Sovereign Ascendent: Bloodline Unleashed

The crisp mountain air swept across the Qingyun Bloodline Institute's stone training yard. Tall pillars of glimmering jade lined the edges, each etched with ancient runes—marks of the magical beast bloodlines of old. Above, a rising sun cast long shadows, catching on the steel edges of practice weapons clashing across the courtyard.

Among dozens of young trainees clad in a fusion of modern tactical wear and flowing Chinese martial robes, a single figure stood still—ten-year-old Su Mengtian.

While others grunted through their drills with wild, unpolished fervor, Mengtian's stance was fluid yet grounded, every muscle disciplined. His motions weren't just instinctive—they were refined from memory. Not of childhood, but of war.

His instructors had stopped questioning it after the fourth time he dismantled a senior student using unconventional but effective tactics. They praised his talent. They didn't know they were praising experience.

"Again," Mengtian said, his voice even as he handed back the wooden sword to his sparring partner—a bruised boy two years older, sweat trickling from his temple.

The older boy hesitated. There was no malice in Mengtian's eyes, only command. They weren't equals. He knew it now.

"Your guard drops on your third feint," Mengtian added, stepping back. "You anticipate too far forward. Makes you readable."

The others whispered, some impressed, some annoyed. But none stepped up to challenge him. Not anymore.

In the instructor's lodge, whispers grew louder.

"That boy's reading battlefield texts two years ahead of schedule.

"Not just reading. He's analyzing."

"What child uses real-world logistics models in formation planning?"

A veteran with a scar across his jaw, once part of the frontline forces, narrowed his eyes as he watched Mengtian from afar.

"I've seen that look before," he muttered. "That's a soldier's gaze. Not a child's."

Late that evening, deep within the glowing vaults of the academy library, Su Mengtian sat alone. Holographic scrolls floated before him in mid-air, projecting battle records of past dimensional incursions.

He wasn't reading them like a child learning history. He was dissecting them.

He paused at one: the Third Rift Siege at Tianshan City.

"Ninety-two thousand casualties. Three elite teams wiped. Why?"

He scanned the diagram—pulse gates, energy readings, movement timings. And then, he found it.

"Symmetric formations during asymmetric invasion. No lateral response buffers."

He began sketching revisions—new formations, new strategies. A new approach to dimensional war.

Around him, golden-blue lights illuminated endless shelves, flickering occasionally as AI-run data spirits rearranged scrolls.

This wasn't studying.

It was prelude.

Two days later, a training simulation was underway. Holographic riftborn monsters surged into a digital field as five students panicked, breaking formation.

Su Mengtian, watching from the sidelines, moved.

"Pull left flank back three steps. Shieldbearer, raise your projection when the beast roars—not before."

The instructor raised a brow. "He's not assigned to this group."

But the students listened. Something in his voice made them obey.

"Don't swing full arcs—use half-steps. Press with threat, not full aggression. We're containing, not killing."

The simulation, previously chaotic, stabilized. The team neutralized the riftborn and ended with minimal simulated casualties

The instructor muttered under his breath, eyes lingering on Su Mengtian. "He's… dangerous."

Later that day, that same instructor recorded a private note:

It said "Student Su Mengtian shows preternatural command insight. Recommend direct mentorship or security observation. Subject's leadership is natural. Almost… sovereign."

That night, Su Mengtian awoke in sweat.

In his dream, Yueying knelt on a battlefield, her robes stained with blood. Her eyes shimmered with unspoken grief as she pressed her hand to his dying chest.

"I waited for you," she whispered.

He reached for her—his past self weak, dying. "And I'll find you again."

He gasped awake.

Not this time. This life… I win.

He touched his chest. There was a silence there. But also a beat. One waiting to thunder.

Though he kept his brilliance subdued, by thirteen Su Mengtian had already built a reputation:

He passed advanced theory tests without flaw.

He could imitate most known bloodline styles from watching a single demonstration.

He led other students in informal team exercises, dividing them by temperament, compatibility, and reaction speed.

He created codenames for his sparring teams.

"Every soldier has a role. Chaos is death. Systems are survival," he once told a curious instructor.

More quietly, he had begun writing protocols—plans for future halls:

Hall of Valor: Direct offense, mobility-focused.

Hall of Aegis: Shielding, terrain control.

Hall of Shadows: Reconnaissance and assassins.

Hall of Echoes: Intelligence and command support.

Hall of Luminous veil: Healers and stamina augmentation.

Hall of Ironblood: Heavy infantry and fortified lines.

Hall of Tempests: Area control and elemental specialists.

Hall of Astral command: Strategists and morale control.

Hall of Wyrmcallers: Beast-tamers and summon-type bloodlines.

At thirteen, Su Mengtian joined a supervised field mission near the edge of Jinsu Forest. The group encountered a real, unscripted threat: a Nulspike Hound—four-eyed, armored, and fast.

Panic. Screaming. Spells thrown wildly.

One girl tripped.

Su Mengtian moved.

He rolled beneath its claws, sidestepped a lunge, then struck its vulnerable underjaw—the nerve gap. The beast jerked and died mid-roar.

"Was that instinct?" one student asked.

He shook his head. "No. Training."

The instructor said nothing. But he reported the strike pattern to military liaisons.

"Subject displays advanced anatomical target knowledge. Not possible from student curriculum."

Su Mengtian never tested his core fully during resonance assessments. The reason? The second pulse. The one even he didn't understand.

Something slept in him. A thunder that rumbled in dreams. A guardian that hadn't spoken yet.

Even he didn't know its name.

But when he meditated, the air sometimes crackled.

When he was angered, clouds would form.

When he fought seriously, arcs of energy traced his strikes.

Whispers of instructors:

"His bloodline... it's hiding something."

But none dared press. Not yet.

One evening, Su Mengtian sat atop the highest roof in Qingyun, legs dangling over the edge, hair dancing in the mountain wind.

The sky stretched above, stars burning across the heavens. Somewhere beneath those stars, Yueying lived.

"I'll come to you again," he said aloud. "But not to die. This time, I come to conquer."

He stood, wind at his back, eyes burning with purpose.

"And if this world tries to keep us apart again… I'll tear it down. Brick by bloody brick."

A flicker of lightning traced across the clouds.

And the storm within him remained, silent… for now.