“The three great clans are as one. Though today we face a trial, our unity shall be tested, not broken. That is what matters.”
Before the warmth of his words could fade, another voice rang out, powerful and proud.
“Well said, Clan Leader Ning.”
The ground seemed to shake faintly as a towering man strode in through the gate. His long blue hair streamed behind him, and every step carried the weight of a dragon. It was Yu Yuanzhen, Clan Leader of the Blue Lightning Tyrant Dragon Clan. Beside him walked his younger brother, Yu Luomian, who wore a more easy-going smile, though his eyes flickered with sharpness.
Yu Luomian clasped his hands and spoke first.
“I think we have come at just the right moment. Why speak of despair before the storm? Let us toast each other as heroes, and face our enemies with clear hearts and steady hands.”
Tang Zhan’s eyes softened for a moment, and a weary laugh escaped his lips.
“Good! Then let it be so. If the heavens decree tragedy, at least let us not meet it with empty cups. Please, have a seat.”
Servants hurried to bring more cups as the three great clans sat together. Wine was poured, the crimson liquid glowing faintly like embers in the gloom of the courtyard. The raspberries’ fragrance filled the air, sharp yet sweet, a reminder of fleeting joys amidst looming disaster.
They conversed as men who knew both rivalry and brotherhood. Ning Fengzhi spoke with eloquence, weaving reason and strategy into his words. Yu Yuanzhen, ever direct, laughed boldly and slapped the table, declaring that the Blue Lightning Tyrant Dragons feared no one under the sky. Even Tang Zhan, frail though he was, drank deeply and allowed himself to reminisce of days when the three clans stood shoulder to shoulder, untouchable.
But above them, the sky was changing.
Heavy gray clouds gathered, rolling over each other, their bellies swollen with unshed rain. A distant rumble echoed from the heavens. It was as if the world itself was holding its breath.
When it seemed that Tang Zhan might bring out the fourth wine gourd, a sudden disturbance shattered the fragile camaraderie.
Bang!
With a thunderous crack, the heavy wooden plaque bearing the Clear Sky Clan’s name crashed to the ground, splintering into two. The festive warmth of wine and laughter froze in the mouth of every guest.
At the gates stood a man with dragon-like features—his eyes gleamed with golden vertical slits, scales faintly rippling across his skin. His presence radiated sharp dominance, like a divine beast coiled and ready to strike.
“You’re welcome,” he said arrogantly, his voice resounding like a dragon’s roar echoing across a valley. “My title is Sacred Dragon Douluo.”
The air turned heavy. In an instant, all the drunken haze dissipated. Soul power surged through every their body effectively dissolving the lingering effects of alcohol.
The Grand Elder of the Clear Sky Clan stepped forward, his aura erupting, his white hair fluttering though no wind blew. His aged eyes blazed with wrath.
“You dare disrespect the name of Clear Sky Clan?!”
Sacred Dragon Douluo’s lips curved into a mocking smile. “Why wouldn’t I dare?”
His words were like a spark to dry tinder. With a violent flare of power, three figures emerged behind him.
The first, Bibi Dong, the Saint of Spirit Hall (Soon to be Pope), her purple robes fluttering, her cold gaze surveying everyone with Soul power Level 90
The second—Demon Bear Douluo, his hulking frame wrapped in an aura of brute violence, soul power at Level 92.
The third—Ghost Leopard Douluo, his figure slender yet sharp, his presence flickering like a predator in the dark, at Level 93.
Behind them, the Angel Corps, led by Hua Zhang, marched in disciplined formation. Their spears gleamed as they released their martial souls, their killing intent like a tide pressing down on the clan’s grounds.
The Clear Sky Grand Elder’s voice thundered as he fully unleashed his soul power. The ground beneath his feet cracked, unable to withstand the pressure of a Level 97 Titled Douluo.
Beside him, Tang Zhan and the First and Second Elders erupted with their own auras: Level 95, Level 94, Level 92. Their combined presence surged into the sky like a storm, unwilling to bow in front of Spirit Hall’s encroaching force.
The atmosphere thickened to the point of suffocation. Even the clouds above seemed to churn, gray thunderheads rolling as if Heaven itself awaited the clash.
Yet Ning Fengzhi and Yu Yuanzhen exchanged brief glances, their expressions unreadable. Both remained seated, their soul power quietly restrained. They knew—it was not yet time for them to act.
Then, just as the tension reached its peak, another oppressive wave of aura descended like a mountain.
Two figures materialized behind Bibi Dong, their gazes calm, almost indifferent, but their presence heavier than steel.
When their soul rings manifested, the gathered Titled Douluos’ hearts sank. Both were Level 97.
Gasps broke through the silence.
“They…” The Clear Sky Second Elder’s face paled.
Indeed, standing beside the Pope were none other than the Sixth Elder, Fifteen Ton Douluo, his very steps shaking the earth, and the Seventh Elder, Falling Devil Douluo, whose aura radiated a twisted, malevolent pressure.
The very air warped around them.
The numbers were no longer equal. Spirit Hall had come prepared—with overwhelming might, enough to crush even the Clear Sky Clan’s proud foundation.
Just when it seemed the two sides would clash, Tang Zhan raised his hand, his face weary but firm.
“I want to clarify,” his deep voice resounded through the courtyard, “that what Tang Hao did was not in line with the clan principles. For this reason, he has already been exiled from the Clear Sky Clan.”
The words dropped like stones into a still pond. For a moment, silence reigned.
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