Zhang Tian's group walked into the courtyard, blocking the path of the retreating Shrek team. Zhang Tian stopped, a look of perfect, feigned surprise on his handsome face. He looked at the bruised, bandaged, and utterly demoralized figures before him, and his expression slowly, beautifully, transformed into one of pure, unadulterated, and almost comically profound pity.
"Well, well," he began, his voice a low, melodic purr that carried across the silent courtyard. "Look what we have here. The mighty Shrek team. Returning from your glorious victory, I presume?"
Dai Mubai's head snapped up. His evil eyes, which had been a dull, lifeless grey of shame and despair, now blazed with a murderous, crimson fire.
"You…" he snarled, the word a raw, guttural sound of pure, unadulterated hatred.
Zhang Tian just smiled, a slow, lazy expression that was somehow more insulting than any shout. His gaze, a deliberate, leisurely thing, swept over their bruised, bandaged forms, lingering for a moment too long on Tang San's scorched robes, on Xiao Wu's scraped knees, on Dai Mubai's burned and blistered arms.
"Oh, my apologies," he said, his voice a tone of perfect, insincere regret. "It seems I was mistaken. You lost. How… disappointing."
He then let his gaze settle on Dai Mubai, his smile widening, becoming a slow, predatory expression that was filled with a beautiful, creative, and utterly terrifying cruelty.
"So, Princey," he purred, his voice a low, intimate sound that seemed to slither through the air and coil around Dai Mubai's very soul. "Feeling a little… lighter? The weight of your future victory must have been lifted from your shoulders. Or perhaps… you are feeling the weight of a different kind of future?"
The taunt was not a simple insult. It was a direct, brutal, and exquisitely timed hit to the heart of Dai Mubai's deepest, most profound terror.
He roared. It was not a sound of anger. It was a sound of pure, wounded, and almost animalistic fury. He lunged forward, his claws, which he had not even realized he had summoned, extended, aiming to tear the beautiful, mocking face before him to shreds.
He was stopped by a wall of steel. Tang San's arm shot out, his hand clamping down on Dai Mubai's shoulder with a strength that was a testament to his own, deep, and simmering rage.
"Don't, Boss Mubai," Tang San said, his voice a low, dangerous sound that was as cold and as hard as the stone of the courtyard floor. "Not here. Not now."
Zhang Tian just chuckled, a low, warm sound of genuine amusement. "Always the little hero, aren't you, Tang San?" he said, his voice a lazy, condescending drawl. "Always trying to save your friends from their own foolishness. It's a pity you couldn't save them on the stage."
The confrontation escalated. The two groups faced each other, a silent, tense standoff in the middle of the courtyard. The air crackled with a palpable, almost violent, energy.
Ning Rongrong and Zhu Zhuqing looked on, their faces alight with an amused, contemptuous glee. Qian Renxue and Ah Yin were silent, regal observers, their presence a quiet, unshakeable mountain of power that seemed to make the very air around them feel heavy.
It was at that moment that the two deans of the academy, who had been a few steps behind their students, finally rushed forward, their faces pale with a new, more immediate, and far more terrifying kind of fear.
"Zhang Tian," Flender began, his voice a placating, nervous sound, his hands held up in a gesture of universal surrender. "Please, there is no need for this… It was a simple tournament match… no hard feelings…"
Zhang Tian just held up a hand, a casual, almost lazy gesture that somehow held the weight of an imperial command. Flender's words died in his throat.
Zhang Tian's gaze, a thing of pure, unadulterated, and beautifully, wonderfully, and almost religiously profound amusement, was fixed on Dai Mubai.
"So, what will it be, Princey?" he purred, his voice a low, final, and utterly non-negotiable sound. "Shall we schedule your… appointment? Or would you like to discuss the terms of your surrender?"
Dai Mubai was trembling. Not with rage anymore. But with a pure, primal, and deeply, profoundly, and utterly humiliating fear. He looked at Zhang Tian, at the cold, serious light in his eyes, at the slow, lazy smile that did not reach them. And he knew.
He knew this was not a joke. He knew this was not a simple taunt.
This was real.
It was Tang San who spoke, his voice a cold, hard, and surprisingly pragmatic sound that cut through the tense, terrified silence. "The wager," he stated, his voice the flat, unemotional tone of a lawyer citing a clause in a contract, "was for the final tournament match between our two teams. In Spirit City. We have not lost to you. We have merely lost a preliminary match. The bet, therefore, still stands."
Zhang Tian just laughed. A genuine, delighted, and utterly contemptuous sound that echoed in the silent courtyard. "A fine point of order," he conceded, a mockingly appreciative look on his handsome face. "You are as clever as I remember, Tang San. But let's be realistic."
He gestured to the bruised, battered, and utterly demoralized figures of the Shrek team. "After today's… performance… what do you think your chances are of even reaching the final rounds, let alone defeating my Emperor Team?"
The words were not an insult. They were a simple, logical, and utterly devastating dose of reality. The Shrek team's confidence, which had been so high just a few hours ago, was now a shattered, fragile thing.
Zhang Tian saw the despair in their eyes. He saw the flicker of hope that Tang San's clever, legalistic argument had ignited, and he knew, with a beautiful, creative, and utterly, completely, and wonderfully cruel certainty, that he had to snuff it out.
"However," he said, his voice taking on a tone of magnanimous, almost generous, consideration that was somehow more terrifying than his earlier taunts. "I am not an unreasonable man. I will offer you a new deal. An alternative."
He looked at Dai Mubai, and his smile was a thing of pure, beautiful, and terrifying cruelty. "I will not take your manhood now," he purred, his voice a silken, venomous thread that was a promise of a new, and far more interesting, kind of torture. "I will give you a chance. A chance to save yourself."
He let the hope, the beautiful, fragile, and utterly pathetic glimmer of hope, sink in for a moment. He saw the look of profound, almost religious, relief on Dai Mubai's face.
And then, he delivered the final, crushing blow.
"If your Shrek team fails to win the championship of this tournament," he declared, his voice a final, non-negotiable command that was a pronouncement of a new, and far more insidious, kind of doom. "If you are defeated by any team, at any stage of the competition… then the wager will be turned null and void."
He paused, a slow, predatory smile spreading across his face as he watched the dawning, beautiful, and utterly, completely, and wonderfully confused hope in Dai Mubai's eyes.
"But," he added, his voice a low, final, and utterly, completely, and soul-shatteringly humiliating condition, "if that happens, you will have to kneel down in front of me, in front of your entire team, in front of the entire world, and you will have to admit, in a loud, clear voice, that you are a spineless coward."
The new terms were a thing of beautiful, insidious genius. It was a masterpiece of psychological warfare. He had not just offered a way out; he had offered a new, more profound, and infinitely more humiliating, kind of prison.
Dai Mubai stared at him, his mind reeling. It was a sliver of hope. A chance. But it was a chance that was wrapped in a new, and infinitely more profound, kind of terror.
To save his body, he had to sacrifice his soul.
He looked at his teammates, at their pale, determined faces. He looked at Tang San, at the cold, hard, and utterly unwavering resolve in his eyes.
And he knew. He had no choice.
"I… I accept," he whispered, the words a taste of ash in his mouth, the sound of a proud prince, a powerful warrior, a future king, surrendering his very soul.
While the Shrek Academy was drowning in its own public humiliation, a different, far quieter, and infinitely more dangerous kind of aftermath was unfolding in the grand, opulent study of the Seven Treasure Glaze Tile Sect.
Ning Fengzhi sat at his massive, carved jade desk, his fingers steepled before him, his handsome, elegant face a mask of calm, analytical thought. The afternoon sun streamed through the large, circular window behind him, illuminating the priceless antiques and ancient scrolls that filled the room, a testament to a wealth and a power that was now, without a doubt, the greatest in the world.
The air in the room was still, heavy with a silence that was broken only by the soft, respectful murmur of the man who stood before the desk. He was an elder of the sect, a man whose face was a bland, forgettable canvas, a master of the sect's intelligence division.
"Sect Master," the elder began, his voice a low, somber sound. "We have an update on the matter in the north. As you predicted…" He paused, a flicker of something, a hint of a deep, professional revulsion, in his otherwise emotionless eyes.
"Our agents conducted a second, more thorough search of the Heavenly Star Mountain Range today," he continued, his voice dropping to a near-whisper. "They… they found him. What remains of him."
Ning Fengzhi's expression did not change. He just nodded slowly, a silent, grim invitation for the man to continue.
"It was… not a pleasant sight, Sect Master," the elder said, his own voice a little shaky. "The body was located in a deep, secluded ravine, miles from the site of the main battle. It appears he was dragged there. By beasts."
He took a deep, steadying breath. "Half of his body… it had been devoured. The other half… it was mutilated. Unrecognizable. All of his spirit bones… they are missing. If it were not for the faint, residual signature of his spirit power that still lingered in the area, we would have mistaken him for just another unfortunate hunter who had met a gruesome end."
Ning Fengzhi just listened, his gaze fixed on a single, beautiful, and priceless ink painting on the wall opposite him. He did not speak. He did not move. He was a statue of calm, regal grief.
The intelligence elder, taking his master's silence as a cue to continue, cleared his throat. "And there is more, Sect Master. As you also predicted, our agents in the city have picked up some… disturbing whispers in the market."
He began to recount the rumors. Of a new, aggressive push for resources by the Blue Lightning Tyrant Dragon Clan. Of their sudden, insatiable demand for high-grade forging metals, for rare, potent herbs. And of their new, and very powerful, partners in this venture. The newly re-emerged Clear Sky Sect.
"They are moving quickly, Sect Master," the elder concluded, his voice a low, worried sound. "They are consolidating their power, their resources, at a rate that is… alarming."
Ning Fengzhi was silent for a long, heavy moment. He looked at the beautiful, serene landscape in the ink painting, at the tiny, insignificant figure of a lone fisherman on a tranquil, misty lake. And he smiled. A slow, cold, and incredibly, beautifully, and terrifyingly predatory smile.
'So,' his mind, a cold, brilliant chessboard of pure, unadulterated, and almost religiously profound cunning, purred. 'They took the bait. They killed him. And they made it look like an accident. Pathetic. Amateurish. But… effective enough for their purposes.'
He was not sad. He was not angry. He was… satisfied. Elder Gu Chen had been a loyal, powerful, and respected member of his sect. He had been a friend. But in this new, dangerous game, a game for the very soul of the continent, even a friend could become a necessary, and very useful, sacrifice.
'They have what they wanted,' he thought, his mind racing, the pieces of his grand, beautiful trap falling into place. 'They have the information that Gu Chen possessed. The location of the Breaking Clan. The general, and ultimately useless, knowledge of our pills and our spirit tools. They think they have won. They think they have stolen our secrets. And now… now they will be overconfident. They will be arrogant. They will be… predictable.'
He finally turned from the painting, his gaze settling on his waiting, anxious subordinate. The mask of the grieving, sorrowful leader was back in place, his expression one of profound, regal sadness.
"Thank you, Elder Li," he said, his voice a low, heavy sound. "You have done well. See to it that Elder Gu's family is compensated. Generously. And see to it that the story of his heroic, final stand against the beast tide is… widely circulated."
The elder bowed and, with a silent, respectful nod, he departed, leaving the most powerful man in the world alone with his thoughts.
Ning Fengzhi walked to the large, detailed map that covered one entire wall of his study. He looked at the small, insignificant marker that represented the new, massive plot of land his sect had just purchased on the eastern edge of the city.
He reached out and gently, almost tenderly, touched it with his fingertip.
He then moved to the small, elegant Pager that sat on his desk, a beautiful, intricate device of black wood and polished silver. He pressed a button and spoke into it, his voice a low, final command that was a death knell to two of the greatest sects in the world.
"The construction of the new facility," he said, his voice a quiet, calm sound. "Tell the foreman to accelerate the schedule. I want it operational within the week. And send word to the Breaking Clan. It is time for them to begin their… 'production'."
The trap was being set. The cheese had been laid.
He looked out of his window, at the distant, setting sun, at the sky that was now a beautiful, chaotic canvas of blood-red and bruised purple.
A slow and almost religiously profound predatory smile touched his lips.
Now, he just had to wait for the rats to come.
~~
A/N: Check out my other novels like "Douluo Dalu: Time Travel", "Harem Master: Seduction System" and the "Villain: Manipulating the Heroines into hating the Protagonist" and I hope you like this story and those stories as well.
Check out more chapters on my P.atreon. The P.atreon will have 20+ Chapters ahead for this story. I hope you like it.
The link of p.atreon is: bit.ly/evildragon