The late autumn winds howled across the ragged peaks that marked the border between the Crimson Sky Nation and the Duskwind Empire. This desolate frontier, known to mapmakers only as the No-Man's Land, was neither ruled nor claimed. Here, jagged stone outcroppings rose like the fossilized fangs of long-dead titans, and the sky hung perpetually cloaked in ash and ghost-light. Even the sun seemed hesitant to cast its gaze upon this cursed expanse.
No banners flew here. No empires dared station soldiers. Only the bones of forgotten wars and silent, lurking horrors remained.
Yet it was to this forsaken stretch of the world that Crimson Sky Academy dispatched its finest.
A high-priority imperial decree had arrived just days before: retrieve the lost relic known as the Wheel of Life, a legendary artifact rumored to predate even the Age of Collapse. The relic's origin remained shrouded in mystery, but it was believed to possess the power to anchor or rewind lifeforce itself—an artifact so potent it could turn tides of war, even cheat death.
Legends claimed it lay deep within the Ruins of Wailing Dawn, hidden inside the petrified bones of an ancient colossus that once fell from the heavens. The Crimson Sky government would not risk this treasure falling into Duskwind hands.
Su Mengtian stood silent before the mission board, his silver eyes narrowing as he read the briefing. The flame crystal overhead flickered softly, casting reflections off the black insignia stitched across his uniform—the blazing emblem of Astral Command. The parchment trembled slightly in his grasp, as though it too feared the task described.
Behind him, Yue Mei leaned casually against a pillar, arms crossed. Her tone was calm, but her eyes held sharpened focus. "They've declared this a cooperative-class mission. Duskwind's elite will be arriving too."
"Cooperation?" Ji Yeyan stepped from the shadows with silent grace. "They'll be out for blood. They won't share anything."
Rao Lin's fist cracked as he clenched it. "The
n we reach the relic first. And if they stand in our way…"
He didn't finish the sentence. He didn't need to.
But this mission wouldn't be won by speed alone. Intelligence reports spoke of something far more dangerous.
The Duskwind Empire had dispatched a monster of their own: Feng Yanming, younger brother of Feng Yanzhao, heir to the imperial throne.
Known for his merciless tactics and unrivaled arrogance, Feng Yanming was a dual-bloodline cultivator—Storm Serpent and Shadow Fang. He had reached the 9th Stage of Skyvein Ascension, placing him among the most lethal elites beneath Emperor-tier.
Still, Su Mengtian did not flinch. "Prepare the formation," he said. "We leave at dawn."
The journey into the No-Man's Land was worse than maps described. The air was thin, poisoned with qi-distorting currents. The sky never cleared, and even the soil devoured spiritual energy like a starving beast.
Each step forward was a struggle against unseen pressure. Great thorned vines covered shattered ruins. They passed collapsed war bunkers from the Age of Collapse, mangled half into the earth. Corrupted beasts prowled the shadows—void-touched wyverns with melted wings, skeletal beasts with screaming auras and no mouths.
Still, Su Mengtian's command never wavered.
Ji Yeyan scouted ahead, a phantom among rocks and mist. Baojin layered the camps each night with golden barrier runes, crafting shield formations like petals of a fortress flower. Yue Mei and Kai Chan constructed sonic early warning arrays. Even Rao Lin swallowed his usual restlessness, walking with blade in hand.
But on the third day, everything changed.
A low tremor pulsed through the mountains. Then came the thunder—a deep, rolling sound that shook the ravine walls.
From the cliffs above, figures emerged—clad in dark blue and trimmed with imperial silver.
At their head stood Feng Yanming, aura coiling around him like a tempest given flesh. His robe flared in the stormwinds, and his expression bore the smugness of a conqueror.
He didn't wait for pleasantries.
"Well, well," he said, his voice a blade. "Crimson Sky sends their children to play fetch."
The air tensed.
Ji Yeyan's voice was quiet. "Permission to silence him?"
But Su Mengtian stepped forward, calm and unfazed.
"I'm not here to play with children."
That single line wiped the grin from Feng Yanming's face.
A flicker of lightning danced in the Duskwind scion's pupils. Cracks spiderwebbed under his boots. His bloodline energy burst outward in dual spirals—stormwinds on one side, shadows on the other. The cliff beneath him splintered.
"I'll carve a memory into your bones," Feng Yanming snarled.
He lunged.
What followed was chaos.
Wind claws and shadow spears streaked across the air. Defensive barriers shattered under the force of beastcore techniques. Thunder boomed as Kai Chan's echo illusions countered the initial ambush. Rao Lin parried a shadow fang that nearly reached Inara.
But the true battle took place midair—between two monsters.
Feng Yanming roared and summoned his trump card.
His dual bloodlines merged.
The sky darkened as a Storm Wolf of the Abyss emerged—a massive chimera-like entity with fur made of writhing lightning and fangs carved from condensed shadow. Its roar shattered the clouds. Its claws tore stone from the cliffs.
Even the Hallmasters tensed.
But Su Mengtian did not.
He simply breathed in.
A silver light pulsed beneath his skin.
Lightning surged in stillness, vibrating with rhythm—not rage, but judgment. The storm did not scream—it judged.
With a single step, Su Mengtian vanished
He reappeared before Feng Yanming in the blink of an eye, his palm glowing with silent thunder qi.
"Thunderclap Rend."
The world cracked.
No roar. No explosion.
Only silence—then the splitting of stone and sound itself.
Lightning exploded from within Feng Yanming's body. He screamed as his aura backlashed. His storm wolf guardian howled and dissolved midair. His body hurled across the ravine like a broken doll, slamming through black rock, crashing through five jagged ledges.
He didn't rise.
Su Mengtian stood still, arcs of lightning coiling around his form like silent sentinels.
"That scar," he said coldly, "is mercy."
Then, to his team: "We proceed. Leave him alive. Let Duskwind taste their arrogance."
They reached the Ruins of Wailing Dawn two days later.
There, nestled within the fossilized ribs of a fallen sky giant, lay the Wheel of Life—a relic forged of bone and celestial ore, glowing with pulsing runes. Its mere presence made the air feel younger, crisper, as though time itself bent around it.
But their mission wasn't truly over.
Because by the time they returned to Crimson Sky Academy, the world had already shifted.
Feng Yanming had been recovered, his condition dire. His body convulsed in irregular bursts. His lightning channels were scorched from within. His pride was shattered.
And the Duskwind Empire answered with fury.
A proclamation was made, its echo traveling across the continent by wind-scrolls and war horns.
It said "By declaration of the Duskwind Court":
Let there be a Duel of Nations.
Thirty days hence, a stage of life-and-death shall rise on neutral ground.
Crimson Sky's prodigy shall face Duskwind's chosen champions.
Should he fall, the relic is returned. Should he triumph—
—Then let Heaven itself bear witness to the rise of a true heir of the ancient dragons.
The world stirred.
Clans prepared. Cities buzzed with speculation. Halls trained their disciples harder than ever.
But in the quiet chambers of Astral Command, Su Mengtian remained unmoved.
Because beneath his calm… thunder churned.
And thunder does not request.
It declares.