The day of the battle dawned bright and clear. A palpable energy crackled over Heaven Dou City, a feeling that had nothing to do with the distant, storm-wracked canyon and everything to do with the massive, new colosseum that now stood just outside the city walls. It was a monument of white stone and imperial banners, built in three days, a testament to the Emperor's will.
The crowd, a sea of over one hundred thousand people, roared with an excitement that was almost a physical force.
A grand procession arrived from the east, marching under the banner of the roaring dragon. It was the delegation from the Blue Lightning Tyrant Dragon Clan. But as they approached the main dais, a confused murmur rippled through the knowledgeable nobles in the stands.
"Where are his elders?" one viscount whispered to another.
"I don't know... I heard rumors that their clan had a great resurgence, that several elders were on the verge of breaking through."
"He looks alone," his companion noted, his voice low. "Yu Yuanzhen is leading them, but he is accompanied only by a handful of Spirit Saint guards. His four brothers, the ones who always stood with him... they are conspicuously absent."
"Hmph. Perhaps the pressure of being a Titled Douluo was too much for them. Or perhaps there is a rift in the clan."
Yu Yuanzhen, his face a mask of stone, heard the whispers. He ignored them. His pride burned like a cold fire in his gut. He took his seat, his gaze fixed on the arena floor, his mind a raging storm of humiliation.
Shortly after, another procession arrived, this one silent and somber, their black robes a stark contrast to the colorful banners. The Clear Sky Sect.
Tang Xiao led them, his handsome, sorrowful face looking even more weary than usual. And like Yu Yuanzhen, his expected retinue was missing. There were no Titled Douluos, no grand display of the hammer's might. Only Tang Ming and a few other high-level Spirit Douluo elders accompanied him.
"What is this?" the same viscount muttered. "The Clear Sky Sect returns, but they look... diminished."
"Perhaps their exile broke them more than we thought. They look like a hammer that has been left out in the rain to rust."
Tang Xiao and Yu Yuanzhen met near the entrance to the VIP seating. They exchanged a single, brief look. It was a look that needed no words. It was a look of shared, suffocating humiliation, of a shared, burning hatred for the smiling merchant who had crippled their ambitions, and a shared, enforced silence that was more binding than any chain. They could not speak of the disaster at the fake facility. The shame was too great.
They took their seats on the main dais, side-by-side, presenting a facade of unity and power. The crowd saw the two great attack-type sects, united. They did not see the two wounded, furious kings, their minds raging with plots of a revenge that now seemed impossibly distant.
High above the arena, in a distant, shadowed tower, a solitary figure stood cloaked in shadow. Tang Hao watched the proceedings, his gaze fixed on the small, green-clad figures of the Shrek Academy team as they prepared to enter. His entire focus, his entire world, had narrowed to a single point: his son.
'So many powerful auras,' he thought, his own spirit sense brushing against the oppressive presences on the main dais. He felt the sharp, cold edge of the Sword Douluo. He felt the insidious, rotting power of the Bone Douluo. He felt the cold, arrogant presence of Bishop Salas. 'This place is a nest of vipers. But do not worry, Xiao San. I am here. If any of them try to harm you, I will burn this entire city to the ground.'
On the dais, Yu Yuanzhen's gaze swept over the Shrek team, lingering for a moment on Tang San, who was standing beside Yu Xiaogang. A flicker of something, a hint of a desperate, paternal hope, entered his golden eyes. 'Protect the boy,' he thought, his gaze shifting to his son, who refused to look at him. 'Protect Yu Xiaogang's disciple. Perhaps... perhaps this is the path back to my son. Perhaps this will finally make him see.'
Tang Xiao also watched his nephew. He saw the boy's calm, determined face. He felt the weight of his promise to his brother. 'I will keep him safe,' he vowed silently. 'Hao's son will not fall here.'
A new procession arrived, this one heralded by the soft, musical chime of bells and the awed, indrawn breaths of the crowd. It was the delegation from the Seven Treasure Glaze Tile Sect.
Ning Fengzhi walked at the center, his face serene, his new, nine-layered Nine Treasure Glaze Tile Pagoda faintly visible, pulsing with a gentle, nine-colored light behind him. He was flanked by the Sword Douluo and the Bone Douluo, their presence a silent, overwhelming pressure that seemed to bend the very air around them.
And behind them walked two other figures, two old men in the sect's formal robes, their faces calm, their eyes sharp. And from their bodies radiated the undeniable, heavy aura of Titled Douluos.
The sight sent another shockwave through the assembled powers.
"Five! Five Titled Douluos! Walking in the open!"
"The rumors were true! The Seven Treasure Glaze Tile Sect is truly a superpower!"
"How... How did they do it? Two new Titled Douluos in a single year!"
Tang Xiao and Yu Yuanzhen exchanged another dark look. They were not surprised. Their crippled elders had told them. They had seen nine.
'He's only showing five,' Tang Xiao thought, his hand clenching on the armrest of his throne. 'The bastard... he's still hiding his true strength. He is more cunning than a hundred thousand-year-old fox.'
'Nine…' Yu Yuanzhen's mind echoed, the number a cold, hard stone in his gut. 'He crippled eight of our best, and he still has nine. This… this is a monster we have provoked.'
Ning Fengzhi greeted Emperor Xue Ye with a perfect, elegant courtesy. He then turned and nodded politely to Tang Xiao and Yu Yuanzhen, his smile as warm, as genuine, and as friendly as a summer morning. His expression held no hint of the brutal humiliation he had inflicted upon their clans just weeks before. It was a masterful, flawless performance of benevolent power.
"Sect Leader Tang, Clan Leader Yu," he said, his voice a smooth, melodic chime. "A pleasure to see you both looking so... well. It is a good day for the continent, is it not? That our three great sects can finally gather in peace once more."
Tang Xiao's sorrowful face twitched, but he forced a smile. "Indeed, Sect Master Ning. Your sect's prosperity is truly the talk of the empire." His voice was like grinding stone.
Ning Fengzhi's gaze swept over the arena, finally settling on the private viewing box where his daughter sat, invisible to the crowd. He gave a small, proud smile. 'Show them, my daughter,' he thought. 'Show them all. Show them the new, brilliant light of our Seven Treasure Glaze Tile Pagoda.'
Sword Douluo's gaze was fixed on the stage, a flicker of genuine interest in his sharp eyes. 'Hmph. 42 against 7? That boy Zhang Tian is as arrogant as I am. This should be a good show.'
Bone Douluo let out a low, rattling chuckle as he watched the pale, nervous faces of the Shrek team entering the waiting area. "This should be… amusing," he rasped, his voice like dry bones clattering together.
The Seven Treasure Glaze Tile Sect delegation took their seats, a silent, powerful bloc on the main dais, their presence shifting the very balance of power in the arena. The crowd, the other sects, they saw five Titled Douluos. They did not know the truth. They did not know about the other four secret Titled Douluos currently guarding the sect's main compound. They did not know the true depth of the smiling man's power.
Ning Fengzhi settled into his seat, a look of calm, patient satisfaction on his face. Everything was proceeding exactly according to his plan.
The final dignitaries arrived. Emperor Xue Ye took his central throne, flanked by his sons, his concubines, and the other high officials of his court. His expression was one of regal anticipation. He knew this battle was more than just a tournament match; it was a statement of his empire's strength.
Seated near the Emperor, almost hidden in the shadows, was Dugu Bo, the Poison Douluo. He looked supremely, almost painfully, bored, his gaze distant. But his eyes would occasionally flicker to the Emperor Team's entrance, a faint, almost imperceptible hint of grandfatherly pride in their depths. He was here for Dugu Yan. He was here to cheer for his granddaughter, and to make sure that no one, absolutely no one, harmed a single hair on her head.
A short distance away, Bishop Salas, representing the Spirit Hall, took his seat with a polite, impassive smile. But his eyes were sharp, analytical, like those of an eagle. He was here to observe, to gather intelligence on these rising, volatile powers. He had already sent two coded messages back to Bibi Dong. He pulled out a small, refined-looking spirit tool and began to send a third.
In the waiting areas beneath the stage, the tension was a physical, tangible thing. The Shrek team and their three allied academies, a nervous, sweating mass of forty-two young geniuses, gathered in a tight, grim-faced circle. Tang San stood in the center, his voice a low, urgent murmur as he made his final adjustments to their complex, coordinated strategy. Their faces were grim, determined.
"Remember the plan," Tang San said, his voice low and intense. "Blazing Academy and Thunderclap, you are the primary assault. You must use your elemental power to overwhelm their control. Do not let their captain, Zhang Tian, deploy his vines. Divine Wind, you will support them, disrupt their formations. Shrek team, we are the blade. We will find their healer and their captain. We strike as one. Understood?"
"Just point me at Zhang Tian," Dai Mubai growled, his knuckles white.
In their own, far more luxurious waiting area, the Emperor Team was relaxed to the point of being almost asleep. Zhang Tian was playfully braiding Ning Rongrong's hair, his fingers a blur of motion.
"There," he whispered, finishing with a small, silk ribbon. "Perfect."
"Hee hee! It feels pretty!" Ning Rongrong chirped. "I'll dazzle them with my hair before I dazzle them with my power!"
Zhu Zhuqing sat in a corner, methodically sharpening two small, obsidian daggers, the shing-shing-shing of the whetstone a soft, rhythmic sound. She tested the edge with her thumb. Perfect. She looked up and met Zhang Tian's gaze, a silent, shared understanding passing between them.
Dugu Yan, for her part, was carefully applying a fresh coat of shimmering, purple lipstick, a concoction of her own, highly venomous design. 'I wonder if Tang San will be on the other side?' she thought, a small, cruel smile on her lips. 'I hope I get to poison him personally.'
The final checks were made. The massive defensive arrays of the colosseum hummed to life, a faint, blue shimmer washing over the massive stage.
The announcer's voice, amplified by a powerful spirit tool, boomed across the plaza, a sound that made the very stones tremble.
"Welcome! Welcome, citizens of the Heaven Dou Empire, to the most anticipated battle in the history of the Continental Tournament!"
He introduced the judges. The dignitaries. Emperor Xue Ye. Sect Leader Tang Xiao. Clan Leader Yu Yuanzhen. Sect Master Ning Fengzhi. Bishop Salas. The crowd roared with every name.
"And now!" the announcer bellowed. "The moment we have all been waiting for! Please welcome… the Allied Academies!"
The gate on one side of the arena opened. The forty-two students walked onto the stage. A sea of different uniforms—Shrek's green, Blazing's gold, Divine Wind's cyan, Thunderclap's purple. The sheer number of them was a heavy, powerful sight. The crowd roared, a wave of pure, unadulterated excitement.
"And their opponents!" the announcer screamed, his voice cracking with manufactured drama. "The team that issued this historic challenge! The seeded champions of our great empire! The pride of the Heaven Dou Imperial Academy! Give it up for… THE EMPEROR TEAM!"
The gate on the opposite side of the arena opened. And the seven of them walked out.
They looked small. They looked outnumbered. They looked like a tiny, insignificant island about to be swallowed by a tidal wave.
But they walked with a calm, unhurried confidence that made the crowd's roar falter. Their auras were in perfect sync, a single, silent, and immensely powerful presence that seemed to warp the very air around them.
The referee, a grim-faced Spirit Saint from the Spirit Hall, flew down, landing in the center of the stage. He looked at the forty-two nervous, sweating students on one side. He looked at the seven calm, almost bored-looking students on the other. He took a deep breath, his own face tense.
The crowd held its breath. The stage was set. The players were in place. The greatest, most anticipated, and most insane battle in the history of the Continental Tournament was about to begin.