Suppressing Ye Xinglan
A stunned silence gripped the stadium for a single, suspended second after the first clash, followed by an explosion of sound that shook the very air.
"He… he pushed her back! A Shrek genius!"
"That aura… those claws… what is his spirit?!"
"A Great Soul Master with that kind of pressure? Since when does Donghai Academy hide dragons in its depths?"
The shock in the crowd was palpable, a physical wave of disbelief and dawning excitement. In the VIP sections, officials of the Tianhai Alliance leaned forward, eyes alight with a mixture of astonishment and avarice. A talent like this, emerging from their own alliance, was a political windfall. Commands were quietly issued; investigators scrambled. They would find nothing but encrypted files and Spirit Pagoda seals—a fortress of privacy built by a Title Douluo's influence.
On the Shrek Academy side, the mood was one of sharp, analytical surprise. The girl with the Seven Treasure Glazed Tile Pagoda spirit—Ning Rongrong—frowned, her delicate fingers tightening on the railing. "Xinglan is at a disadvantage? In a contest of pure force?"
Beside her, the team captain, Dai Yunfeng, crossed his arms, his expression unreadable but his eyes intensely focused on Yao Xuan's scaled form. "We misjudged the local terrain," he murmured, his voice low. "That's not just brute strength. That's a bloodline power of terrifying density. Without my battle armor, forcing a win against Xinglan that quickly would be… challenging. This Yao Xuan's foundation is monstrous."
At the forefront of their group, the white-haired female instructor, Cai Mei'er, tapped a finger against her chin, a spark of recognition in her eyes. "A little dragon from the east coast… trained to such a degree. That old fellow Wu Changkong… is this his masterpiece?"
Back with Donghai Academy, the atmosphere was electric with pride. Tang Wulin was practically vibrating, his earlier humiliation burned away by vindicative joy. "He didn't even break a sweat! Did you see? He just… pushed!" His gratitude towards Yao Xuan solidified into something akin to worship.
Xie Xie whistled low, a grin splitting his face. "The boss makes everything look easy. That Shrek girl thought she was the big predator."
Xu Xiaoyan simply clasped her hands together, her eyes shining as she watched her class monitor dominate the stage.
Gu Yue stood apart, a statue of serene observation. There was no surprise on her face, only a deep, quiet satisfaction that warmed her violet eyes and brought a faint, rosy hue to her cheeks. Her gaze traced the lines of Yao Xuan's transformed body—the powerful set of his shoulders, the lethal grace of his clawed hands—not with mere admiration, but with the possessive pride of one who knows the true depth of the treasure others only glimpse.
Wu Changkong observed from the shadows, a complex knot of emotions in his chest. Pride, yes—fierce and undeniable. This was a student who embodied the pinnacle of his teaching philosophy. But intertwined was the sharp thread of regret. A dragon this magnificent should have been the Tang Sect's rising star, a blade for his own master's legacy. Instead, its wings were sheltered under the banner of the Spirit Pagoda.
On the stage, Yao Xuan ignored the tsunami of noise. His focus was the girl across from him, who was shaking the numbness from her hands, her expression having shed all arrogance, replaced by the cold, clean focus of a warrior reassessing the battlefield.
"Well?" Yao Xuan's voice cut through the din, calm and clear. "I told you to wait and see."
Ye Xinglan's eyes narrowed, but a fierce, competitive smile touched her lips. "Hmph! So you're just a brute with thick skin and a heavy hand. A second's carelessness isn't a defeat." She adjusted her grip on the Star God Sword, its stellar glow intensifying. "Let's see how you handle this! Sword God's Net! Sword Starfall!"
Her second and third soul rings flashed in tandem. From her sword, threads of solidified starlight erupted, weaving into a vast, gleaming net that flew to ensnare Yao Xuan. Simultaneously, the sword itself seemed to fracture, unleashing a hail of dazzling, condensed star beams—hundreds of them—that screamed through the air with enough force to pierce steel.
The combined assault was beautiful and terrifying, a testament to Shrek's training: control and area denial layered with pinpoint, armor-shredding force.
"You're well-trained," Yao Xuan acknowledged, his tone almost conversational. "But you aimed at a mountain."
"Ancestral Dragon Sky-Splitting Strike!"
His first purple soul ring ignited with profound light. The Ancestral Dragon Spirit before him echoed a silent roar, and the majestic, chaotic power surged into his arms. His claws didn't just glow; they seemed to fracture the light around them.
He didn't dodge. He launched himself into the onslaught.
His right claw swept upward in a terrible, graceful arc. The gleaming star-net met the nine-colored blaze and simply… came apart. The threads snapped and dissolved into harmless sparkles before they could touch him. The storm of star-beams rained down. Most were swatted aside or shattered by flicking movements of his claws, exploding against the arena shield in pops of light. A few slipped through, striking his chest and shoulders with sharp ping sounds. They left faint, white scuffs on the iridescent scales, which darkened for a second before the scales smoothed over, pristine once more.
"Impossible!" The gasp was torn from Ye Xinglan. Her strongest opening combination, nullified with casual, overwhelming defense.
And Yao Xuan was still coming. The Sky-Splitting Strike's momentum carried him through the dissipating light show, a golden-red and nine-colored comet aimed right at her.
Pure instinct, honed by countless drills, saved her. Her body blurred, phasing into the elusive, zig-zagging steps of the Ghost Shadow Perplexing Track. The devastating claw swept through the afterimage she left behind, the wind of its passage whipping her hair.
Yao Xuan landed, turned on the ball of his foot, and found her already six meters away, breathing slightly harder. A fierce, calculating light burned in her eyes now. The last vestige of condescension was gone, replaced by the stark reality of a fight for survival.
"Again," Yao Xuan stated, and surged forward once more, another Sky-Splitting Strike priming in his limbs.
Ye Xinglan set her jaw. No more testing. No more direct clashes. Her spirit was the swift, piercing sword, not the crushing hammer. She became a phantom, a streak of yellow and starlight zipping across the stage, using every centimeter of space. She would evade, she would wait, she would let his soul power—surely immense for his level, but not infinite—burn itself out against the air. Then, she would strike at the cracks.
The battle shifted from a collision of titans to a deadly dance—the dragon, relentless and earth-shaking, pursuing the flickering sword-light that dared not let itself be caught.