The legends passed down within Shrek Academy painted the first-generation Shrek Seven Devils as peerlessly gifted—monsters among monsters.

But seeing them with her own eyes, her fantasy shattered completely.

Whether it was Tang San, the most renowned, or Ma Hongjun, her nominal ancestor—perhaps their talents were decent, but nowhere near the monstrous level she had imagined.

In her view, people like Lu Jingming, Firefly, and Robin were the true monsters.

Compared to them, the first-generation Seven Devils were so mediocre as to be hardly worth mentioning.

Forget existences as out-of-spec as Lu Jingming—compared even to the Shrek inner court of their own time, people like Bei Bei and Xu Sanshi, at the same age, might not have been weaker and could even be stronger.

Though some of this might be due to era and resources, asking the proud Ma Xiaotao to feel genuine reverence for a group of weaklings was truly forcing the issue.

Back in the Star Luo throne room, she had merely maintained basic decorum for the sake of the occasion.

Now, in private with her sister-like Han Ruoruo, she had no need to pretend. Her true thoughts showed instantly.

Ma Xiaotao snorted, her tone growing sharper: “Even taking ten thousand steps back—if the ones before me were our actual ancestors famed in our own history, faced with a god-seat chance to defy fate, am I supposed to drop to my knees and voluntarily give up my right to compete? I, Ma Xiaotao—can’t do it!”

Her gaze turned razor-sharp, as if two phoenix flames were blazing within.

“I’ll fight for it—openly and fairly, on ability alone. If this ancestor isn’t strong enough and loses to me in fair contention, that only proves he doesn’t deserve it—that he’s too weak. This world, the soul master world, is ultimately ruled by strength. The weak are meat for the strong.”

Thinking of her martial soul, Ma Xiaotao’s tone took on a long-suppressed bitterness and chill—resentment born of prolonged torment.

“As for the Evil Fire Phoenix inheritance? What it brought me was never some damn honor or gratitude. Before I met Senior Jingliu and gained complete control over this flame, that evil fire clung like a bone-burrowing parasite, burning my heart day and night. That life-worse-than-death agony—who among you can truly understand? And you want me to thank this so-called ancestral bloodline that brought me endless pain?”

Her voice turned cool.

“Besides, I’ve never really had a family. As far as I know, the Evil Fire Phoenix line, by my generation, probably has only me left—a lone sprout. I was found outside by my teacher and brought back to Shrek to be raised. Shrek Academy is my only home.”

She looked firmly at Han Ruoruo and Aglaea, her tone peremptory and beyond dispute.

“The title of ancestor deserves a place of honor in Shrek’s hall of fame to receive the respect of later generations. But some things are not to be surrendered unconditionally and without principle just because of a respectable name. The god seat—I will fight for it. No one will stop me.”

Ma Xiaotao’s words were the rawest, purest logic of power and survival.

She desired godhood far more than most—not only to surpass herself, but more deeply because she had watched Lu Jingming grow stronger at an astonishing rate, leaving her far behind.

She was happy for him, but in her heart was even more unwillingness.

She refused to be a mere admirer forever, a foil; she refused to let the distance between them grow until it was unreachable.

That unwillingness had become a blazing thirst for power.

Han Ruoruo listened quietly to this unvarnished declaration. She showed no surprise. She knew Ma Xiaotao’s fierce nature and unique experience too well.

She nodded lightly, agreeing:

“My thoughts are the same as yours, Xiaotao. Elder Xuan likely plans the same. Our accidental drift into this world is a crisis, but even more a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. If we can obtain god seats here, not only would we transcend as individuals, it would be an unparalleled boost to the Academy’s future and to the challenges our world may face.”

She paused, analyzing Xuan Zi’s layout coolly:

“The reason Elder Xuan chose to lay bare information about the future in the Star Luo throne room was probably to borrow external strength to counter external strength.”

“Otherwise, relying on us outsiders alone—unfamiliar with people and places—trying to find the ethereal Sea God Island on the vast ocean would be like looking for a needle in a haystack. And our ultimate goal is to find a stable spacetime channel and return to our world. That also requires local forces’ information and resources. Publicly trading part of our intel for their full assistance is a risky move—but it’s the most effective strategy at present.”

Aglaea had remained quiet, listening. Her eyes were calm as still water.

She had long grown used to the schemes and struggles born of mortal desire and power; her long life made it hard for her to take great interest.

To cross spacetime to a new world and personally observe and experience a different civilization and its rules—that was already a great satisfaction and harvest for her.

Han Ruoruo was her contracted Master. Until the contract ended and this otherworldly journey concluded, she would uphold the spirit of the pact, using her power and wisdom to help the other achieve her goals.

Between the three, an unspoken tacit understanding had formed.

In this parallel world full of peril and opportunity, they would join hands for a common goal—power and the path home—examining all with cool heads and seizing every possible chance decisively.

The halo of ancestors, before real interests and the pursuit of power, seemed pale and weak.

…

In another quiet courtyard provided by the Star Luo Empire, lamplight flickered, stretching shadows long upon the walls, weaving a tense pattern.

Yu Xiaogang, Liu Erlong, Flender, Tang San, Xiao Wu, Oscar, Dai Mubai, Zhu Zhuqing, Ma Hongjun, and the poison master Dugu Bo—whom Tang San viewed as crucial support—had gathered.

Compared to the throne room’s daytime mélange of factions, each with their own designs, the atmosphere here was more private—yet even heavier for the future choices at stake.

Yu Xiaogang’s brows furrowed into a deep ravine. His finger traced the rough tabletop over and over, as if deducing an invisible game of chess.

He broke the stifling silence first, his voice low and hoarse, dense with worry:

“What Elder Xuan said today carried an enormous load of information—especially regarding the god-seat inheritances. It has indeed given us direction, but…”

His tone turned abruptly. Those eyes—made especially deep by years of theoretical study—swept sharply across each familiar face, filled with warning.

“Think carefully, everyone. He laid out such earth-shattering information—enough to shake the entire continent—in front of the Star Luo Emperor, sect masters, and many with ulterior motives. Isn’t this generosity… a bit too uncharacteristic and even… dangerous?”

Flender pushed his trademark, polished crystal glasses up his nose. Behind the lenses, there was no longer a merchant’s slyness but worldly shrewdness and gravity.

He took the thread at once, his voice carrying his usual mercantile analysis, yet striking the heart of the matter:

“Xiaogang’s concern is exactly mine. In business terms—no pies fall from the sky. Elder Xuan and the others being from Shrek ten thousand years in the future—that connection is real. We also remember the favor of their rescue.”

“But the word god seat is far too heavy. Tossing such bait openly instantly puts us on the very tip of the spear—the succulent prey in every schemer’s eyes.”

“We… may become not only the target of all, but also the chess pieces he uses to draw fire, both overt and covert.”

After all, in the original course of history, it was Shrek Academy’s seven students who gained the god seats.

Knowing this, no one would ignore them; they would become the focus for anyone with designs.

“Enough.”

Liu Erlong’s fiery temper ignited. She slammed a palm on the table. The hard wood groaned under the blow; teacups clattered.

“To hell with plots and schemes. Since we know god seats exist and that they’re clearly your opportunities, Xiao San, then we go fight for them—snatch them. Whoever dares block our path and reach their claws out—I’ll burn them to cinders with my Red Dragon True Fire.”

Her words were rough with anger, but they hit the core—faced with a chance to defy fate, there could be no retreat. Only all-out struggle.

Seated beside Xiao Wu, Tang San had listened in silence like a deep pool. Now he slowly raised his head.

In those blue eyes—his mother’s legacy—there was none of a youth’s hot-blooded impulse, only a coolness and depth honed by hardship—almost cold.

“Teacher, Dean, Teacher Erlong—what you worry about is exactly what I’ve been weighing.”

His voice was extraordinarily steady, betraying little emotion, yet carrying a firm resolve—as if some decision had been made.

“Elder Xuan may not harbor malice. But in the face of god seats—the ultimate temptation surpassing the mundane—the trial of human nature will exceed imagination. We cannot, and dare not, pin our fate and our hope for vengeance entirely on others’ goodwill and promises. We must have our own plan, our own hole cards—power enough to handle any turn.”

His gaze swept over each companion, silently reaffirming their shared belief. He continued, his voice decisive.

“The Sea God’s seat, since it once belonged to me in history—then this time as well, no matter how hard the road or how many coveters there are, I, Tang San, will claim it. Not only to pursue greater strength, but to exact blood-debt from the Spirit Empire, for the Douluo Continent, and… to protect everyone important to me—never to lose them again.”

The weight of his resolve and responsibility moved everyone present.

“Before we formally set out for Sea God Island, I will race against time and use every material we can gather to forge as many as possible of the most powerful and deterrent Tang Sect mechanism hidden weapons.”

Tang San’s eyes turned laser-focused, as if he could already see those exquisitely crafted instruments of death.

“For example, the Buddha’s Fury Tang Lotus—extreme in area devastation; the Rainstorm Pear Blossom Needles—unstoppable in single-target penetration; and the Peacock Plume—bizarre and unpredictable, impossible to defend against. With them at hand, when facing encirclement by the Spirit Empire—or if some seemingly friendly ally turns on us—we’ll have stronger means of self-preservation and the power to reverse a battle.”

Dai Mubai’s tiger eyes flared. He stood abruptly, his tall frame radiating dominance and decision.

“Xiao San is absolutely right. In this chaotic age, only the power clutched in our own hands is eternal truth. Rest assured—I’ll report to my royal father immediately and mobilize the Star Luo royal resources to procure every rare metal you need to craft these weapons, at any cost. These god seats must be ours—and only ours.”

It was not only brotherhood he displayed, but the mettle of a royal prince.

Oscar rubbed his hands. Though his face still showed some nerves at the unknown, there was more forced optimism and resolve:

“Heh, the God of Food… that really sounds like my flavor. No need to do the killing and fighting to become a god—great! Don’t worry, Third Brother—my Mirror Sausage replication has improved in soul power control lately—longer-lasting and more stable. It’ll be clutch when it counts. Since when have the Shrek Seven ever chickened out? When brothers work as one, they break metal.”

Ma Hongjun scratched his fiery red short hair, grumbling:

“Phoenix God… sounds impressive and domineering, but that Ma Xiaotao seems way stronger than me by more than a little. Her flame is so pure… sigh!”

He sighed, then his eyes sharpened, looking at Tang San. His round face showed loyal righteousness.

“Whatever. Third Brother, I’m with you. Future generations, past generations—none of that matters more than brothers fighting side by side. Whoever wants to steal what’s ours can first ask if this phoenix flame agrees.”

In his heart, Tang San stood far above some suddenly appearing stranger who might be his descendant.

At this point, Ma Hongjun seemed to remember something. Rubbing his hands, his face turned a mix of shyness, curiosity, and urgency. He lowered his voice:

“By the way—wrong occasion earlier, so I didn’t dare ask… So, um, my future wife… who is she? Which family’s girl? She actually left me a bloodline…”

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep