks, your hidden weapons, could solve any problem. You failed to account for the most fundamental, most basic law of this world. Elemental suppression. Your spirit, your greatest weapon, was rendered useless. And with it, your control over the battlefield was lost. You were not a core. You were a liability."
The words were a dagger in Tang San's heart. But he did not argue. He did not defend himself. Because he knew, on a deep, fundamental level, that his teacher was right.
The deconstruction was followed by a reconstruction. Yu Xiaogang, having shattered their old, flawed identity, began to forge a new one.
"From this day forward," he announced, his voice a calm, final, and non-negotiable command, "we will operate under a new tactical doctrine. We will have two modes of engagement. Against mixed teams, against opponents who rely on a balanced formation, Tang San, you will remain the core. Your control, your Purple Spirit Grass, will be our primary weapon."
He then looked at his disciple, and his eyes were as cold and as hard as a winter morning. "But against pure, elemental teams, against opponents who can suppress your spirit, your role will change. You will no longer be the core. You will be the chaos. Your Purple Spirit Grass will be a secondary, opportunistic weapon, to be used only when a clear, safe opening presents itself. Your primary function will be to disrupt. To create openings. You will use your movement technique to move around and help your comrades. You will use your hidden weapons. You will become a high-speed assassin, a ghost in the machine, and you will create the chaos that our power attackers need to break through."
The new strategy was a difficult, and deeply humbling, one for Tang San to accept. But he knew it was necessary.
The weeks that followed were a testament to their new, hard-won resolve. Their subsequent matches in the preliminary rounds were not the clean, effortless sweeps of before. They were brutal, messy, and hard-fought affairs.
They faced a powerful team from the Divine Wind Academy, their opponents a whirlwind of blades and razor-sharp wind. Tang San's Purple Spirit Grass was a liability, its vines shredded by the focused, cutting power of the wind.
But he adapted. He became a ghost, his hidden weapons a silent, deadly rain that took out their support-type Spirit Master in the first ten seconds of the match.
The battle that followed was a chaotic, bloody brawl, but with their core support gone, the Divine Wind Academy eventually fell to the sheer, overwhelming, and brutal power of Dai Mubai, Yu Tianheng, and Tai Long.
They faced the Elephant Armored Academy. This time, there was no clever trick, no subtle manipulation. It was a simple, head-on collision of pure, unadulterated power. Dai Mubai and Yu Tianheng, their own pride on the line, fought with a savage, almost suicidal fury.
The battle was a long, grinding war of attrition, but in the end, the sheer, relentless aggression of the Shrek team, fueled by Oscar's endless supply of sausages, won out.
The public's perception of the Shrek team began to change. They were no longer the invincible, untouchable geniuses. They were a team of tenacious, resilient fighters. They were a team that could bleed.
They were a team that could lose.
And paradoxically, their popularity soared.
They were no longer gods to be admired from a distance; they were underdogs to be cheered for, their every hard-won victory a shared, triumphant moment for the entire city.
The loss had also forged a new, stronger, and far more realistic bond within the team. Dai Mubai's arrogance, which had been a loud, boisterous thing, was now tempered with a new, grim determination.
He trained with a maniacal intensity, his every waking moment consumed by a single, all-consuming thought. The wager.
The image of Zhang Tian's cold, mocking smile was a constant, terrifying motivator, a fire that burned away his laziness, his complacency.
The Emperor Team became an obsession.
The Shrek Seven would spend their nights gathered in the academy's small, cluttered library, a single, flickering spirit lamp illuminating their tired, determined faces.
They would study every scrap of information they could find, every recorded match, every rumor, every whisper.
They were looking for a weakness. A crack in the seemingly flawless, impenetrable armor of their true, and only, enemy.
One night, as Tang San was in his own, private workshop, his hands a blur of motion as he assembled a new, more deadly batch of his Bone Piercing Icicle Needles, a soft, familiar presence entered the room.
"Third Brother," Xiao Wu's voice was a quiet, worried sound. She stood in the doorway, her pretty face a mask of concern. "It's late. You should be resting."
He did not look up from his work. "I'm fine, Xiao Wu," he said, his voice a low, distracted sound.
She walked over to him and placed a gentle hand on his shoulder. "No, you're not," she said, her voice a soft, sad murmur. "You haven't been fine since the match. You're pushing yourself too hard. You barely sleep. You barely eat. You just… train."
He finally paused, his hands stilling. He looked at the intricate, deadly weapon in his hand, and then at the beautiful, worried face of the girl he loved. He let out a long, slow sigh, a sound of profound, soul-deep weariness.
"I have to, Xiao Wu," he said, his voice a quiet, final sound. "I have to be stronger."
By the end of the second week of the preliminaries, despite their initial, shocking loss, the Shrek Academy had re-established itself as a top contender. Their record was a string of hard-won, brutal, and bloody victories.
A fragile, but very real, confidence began to creep back into the team. They had adapted. They had overcome. They began to believe, once more, that they still had a chance to win. It was a belief born more from a desperate, all-consuming need for revenge than from any true, objective assessment of their own strength.
While the Shrek Academy was fighting for its very survival in the bright, public spectacle of the tournament, a very different, and far more leisurely, scene was unfolding in a quiet, secluded garden on the other side of the city.
Zhang Tian's private viewing room at the arena was conspicuously empty. He had not attended a single match since the Shrek team's glorious, beautiful, and wonderfully, joyously satisfying defeat.
He was lounging on a soft, plush daybed in the center of his sun-drenched garden, his head resting in the lap of the most beautiful woman in the world. Zhu Zhuqing's fingers were a gentle, soothing presence in his two-toned hair, her touch a silent, loving language.
Nearby, a game of Star Luo Chess was in its final, decisive moments. Ning Rongrong, her face a mask of intense, frustrated concentration, stared at the board.
Qian Renxue, her opponent, just smiled, a cool, elegant expression of pure, unshakeable confidence.
Ning Rongrong made a move, a desperate, ill-advised lunge with her last remaining piece. She immediately regretted it.
"Checkmate," Qian Renxue said, her voice a calm, melodic chime as she captured Ning Rongrong's king.
Ning Rongrong let out a frustrated huff and threw her hands up in the air. "I'm bored!" she declared, her voice a pouty, petulant sound. "This is no fun. You're too good at this. Aren't we going to watch the matches today? I was hoping to see that silly Shrek team get embarrassed again!"
Zhang Tian didn't even open his eyes. His voice was a low, lazy drawl, the sound of a man who was utterly, completely, and blissfully content with his own, perfect world. "There's no point. They lost their one and only important match. Everything after this is just the desperate, flailing struggle of a wounded animal. It's predictable. And frankly, it's boring."
Qian Renxue just nodded, a look of cool, aristocratic agreement on her beautiful face. "He's right," she said, her voice a smooth, analytical melody. "Their fatal flaw has been exposed. They may win against these disorganized lesser teams, but their journey is over. They cannot defeat the Blazing Academy in a rematch, and they certainly cannot defeat you all. They cannot win the championship. The wager is, for all intents and purposes, already decided."
The words, so logical, so final, so utterly, completely, and beautifully cruel, brought a fresh, happy smile to Ning Rongrong's face.
It was then that Zhang Tian finally sat up. The lazy, indulgent expression on his handsome face was gone, replaced by a new, serious look that immediately captured the attention of all three women.
"My focus is no longer on Tang San, or on this tournament," he said, his voice a low, grim sound. "A new, and far more significant, faction has entered the world."
He then, in a quiet, serious voice, recounted a carefully edited version of his mental encounter with the Myriad Demon King. He did not speak of the Silver Dragon King, or of the Asura God. He simply told them of a new, ancient, and terrifyingly powerful threat that had emerged from the deepest, most hidden corner of the Star Dou Great Forest.
"The forest is stirring," he concluded, his voice a low, somber sound. "Ancient spirit beasts, beings of immense strength, are waking up."
He then shared his theory with them. "Their emergence is… premature. According to what I know, it's not supposed to happen right now. I suspect my own actions, the rapid and aggressive spread of my Blood Silver Grass, has disrupted the forest's delicate balance and drawn their unwanted attention."
Ning Rongrong and Zhu Zhuqing exchanged a worried look.
"Is that bad?" Zhu Zhuqing asked, her voice a low, concerned murmur. "Are these… ancient spirit beasts… our enemies?"
Zhang Tian just smiled. A predatory light entered his blue-reddish tint eyes.
"Bad?" he said, his voice a low, amused purr. "No, my love. It's an opportunity. The greatest opportunity we could have ever hoped for."
He then, in a low, conspiratorial voice, laid out his new, grand, and world-shattering vision. He told them of the two paths that now lay before him. The two paths to a power that was beyond that of any Spirit Master, of any Titled Douluo. The two paths to godhood.
Path one, he explained, was a path of creation. A path of alliance. He would try to forge a pact with these immensely powerful Fierce Beasts. He would offer them a future free from the constant, existential threat of humanity.
And in return, he would ask for their protection, for their resources, for the time and assistance he needed to perfect his greatest, most world-shaking creation: artificial spirit rings and artificial spirit bones. A new path to power that would change the world forever.
Path two, he said, his eyes gleaming with a dark, dangerous light, was a path of conquest.
A path of slaughter. If the beasts became his enemies, if they refused his offer of peace, then he would see them as the single greatest resource in the world. A treasure trove of the most powerful spirit rings and bones in existence.
A harvest that would elevate himself, and his women, to a level of power that would make them gods.
The three women listened, their minds reeling, their hearts hammering against their ribs. The sheer, breathtaking audacity of his ambition, of his vision, was a thing of terrifying, beautiful, and utterly intoxicating power.
While a new, grand, and world-shaking game was being planned in the quiet, sun-drenched garden of Zhang Tian's estate, a different, far more subtle, and infinitely more insidious game was reaching its final, decisive stages on the other side of the city.
In the grand, opulent study of the Seven Treasure Glaze Tile Sect, Ning Fengzhi sat at his desk, a look of calm, patient satisfaction on his handsome, elegant face.
The trap was set.
The fake production facility on the outskirts of Heaven Dou City was now complete. It was a masterpiece of deception, an imposing fortress of high walls and watchtowers that radiated an aura of profound, and utterly fictitious, importance.
The rumors he had so carefully, so masterfully, seeded in the city's taverns and teahouses had taken root.
The whispers of a secret, high-tech research facility, of a hidden vault filled with the blueprints for world-shaking weapons, had reached the ears of his enemies.
He knew, from the reports of his own, far more effective, intelligence network, that the Blue Lightning and the Clear Sky sects were watching. They were circling. Their greed, their desperation, was a palpable, predictable thing.
And now, it was time for the final, beautiful act of his play.
A heavily guarded convoy, bearing the crest of the Breaking Clan, a symbol that was a personal, and very painful, insult to the pride of the Clear Sky Sect, arrived at the new facility in the bright, open light of day. It was a deliberate, public performance, a piece of irresistible cheese for the rats that were watching from the shadows.
The convoy was seen unloading dozens of heavy, sealed crates, each one marked with complex, and utterly meaningless, alchemical symbols.
The illusion of industry was perfect. The fake alchemy wing was a cloud of fragrant, harmless smoke. The fake engineering wing was a symphony of pointless, industrial noise.
But the hidden dangers, the beautiful booby traps, were all in place. The fake pill recipes, with their single, fatal, and almost imperceptible flaw. The fake spirit tool cores, with their built-in, catastrophic self-destruct mechanism. The entire facility was a giant, explosive, and beautifully baited time bomb.
Ning Fengzhi reviewed the final report from his intelligence elder. Everything was in place.
He looked out of his window, his gaze directed towards the new location of the Clear Sky Sect in the eastern hills. A slow, cold, and predatory smile touched his lips.
'Come, you proud dragons and hammers,' he thought, his mind a cold, beautiful landscape of vengeful glee. 'Come and claim your prize. I have prepared it just for you.'
~~
A/N: Check out my other novels like "Harem Master: Seduction System" and the "Villain: Manipulating the Heroines into hating the Protagonist" and I hope you like this story and those stories as well.
Check out more chapters on my P.atreon. The P.atreon will have 20+ Chapters ahead for this story. I hope you like it.
The link of p.atreon is: bit.ly/evildragon