While the father and son of the Dugu Clan quietly reshaped their future, forging new strength from within, the currents of power elsewhere in Aurellan were anything but still.
To the north, within the resplendent halls of the Royal Palace, another player on the great board was stirring — Crown Prince Vaelen, son of the Radiant Douluo, heir to the Golden Phoenix Lotus Throne, and future Ruler of the Seven Great Noble Families.
But even he, clothed in gold and sitting atop a seat carved from power itself, was not immune to shock.
Inside a private audience chamber draped in banners of flame and sunbursts, Vaelen lounged lazily on a plush chaise, swirling wine idly in a jeweled goblet. His expression was bored — until a messenger clad in royal gold dropped to one knee before him, head bowed low in deference.
"Your Highness," the man said carefully, his voice crisp and low, "urgent intelligence from the southern territories."
Vaelen barely glanced up.
"Speak," he drawled.
The messenger hesitated a fraction of a second, then pressed on.
"We have confirmed that Dugu Xin — the so-called First Young Master — has successfully become a Spirit Master."
Vaelen waved a hand dismissively, unimpressed.
"A minor inconvenience. Spirit Masters are not exactly rare."
The messenger swallowed hard.
"There is more."
At that, Vaelen finally looked up, one brow arched.
"In addition," the man continued, voice growing tighter, "Dugu Bo has revealed five other children. Hidden until now. All poised to receive their first Spirit Rings."
The goblet paused halfway to Vaelen's lips.
"And," the messenger pressed, sensing the growing tension in the room, "he has reunited with his siblings sent abroad. And..."
The words came faster now, as if to outrun the prince's rising fury.
"He has taken in refugees from the Continent — individuals who were previously ranked Spirit Douluo. He has fortified the Dugu Clan with foreign elites."
Vaelen sat up straighter, the first real sign of alarm flickering across his face.
But the final blow had yet to fall.
"Furthermore," the messenger said, voice dropping to a whisper, "it is rumored that Ning Cheng — the Clan Leader of the Seven Treasure Glazed Tile Clan — has been acknowledged as Dugu Bo's uncle. The Seven Treasure Clan is preparing to merge its bloodline... into the Dugu Clan."
For one eternal heartbeat, silence reigned.
Then —
Clang!
The goblet slipped from Vaelen's stunned fingers, clattering to the marble floor. Red wine spilled across the tiles like a spreading wound.
Vaelen stared at the messenger, mouth slightly agape, golden eyes wide with disbelief.
"We almost got rid of them," he whispered, the words barely audible.
"We almost..."
His hands clenched into fists on his knees, knuckles whitening.
"We were so close!"
The palace chamber, once warm with luxury, seemed to chill under the force of his rising fury.
Nearby attendants quickly averted their eyes, instinctively shrinking away from the storm they could feel brewing.
Vaelen's jaw tightened. His mind raced.
The Dugu Clan was supposed to have been a relic of the past — a house broken by poison, isolation, and outdated methods.
Yet now, in the span of mere months, they had not only recovered — they had transformed. Evolved. Grown teeth sharper than ever before.
And worst of all, they had allies.
Real allies.
The Seven Treasure Glazed Tile Clan was no small house — they were the masters of the Auxillary system, the jewel of the Continent.
If they merged bloodlines, if they reinforced one another...
Vaelen's thoughts turned dark.
They could challenge the Crown itself.
He forced himself to breathe deeply, calming the sudden spike of panic in his veins.
No.
It wasn't over yet.
But if he hesitated now — if he let this threat fester — it would be too late.
"Summon my council," Vaelen said coldly, his voice cutting through the heavy air.
"Tell them the Dugu Clan has declared their ambition."
He rose from the chaise slowly, the gold embroidery of his robes gleaming under the afternoon light, his expression carved from fury and calculation.
"If they want to rise," he said, voice as sharp as a blade unsheathed,
"then we will bury them ourselves."
______________________________________________
Gathered in the grand Main Hall, under the towering banners of the coiled serpent, the entirety of the Dugu Clan and all its subsidiary families stood assembled.
It had been only three days since the last summons — barely enough time for rumors to ripple through the clan halls, for anxieties to bloom like wildfires.
And yet, here they were: warriors, scholars, healers, craftsmen — all standing in neat, tense rows under the vaulted jade roof, facing where their Clan Leader now sat.
Dugu Bo rose slowly from his seat, the heavy silence of the hall amplifying each quiet step he took to the center dais. His jade-green eyes swept across the assembly, sharp as a hawk's and just as merciless in what they saw.
He spoke without preamble, his voice carrying to every corner of the massive hall:
"Xiong Clan."
He paused, letting the name settle, letting every member of that household stiffen under his gaze.
"Your Spirits — Light element based — are deemed Auxiliary. Supportive in nature. Useful... but lacking an edge of dominance."
A few of the Xiong elders looked down at the polished stone floor, shame flickering across their faces.
"Zhong Clan," Bo continued, voice steady.
"Body Spirits — physical manifestations. Strong, yes, but mediocre in their growth, and limited by narrow cultivation methods."
A ripple of discomfort ran through the Zhong family line.
"And the Cike Clan..." Dugu Bo said, the weight of his words deepening,
"...who have never, not once, seen anyone master the potential of the Heaven's Book Spirit they are blessed with."
He let those accusations hang in the air, heavy and undeniable.
"I have reviewed all of your Spirits. I have reviewed your Spirit Rings. And I have come to a conclusion."
He paced slowly, each step deliberate, each word falling like a hammer blow.
"A radical idea."
Murmurs stirred through the crowd — suppressed, fearful, but curious too.
"Many among you," Dugu Bo said, "have never gone beyond Rank 70. Not because you lacked the will. Not because you lacked the bloodline."
He stopped, turned, and his gaze seemed to pin each clan to the spot.
"You lacked proper guidance. You were chained by outdated methods, taught to chase safety instead of strength."
He lifted his hand slightly, gesturing toward the young man standing stiffly in the front row.
"Xiong Wei," Bo said, his voice softer now — not scornful, but filled with understanding.
"Rank 61. And yet you possess four 1,000-year-old Spirit Rings."
Wei flinched as though struck, bowing his head low in shame.
Bo did not sneer. He did not rebuke.
He simply asked, voice calm:
"Why did you not challenge a 10,000-year-old beast when you reached Spirit King?"
Wei said nothing. He couldn't.
The shame of the truth — that he had chosen safety, had clung to the comfort of certainty — hung around him like chains.
Bo nodded slowly, almost sadly.
"I understand," he said.
"You were taught to survive. Not to soar."
The hall grew stiller, every member straining to hear his next words.
Then Bo's gaze shifted, falling onto another figure: Zhong Shan, patriarch of the Zhong Clan.
"And you, Zhong Shan," he said, voice sharpening like a drawn blade.
"No one in your family has ever broken past Rank 59. Not a single one."
Zhong Shan opened his mouth as if to protest, but Bo cut him off with a raised hand.
"I will tell you why."
His voice resonated across the stone hall, shaking the dust from old banners.
"Your cultivation method — passed down blindly for generations — failed you."
He stepped forward, closing the distance, his presence heavy as a mountain.
"Every member of your clan absorbed their first Spirit Ring from beasts barely a hundred years old. Barely born."
Bo's voice dropped, deep and cutting:
"Your foundations are weak. Your roots are shallow. No tree, no matter how tall, can survive the storm if its roots are rotten."
Zhong Shan lowered his head, his broad shoulders trembling with a mix of rage and despair — not at Bo, but at himself.
Gho watched from the side, heart hammering in his chest. The truth his brother and father were unveiling was brutal — but necessary.
Meanwhile, Xin stood behind Dugu Bo, his expression serene but fierce, the architect of this new revolution, silent and immovable.
And the Dugu Clan stood at the edge of something immense.
Dugu Bo's voice, calm and absolute, rang through the Main Hall like a judge passing sentence:
"So," he said, each word deliberate, unflinching,
"I have decided that all members of the subsidiary clans... will have their cultivations abolished."
The moment those words fell, it was as if the entire world held its breath.
A ripple of stunned silence swept across the hall, followed almost instantly by a wave of disbelief.
The Elders of the Dugu Clan stared at him, wide-eyed.
Two of the four Young Masters and two Young Misses — once proud and composed — now gaped openly at their Clan Leader as if he had lost his mind.
Murmurs rose, uncontrolled and fearful. Some shifted on their feet. Others turned pale, as if expecting death itself to descend from the rafters.
And then —
Thud!
One by one, the members of the Xiong and Zhong Clans dropped to their knees, bowing their heads low until they touched the cold stone floor.
Their voices rose together, steady, resigned, bitter — but loyal:
"We accept Master's judgment."
The words echoed off the high ceilings, carried by the weight of understanding that, in this hall, their fates were not their own.
Dugu Bo could, with a single word, grant life or demand sacrifice.
And they would obey.
Gho, watching from the side, swallowed hard. The sheer scale of loyalty, of bitter submission, made his young heart beat faster.
But Dugu Bo only sighed lightly, shaking his head, his jade robes rustling faintly with the motion.
"Oh my..." he said, almost amused. "It seems you all misunderstood something."
He took a slow step forward, hands clasped calmly behind his back. His voice softened, but somehow grew even more commanding.
"I am not discarding you," he said, eyes sweeping across the kneeling clans. "I am rebuilding you."
The words struck like thunder.
"I have decided," Bo continued, "that in the upcoming Grand Exploration, everyone whose foundations are flawed will be reforged. Carefully. Properly. Under the supervision of the finest Spirit Masters we have."
The shock on their faces shifted — from fear to stunned, tentative hope.
Their spirits would not be destroyed cruelly.
They would be guided — reformed — to finally reach the strength they had been denied for generations.
And then, Dugu Bo turned, his sharp eyes falling upon the elders — those who had grown strong despite flawed teachings, those whose pride had been hard-earned.
"You," he said, voice dropping into something lower, more intimate — but carrying even more weight.
"Uncle. Big Brothers. Big Sister."
He paused, letting the familiar titles fall heavily into the silence, honoring the bonds that still mattered.
"You are different."
The Elders straightened slightly, confusion and guarded expectation flickering through their faces.
"For you," Dugu Bo said, a faint, dangerous smile playing at the corners of his mouth,
"I have a different plan."
The hall seemed to tighten around them, every eye locked on the Clan Leader.
"I have promised..." Dugu Bo said slowly, savoring the moment,
"...a Million-Year-old Spirit Soul to each of you and that has not changed. I thought about asking you all to do the same as the Subsidary clans but there will be no need. With the Immense Cultivation of Million year Old spirit Souls your earlier rings will be strengthened to 100,000 Years. Making even the weakest Spirit Master an unstoppable Force."
The effect was immediate.
Gasps. Sharp intakes of breath. Even among the proud Elders, hands trembled.
Under this new era that Xin and Bo were forging together, the Dugu Clan would rise.
And no one would be left behind.