The Rival's Measure
The sterile hum of the testing room seemed to amplify in the silence following Wu Zhangkong's breathless question. All eyes were on Yao Xuan.
"Spiritual Connection Realm?" Yao Xuan repeated, his tone thoughtful, as if consulting an internal ledger. "I broke through around the age of eight. There wasn't a grand sensation. More of a... quiet realization. A soft 'release' within my mind, followed by a lasting clarity. Colors seemed sharper, thoughts flowed faster, and the world simply made more sense." He offered the truth, carefully editing out the Creation Soul Forging Technique's central role, focusing instead on the experiential aftermath.
"Eight years old." Wu Zhangkong breathed the words, not as a question, but as a sacred incantation. His analytical mind, re-engaging with ferocious speed, began painting a future. "At eight, and now at 195 points... With this trajectory, the Spirit Sea Realm by your fourth year is not a possibility—it is a probability."
The Spirit Sea Realm—500 points of spiritual power. The watershed that separated talent from legend, enabling fusion with ten-thousand-year soul spirits and the piloting of two-word Battle Armor. It was the threshold of true power within the Federation, a rank worthy of a Major General. To see its shadow already falling over a nine-year-old… Wu Zhangkong felt the weight of history leaning into his classroom.
"Teacher Wu, I will not waste this potential." Yao Xuan's reply was a vow, quiet and ironclad. His motivation was a tapestry woven of personal ambition, the memory of silver hair, and a promise to a dragon queen.
"Good. Gu Yue. You are last."
Gu Yue glided to the testing chair, her movements so fluid they seemed to defy the room's static charge. As the silver helmet descended, her amethyst eyes met Yao Xuan's for a fleeting moment—a spark of calm challenge in their depths.
The screen activated.
20—40—80—100!
Another eruption. The white beam transformed into pulsating yellow in a heartbeat, mirroring Yao Xuan's explosive start. But where Yao Xuan's ascent had been a blazing comet, Gu Yue's was a silent, inexorable tide.
110… 150… 180…
The numbers climbed with a steady, terrifying certainty. Xie Xie and Tang Wulin watched, their earlier shock renewing itself, their mouths agape. It was one thing to have one monster in their midst; two defied belief.
200…
The beam passed the two-century mark without a tremor.
201.
It settled there, a solid, unmoving pillar of light. Mid-stage Spirit Connection Realm. Six points clear of Yao Xuan.
A soft, almost imperceptible sigh escaped Yao Xuan. Not of disappointment, but of fond recognition. 'Of course. The Silver Dragon King, sovereign of spirit beasts, heir to the Dragon God's wisdom… did you adjust your output just to edge me out?' He hid a smile, feeling a strange warmth at her quiet, competitive pride.
For Xie Xie and Tang Wulin, it was a second seismic shock. They looked from Yao Xuan to Gu Yue as if seeing them for the first time—not as classmates, but as beings from a different stratum of existence entirely.
Wu Zhangkong's freshly restored composure cracked again. His hand, resting on the console, tightened until his knuckles paled. He had anticipated high results from her precise control, but this… this was a deliberate statement. Two of them. In his class. The statistical improbability was staggering. The cold fire of a destiny long deferred reignited in his chest, burning away the last vestiges of his past cynicism.
"Excellent, Gu Yue," he managed, his voice admirably steady despite the storm behind his eyes. "Your spiritual power explains your masterful elemental governance. With this foundation, your path is limitless."
"I intend to follow it to its conclusion, Teacher Wu," Gu Yue replied simply, rising from the chair as if she had done nothing more remarkable than state the time. Her gaze flickered to Yao Xuan again, a question hanging in the air between them—do you see me?
The subsequent strength tests unfolded in a haze of comparative awe for the two normal boys.
Yao Xuan's results drew a sharp breath: 2,620 kilograms in his right hand, 2,480 in his left. The numbers were less shocking to Wu Zhangkong now, merely further data points in the emerging portrait of a primordial force housed in a child's body. For Gu Yue, they were confirmation. As she watched the display, her theory crystallized. 'No human body of this age, unaided, holds such power. This is draconic legacy. Is he a shard of the Old One's soul, given new form? It would explain everything—the aura, the affinity, the… fondness.' The thought was unsettling, yet it carried a strange, melancholy hope.
Tang Wulin, fueled by the unawakened might in his blood, punched a formidable 500 kilograms, earning a grunt of genuine respect from Wu Zhangkong. The boy's determination solidified in the teacher's mind; he was worth the investment.
Xie Xie, with his agility-type focus, posted a respectable 120 kilograms. Then it was Gu Yue's turn. She approached the sensor not with a fighter's stance, but with an academic's curiosity. Her punch was not a thunderous blow, but a precise, condensed release of kinetic force.
118 kilograms.
The readout caused Xie Xie to visibly flinch and shrink in on himself. He stared at Gu Yue's slender arm, then at the number, and muttered something unintelligible under his breath, a complex cocktail of insult and surrender.
"I have the metrics I require," Wu Zhangkong announced, his voice once again the crisp instrument of command. "Now, we apply them. To the training ground."
The next half-hour was a brutal reaffirmation of their new reality. Under Wu Zhangkong's relentless pressure, their coordinated attacks grew slightly more cohesive, their defenses a fraction less desperate. Yao Xuan, integrating the awakened combat instincts from his bloodline, moved with a sharper, more predatory grace. His improvement was less a massive leap and more a honing—his power increase was under 5%, but its application was vastly more efficient.
The diminished point yield was a message from the System: the low-hanging fruit of basic instinct awakening had been plucked. Further growth would require deeper comprehension, tougher battles, or bloodline advancement.
The following days fell into a punishing rhythm: dawn physical training for the class (from which Yao Xuan was exempt for specialized combat drills), afternoons of soul theory and technique under Wu Zhangkong's icy lectern, and evenings in the advanced arena where sweat, soul power, and willpower were spent like currency.
Then, Sunday dawned—a island of respite in the turbulent sea of their training. The Soul Master Academy's single day of freedom was a sacred institution. Wu Zhangkong, understanding the necessity of recovery, issued no orders.
As the first gentle light of Sunday morning washed over Donghai Academy, Yao Xuan met Tang Wulin at the gates. The younger boy practically vibrated with a different kind of energy—the eager anticipation of returning to his craft.
"Ready, Junior Brother?" Yao Xuan asked, a familiar, welcoming smile on his face.
"Ready, Senior Brother!" Tang Wulin nodded vigorously, the title still filling him with a sense of pride and belonging. Together, they turned their backs on the silent academy and walked into the waking city, their destination the Donghai City Blacksmiths' Association, where heavy metal, roaring fires, and the guidance of a Saint Craftsman awaited. It was a different kind of forge, but one no less crucial to the weapons they were becoming.