In the silent stillness of the academy's post-training dusk, Su Mengtian's eyes gleamed with quiet calculation. The day's rigorous exercises had left most students drained, sprawled across their dormitory beds or crowded around communal screens to catch glimpses of the news: another dimensional rift had opened near the Kaltor Highlands. Another frontline battalion had been deployed. Another hundred missing.
But Mengtian wasn't resting. While others exhaled, he inhaled—absorbing everything around him. Every twitch of fear in his classmates, every report flashing across the screen, and every lesson whispered through the old texts stacked at his side. His mind, refined by a lifetime on Earth's war-torn soils, burned with purpose.
Beneath his sleek modern-ancient blend of robes—a uniform he'd stitched and redesigned to better conceal throwing knives—his muscles twitched with contained power. The academy had underestimated him. Even his instructors thought he was simply diligent. But Su Mengtian had already begun laying foundations far greater than they could imagine.
By now, three of the nine halls he envisioned were beginning to take shape, masked under the guise of study clubs and joint training initiatives. The official name would only be revealed when the time was right, but to Mengtian, the organization already had a soul: The Stormborne Pact.
Its halls, each representing a branch of absolute strategic supremacy, were tailored with ruthless precision.
The Hall of Valor: Dedicated to frontline warfare. Its members would master close-range devastation, shield formations, and beast-soul combat under extreme pressure. Led by Rao Lin, a silent brute who followed Mengtian after being saved from expulsion during a beast tide mishap.
The Hall of Shadows: Specialists in espionage, infiltration, and psychological warfare. Unseen, unheard, but ever-present. Ji Yeyun, a cunning boy rom a fallen border clan, had already started weaving her web of influence within this hall.
The Hall of Aegis: A think tank of tacticians, inventors, and array engineers. While others flexed muscles, they redefined the battlefield with tools and tricks. Mengtian personally tutored the head candidate, a stuttering but brilliant boy named Baojin.
Each hall was being forged under his iron will. He didn't command them—he raised them, taught them, infused them with his philosophy. No weak links. No dead weight. Unity through purpose, loyalty through shared blood.
That night, as storms crackled in the distance over the Deadbone Forest, Su Mengtian stood atop the academy's southern watchtower. His eyes fixed not on the distant rift glow, but on the sky beyond. "Soon," he whispered, barely audible against the wind. "Stormborne shall rise."
He turned, steps silent, heading back to his dormitory. Unbeknownst to even his closest allies, he had secretly acquired classified readings on rare beast bloodline mergers and their effects on neural control. The academy was a vault of forgotten knowledge. He simply had the keys.
The next day, Professor Luan, one of the academy's most enigmatic instructors, summoned Su Mengtian privately.
"You're poking your head too high, child," the old man said, eyes narrowed behind a curtain of grey hair. "Those who stand tallest draw the first lightning."
Su Mengtian met his gaze calmly. "Then I will become lightning itself."
Luan cracked a rare smile, sliding over a sealed scroll. "Then read this. It once belonged to the last commander who tried to unify the halls. He failed. Let's see if you're different."
Mengtian bowed and left. In his dorm, as rain lashed against the window, he opened the scroll. It was filled with fragmented field plans, battle cries, and last rites. A dying dream of unification. But not a failure. A warning.
By midnight, he had redrawn every formation on the scroll.
Stormborne's foundations deepened. And Mengtian's legend took another silent step forward.
The next week, the academy halls buzzed with anticipation. A surprise inter-class tournament was declared by the administration. It was to test strategic leadership and performance under pressure. Most students saw it as a chance to impress recruiters. Mengtian saw it as something else: an audition.
He gathered his core members in the underground training chamber he'd acquired through a clever favor-trade with the janitorial guild. It wasn't glamorous, but it was private.
Rao Lin stood tall beside Baojin and Ji Yeyun.Their faces hardened as Mengtian laid out the formation plan.
"We won't just win," he said, pointing at the drawn-out strategy on a flickering projector. "We'll dominate. We'll send a message."
Baojin's eyes glinted with approval. "So, it begins."
Ji Yeyun hesitated. "We might draw the attention of the Head Council."
"Let them watch," Mengtian said. "We'll show them how the future is shaped."
The tournament began two days later. Stormborne's candidates, cloaked under generic team names, tore through every challenge. Their synergy, ruthlessness, and adaptability made even the instructors raise eyebrows.
On the final match, Mengtian stepped onto the field himself. His opponent was Wei Qingshan—a second-year prodigy with a known minor dragon bloodline. The crowd whispered, betting heavily on Qingshan.
But what they witnessed was surgical warfare. Mengtian's footwork was flawless, his strikes clinical, and his tactical shifts instantaneous. By the time he landed the final blow, the arena fell into stunned silence.
Qingshan lay on the ground, panting, bruised—but laughing. "You're not normal," he said. "You're something else."
Mengtian extended a hand. "Then walk with me. I'll need men like you soon."
That day, the legend of Stormborne echoed through the academy for the first time.
Late that night, Mengtian stood again at the watchtower, joined this time by Xuan le.
"You're growing reckless," she said softly.
"No," he replied. "I'm growing roots."
Lightning struck far in the distance, illuminating the vast lands below.
"And soon," he added, "the world will feel the thunder."
And far below, in the records room of the academy, someone was already searching through the files on Su Mengtian.
Three days after the tournament, an anonymous note arrived at Mengtian's door. It read: "Meet me at the Whispering Library. Midnight."
He went alone, shrouded in a loose robe, blades hidden beneath the folds. The library was ancient, a relic of the empire before the dimensional collapses. Dust and silence reigned.
A figure stepped out from behind a marble lion statue. A girl. Older. Scar over her eye. She tossed him a vial glowing pale blue.
"Miracle serum," she said. "Bloodline enhancer. Unstable. Illegal."
"Why me?" he asked.
"Because you're dangerous," she replied. "And because I want in. Stormborne is real, isn't it?"
He didn't answer. But he didn't say no. When she left, he stood alone for hours, holding the vial, thinking.
Later, in his secret training chamber, he tested a drop. The serum hissed against the metal floor, melting it like acid.
He smiled.
"Soon."