A silence fell over the coliseum, thick with the scent of ozone and burnt stone. The ground was cracked, soaked in residual energies from the titanic clash between Su Mengtian and Feng Yanzhao. Just as the tension neared its peak—when onlookers and powers alike leaned forward with baited breath—a sudden roar echoed across the skies.
From the storm-split clouds above, dozens of celestial airships descended in perfect formation. Glimmering banners embroidered with thunder-drakes and crossed halberds flared in the wind. Lightning surged across their hulls as though the skies themselves bowed in greeting.
At the head of this imperial procession stood a towering man clad in violet-gold armor, trimmed with scales of storm-infused jade. His presence was suffocating, his gaze colder than mountain frost and fiercer than a thunderclap.
He stepped forward, speaking with a voice like war drums cracking through a battlefield.
"I am Su Leilong, Once known as " Lightning Dragon Emperor ".Patriarch of the Great Su clan and Holder of Lightning Dragon Lineage. Father of Su Mengtian. Let all gathered here today bear witness. The blood that runs through my son is not that of a mere academy cultivator—it is storm-forged, ancient, and bound to destiny."
The declaration hit the coliseum like a hurricane. The silence that followed felt unnatural, as though even the wind itself had forgotten to breathe. Eyes widened, mouths fell open, and within moments, the stunned muttering of a hundred different factions echoed like distant thunder.
From the northern archway of the colossal coliseum, dozens of armored figures advanced in perfect unison. Each step they took sent controlled shockwaves through the stone beneath them. Their armor was sleek, silver-black with radiant blue inlays, etched with the insignia of thunder-scaled qilins—a mythical beast known in ancient texts to herald tempests and sovereignty.
These were no ordinary cultivators.
These were the members of The Thunder Qilin Army.
They were a force shrouded in secrecy, their existence whispered in legends that only the most ancient sects remembered. Each member radiated a terrifyingly condensed aura, the result of centuries of elite training and bloodline-imbued cultivation techniques passed down from the core of the Lightning Dragon ancestry.
Su Leilong stood at the head of this army.
His presence alone seemed to distort the space around him. Clad in a high-collared robe woven from storm-thread silk, embroidered with intertwining dragons and lightning arcs, his hair whipped about from the static crackling in the air. His eyes burned with regal blue fire, ancient and imperious, scanning the entire coliseum with unshakable authority.
The gathered audience—sect masters, imperial envoys, wandering cultivators, rogue warlords—felt their knees weaken. Some who had once scoffed at Su Mengtian's ascent began to reevaluate their entire worldview.
In one of the high stands, the representatives of the Long Clan narrowed their eyes.
"So the Lightning Dragon Lineage was not extinguished," muttered Long Yanzhao, the eldest of the clan's seven patriarchs. "That child of Su Leilong is indeed more dangerous than we presumed."
Behind him, younger members exchanged uneasy glances. The Long Clan prided themselves as dragon-blooded as well, but their legacy was lesser—their draconic roots diluted over generations of intermingling.
Now, the presence of a pure-blooded Lightning Dragon scion threatened their political standing, their power in the imperial council, and their ambitions.
"Should we move forward with the contingency?" one of the elders whispered.
"Not yet," Long Yanzhao growled. "We observe. We do not provoke Su Leilong—not unless we know the cost."
Further across, the delegation from the Celestial Snow Pavilion remained quiet. Cloaked in pale frost-silks, they appeared aloof and untouched by the storm of drama.
But their inner turmoil brewed beneath the surface.
The Pavilion had once been allies to the Lightning Dragon Lineage. Old records spoke of mutual protection, intermarriages, and shared victories during the Frozen Realms War. But as the centuries passed and Su Leilong vanished into secrecy, those bonds eroded.
Now, facing the undeniable proof of the Lightning Dragon bloodline's return, the Pavilion was caught between ancient allegiance and modern caution.
"That boy," murmured Elder Xue Feiyan, her icy eyes fixed on Su Mengtian, who stood behind his father. "He holds the key to something far greater than any of us anticipated."
On the battlefield, Su Mengtian remained still.
His chest rose and fell slowly. His body bore the marks of his earlier clash with Feng Yanzhao—burnt fabric, cracked gauntlets, shallow cuts—but his eyes glowed now with something deeper.
It was no longer just personal pride or ambition.
It was legacy.
Su Leilong stepped aside, his gaze briefly settling on his son.
"You have walked your path with your own blood and will," he said, voice quiet yet resonating. "But today, let the world understand that you are not alone."
As if summoned by his words, the Thunder Qilin Army stepped forward in formation, each striking their weapon to the ground. From swords to spears to halberds, thunder cracked in perfect synchrony, forming a resonant pulse that spread across the entire coliseum.
The empires watching from afar began to scramble.
Within celestial towers, ancient oracle mirrors flickered as their seers observed the scene.
In far-off war rooms, generals and kings stared at enchanted projections of the coliseum, their advisors murmuring about the emergence of the Lightning Dragon Lineage and the implications for regional stability.
"Mobilize the intelligence network," barked a northern warlord. "We need every record on Su Leilong and his son. If they rise, our throne may fall."
Back in the arena, the storm reached its peak.
Su Mengtian's aura pulsed, responding to his father's presence. The chained power within him—his Thunder Guardian Dragon bloodline—roared to the surface, unshackled.
A second figure formed beside him.
Crackling into existence, the Guardian Spirit of the Thunder Guardian Dragon manifested in full.
It was a towering spectral beast, its body composed of stormclouds and lightning-wreathed scales. Four thunder-tipped wings unfurled behind it, and its eyes were twin cores of electric fury.
It let out a thunderous roar that split the sky.
The coliseum shook.
Spectators stumbled back, shielding their eyes as arcs of pure lightning spiraled upward from the Guardian Spirit.
"That... that is not a beast from this world," someone whispered in awe. "That is a manifestation of primordial will."
The Guardian Spirit glanced down at Su Mengtian.
And bowed its head.
Not in obedience, but in recognition.
For the first time, Su Mengtian stepped forward not as an orphan, a rising academy prodigy, or a secret alliance leader.
But as a prince of a forgotten storm, a commander of legacy, and the inheritor of a power that could shake the world.
From the sky, thunder cracked.
From the earth, lightning surged.
And in that moment, every force present understood one thing clearly that the world would no longer be the same.