Inside the private room, four figures were already waiting—Changli, Jinhsi, Keqing, and Ningguang.

Although Lu Jingming was nominally the lord of Haiyuan City, the ones who actually handled day-to-day operations, strategic planning, and all manner of affairs were the four highly capable women before her.

The arrival of Wu Ming and the other Shrek remnants, as well as their meeting with Zhang Lexuan, had naturally been brought to their attention at once.

Seeing Zhang Lexuan enter, Keqing spoke first. Her elegant brows knit slightly as she tapped her fingertip lightly against the table to show her concern:

“Lexuan, we know everything already. Taking these students in and helping rebuild Shrek Academy can certainly let us quickly absorb its legacy and reputation. But Shrek has a ten-thousand-year inheritance—its internal views are tangled and deep-rooted, its thinking long since ossified. They place great weight on so-called independence and honor.”

“I worry that even if we help them rebuild, actually getting them to integrate into Haiyuan City’s system, to forget or set down their former glory and convictions, won’t be easy. Sooner or later, complications will arise.”

Her concern came from an understanding of the inertia of old powers: if you plan ahead, you stand; if not, you fail.

Before Zhang Lexuan could respond, Ningguang walked slowly to the huge floor-to-ceiling window. Her gaze seemed to pierce the structure itself, landing precisely in the direction of Xiao Xiao, Wu Ming, and the others.

She wore a faint, worldly-wise smile, her voice pleasant and steady:

“Keqing’s concern is reasonable. If this were in the past—facing a complete, intact Shrek Academy—that would indeed be nearly impossible. But times have changed.”

She paused, then continued.

“The crux isn’t the abstract concept of Shrek Academy, but who is concretely representing it.”

“Right now, the older generation—Xuan Zi and the rest—are missing or presumed dead. Yan Shaozhe and other pillars have fallen. What’s left is a group of youths who have suddenly lost their support—homeless, bereaved of their teachers, and filled with confusion and helplessness about the future.”

“Their needs are very basic at this moment—survival, safety, and a place where they can still pin the name of Shrek.”

Lounging lazily on a soft couch, Changli let out a light laugh and picked up the thread:

“Ningguang is right. A group of students—the oldest barely in their early twenties—who previously only needed to focus on cultivation… however gifted they are, how much could they really understand about winning hearts, running a force, and long-term planning?”

“What they need most now is a lifeline, a guide who can lead them out of their predicament. And we happen to be able to provide all of that.”

Her tone carried the composure born of a disparity in strength—not contempt, but a clear-eyed assessment.

Jinhsi’s gaze swept over everyone present and finally settled on Zhang Lexuan. Her voice was crisp and pleasant.

“No need to worry too much. Shrek’s glory is already in the past. In the future, it will become, like St. Freya Academy, a soul master academy under Haiyuan City—training talent for us and contributing the value it should.”

“Even at its peak, Haiyuan City’s current strength and foundation would be enough to handle it—let alone now.”

She paused, her tone gaining a sharp edge.

“If we can’t even integrate a leaderless group and guide a bunch of lost young people, wouldn’t that make us seem utterly incompetent? How would we be worthy of Xiao Ming’s trust—how could we protect and strengthen this city?”

Jinhsi’s words made Ningguang and Keqing’s expressions grow solemn. Lu Jingming trusted them so completely that he had handed over all military and civil authority. How could they betray that trust?

They all understood this was in line with Lu Jingming’s temperament—he preferred to be a hands-off boss—but that didn’t stop them from answering that trust.

Jinhsi’s stance represented the consensus of the core decision-makers present.

This was not only a chance to absorb external resources, but also a test of their own ability and finesse.

After listening to her sisters, Zhang Lexuan nodded slightly, a flash of wisdom in her eyes.

The work ahead wasn’t merely a matter of providing space and resources; they would also need to subtly guide Wu Ming and the others, so that from the moment the new Shrek was reborn, it would bear Haiyuan City’s imprint.

It would require a delicate hand—patience, wisdom, and just the right display of strength.

“All right, we’ve settled the matter of rebuilding Shrek for now. The follow-up details can be handled by the teams below.”

Changli tapped the glossy tabletop lightly, drawing everyone’s attention back. Her voice grew steady, with a hint of gravity.

“Next, we must seriously discuss the imminent threat—the Sun–Moon Empire’s movements.”

The room’s atmosphere shifted instantly from internal integration to external strategic assessment.

Everyone knew that peace on the continent was hanging by a thread.

“We’ve essentially grasped the situation through Simulated Universe and our intelligence networks.”

Changli continued, her fingertip unconsciously tracing on the tabletop.

“Though the Holy Grail War in Mingdu ended unexpectedly due to the opening of time-space channels, its aftermath is far from over. Most crucially, not all the summoned Servants have exited the stage—especially those two Lord Ravager. They’re still entrenched within the Sun–Moon Empire.”

“Their anti-matter legions, though decimated in that final earth-shattering explosion—less than a tenth remaining—still can’t be underestimated. More importantly, the Sun–Moon Empire’s soul tool technology and military foundation weren’t fundamentally damaged by Mingdu’s destruction.”

Keqing folded her arms and leaned by the window, amethyst eyes flickering with calm light. Her signature twin ponytails swayed slightly as she shook her head.

“That move of Xu Tiannan’s—manipulating public opinion—was ruthless. He perfectly shifted the blood-deep hatred for Mingdu’s destruction onto Shrek Academy and the three empires.”

“Now within the Sun–Moon Empire, the outcry for revenge has become a prairie fire. Even if a few remain clear-headed, in the tide of ignorance and national grief, their voices are faint—forced to drift with the current.”

Zhang Lexuan sighed, a hint of helplessness on her face.

“Even if some know part of the truth, who would believe them? Who would accept that the root cause of Mingdu’s fall, the symbol of imperial glory, originated within the empire’s own top brass? That truth is too unbelievable.”

Ningguang nodded in agreement. She walked to the liquor cabinet and poured herself a small glass of amber liquid, eyes deep.

“Exactly. At this moment, the truth has lost its significance. The Sun–Moon Empire’s propaganda machine has seized the moral high ground—or rather, the high ground of tragedy.”

“The people, enraged by their immense losses and official guidance, are saturated with talk of war and revenge—every city, every corner. In this collective mood, there’s almost no room left for rational thought.”

Jinhsi shifted her gaze from the others and looked out the window again.

The evening glow stained the sky orange, yet an oppressive sense of a coming storm hung in the air.

Her voice was soft but carried clearly to everyone.

“Taken together, a full-scale war is inevitable. But it won’t break out overnight. I think the timeline will be pushed back by a year or two.”

“I agree with Jinhsi.”

Changli picked up, analyzing calmly.

“First is reconstruction. Rebuilding a capital that’s been completely destroyed—especially a metropolis like Mingdu—won’t be easy. Even with the continent’s top soul tool tech and massive resource mobilization, it’s hard to finish in less than a year. Even if they simply refit and elevate the current New Mingdu as the capital, it’ll still take time.”

“Second, Xu Tiannan has only just ascended the throne. His position is stable, but he still needs time to integrate and placate all factions internally, to fully consolidate power. All of that takes time.”

Keqing walked to the center of the room, projecting a light-formed map of the Douluo Continent.

Pointing at the clearly marked spheres of influence on the map, she coolly presented the Simulated Universe big-data analysis:

“Once internal integration and war preparations are complete, we can almost foresee where the Sun–Moon Empire’s spearhead will point. Based on comparative analysis—conventional forces, number of soul masters, top-end combat power—the conclusion is: barring major external variables, the three-kingdom alliance of the original Douluo side will struggle to resist the Sun–Moon Empire’s full offensive.”

Ningguang swirled her glass lightly, adding in a voice tinged with a faint, distant quality:

“Among the simulated invasion routes, the highest-probability plan is that the Sun–Moon Empire concentrates superior forces and uses the Heavenly Soul Empire as the primary breakthrough. Once that line is torn open, they can drive straight in, directly threatening the Star Luo Empire’s heartland while forming a strategic pincer on the Dou Ling Empire. Heavenly Soul will be the first dike to take the brunt of the storm.”

“War…”

Jinhsi sighed softly, a trace of pity in her eyes.

“In the end, many people will die.”

But she quickly reined in her feelings, knowing this was the inevitable eruption of long-standing grudges and a shift in power—a general trend beyond human reversal.

The Simulated Universe projections also showed that only after this bout of pain would the continent welcome a new order and new brilliance.

Keqing pulled the topic back to practicalities.

“So, Haiyuan City must also prepare ahead. The Fatui, the Nightwatch, the Golden Guards, and the Molten Knights—all need a new round of expansion and training for the war to come. After all, we know what Xiao Ming intends to do.”

“The expansion can start immediately. Overall, time is still on our side.”

Changli nodded.

“With Haiyuan City’s current strength and resources, we have enough time to expand and turn that into fighting capability. Even as we are now, our forces are sufficient to ensure Xiao Ming’s plan proceeds.”

At the mention of the Molten Knights, Changli wore a wry smile.

“However, we might hit a snag with their expansion. That little Firefly girl ran off with Xiao Ming to that parallel world. She’s the soul and core of the Knights—without her in person, it’s not ideal to expand them.”

Her tone carried a helplessness about Lu Jingming indulging Firefly, yet there was also a barely noticeable fondness.

“Xiao Ming as well—he knows the Knights need her, yet still let her tag along. Fortunately, at this stage, their current size is enough to handle any likely battles.”

Hearing this, Keqing couldn’t help rolling her eyes before adding:

“When has he ever been different with us? No matter how thorough the plan or grand the blueprint, if we think something’s off—or just act a little spoiled—he’ll revise or even scrap it without hesitation. Sometimes I don’t know whether to say he lacks principles, or…”

She didn’t finish, but the meaning was obvious. Lu Jingming’s regard for those around him had long exceeded ordinary bounds.

Jinhsi, Ningguang, and the others exchanged glances, warm smiles unconsciously blooming at their lips.

Wasn’t it precisely because of Lu Jingming’s almost obsessive cherishing that they had gradually lowered their guard and willingly gathered at his side?

Even knowing he held more than one person in his heart, that unique care—placing them at the highest priority—was enough for them to accept one another and build this special home of Haiyuan City together.

…

Deep within Haiyuan City, in the The Herta’s private lab.

The scene here was utterly distinct from the mainstream soul tool aesthetic of the Douluo Continent: minimalist, cool-toned metal walls with a matte sheen; numerous precision devices of strange design hummed in living silence, indicator lights blinking in steady hues of ghostly blue and pale green—altogether a vision of the future.

The air carried the clean scent of specially formulated energy fluids and a faint hint of high-efficiency sanitizer, embodying the pursuit of cleanliness and precision.

At the lab’s core stood a giant cylindrical transparent incubation pod, filled with pale-green life-support fluid like the finest dissolved jade, slowly circulating.

Shangguan Weier floated within, eyes closed, her beautiful face subtly contorted by pain.

At her brow, a dark violet, fissure-like brand throbbed faintly, exuding a heart-palpitating aura of destruction—one that aimed to end all things.

The Herta herself stood before the pod, arms folded.

She wore her signature, exquisitely tailored witch-like dress, forming a strong yet unexpectedly harmonious contrast with the hyper-rational high-tech environment around her.

There was no obvious emotion on her face—more the focus and fastidiousness of a top connoisseur appraising a rare oddity.

“So this is the brand left by Phantylia?”

Her voice carried a barely perceptible hint of interest, like discovering a new toy, but mostly a lofty, evaluative tone.

“The energy structure is interesting—brimming with pure destructive intent, not the usual path of crude damage. It directly targets the source of life and the soul’s imprint, corroding and converting… Mm. A somewhat creative way to break things.”

Her appraisal was calm to the point of coldness, as if Shangguan Weier’s life and death weren’t primary; the destructive brand itself was the phenomenon worth attention.

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep