The challenge from the Duskwind Empire spread like wildfire across the continent.
From the White Lotus Peaks to the Marshes of Sorrow, every cultivator, noble, merchant, and wanderer heard the same message—a Duel of Nations had been declared. An ancient rite, long thought obsolete, revived for the sake of honor, revenge… and dominance.
Crimson Sky's reputation hung in the balance.
Yet the Academy itself remained still, cloaked in layers of stormy silence. Behind those thick cloud-gilded walls, preparations had begun—not with panic, but with focus sharpened to diamond precision.
Su Mengtian stood atop the Windcaller Spire, overlooking the training grounds far below. He watched as new recruits bled and broke under the guidance of the Hallmasters. He heard the chants of formations, the clash of weapons, the whistle of spiritual arrows splitting sky.
He observed everything—but revealed nothing.
"Word from the High Chancellor," Yue Mei said, approaching from behind. "The Emperor himself approved the arena construction. A neutral site—Heavenrend Plateau, where neither empire holds sway."
"Fitting," Su Mengtian murmured. "The old warlords used to settle bloodlines there."
Yue Mei nodded. "Thirty days. Thirty opponents. All at once or one by one. The format is ours to choose—as are the stakes."
Su Mengtian turned, silver gaze intense. "And what of Duskwind?"
"They've chosen their thirty," Yue Mei replied, voice hard. "Each one a monster. Two of them are Saint Candidates. Their banner will be led by Feng Yanzhao himself."
A long pause.
"Feng Yanming's older brother?"
Yue Mei nodded.
A sharp wind blew across the spire, cold and biting. Below, training intensified.
"Let them come," Su Mengtian said at last. "I don't need thirty fighters."
Yue Mei raised an eyebrow. "You're going to fight all of them?"
"I'm going to show them why thunder reigns above storm and shadow both."
The war council convened that night beneath the central dome of Astral Command's War Chamber. Starlight flowed across the ceiling like a living map, tracing ley lines, empires, and cultivation nodes.
Nine Hallmasters were seated around the celestial table.
Ji Yeyan leaned back, fingers steepled. "We could field a team of nine elites. Strategic pairings, suppress their formation from the flanks."
Rao Lin scoffed. "Cowardice wrapped in strategy. We meet force with force."
Baojin interjected calmly. "Precision is not cowardice. But neither is valor recklessness."
Kai Chan cleared his throat, voice light as ever. "The real question is—what message do we wish to send to the world?"
Su Mengtian finally spoke.
"We send the message that a single will… a single thunderbolt… can crush the storm."
Silence.
Then Inara nodded. "You will face them alone, then."
Su Mengtian nodded.
"But not blindly," he added. "We'll study them all. Build countermeasures. I want full dossiers on each of the thirty—weaknesses, cultivation styles, bloodline traits, everything."
Xuan Le's eyes gleamed. "I'll handle the starmancer scries. With enough star qi, I can simulate their formations before the duel."
Su Mengtian remained quiet for a while, then finally said, "We don't prepare just for this duel. We prepare to rise beyond it. This isn't a battle for me. This is for our generation to declare we won't be ruled by history's rusted chains."
"Begin," Mengtian said. "Every day counts."
Yue Mei nodded, her voice quiet but sharp. "Then let's begin the Grand Preparation."
Thus, they divided the days ahead into phases,
First, Tactical Defense– Ji Yeyan and Baojin would reinforce the Academy's borders, detect infiltrators, and update defensive arrays.
Second, Political Maneuvering – Yue Mei and Xuan Le were tasked with contacting neutral academies and allied families to gain public and elite support.
Third, Bloodline Refinement – Inara and Xiaoyun would oversee intensive training for those with awakened bloodlines, ensuring core breakthroughs.
Forth, Martial Training – Rao Lin and Lan Qiu would lead elite sparring camps for the top hundred cultivators.
And for Su Mengtian, the days ahead were clear—
He would retreat into the Hollow Star Vault beneath Astral Command. It was there the Academy stored ancient techniques, transcendent beast cores, and cultivation relics forbidden to most.
Only those chosen to carry a nation's future were allowed to enter.
Before his departure, Yue Mei caught his hand. "Don't push yourself past the edge. Even a storm must rest before its greatest thunder."
He looked at her, eyes glowing faintly with stormlight. "This storm… was born for the edge."
With that, he entered the Vault alone.
The Hollow Star Vault was vast, almost mythic. Carved into the roots of the mountain itself, its walls shimmered with astral runes. Floating tomes circled ancient obelisks, and relics pulsed with quiet force in stasis fields.
Su Mengtian sat in the lotus position. Before him floated three treasures:
- An Echo Core of a Sky Tyrant Wyrm – lightning-infused, wrathful, perfect for bloodline refinement.
- A jade slip containing the secret technique *Stormpulse Severance*, said to be usable only by thunder-aspect bloodlines.
- A sealed capsule containing fragments of a Guardian Spirit armor from the ancient Thunderclap line.
He inhaled, then opened himself.
Energy poured into him like a tidal wave.
The first wave hit his meridians—surging, racing, testing. The second wave reached deeper, into his very bones.
His bloodline surged.
The Thunder Guardian Dragon within roared—not in pain, but in reclamation.
Lightning etched into his veins, symbols formed on his back, and the phantom of an ancient armored warrior loomed behind him.
A Guardian Spirit.
It stood tall, cloaked in battle-worn armor, a jagged thunder-halberd in hand. No face could be seen beneath its helm, only burning stormlight.
It didn't speak. It simply nodded—and then took a step forward.
The ground trembled.
In that moment, Su Mengtian's mind was linked to it. Knowledge surged into him: forgotten arts of war, tactics of celestial battlefields, storm-forged techniques honed through eons.
Then the Guardian Spirit raised its halberd and unleashed a sequence of skills alongside Su in their inner world—a synchronized dance of fury and elegance:
Heaven's Ruin Spiral – a descending, cyclonic cleave that tore through layers of spatial bindings.
Tempest Warden Cloak– wrapping them both in rotating barriers of stormlight and mirrored lightning.
Thunderflare Divide – a technique that split a singular thrust into nine phantasmal charges, each echoing with dragonforce.
Su's body reflected each motion; he was not learning—he was becoming.
Just as his spiritual sea began to overflow, a thunderous crack echoed through the Vault's halls.
A celestial seal deep within his soul was torn asunder.
And in that divine silence, a voice—not the Guardian Spirit's, but something even older—whispered:
"Rise, Lightning Dragon Emperor's heir. The world has slept long enough."
Outside the halls, the world trembled in anticipation.
Across the Crimson Sky Nation, nobles and sect leaders arrived like vultures circling a battlefield. Caravans rolled in from the Goldenheart Duchies, the Red Phoenix Clans, and even delegates from the enigmatic Jade Serpent Monastery. They offered tributes, spiritual treasures, political alliances—all in hopes of gaining favor with the young commander who stood between empires.
Yet Su Mengtian remained focused, never swayed.
His days were spent in seclusion within the Thunderdome Nexus, the cultivation core beneath Astral Command. Inside, time flowed differently—accelerated through layered formations. One day outside equaled five inside.
He trained without rest.
Sword drills under double gravity. Thunder pulse control under qi distortion storms. He channeled the Thunder Guardian Dragon bloodline through artificial bottlenecks until his veins burned and lightning wept from his pores.
Each breath deepened his resonance with the heavens.
Each heartbeat synchronized with the pulse of the storm.
He was not training to win.
He was training to obliterate.
Meanwhile, Ji Yeyan's shadow network scattered across the continent.
Each Hall of Shadows agent returned with grim news.
"The Duskwind prodigies have been upgraded," Ji Yeyan reported one night, laying scrolls upon the war table. "They've received Void Infusion—a forbidden augmentation using relic shards excavated from dimensional rifts."
Baojin narrowed his eyes. "Isn't that corrosive to spiritual foundation?"
"It is," Ji confirmed. "But they've decided to trade longevity for victory."
One scroll unfurled, displaying a sketch of General Li Zhensu, one of Duskwind's top thirty. His skeletal structure was no longer fully human. Purple light pulsed through bone like toxic lightning.
"And him?" Rao Lin asked.
"Fused with a Nightreaver core," Yue Mei answered grimly. "He no longer sleeps. He no longer feels pain."
The room darkened.
Su Mengtian studied the sketches.
"Good," he said finally. "If they wish to be monsters—then I will show them what it means to stand before a god of thunder."
Ten days before the Duel, the Heavens stirred.
From the sky descended a vision—not a celestial beast, but a decree from the heavens themselves. It arrived as lightning wrapped in divine cloud, splitting the sky over the Crimson Sky Academy.
The characters burned in golden fire across the sky:
"The World Watches. Let Judgment Be Fair."
It was a sign from the Heavenly Mandate Realm, the highest power in cultivation law. The Duel of Nations had received full celestial sanction.
No retreat. No foul play.
This was no longer political.
It was cosmic.
The night before the departure to Heavenrend Plateau, Su Mengtian stood in the courtyard alone.
The Hallmasters arrived one by one—not in command, but in respect.
Ji Yeyan offered a new cloak—woven from midnight silk and embedded with hundreds of vision talismans. "To see what others miss."
Rao Lin placed down a dragonbone blade. "To crush what others fear."
Baojin bowed with an armament seal for last-second shield transfer. "To survive what others cannot."
One by one, they offered blessings.
And when they stepped back, Yue Mei stepped forward last.
No words passed between them. She simply reached up and gently touched the side of his face.
Her illusion light pulsed once—then shaped into a glimmering golden veil, wrapping itself around his body.
It was her final technique.
Celestial Curtain: Light Without Shadow.
"Bring it back," she whispered. "Bring yourself back."
He looked her in the eyes.
"I will."
At dawn, they departed for the Duel.
A single sky ark, emblazoned with the sigil of Astral Command, carried them through stormcloud and silence. Across the skies, hundreds followed—clans, sects, nobles, journalists. The air was thick with tension.
When Heavenrend Plateau finally came into view, the earth itself seemed to tremble.
An arena carved from ancient bedrock. Runes from a forgotten era etched into stone.
Thousands had already gathered. On the far side, Duskwind's battalion stood tall—thirty champions in dark robes, led by Feng Yanzhao, his face expressionless.
Su Mengtian stepped forward alone.
The sky darkened above him.
Thunder rumbled.
And the world held its breath.
Because when thunder walks alone—
—the storm must kneel.