The morning sun rose over the Longwei estate like a blade being unsheathed.
Light spilled across training courtyards, stone arenas, and the towering ancestral hall.
But beneath the calm gleam of dawn, whispers ran wild — whispers of a youth who had defied every rule of cultivation.
"He crushed the stone pillar bare-handed."
"Impossible! He's only at the first stage of Body Tempering!"
"Elder Han's grandson was humiliated—what kind of freak strength was that?"
The rumors spread like wildfire. Every clan member, from servant to elder, spoke the same name that morning.
Dua Lin.
Yesterday, he was the forgotten son of a fallen branch.
Today, his name echoed through Longwei City like thunder from a distant storm.
In the quiet of his courtyard, Dua Lin sat cross-legged on a jade mat. His eyes were closed, his breathing even, his skin faintly glowing as qi threads circulated through his meridians. Behind him, a dim shadow lingered — the outline of a coiling dragon, half-formed and silent.
Inside his dantian, the Nine Dragons War Sovereign Technique was circulating on its own, devouring heaven and earth essence with unyielding hunger.
He felt the minute resonance between his mortal blood and the ancient dragon will buried within. It was weak — faint as mist — but undeniable. Each rotation of his qi stirred that hidden might, refining his bones, hardening his flesh, sharpening his senses.
"This body…" he thought, eyes still closed. "Though frail, its potential is terrifying once awakened.
If I can temper it fully, even my past self—the Ghost Sovereign—would have bowed before me."
A knock sounded.
"Come in," Dua Lin said softly.
The door slid open, revealing a slender young woman in simple robes — Mei Yun, the clan servant assigned to him since childhood. Her expression was tight with worry.
"Young Master Lin, the elders have summoned you to the martial courtyard," she said quickly. "Elder Han's grandson, Han Rui, has issued a public challenge."
Dua Lin opened his eyes. Twin threads of golden light flashed and vanished within.
"A challenge?" he asked lightly. "On what grounds?"
Mei Yun hesitated. "They say… you insulted Elder Han's lineage when you defeated Han Rui yesterday. He claims you relied on tricks, not strength, and demands a fair duel before the clan."
Dua Lin's lips curved into a faint, cold smile.
"So, the dog barks again."
He rose slowly, his robe rustling like silk in the wind. His aura remained calm, yet there was a strange gravity around him — an invisible pressure that made even Mei Yun step back involuntarily.
"Prepare to witness, Mei Yun," he said as he stepped past her. "Today, the Longwei Clan will remember what true might is."
The martial courtyard was packed when Dua Lin arrived. Dozens of clan youths lined the edges, elders seated on raised platforms, their gazes sharp and judging.
At the center stood Han Rui, clad in crimson training robes, his smirk dripping arrogance. Behind him loomed Elder Han, arms folded, cold eyes full of disdain.
When Dua Lin stepped onto the platform, murmurs rippled through the crowd.
"He dares show up?"
"Han Rui's already at the third stage of Body Tempering. He'll crush him."
"That miracle yesterday must've been luck. You can't cheat the dao."
Han Rui spat to the side. "Dua Lin, yesterday you made me kneel in front of servants. Today, I'll make you crawl before the clan."
Dua Lin met his gaze, voice flat. "You talk too much."
Han Rui's grin faltered. "You—!"
Elder Han raised a hand. "Begin."
The moment the words fell, Han Rui exploded forward, qi surging. The ground cracked under his step as his body blurred — his fists glowing faintly red with spiritual energy.
"Crimson Tiger Fist!"
His punch roared through the air, fierce enough to crush a boulder. The crowd gasped — this was no ordinary technique. Han Rui had clearly trained this art for months.
But Dua Lin didn't move.
At the last instant, he tilted his head slightly. Han Rui's fist brushed past his cheek, missing by less than a hair's breadth.
Dua Lin's palm rose.
Boom!
Han Rui was sent flying backward, crashing into the platform's barrier. The sound echoed like thunder.
Silence fell.
For a heartbeat, no one breathed.
Han Rui coughed blood, eyes wide with disbelief. "How… how did you…?"
Dua Lin lowered his hand, expression unchanged. "You rely on brute force, not intent. A true martial artist reads the flow of qi, not the swing of a fist."
He stepped forward once. The ground trembled faintly beneath his feet — not from cultivation, but from sheer physical control. The air itself seemed to bend around him.
"I said yesterday," he continued softly, "that I would break anyone who dared stand before me."
A crimson aura flared around Han Rui as he roared and charged again, desperate.
But this time, Dua Lin's eyes glimmered gold.
Within his dantian, the Nine Dragons War Sovereign Technique surged — the faint dragon shadow roaring silently, its scales flashing like molten light.
A sliver of dragon essence flowed through his veins, strengthening every cell in his body.
He clenched his fist.
>First Form — Dragon Subdues the Heavens.
When his punch connected, it didn't just strike flesh — it struck spirit.
The air cracked like thunder. Han Rui's defense shattered instantly; he was launched backward, crashing into the stone wall beyond the ring. The wall splintered. Dust filled the air.
Silence consumed the courtyard once more.
Then came the gasps.
"He… he broke Han Rui's defense with a single punch!"
"That pressure… it felt like a dragon's roar!"
"Impossible! He's still in the first stage of Body Tempering!"
Elder Han rose to his feet, face pale with fury and disbelief. "You—!"
But another voice interrupted.
"Enough."
A deep, commanding tone filled the air. The crowd turned.
At the far end of the courtyard stood a tall man in black robes embroidered with a coiling golden dragon — Patriarch Longwei Zhen, head of the clan.
Every elder immediately bowed. "Patriarch!"
Longwei Zhen's gaze swept the arena, lingering on Dua Lin. His eyes narrowed slightly — not with anger, but with interest.
"Dua Lin," he said, voice calm yet heavy. "What technique did you just use?"
Dua Lin bowed slightly, his tone respectful but firm. "A technique inherited through blood. Its name is Nine Dragons War Sovereign Art."
A murmur rippled through the elders.
"Nine Dragons…?"
"Isn't that the ancient legend tied to our ancestors?"
"That art was lost centuries ago!"
Longwei Zhen's expression darkened slightly, unreadable. "You say this technique comes from your bloodline?"
Dua Lin met his gaze directly. "Yes, Patriarch. The dragon blood of our clan is not dead. It merely slept."
Those words struck the courtyard like lightning. The crowd erupted in murmurs again — disbelief, awe, fear. Even the patriarch's calm facade wavered for a heartbeat.
After a long silence, Longwei Zhen spoke again.
"Very well. From this day forth, Dua Lin is to be recognized as a full-rank member of the Longwei main family. His cultivation resources shall be tripled."
The elders stirred, shocked.
Elder Han's fists clenched, but he dared not protest.
Dua Lin bowed slightly. "This disciple obeys."
As he turned to leave the stage, whispers trailed behind him.
"Triple resources…"
"The dragon bloodline… reborn?"
"What monster have we awakened?"
Dua Lin didn't care. His thoughts were elsewhere — deep within.
Inside his dantian, the faint dragon shadow coiled tighter, scales forming, claws sharpening.
A single roar echoed in his consciousness — proud, ancient, and boundless.
The first dragon vein… has awakened.
Dua Lin's lips curved faintly. "Good," he murmured. "Let the heavens watch. The era of dragons has only begun."