The training ground erupted into a cacophony of clashing echoes, wild mana flares, and the sharp roars of beasts and blades. Su Mengtian stood still in its center, his presence alone enough to command silence. His gaze was firm, surveying the eighty-seven candidates who knelt before him in semicircular rows, each of them a future cornerstone of the empire he was beginning to shape.
"Stand," he commanded.
Armor clinked and boots shuffled as the chosen ones obeyed. They were not all soldiers—some bore robes laced with runes, some cloaks of beasts, some metallic enhancements—but they all had one thing in common: fierce loyalty to the man before them.
Behind Su Mengtian, a stone platform rose where nine insignias burned with ethereal light, each one etched with a unique emblem representing the foundations of a future that would be built not on dreams, but on blood, discipline, and precision.
He stepped forward, raising his hand.
"Today, we declare the formation of the Heavenly Spear Alliance."
The words fell like thunder, yet they carried a sacred calm. The aura surrounding Su Mengtian pulsed—not of arrogance, but of authority honed in wars, betrayal, love, and an unyielding desire for a united strength.
He gestured toward the first glowing emblem. A sigil shaped like an eye cloaked in shadows.
"The Hall of Shadows. Masters of espionage, infiltration, and information. Those of you who can vanish into mist, whose daggers sing louder than trumpets, this is your domain."
A group of silent figures stepped forward—rogues, spies, assassins—each more ghost than flesh. They bowed.
"We serve the veil."
Next, Su Mengtian moved to the second emblem, a roaring lion wielding a greatsword.
"The Hall of Valor. Our vanguard. Our roaring storm. You are the ones who will charge first into fire. You are the hammer that breaks all chains."
Muscles rippled and armor groaned as warriors, berserkers, and juggernauts took their place.
"We are the blade."
He turned to the third sigil, which spun with complex gears and lightning—an ancient fortress under storm.
"The Hall of Ironblood. You who wield weather and Aether, who turn the tide of battle with the sky itself. You are the wall, the storm, and the mind combined."
Scholars, mechanists, and elementalists walked forward, their eyes alight with hunger.
"We are the storm's command."
Fourth was a shield split into quarters, each reflecting a force: magic, physical, mental, and spiritual.
"The Hall of Aegis. Tanks. Defenders. Guardians. You shall stand where none can pass. Our line shall not break."
Healers in steel and monks with enchanted skin bowed.
"We hold the line."
Then came the emblem of a conch wrapped in mystic sigils, floating mid-air.
"The Hall of Echoes. Our communicators, our long-range eyes and ears. You will be the unseen nerves that carry intelligence across warfronts."
Technomancers and telepaths, bonded to ether-devices, stepped up.
"We are the whisper that guides."
The sixth was a curling serpent wrapped around a griffin's wing.
"The Hall of Wyrmcallers. You who tame beasts and wield elemental breath. You shall become the primal fury."
Beastmasters with spirit creatures at their sides roared their oath.
"We are the primal song."
The seventh was a dark lotus pulsing with curses and a haunting, mesmerizing rhythm.
"The Hall of Tempests. Curse tacticians and spiritualists. You unravel enemies from within. You corrode resolve and weaponize despair."
Witches and exorcists emerged, veiled in incense and darkness.
"We are the soulstorm."
The eighth emblem shimmered—a veiled figure cradling both light and circuitry.
"The Hall of Luminous Veil. The architects, healers, and support tacticians. You ensure our gears turn, our soldiers breathe, and our broken rise again."
Alchemists, doctors, and rune-printers stood tall.
"We are the unseen scaffold."
Then came the ninth. A spear piercing through stars.
"The Hall of Astral Command. Strategists, war tacticians, decision makers. You will lead our forces in battle, build our campaigns, and hold the skies."
They were few but sharp-eyed—young and old alike—carrying scrolls, swords, and boundless ambition.
"We are the spear's mind."
As each group claimed their banner, Su Mengtian raised his hand again.
"This is not a dream. This is a reckoning. For too long, the world has fragmented its strength. We unite not for peace, but for order. Not for conquest, but for survival. We forge a family. A spear with nine edges. An army of one will."
He turned to them all, his aura unfurling like the breath of a dragon.
"You will learn to bleed as one. Breathe as one. Kill as one."
Silence.
Then, as if the world itself obeyed his will, every member dropped to one kneel.
"We pledge to the Heavenly Spear!"
Lightning cracked across the sky, as though affirming their bond. The banners ignited with their hall colors, casting the entire ground in prismatic glow.
Behind them, the academy bell tolled—three times—signaling not just the birth of an organization, but the rise of a new power.
Within the crowd, unknown to others, Su Mengtian felt a pulse. A subtle beat. Like something awakening… but incomplete. Deep within, in the core of his hidden bloodline, a slumbering power stirred. The Thunder Guardian Dragon—still unnamed, still veiled—tested the limits of its cage.
He clenched his fist as the thunder rolled again.
"The world doesn't know us yet," he murmured. "But it will."
Later that night, seated within the temporary war room constructed inside Crimson Sky Academy's old library, Su Mengtian unfurled scrolls showing territorial maps: the Five Sovereign Zones of the New Earth Alliance, the Dead Zones, the Wailing Ocean, and the Spiral Rift Border. Advisors of each Hall stood by, watching.
"Each Hall will establish sub-bases aligned to strategic sectors across Eastern Polaris. We begin in Shenzhou Province, but expand outward by cycles. Ironblood, Wyrmcallers, and Echoes—your integration begins in mountain passes and ridge networks. Tempests and Shadows, I want the dead zones scanned and charted."
His eyes swept the map.
"We will control weather paths, sea channels, and dimensional gate corridors. Not just for defense—but to bend the geography to our will."
One strategist asked, "And if the Capital intervenes? If Yueying's clan—"
"Then we show them what a true army is."
His eyes blazed—not with hatred, but promise.
Because the Heavenly Spear Alliance wasn't just a force. It was his legacy. His rebirth. The vessel of his past-life regrets and present-life vengeance. The blade that would cut through the veil of destiny itself.
And tomorrow, they would march.