Commander says "A leader walks not only with strength and heart… but with eyes fixed on the horizon of what could be."
The sky twisted above Su Mengtian.
Where before had been rain and thunder, now there was clarity—but a disorienting one. The world had become a vast, open void. The ground beneath his feet turned to clouds swirling with currents of lightning, and above him loomed a sky stitched with fractured glimpses of futures—not one, but dozens, each fading in and out of existence like mirages on stormwinds.
Fei Wu's voice echoed again, deeper now, more distant.
"Strength gives you the means. Empathy gives you the soul. But Vision…"
"…Vision gives you the path."
Suddenly, the basin reformed—but differently.
It was divided into three roads of mist, each leading toward a separate glowing stormgate on the far side. The gates pulsed with ancient lightning inscriptions, each inscribed with the words: Glory, Stability, and Dominance.
A low rumble preceded the appearance of another presence.
Not a beast.
Not a person.
But a shadow version of himself—Su Mengtian, yet not.
He wore a crown of stormsteel, his eyes cold, his aura oppressive.
"Choose wisely," the shadow said. "You may only walk one path. The one you choose… shall decide your legacy."
Su Mengtian narrowed his gaze.
He stepped toward the path marked Dominance.
Power surged in the air. A future played out—him seated on a throne forged from fallen titans, the continents kneeling, his name spoken in fear. No rebellion. No chaos. Total control.
But then… silence.
No laughter. No warmth. His allies were tools. Yueying was gone, her image faded. He was a ruler—but alone.
He turned away.
Then toward Stability.
Another vision surged—him leading a calm, prosperous territory. Strict laws. No wars. No ambitions beyond borders. The people lived, but they never thrived. Innovation stifled. No great heights, no catastrophes either. A flat, steady world. Predictable. Hollow.
Finally, he walked toward Glory.
Lightning shimmered, revealing a different path.
He saw chaos, battles, and sacrifice. A land pushed forward by hope and grit. A young boy with no name rising through sheer will. Victories and losses. Tears and laughter. His organization of the Nine Halls burned bright. Some halls fell in wars. Some leaders perished. But dreams lived. People grew.
In the center of it all stood Su Mengtian—wounded, aged, but smiling, surrounded by comrades, family, and flame-lit banners of freedom and pride.
This was no perfect path.
But it was alive.
He stepped forward.
The path of Glory exploded into cascading light, thunder rolling across the skies like the laughter of gods.
Shadow Mengtian nodded solemnly before fading.
The other gates sealed forever.
Fei Wu's voice returned, no longer distant.
"A leader does not choose the path of least pain, but the one most worth walking."
"You have chosen a future worth bleeding for."
As the storm reassembled around him, Su Mengtian's steps became firmer. The horizon no longer seemed like a threat—it looked like a challenge meant to be conquered.
Nine stages.
He had crossed four.
Five remained.
Each more brutal than the last.
And yet, his eyes did not falter.
They burned with lightning—and purpose.
While preparing the next trial Commander Fei Wu said "To rise once is courage. To rise again and again—that is resilience."
The lightning from the Vision gate faded, and with it, the storm basin changed once more.
This time, the transformation was violent.
The sky collapsed into a swirling maelstrom, dragging Su Mengtian down through the clouds into a subterranean void—an ancient hollow beneath the Thunderclad Basin, untouched by time.
A new trial waited.
No beast.
No gate.
No guide.
Just endless silence… and then the first scream.
It was his own.
He landed hard, bones rattling against the jagged obsidian floor, body laced with crackling static. Pain exploded through him—his muscles refused to respond, blood poured from a gash in his side.
But the worst part? His core—his Qi sea—was locked.
No aura. No strength.
Just himself.
Commander Fei Wu's voice echoed distantly from above, filtered like thunder through dense clouds, "The body can heal… the soul can endure. But will the will remain unbroken?"
The shadows around him deepened—and from them came illusions, painful and sharp like shards of memory.
He saw Yueying dying again, her smile fading as blood ran from her lips.
He saw Ji Yeyan's spy network collapsing under a massacre.
He saw Xiaoyun's wyrms slaughtered in their sleep.
He saw the Nine Halls burning.
And worst of all…
He saw himself—kneeling, broken, hands soaked in the blood of innocents.
"You failed them."
"You were never enough."
"You should have stayed dead on that battlefield."
The illusions clawed at him, mental and emotional pain surging. His breath grew ragged. His will buckled.
He almost screamed for it to stop.
Almost.
But in that moment—he remembered.
The orphanage of his previous life.
Where every day was survival.
Where hunger was his first teacher, and shame his first rival.
The battlefield.
Where brothers and sisters fell around him.
Where he died—once—and found a second chance.
And now… this trial.
He clenched his fists.
"You can strip my strength," he growled, "but you will never strip my reason to rise."
With effort, he forced himself to his knees.
The illusions screamed louder.
He forced himself upright.
The ground beneath cracked. Lightning surged across his body—exacting a toll for each defiant breath.
But his eyes blazed brighter.
His feet moved.
One step.
Two.
Each step reopened wounds. Each heartbeat was like thunder trying to break his chest apart.
But he walked.
And with each step, the illusions weakened.
His pain became purpose.
His doubt became defiance.
And finally, the walls of the subterranean chamber burst open—revealing the storm above.
Fei Wu's voice descended again, louder now, as though in awe, "To endure agony is survival. But to rise in spite of it—again, and again—that is the mark of a leader who cannot be destroyed."
The storm basin responded in kind.
A colossal arc of pure lightning crashed down around Su Mengtian, not to punish, but to crown.
His Qi sea burst free. His body reignited. Power returned like an ancient beast awoken by thunder.
He did not roar.
He stood.
Silent. Steady. Storm-eyed.
He had passed the fifth stage.
Now… only four more remained.
The storm was his to tame.