Strolling through Suoto, Fu continued to drop into various shops, her gaze sharp and searching. She left no trinket unchecked, no rare ingredient overlooked. This could be used to strengthen my blades… and this might serve as a base for a new poison, she mused silently, all the while discreetly probing merchants for word of Shrek. Yet the answers came in two forms: either indifferent shrugs or openly sour remarks.
"Those so-called teachers! Last year, my An-Lin practically chewed through stone to reach the eighteenth rank—and what did they do? Tossed her out like a stray mutt, didn't even return the deposit!" grumbled a plump herbalist, absently wiping the dust off cloudy vials. Fu merely cast him a fleeting glance—her own accomplishments spoke louder than any complaint. Rank thirty-three. The breakthrough lingered at her fingertips.
Eventually, her attention was drawn to a small, unassuming shop with its door ajar. Inside, behind the counter, stood a middle-aged man, his beard neat and trimmed, intelligent eyes peering through old-fashioned spectacles as he examined a rare mineral. Fu's gaze swept over the shelves, catching sight of several unusual materials, one of which—an iridescent piece of metal—shone with silent promise. A blacksmith's treasure, though she had yet to fathom its use.
Pointing lazily to the items she wanted, Fu asked, "How much for all of this?"
The man looked up from his stone, giving her selection a slow once-over. "Two hundred gold coins. Not bad taste… for a little one."
Handing him the coins, she casually added, "That academy—Shrek. The city seems to have mixed opinions about it."
The man slowly removed his glasses, wiping them thoughtfully with the edge of his green robe. When he looked at her again, his eyes were keen—searching. "Shrek Academy, is it? Most people seek a calm harbor, a quiet place to hide from the storms of life. Shrek is nothing like that. We don't train mere soul masters—we forge those who dare stare down the storm. We raise warriors who see failure not as the end, but as another path to strength. No ready-made truths here. No promises of ease. At Shrek, you'll learn to ask the hard questions, to challenge authority, and to walk a thorn-laced path if that is your path. If your young heart still holds defiance like fire, if you're ready to face danger with head held high… then perhaps Shrek is where you belong. Remember—true strength is forged not in stillness, but in the flame of trials."
Fu Huan listened closely, her eyes locked on his face. His words cut through the haze of rumors. No complaints. No praise. Only a challenge… and a promise of something beyond brute power.
"And where might this Shrek Academy be?" she asked, masking the stir of interest within her.
The man smirked faintly, slipping his glasses back into place. "Not far. Nestled in a small forest. Trust me—you won't miss it. Look for the place where trouble feels most at home."
Fu nodded, curiosity flaring in her chest. This strange merchant clearly knew something—something important. And his words… they had struck a chord.
Yet as she stepped out of the shop, she sensed him following. His gaze now razor-sharp, unwavering.
"Wait, girl. You… are you using some rare technique to mask your spiritual level? Or perhaps it's a soul bone? Your fluctuations are nearly imperceptible."
Fu tensed. No one had pierced her concealment so swiftly, not after months of travel. That he had noticed anything at all suggested power far beyond that of a Spirit King—possibly even an Emperor. Gathering herself, she replied with calculated calm:
"It's… a family technique. We prefer not to advertise our strength."
The man studied her in silence, trying to read between the lines. Then, with a slight nod, he said, "I see. Oh, and one more thing… Enrollment at Shrek comes but once a year—and it won't come again soon. But you've piqued my interest, young lady. For all your secrets, I can feel it—you are no ordinary student."
Fu raised a brow, caught off guard by his precision.
"You're… the Dean of Shrek, aren't you?" she said, more statement than question, piecing together the rumors with his odd behavior.
"I propose a small spar," he said suddenly, arms crossing over his chest. "Surprise me—and I'll arrange your entry into Shrek personally, despite the closed admissions. But if you're just another filler in the ranks… I'll know I was wrong."
They moved swiftly to a forest clearing, their steps a blur. There stood two figures: a slender twelve-year-old girl, and a composed man emanating quiet authority. Without hesitation, Fu summoned her soul rings.
"You're barely twelve… and already a Grandmaster?" Flander murmured in disbelief. His eyes, once curious, now gleamed with genuine interest. Before him stood a rare gem, still uncut, but gleaming with potential. Still, one doubt lingered.
Fu calculated rapidly. A direct strike with her first ability would be meaningless against a Spirit Saint. Their gap was a chasm. But…
"First soul skill—Distorted Perception. Third soul skill—Spatial Rift."
It was a bold strategy: distort not Flander's senses, but the very space around him, making her movements seem erratic. His veteran instincts sensed faint danger—he dodged easily—but Fu was already where she needed to be. The first blow wasn't meant to land.
"Pale Lightning!"
Twin arcs of electricity shot toward Flander. He evaded with ease, his flying-type spirit granting him swift movement. Yet Fu vanished, only to reappear above his head.
"Spatial Rift!"
A glimmering mine blossomed behind him at a subtle flick of her finger. As his motion carried him into it, his robe tore. Flander looked back at Fu, intrigued. She wasn't attacking at random—she was calculating. Even her failures served a purpose. Their movement had already surpassed the realm of ordinary Grandmasters. If not for her three rings, he might have mistaken her for a sect elite. A thought sparked in his mind: as though he, a seasoned player of Go, had met a prodigy already reading five steps ahead. Limiting himself to his first three skills had gained nothing. Fu was quietly luring him into her tempo.
He struck, hoping to shift the rhythm—but Fu had anticipated it.
"Golden Coffin!"
Flander found himself trapped inside a radiant cube of energy. Though not a power-type spirit master, his superior rank should have allowed him to break free. Yet Fu had gambled on surprise and precision. The speed of the blades forming inside didn't impress—at first. He dodged easily. But then she began to compress the cube, thinning its walls and redirecting power to accelerate the blades. The cube shrank, conserving energy. Still not enough.
Then she made her final move.
She dropped the cube's density to its limit—doubling the speed of her strikes. The blades now whirred with deadly intensity. Flander evaded, but not perfectly. A few blades struck true. Realizing the danger, he let out a shout and shattered the golden prison. His robe was torn, shallow scratches marking his face.
"Enough! You win," Flander said, raising a hand in genuine awe. The fight ended as abruptly as it had begun.
"You may call me Teacher Flander," he added with a slight smirk, adjusting his glasses.
"You have an extraordinary tactical mind. Fighting you was like dueling a sect elder. And still, I walked into your traps. I want you at Shrek."
Fu hesitated, but Flander's next words cleared the storm in her heart.
"And… if you're willing, I'd like to become your personal mentor."
He knew he already had a disciple. But in this quiet girl, he saw something boundless. He might not teach her all things—but he could protect a talent like hers.
Seeing the resolve in the Dean's eyes, Fu, usually wary of all bonds, made her decision with rare speed. Independence had long been her shield, but recent trials had reminded her bitterly of her limits. Flander had revealed only a sliver of his power—and yet, she could feel it pulsing, immense. Perhaps… under his guidance… she could grow even stronger.
"I'm honored to accept, Teacher," she said softly, bowing her head.
Flander, beaming, summoned his spirit—a majestic Owl—and gestured for her to follow.
In the blink of an eye, they stood before the gates of Shrek.
Flander saw to the formalities himself, but the Academy's shabby buildings drew no complaint from Fu. She cared little for the crumbling signs. Her eyes were set elsewhere—on the training to come, and the strangers she would soon call comrades in this strange, promising place.