In the stillness of the main hall, Dugu Xin continued to weave his plans for the future, every thought a thread strengthening the fabric of a rising empire.
Titled Douluo of the Dugu Clan will be unmatched, he vowed silently.
For our elders—at minimum, one red spirit ring and eight black spirit rings.
For the direct bloodline—the heirs of the main branch—nine red spirit rings, without exception.
Xin's gaze sharpened like a blade.
Father must advance as soon as possible. Once he formally claims the title of Poison Douluo, life will become significantly easier. No more bowing to the Spirit Hall. No more humiliation like in the original timeline, where he was forced into submission.
His hands tightened into fists upon the arms of the Seat of Power.
At Rank 91, with eight 100,000-year-old black spirit rings and one 1,000,000-year-old red spirit ring... Dugu Bo will be invincible among Titled Douluo. With him standing tall, our clan will finally move openly. I'll be able to bring my ideas into the light without fearing assassination or suppression.
Resolved, Dugu Xin reached toward the small table beside his seat, his fingers closing around a delicate silver bell. Without hesitation, he shook it twice.
Ding! Ding!
The chime echoed crisply through the air, and mere seconds later, a single figure entered the hall in a flash, dropping to one knee with perfect discipline.
Before him knelt Cike Zixuan—a proud son of the Cike Clan, the third and final subsidiary clan under the Dugu Family's umbrella.
Unlike the Zhong and Xiong Clans, the Cike Clan held no noble title. Their loyalty was absolute, their fate wholly bound to the rise and fall of the Dugu Clan. They were the silent dagger in the dark, the shield that never demanded glory.
Zixuan pressed his fist against his chest in salute, his head bowed low.
"Dugu Xin, Young Master," he said in a low voice full of reverence.
Xin leaned forward slightly, his golden and platinum eyes gleaming with cold command.
"Cike Zixuan," he said calmly, "you are to gather all members of the Cike Clan who do not possess spirit power and bring them to my personal courtyard within the next forty-five minutes."
His voice deepened, heavy with meaning.
"And bring your Clan Leader as well."
Zixuan stiffened slightly, instantly recognizing the significance of such an order. Nevertheless, he answered without hesitation, voice ringing clear:
"Yes, Sir!"
Xin allowed a rare, satisfied nod. "Go."
Without another word, Zixuan rose fluidly to his feet, saluted again, and dashed out of the hall like a shadow given life.
Xin leaned back once more, tapping his finger thoughtfully against the carved wood of his seat. His heart beat steadily in his chest—not from nervousness, but from anticipation.
Tonight, the Dugu Clan takes another step toward rebirth.
This wasn't just about saving their clan from decline anymore.
This was about ascending beyond all the known limits.
Now that the secret was out — that he, Dugu Xin, could transform ordinary people into Spirit Masters — the true work was just beginning.
The art of combat was written in the marrow of this world, but not all spirits were born equal. Some were forged for the frontline, claws bared and fangs gleaming, while others were soft, subtle, their powers weaving through battle unseen and unfelt until it was too late. Dugu Xin's eyes gleamed as he considered this. It would not do to allow those with non-combat-oriented spirits to simply stand idle while their comrades fought and bled.
In the original stories, Oscar, the famed auxiliary Spirit Master, had found his path to survival and strength by relying on Tang San's legendary hidden weapons. Here, Dugu Xin mused, he would have to craft his own path, his own armory. And to do that, he would call not just upon ancient wisdom—but upon modern science.
Well... metallurgical science, to be precise.
A faint, almost mischievous smile tugged at the corners of Dugu Xin's lips. His thoughts spiraled higher, more daring. A Titled Douluo, a supreme figure who could lay waste to a city, their very footsteps leaving imprints upon the world — they were said to have the destructive capability of 480 kilotons of TNT in a single strike. In Earth's terms, it was as if a New York-sized city could be flattened in moments.
And yet, even in such apocalyptic forces, there were materials that could endure. Tungsten — a metal that on Earth had defied even the heart of a nuclear inferno. It was a fact recorded in history that a tungsten structure could survive the force of an atomic bomb, where all else turned to ash.
Here, in this world of spirit and might, Dugu Xin's mind raced. Tungsten could be the key.
"Little Boy," he murmured, recalling the codename of the bomb that had devastated Hiroshima. It had only yielded about 15 kilotons of force. Tungsten had withstood it.
"If that is true," he whispered to himself, a wild excitement rising in his chest, "then even Titled Douluo could be challenged with the right craftsmanship."
He would need a blacksmith. No—not just a blacksmith. He would forge a new path, elevate the art until it was revered. Where once craftsmen had been looked down upon, soon Spirit Masters would be begging for their creations.
Auxiliary Spirit Masters, Healing Systems, Support Systems—even they could step into the battlefield not as liabilities but as forces to be reckoned with. Tungsten weapons for those destined to heal. Armaments for those born to defend. Dugu Xin's smile deepened, a rare, genuine flash of teeth. This… This would change everything.
Far away, under the heavy shade of the Zhong Clan's ancestral courtyard, news traveled with the speed of a lightning bolt. Zhong Jian, elder and loyal hand, knelt before his Clan Head.
Zhong Shan, the leader of the Zhong Clan, sat quietly, fingers steepled as he listened. A man of thirty-one, bearing a Spirit King's cultivation at Rank 54, he was not one to be easily shaken. His spirit, Spirit Wings, marked him as one of the swift and free. His short brown hair was slicked back, gray eyes focused sharply upon the trembling Jian.
"Dugu Bo has broken through to Spirit Douluo," Jian reported, each word striking like a hammer.
Zhong Shan's hand twitched, massaging his temple as he struggled to process the impossible.
"And the Young Master… has devised a way to awaken spirit power in those without any."
For a long moment, Zhong Shan simply breathed, the sound of parchment rustling faintly in the background. His thoughts churned like the rising storm.
Eventually, he stood, the old wooden floor creaking beneath him. He strode to a far corner where ancient parchment lay stacked — the contracts, records, and histories of their line.
"For centuries," Zhong Shan said quietly, almost reverently, "the subsidiary clans have followed the Dugu Clan. Not merely out of duty, nor even gratitude, but faith. Faith that one day, their bloodline would birth a Titled Douluo."
His gray eyes gleamed with a light rarely seen.
"Today, that faith is vindicated."
Zhong Jian swallowed heavily, feeling history shifting around him like a physical force.
"The Young Master requests all our children without spirit power be brought to the Dugu Estate," Jian said, his voice small in the cavernous room. "And… he promises that any who require a spirit ring shall receive one."
Zhong Shan froze midstep. Then he laughed, a deep, rich sound filled not with mirth but with burning ambition.
"He's drawing us closer," he said. "We served from obligation. Soon, we will serve from fervor. We shall become more than we ever dreamed. Send the children. When Lord Dugu Bo returns, I will speak to him personally."
A similar storm was brewing within the Xiong Clan. Xiong Wei, their leader, was no less shaken. A Spirit Emperor of Rank 61, his Light Element spirit gave him a regal, almost otherworldly aura. His deep white hair, stern magenta eyes, and rigid bearing made him seem carved from marble.
He removed his glasses, massaging the bridge of his nose.
"The Young Master… a Spirit Master at six years old. Two 100,000-year spirit rings..."
His hands trembled slightly before he clenched them into iron fists.
"Follow his instructions exactly. When Dugu Bo returns, I will pay him a visit myself."
It was only forty-five minutes later when Dugu Xin stood beneath the endless blue sky of the Dugu Estate, his gaze sweeping over the crowd assembled before him.
The future stood there, kneeling.
Members of the Zhong, Xiong, and Cike Clans — the powerless, the forgotten, the overlooked. Their faces shone with anxiety, awe, and a glimmer of desperate hope. Behind them stood their clan leaders, backs straight and proud.
Dugu Xin's voice echoed across the courtyard.
"Is this everyone?"
"Yes, Young Master!"
From the sides, two figures approached silently—Hong Lin and Lan Ushi.
Xin spoke calmly, "This time, we will use my bloodline essence. I did not seek Father's permission to use his."
A servant appeared bearing a bowl and knife, bowing low. Without hesitation, Dugu Xin took the knife and slit his wrist in a single fluid motion. Crimson blood, rich with his lineage's terrifying venom and spirit power, flowed into the bowl.
Hong Lin's hands glowed faintly as she drew out the purest strands of bloodline essence. Lan Ushi moved in concert, sealing the wound with a flick of her fingers and a pulse of green light.
The ritual began.
One by one, the powerless tasted the Young Master's gift.
They convulsed, cried out, wept. The earth itself seemed to tremble as ancient seeds sprouted within their souls. From empty vessels, they became Spirit Masters. A hundred stars were born under the noon sun.
And Dugu Xin stood at their head, his heart burning with a satisfaction he had never known.
The Cike Clan, wielders of the Heaven's Book, awakened anew. Their Spirit was a marvel — a tome without form or limit, each page a reservoir for a spirit skill. They could become anything: attackers, defenders, healers, controllers. The shape of their destiny was their own to write.
The Zhong Clan's body spirits burst forth in a myriad of forms, flexible and strong.
Even the Xiong Clan, traditionally locked within the auxiliary path, now stood ready to wield tools and weapons of incredible power.
Dugu Xin watched them all, knowing that if word of today's events spread beyond the Dugu walls, the world would plunge into chaos. Nations would go to war for the secret he now guarded.
He turned his gaze to the future, resolute.
For the next two weeks, Dugu Xin labored without rest. Under the golden light of the Dugu Estate's ancient trees, he wrote personalized cultivation methods for every single new Spirit Master. He factored in their spirits, their temperaments, even the slightest tendencies shown during awakening.
A hundred lives, a hundred paths — and he would guide them all.
When he was finished, he sat back in his courtyard, the cool night air brushing against his skin.
Above him, the stars blazed bright and clear, each one a promise of a future he would forge with his own hands.
Dugu Xin smiled, a quiet, dangerous smile.
The world was about to change.
And it would start here, in the heart of the Dugu Clan.