The Dragon's Proof
A faint, cool tingle lingered in Yao Xuan's bones from the spiritual scan—the ghost-sensation of being mapped to his quantum core. He flexed his fingers as the technician guided him to the next apparatus: a monolithic pillar of dark, brushed alloy, its surface a smooth plane marked with targeting reticules. A kinetic impact plate.
"Please demonstrate your base physical strike force here, Candidate Yao Xuan," the technician instructed. "Unassisted by soul skills, please. We require the foundational metric."
Yao Xuan eyed the plate. It hummed with a low, stable energy, likely shock-dampeners and measurement arrays woven into its structure. It looked utterly unbreakable.
"This instrument," Yao Xuan began, his tone respectful but edged with genuine concern. "What is its tolerance threshold?"
The technician offered a patient, professional smile. "This is a Pagoda-grade Mark VII dynamometric plate. Its dampening field and layered adamantine-vibranium alloy can absorb and measure up to fifty thousand kilograms of instantaneous force. It is rated for routine testing by Soul Kings and Soul Emperors. You may proceed with absolute confidence."
'Fifty thousand kilograms…' Yao Xuan ran a quick internal calculation. His baseline strength, honed by the Ancestral Dragon's passive refinement, sat near seventeen thousand five hundred kilograms. With Martial Soul Possession—a 50% multiplicative boost—he would peak around twenty-six thousand. Destructive, but within the stated tolerance. It was only with the multiplicative layers of Ancestral Dragon Overlord Body or Ancestral Dragon Transformation that he would risk the machine's integrity.
"Understood," Yao Xuan said, nodding.
He took a measured step back, centering his breath. Across the chamber, he felt two pairs of eyes upon him: Gu Yue's focused, analytical violet gaze, and the heavier, amber weight of the Heavenly Phoenix Douluo's observation.
"Ancestral Dragon Possession."
The summoning was quieter, more integrated than before. Nine-colored light didn't erupt; it bloomed from his skin, flowing like liquid aurora to coat his form. Subtle, luminous scales traced patterns over his arms and the backs of his hands. His fingers lengthened slightly, nails hardening into sharp, graceful points of crystalline density—not monstrous claws, but the refined weapons of a sovereign predator. The air around him thickened, charged with a silent, draconic majesty.
He didn't roar or wind up. He simply shifted his weight forward with the grace of a striking serpent, his right arm lashing out in a blurred arc. The scaled fist, now a perfected dragon's claw, connected with the center of the dark plate.
CRACK-THOOM!
The sound was not a clean impact, but a savage symphony of shattering force and protesting metal. A spiderweb of fractures, glowing with residual nine-colored energy, exploded across the plate's surface. The chamber's protective pale-purple barrier flared violently, rippling with concentric shockwaves that distorted the light. A sharp, ozone-and-hot-metal scent filled the air.
For three full seconds, there was only the dying hum of overtaxed machinery and the faint sizzle of the cracks.
The technicians stared, their professional composure shattered as completely as the plate. One man's jaw hung slack; a woman's fingers froze over her control panel. Their thoughts were a silent chorus of disbelief. 'The Mark VII… it's rated for Soul Emperors…' 'That glow… what is that martial soul?' 'He's a child… a Great Soul Master…'
Leng Yaozhu did not gasp. But her fiery eyebrows rose a precise millimeter. Her amber eyes, previously warm with appraisal, sharpened into blades of pure, focused interest. Her gaze flicked from the ruined plate to Yao Xuan's calmly retracting hand, noting the elegant, deadly form of the dragon-scale transformation. 'Not merely strength. It is the conceptual sharpness, the hierarchical weight behind the strike. My Heavenly Phoenix bloodline… it stirred in warning.' A profound, thrilling curiosity ignited within her.
"Remarkable," she said, her voice cutting through the stunned silence. It was a neutral word, but it hung in the air with the weight of a decree. "Deploy the Celestial-grade plate."
"A-at once, Your Majesty!" The lead technician scrambled, exchanging the fractured unit for a smaller, denser disc of metal that seemed to drink the light. It slotted into the frame with a heavy clunk.
"This substrate can withstand five hundred thousand kilograms," Leng Yaozhu stated, her eyes locking onto Yao Xuan. "You were holding back. Do not hold back now. Show me the extent of your draconic gift."
It was not a request. It was an invitation to a revelation.
Yao Xuan met her gaze, then glanced at Gu Yue. Her lips were pressed into a thin line, her own fists subtly clenched at her sides. In her eyes, he saw the conflict: the Silver Dragon King's analytical mind assessing the display of her counterpart's power, and Gu Yue's burgeoning human heart feeling a spike of protective anxiety. 'He must reveal it. She will know. But is he ready?' She gave him the faintest, almost imperceptible nod.
He closed his eyes. When they opened, the serene focus was gone, replaced by the ancient, timeless resolve of the Ancestral Dragon.
"Ancestral Dragon Overlord Body."
"Ancestral Dragon Transformation."
The air warped. Yao Xuan didn't seem to grow larger, but his presence expanded to fill the chamber. Nine-colored light radiated from him like a miniature sun, solidifying into plates of iridescent scale-armor over his vital points. Horn-like projections of light curved from his brow. His aura became tangible, a pressure that made the technicians take an involuntary step back and the soul barrier hum in protest. The dragon claws on his hands gleamed with an edge that seemed to threaten the fabric of space itself.
He struck.
There was no sound of breaking this time. There was a deafening BOOM of condensed force meeting absolute resistance, a shockwave that slammed against the barrier with such violence the light fractured into prismatic shards. The Celestial-grade plate held, but in its center, where the dragon's claw had landed, was a deep, perfectly defined indentation—a claw mark pressed into metal as if into stiff clay.
The readouts on the surrounding consoles spiked into ranges painted emergency crimson before the systems could auto-limit.
A second strike followed with his left hand. Another earth-shaking impact, another permanent scar etched into the indestructible alloy.
Silence returned, deeper than before. The only movement was the slow fade of the brilliant nine-colored aura around Yao Xuan as he released the transformations, returning to his baseline form, breathing steadily but deeply.
The data was collected in utter quiet, encrypted onto a chip, and handed to Leng Yaozhu with hands that trembled slightly.
The subsequent tests—agility, energy conductivity, elemental affinity—were conducted with an air of reverence. The technicians now looked at Yao Xuan not as a subject, but as a phenomenon.
Thirty minutes later, back in the cloud-hushed office, Leng Yaozhu dismissed the staff with a final, stern order on confidentiality. Alone with the two youths, she activated a projector with her golden badge-key.
The holographic data shimmered in the air between them:
Soul Power: Rank 24
Soul Power Density Compression: 7th Degree
Spiritual Power: 362 (Spirit Sea Late Stage)
Striking Force (M.S.P.): 27,050 kg (R) / 25,500 kg (L)
Peak Destructive Output (Skill-Enhanced): 152,000 kg (R) / 147,500 kg (L)
...
Leng Yaozhu did not speak as she read. The gentle smile was gone, replaced by an impassive, carved-marble stillness. The numbers were not just exceptional; they defied the established paradigms of soul master development. A compression degree of seven was the work of a lifetime for most Title Douluos. A spiritual power of 362 at age ten was historic. The strength metrics… they mapped a physical law unto themselves.
Her eyes lifted from the luminous numbers to Yao Xuan. The surprise was gone, burned away by a dawning, monumental realization. What stood before her was not merely a genius to be recruited.
It was a key. A catalyst. Perhaps the very fulcrum upon which the future of the Spirit Pagoda—and the continent—might turn.
Gu Yue watched her teacher's face, reading the seismic shift behind those ancient, knowing eyes. Her own heart clenched with a complex surge of triumph and trepidation. The proof was given. The path was set. There would be no turning back.
"Yao Xuan," Leng Yaozhu finally said, her voice low and resonant with new gravity. "Welcome to the Spirit Pagoda."