The main hall of the Blue Lightning Tyrant Dragon Clan fortress was a cavernous, intimidating space. The air, usually crackling with a faint, static hum, was now thick with the scent of old liquor and a palpable, greedy excitement.
Yu Yuanzhen sat on his throne carved from the skull of an ancient dragon, a half-empty flagon of fiery liquor in his hand. Before him, seated around a massive stone table, were the new pillars of his clan—his four brothers, now Titled Douluos—and their new, powerful allies from the Clear Sky Sect.
"The reports from our agents in the market are consistent," one of Yu Yuanzhen's newly ascended brothers, Yu Longwei, said, his voice a low, excited rumble. "The Seven Treasure Glaze Tile Sect is buying up every last scrap of high-grade metals. They're hoarding resources like a dragon preparing for war."
Tang Xiao, the leader of the Clear Sky Sect, nodded grimly. "Our own sources say the same. They are preparing for something big. And this new facility they are building… it is the key." He looked at the other men around the table, his expression serious. He was a cautious man by nature, a trait that had been honed by fourteen long years of exile. "We have the information from the… interrogation. We know the Breaking Clan is involved. We know they are producing pills. But this new facility… we cannot act on rumors and tortured confessions alone. We must confirm what is happening there. We need eyes on the ground."
Yu Yuanzhen took a long drink from his flagon, a slow, predatory smile on his handsome face. He agreed with his new ally's caution. An open war with the Seven Treasure Glaze Tile Sect was not something to be entered into lightly, even with their new, combined strength.
"You are right, Tang Xiao," he boomed, his voice echoing in the vast hall. "A direct move would be foolish. We need a scout. Someone who can get close, observe, and return without being detected."
He looked at his own brothers. "None of us can go. Our aura is too distinct. They would sense us from a mile away."
Tang Xiao nodded. "And my own elders… our spirits are not known for their subtlety."
They needed a ghost.
"I have the man for the job," Yu Yuanzhen said finally, a cunning light in his golden eyes. He sent for a subordinate, a man from one of their most loyal vassal families.
An hour later, a new figure entered the hall. He was a lean, hawk-faced man in his late fifties, his presence as quiet and as sharp as a blade of wind. This was Feng Lie, a Level 86 Spirit Douluo from the Wind Eagle Clan, a master of stealth and aerial reconnaissance.
"You summoned me, Clan Leader," he said, his voice a low, respectful murmur as he knelt before the throne.
"I have a mission for you, Feng Lie," Yu Yuanzhen commanded. "A mission of the utmost importance."
Feng Lie's journey to Heaven Dou City was a silent, swift affair. He did not travel by road. He flew. His Wind Eagle spirit was a thing of pure, untamed speed, and he crossed the hundreds of miles in a matter of hours, a silent, unnoticed shadow in the vast, open sky.
He arrived on the outskirts of the capital as the sun was beginning to set, a great, molten orange orb on the horizon. And he saw it.
The new facility was a monster. It was a massive, imposing compound of black stone and reinforced iron, its high walls topped with sharp, wicked-looking spikes. Watchtowers, manned by figures whose auras he could feel even from this distance, powerful Spirit Saints, stood at each corner. It was not a factory. It was a fortress.
'The rumors are true,' he thought, his heart a cold, hard knot of a new, profound respect for the power of the Seven Treasure Glaze Tile Sect. 'This is not a simple production facility. This is a military installation.'
High above the city, in the quiet, opulent study of the Seven Treasure Glaze Tile Sect, a different, far more subtle kind of observation was taking place.
Ning Fengzhi sat at his desk, a cup of fragrant, steaming tea in his hand, his expression one of calm, placid amusement. Before him, one of his intelligence elders, a man whose face was a bland, forgettable canvas, was giving his report.
"Sect Master," the elder murmured, "our perimeter sensors have detected a high-level presence observing the eastern facility. A wind-attribute beast type Spirit Douluo. He is being cautious, staying beyond the main patrol routes."
Ning Fengzhi smiled, a slow, cold, and incredibly, beautifully satisfied light entering his eyes. He took a slow, appreciative sip of his tea. "Excellent," he said, his voice a low, purring sound. "The rats are sniffing the cheese. Let's give them a show they won't forget."
He pulled out his own, beautifully crafted Pager, a device of polished silver and black wood. He pressed a button and spoke into it, his voice a quiet, calm command.
"The guest has arrived. Begin phase one of the performance."
Down on the ground, hidden in the deep shadows of the forest that bordered the facility, Feng Lie's eyes narrowed. He was a Wind Eagle. His vision was a thing of legendary, almost supernatural, clarity. He focused his spirit power, and the world, even in the fading light of dusk, sharpened, became a landscape of clear, hard-edged details.
He saw it all. He saw a new convoy of heavily guarded carriages, bearing the unmistakable crest of the Breaking Clan, arrive at the main gate. He saw disciples, their faces a mask of grim, focused purpose, begin to unload heavy, sealed crates. He could see the labels on the crates, written in the complex, alchemical script of the old clans. 'Dragon's Breath Herb.' 'Sunstone Powder.' 'Mithril Dust.'
He saw the smoke, a thick, fragrant plume that was tinged with a strange, herbal scent, begin to rise from the chimneys of one of the main buildings. It was all exactly as the tortured elder had described. It was all perfectly, beautifully, and wonderfully, joyously, and almost religiously profound legitimate.
He decided to risk a closer look. He moved with a silent, ghostly grace, his body a flicker of motion in the deep, encroaching shadows. He reached the edge of the treeline, just a hundred meters from the main wall. And he heard them.
Two guards, their armor gleaming in the light of their spirit lamps, were walking their patrol route. And they were complaining. Loudly.
"I hate this post," one of them grumbled, his voice a low, tired sound. "The weapons lab is just on the other side of this wall. The sounds of their testing keep me up at night. Woke me up three times last night."
"Tell me about it," the other guard replied with a yawn. "But did you hear the news? They say they finally perfected the new 'Thunder Ray Rifle' yesterday. The one that can punch a hole through a Titled Douluo's defensive aura. Scares me just thinking about it."
Feng Lie's blood ran cold. A rifle that could pierce a Titled Douluo's aura? It was a weapon that could change the very nature of warfare.
He had heard enough. He had seen enough. He could feel the powerful, crisscrossing auras of the Spirit Saint patrols, a silent, deadly web of security that he knew he could not breach alone. To try and infiltrate a compound with this level of security, a place that was clearly a high-level military research facility, would be suicide.
He melted back into the shadows, his mind a whirlwind of new, terrifying information. He returned to the Blue Lightning fortress before the sun had even fully set, his face a pale, grim mask.
He delivered his report. He told them of the high walls, of the Spirit Saint patrols, of the Breaking Clan's presence, of the signs of alchemy. And he told them of the new, terrifying weapon.
The mood in the grand hall, which had been one of cautious, greedy excitement, now turned to one of a cold, hard, and deeply profound fear.
Ning Fengzhi sat in his study, a satisfied smile on his handsome, elegant face. He had just received the report. The scout had departed.
"A good start," he murmured to himself, taking a sip of his tea. "But whispers are not enough to make a dragon act. They will need to taste the bait themselves."
He began to set the next stage of his beautiful, intricate, and wonderfully, joyously, and almost religiously profound trap.
A few days later, a new piece of intelligence, a juicy, irresistible morsel of information, found its way to the ears of a well-known information broker in Heaven Dou City. The broker, a man with a reputation for selling secrets to the highest bidder, had a long, and very profitable, relationship with the Blue Lightning Tyrant Dragon Clan.
The information was simple. A "special convoy" would be departing from the new Seven Treasure Sect facility in two days' time. It would be transporting a "failed batch of experimental materials" to a disposal site in the northern forests. And the route it would be taking was a long, secluded, and beautifully, wonderfully, and almost comically isolated mountain road.
The broker, his pockets now significantly heavier with a pouch of pure, untraceable gold spirit coins, immediately sent a message to his most valued clients.
At the Blue Lightning fortress, the news was received with a wave of triumphant, greedy excitement.
"A failed batch?" Yu Yuanzhen scoffed, his voice a low, rumbling sound of pure, unadulterated contempt. He was in his private war room, surrounded by his brothers and the elders of the Clear Sky Sect. "More likely a prototype they are trying to move secretly. They are testing their new weapons. This is our chance."
Tang Xiao nodded in agreement, his usual caution overshadowed by a new, more aggressive ambition. "We must intercept it. We must see these new weapons for ourselves."
They decided to dispatch a team. A small, elite, and overwhelmingly powerful team.
"Luomian," Yu Yuanzhen commanded, his gaze settling on his younger brother. "You will lead. And you will take Fengxian with you." Yu Fengxian was another of his newly ascended Titled Douluo brothers, a man whose spirit had a unique, speed-based mutation.
Tang Xiao, not to be outdone, also chose his champions. "Haien," he said, his voice a low, final command. "You will go as well. And take Ming with you." Tang Haien, with his fiery, aggressive temper, was the perfect man for a quick, brutal assault. And Tang Ming, with his calm, analytical mind, would be the perfect balance.
A force of four Titled Douluos. For a simple convoy raid. It was a statement of pure, arrogant, and wonderfully, joyously, and almost religiously profound overconfidence.
The ambush was a short, brutal, and perfectly, beautifully staged affair.
The four Titled Douluos descended upon the convoy on the lonely mountain road like vengeful gods. The guards, a team of fifty elite Spirit Emperors and Spirit Saints from the Seven Treasure Glaze Tile Sect, put up a "valiant," but ultimately, "futile" resistance. They fought with a courage that was a testament to the honor of their sect, their spirit abilities a beautiful, chaotic display of light and power. But against four Titled Douluos, they were nothing.
The battle was over in less than a minute. The guards were left scattered on the road, their bodies bruised, their spirit power depleted, but their lives, as per Ning Fengzhi's explicit instructions, spared.
The Titled Douluos seized the main, heavily reinforced crate, a massive, black iron box that was the centerpiece of the convoy.
With a triumphant roar from Tang Haien, they pried it open.
And they found it. A treasure trove.
The crate was filled with a collection of beautifully crafted, but strangely inert, spirit tool components. And resting on top of them, in a fine, leather-bound portfolio, was a set of "draft blueprints."
The four powerful Titled Douluos returned to their respective leaders, the crate of "secrets" presented as the ultimate proof of their victory. They were hailed as heroes. Their own pride, their own confidence, soared to new, dangerous heights.
Yu Yuanzhen and Tang Xiao examined the blueprints themselves. Their own, powerful minds, the minds of two of the most respected and feared men in the world, could find no flaw in the design.
The blueprints were for a "Spirit Power Amplification Array," a device that, according to the detailed annotations, could boost a Spirit Master's raw output by a full fifty percent. The diagrams were complex, the theories behind them a work of pure, unadulterated genius.
They were completely, utterly, and beautifully, wonderfully, and almost religiously profound convinced.
The facility was real. The weapons were real. And the secrets… the secrets were now within their grasp.
The news of the "failed" shipment, and the "defeat" of his elite guards, sent Ning Fengzhi into a grand, public spectacle of pure, unadulterated fury.
He stormed through the halls of his sect, his voice, usually a calm, melodic sound, now a roaring, thunderous thing. He publicly "punished" the captain of the guard, stripping him of his rank and reassigning him to a remote, insignificant outpost.
And he tripled the security at the new facility. The compound, which had already been a fortress, was now a veritable death trap. The walls were crawling with even more powerful Spirit Saints, their auras a constant, oppressive presence. The very air around the compound seemed to hum with a new, dangerous energy.
The prize inside, the priceless secrets of the Seven Treasure Glaze Tile Sect, now seemed even more valuable, more desirable, more… irresistible.
With the stage set, with his audience's full, undivided attention, Ning Fengzhi laid his final, beautiful, and wonderfully, joyously, and almost religiously profound lure.
He leaked a new piece of intelligence through his network, a whisper that was meant to be the final, fatal nail in his enemies' coffin.
"The Sect Leader of the Breaking Clan himself," the rumor began, a juicy, irresistible morsel of information that spread through the city's underworld like wildfire, "the Elder Yang Yi, is arriving at the facility. He will be personally overseeing the first mass-production run of the new 'Golden Sun Ascension Pill' in two days' time, on the night of the new moon."
The news hit the Blue Lightning and Clear Sky sects like a thunderbolt.
A master alchemist. The secret to the evolution pills. And weapon blueprints. All in one location. For one night only.
It was a jackpot. A prize so great, so world-shaking, that it was worth any risk.
A final, secret war council was convened in the thunder-wreathed throne room of the Blue Lightning Clan. Yu Yuanzhen, Tang Xiao, and all of their newly ascended Titled Douluos were present. The mood was no longer one of caution, of strategic planning. It was one of a feverish, greedy, and almost religiously profound excitement.
Caution was thrown to the wind. The time for subtlety was over. The time for a direct, overwhelming, and final assault had come.
They finalized their strategy. A full-scale, covert raid on the facility on the night of the new moon. It would be a lightning strike, a decapitation blow designed to cripple the Seven Treasure Glaze Tile Sect's future, and secure their own, glorious dominance.
They assembled their strike force. It would be a team of eight. The full, combined might of their new, Titled Douluo elders.
Yu Luomian and Tang Haien would lead, their personal rivalry and shared, burning hatred for the Seven Treasure Sect making them the perfect, brutal vanguard.
Their objectives were clear, and absolute.
One: capture the alchemist, Elder Yang Wu, alive.
Two: secure every blueprint, every recipe, every note from the central vault.
Three: seize any and all finished pills and spirit tools.
They were confident. They were arrogant. They believed they had outsmarted Ning Fengzhi at every turn. They saw him as a merchant, a diplomat, a man who played with numbers and words, not with steel and fire. They were about to teach him a lesson in true power.
The eve of the battle arrived. The eight Titled Douluos gathered in the shadows of the Blue Lightning fortress, their auras suppressed, their faces a mask of grim, determined anticipation. They were about to embark on a mission that they believed would change the world.
Far away, in a quiet, opulent study in the heart of Heaven Dou City, a different kind of anticipation was in the air.
Ning Fengzhi sat at his desk, calmly sipping a cup of fragrant, steaming tea. He looked at a small, ornate calendar on his desk. He had drawn a small, elegant circle around today's date. The date of the new moon.
"The rats," he murmured to himself, a slow, cold, and predatory smile touching his lips, "are coming for the poisoned cheese."