The Armor of Destiny
The silence left in Wu Zhangkong's wake was not empty; it was fertile ground, and into it, he immediately planted the seeds of a future far grander than any of them had dared to envision. He turned to face the chalkboard, but instead of writing, he seemed to gaze through it, into a realm of clashing metal and soaring spirits.
"Your current strength is a foundation," he began, his voice losing none of its chill but gaining a new, lecturing cadence. "But a foundation supports a structure. For you, that structure is not merely higher soul rings. It is the fusion of soul and machine, of spirit and forged alloy. I speak of battle armor."
The terms—mechs, battle armor—landed in the quiet room with the weight of ancient lore. Confusion flickered across the faces of Zhang Yangzi and Wang Jinxi. These were concepts for advanced treatises, not first-year orientation.
Wu Zhangkong read their expressions. "You wonder why this is relevant now. Because your target—Shrek—does not operate on a conventional timeline. At Shrek Academy, genius is the baseline, and the curriculum is a precipice you are expected to scale." He paused, letting the implicit challenge hang. "One of their thresholds is this: forge and fuse with your One-Word Battle Armor before the age of twenty. Achieve that, and the Inner Court opens to you. Fail, and you remain with the outer disciples. To graduate Shrek at all, you must possess it by thirty-five."
A spark, bright and ambitious, ignited in six pairs of eyes. The distant pinnacle of Shrek suddenly had a tangible, metallic taste.
"To understand battle armor, you must first understand its crude progenitor: the soul guidance mech." Wu Zhangkong launched into a concise, vivid history. He spoke of the first cannons that harnessed soul power, of the evolution from static defenses to walking behemoths of war, of the democratization of power that allowed non-soul masters to touch the realms of combat once reserved for the awakened. His words painted a picture of technological triumph.
Then, his tone sharpened, drawing a critical distinction. "Mechs are tools. Powerful, but external. They are cabins you enter. Battle armor," he stressed, "is a second skin. It is miniaturized, refined, and most importantly, symbiotic. It does not simply amplify your soul power; it resonates with your martial soul itself, with your very soul spirits. A mech enhances a soldier. Battle armor completes a Soul Master."
He outlined the tiers—One-Word, Two-Word, Three-Word, Four-Word—and the corresponding awesome power leaps, each tier bridging a realm of cultivation. The idea that a suit of armor could elevate a Soul King to rival a Soul Emperor was a paradigm shift. It spoke of a path where dedication to a craft could rival innate talent.
"This symbiosis demands personal investment," he continued, his gaze sweeping over them. "You cannot simply purchase battle armor. You must help create it. This is where your second profession becomes not a hobby, but a pillar of your strength." He listed the supporting disciplines: designer, manufacturer, repairer. "You will choose one. Through it, you will learn the language of the armor you will one day wear. Some of you," his eyes flicked to Yao Xuan and Tang Wulin, "have already begun on an… unconventional path with forging. The road will be steeper, but if your talent holds, it may yield unique dividends. For the rest of you, consider the three core disciplines. You have time—choose before the end of your third year. Choose wisely."
The classroom buzzed with silent calculation. Futures were being reshaped in real-time. Xie Xie imagined sleek, self-designed armor complementing his speed. Zhang Yangzi pictured reinforced talons, Wang Jinxi envisioned denser bone-plating. Gu Yue's expression remained serene, but behind her eyes, a universe of elemental possibilities interfacing with mechanized design was being contemplated.
"Our immediate path, however, returns to the roots," Wu Zhangkong said, reining in their soaring thoughts. "Before you can fuse with legendary armor, you must master the body and spirit you were born with. Your training will be threefold: practical combat, physical conditioning, and theoretical knowledge. And we begin at the most fundamental level: basic combat skills without soul skills."
A barely suppressed scoff came from Xie Xie. Wang Jinxi shifted uncomfortably. Using only martial soul possession, without their powerful spirit abilities? It felt like being asked to fight with one hand tied.
Wu Zhangkong's voice cut through the doubt like his Heavenly Frost Sword. "You undervalue the foundation. Even a Title Douluo has but nine soul skills. What fills the spaces between them? What do you rely on when soul power is depleted, when a skill is on cooldown, when you need perfect, economical motion? The greatest warriors are not defined by their most spectacular strike, but by their impeccable basics. There are no shortcuts here. Weakness in foundation is a crack that will shatter under the pressure of true power."
The lesson was a bucket of cold water, sobering and bracing. The grand vision of battle armor was yoked to the humble discipline of a perfectly executed punch, a seamless dodge.
"The first lesson concludes," Wu Zhangkong announced. "Its purpose was to map the mountain you must climb. Now, we take the first step by assessing the climbers. To tailor your training, I must measure your current attributes. We proceed to the testing hall."
As they filed out of the classroom, Yao Xuan felt a peculiar sense of cyclical return. 'Another test,' he mused, the sterile memory of his initial evaluation at Red Mountain Academy surfacing. So much had changed. He was no longer an orphanage kid with a mysterious system; he was the captain of Class Zero, a Great Soul Master with a 17.4% unlocked bloodline, a dragon in human guise. This test would not measure potential; it would benchmark the progress of a force of nature.
The testing hall was a familiar chamber of polished metal and humming soul guide arrays. The atmosphere was tense but focused. The first metric: mental strength.
Xie Xie went first, settling under the crystal helmet. The indicator climbed steadily, settling at 31. A two-point increase—solid progress into mid Spirit Origin realm. He stepped down with a nod of self-satisfaction.
Tang Wulin was next. His progress was more pronounced, jumping from 38 to 42. The intense cultivation and physical trials had tempered his spirit as well as his body. Wu Zhangkong gave an almost imperceptible nod of approval.
Then, the newcomers. Zhang Yangzi's result was impressive: 41, a testament to the focus and control required for his shadowy, precise martial soul. Wang Jinxi, however, paled as his number flashed: 18. The strain of the Bone Dragon King's overwhelming physical power seemed to have come at the cost of spiritual refinement. A faint flush of embarrassment colored his cheeks.
"Wang Jinxi," Wu Zhangkong's voice was not unkind, but it was unyielding. "Your martial soul demands great physical and spiritual resilience to host higher-level soul spirits. This must become a priority. Neglect it, and you will plateau."
"Yes, Teacher Wu. I understand," Wang Jinxi replied, his voice thick with resolve, the shame transforming into fuel.
Finally, all eyes turned to Yao Xuan. Wu Zhangkong looked at him, the usual frost in his gaze tempered by keen expectation. "Yao Xuan. Three months of specialized training, a breakthrough to Great Soul Master, and… other refinements. Let us see the extent of your growth."
Zhang Yangzi and Wang Jinxi leaned forward, their curiosity palpable. This was the moment. The boy who had shattered their fusion with a claw would now be quantified. Gu Yue watched from the side, her silver-purple eyes holding a knowing, quiet certainty.
Yao Xuan approached the device. He felt the familiar, invasive tingle as the sensors sought to map the contours of his consciousness. But his mental landscape was no longer a simple lake; it was a deep, still ocean with ancient leviathans moving in its depths. The Ancestral Dragon's legacy, the system's integration, his transmigrator's dual awareness—it all coalesced into a psychic density far beyond his soul power level.
The indicator on the panel didn't climb; it jumped. It blew past 50, then 80, then 100, without hesitation. The machine emitted a soft, protesting whine. The numbers flickered, stabilizing finally at a value that drew a sharp, collective inhale from everyone in the room, including the unflappable Wu Zhangkong.
Mental Strength: 129.
Realm: Spirit Sea, Early Stage.
The room was utterly silent, save for the hum of the overtaxed equipment. Crossing the 100-point threshold was the boundary into the Spirit Sea realm, a realm typically associated with Soul Kings or exceptionally gifted Soul Ancestors. For a 21st-ranked Great Soul Master, it was supposed to be impossible.
Yao Xuan removed the helmet, the faint glow in his own eyes fading. He met Wu Zhangkong's stunned gaze, then glanced at Gu Yue. She offered the barest, most subtle of smiles—a secret shared between those who understood the weight of dragons.
Wu Zhangkong was the first to speak, his voice uncharacteristically measured, as if recalibrating his entire understanding of his star pupil. "It seems… the foundation is stronger than anticipated." The understatement hung in the air, charged with the thrilling, daunting promise of what Class Zero, and the dragon at its heart, might truly become.