Dragon God In The Douluo Continent

The sun rose like a sharp blade, cutting through the mist that clung to the quiet rooftops of the Xie household.

The morning light fell upon the stone courtyard—swept clean, winds silent, as if the world held its breath.

At the centre stood Xie Yulong, barefoot and steady.

He was six years old.

But the look in his eyes—calm, focused, and burning—was that of a person with the weight of two lifetimes behind him.

Xie Tianyan stood across from him, arms folded, a grin playing on his lips. But in his eyes… the fire of expectation smouldered.

> "Until the day you leave for Nuoding Academy, your days will be split into three," he said. "Mornings, you train fire. Afternoons, ice. Nights, meditation. No complaints. No excuses."

Lan Xueyao stood beside her husband, her robes flowing like mist, her expression as cold and elegant as moonlight.

> "If you survive," she added gently, "You will be already far ahead of others "

Yulong sighed faintly.

> "This feels like premeditated abuse."

> "Character building," Tianyan said proudly.

-

Days 1–3

Tianyan's voice rang sharp as a whip.

> "Fire is not power. Fire is emotion."

With a flick of his fingers, a crimson flame bloomed in his palm—steady, silent, threatening.

> "Anger makes it rage. Fear makes it scatter. But true control? That only comes from focus."

Yulong mimicked the motion, summoning a flickering flame of his own using his Elemental Control.

It sputtered. Flared. Then died.

> "You're overthinking," Tianyan said. "Feel it! You're not boiling soup, you're wielding fire!"

By noon, Yulong's hands were blistered, his tunic blackened with soot. The courtyard stones bore scorch marks—some circular, some wild.

But he didn't stop.

Afternoons came colder.

Lan Xueyao's training was one of stillness.

> "Ice is not simply cold," she said. "It is silence. Precision. Thought carved into form."

She touched the pond's surface. A trail of frost followed.

> "Ice doesn't move for force. It moves for a purpose."

Yulong attempted to freeze the water. The result? A sheet of cracked, jagged ice that shattered on touch.

> "You're rushing," Xueyao chided. "Breathe slower. Think less. Be quieter."

Nights were spent cross-legged beneath starlight.

He did not feel fire or ice inside him.

He felt them around him.

Floating in the air. Hidden in the wind. Everywhere.

And slowly… they began to gather around him.

-

Days 4–8

> "Next stage," Tianyan said with a dangerous grin. "Flame movement techniques."

With a stomp, flame erupted beneath his foot, launching him several meters through the air before he landed with barely a sound.

> "Fire doesn't only destroy. It propels. Feel it in your fists. In your steps. Make it an extension of your body."

Yulong began coating his fists and elbows in fire.

Each punch sent flame erupting backwards from his elbow, adding devastating thrust.

Each knee strike released fire from his soles, making his strikes strong, launching him upward in a mid-air spin that allowed him to strike twice before touching the ground.

> "Flame-assisted combat style: initial level," Tianyan muttered, eyes gleaming. "He's already adapting."

On the fifth day, he misjudged his flight arc and slammed shoulder-first into a tree trunk, hard enough to leave a crater.

He groaned, rolling over.

> "Fire doesn't just send you forward," Tianyan muttered dryly. "It also makes you pay for bad calculation "

Yulong laughed despite the ache.

He didn't stop.

But he adjusted.

In the afternoon, ice turned from a challenge to a weapon.

Under Lan Xueyao's guidance, Yulong began forging weapon forms directly from ambient moisture.

A sword, a gauntlet, a curved dagger, a crescent scythe—all shaped by will and maintained by discipline.

By the end of the week, he could switch between them mid-combat, reforming their shapes at will.

> "He's not just freezing water," Xueyao murmured. "He's building from it."

On the seventh day, mid-duel against a practice dummy, the scythe snapped mid-swing—shards of ice scattering like glass.

> "Too rushed," Xueyao said softly, brushing frost from her robe. "You can't be impatient when manipulating ice."

For the first time, Yulong frowned.

The flaw hadn't been strength—it had been discipline.

He remade the weapon, slower this time.

It held.

His Dragon Eyes had begun to evolve.

When he activated them, both pupils elongated vertically, gleaming with shifting nine-colored light.

And when he looked at the world through them, everything was… different.

The flame wasn't just hot.

It had a shape.

The ice wasn't just cold.

It had layers.

He could see through them.

Guide them.

Command them.

-

Days 9–14

> "Memorise these," Tianyan said, unrolling massive scrolls across the stone platform. "Flame diagrams. Spiral rotation theory. Breath-synchronised eruption forms."

Yulong did more than memorise.

He absorbed.

He adjusted the techniques to his movement.

Improved them.

Then ignored half the structure altogether and created his own.

In the afternoons, Xueyao handed him ancient spirit jade tablets—each inscribed with ice-forming techniques passed down for generations.

> "These will help you a lot" she reminded.

By the end of the second day, he'd formed floating snow petals that could intercept attacks mid-flight and counter with pinpoint bursts of frost.

His control was no longer forced.

It was instinctive.

-

Days 15–30

It happened one night beneath the moonlight.

His Dragon Eyes pulsed softly.

And the world—changed.

He saw flame not as fire… but as patterns.

Tiny fragments of light twisting through the air, reacting to heat, shape, and motion.

He saw ice as more than frost… but as structure.

Crystals layering upon each other, forming lattices in perfect equilibrium.

He didn't just see elements.

He saw how they were made.

> "I can form flame from movement, pressure, and breath…" he whispered. "And ice from moisture, direction, and control…"

Knowledge from his past life—theories from long-forgotten classrooms—suddenly aligned with his current reality.

Molecules. Structure. Vibration. Condensation.

None of it meant anything to his parents.

But to Yulong?

It meant everything.

And with it, his control became flawless.

-

Next Day

He stood alone at dawn.

> "Voidstep Mirage."

He vanished with a burst of flame beneath his feet, flickering twenty meters away, twisting mid-air, then landing soundlessly.

He didn't need footing.

He shaped it as he moved using ice particles in the atmosphere.

Afternoon came.

He conjured a dozen flying ice daggers, guiding them in spirals around him with minute Dragon Eye adjustments—each turning, bending, slicing.

They didn't fly.

They danced.

That evening, both palms glowed.

> "Dragon Jade Hand…."

His left and right hands flared with crimson light—fierce but contained.

Then beneath the flame, shimmered with frost- smooth and curved.

Both moved in harmony.

Opposing forces.

Perfectly balanced.

-

Watching From Afar

On the upper balcony, Lan Xueyao and Xie Tianyan watched in stunned silence.

> "He's doing things we never taught him," Tianyan said slowly.

> "He's not following techniques," Xueyao murmured. "He's rewriting them. Like… he's seeing things differently."

They could only guess what he saw through those dragon eyes.

They saw a boy wielding flame and frost like arms and legs—fighting not with brute force, but with a rhythm they couldn't explain.

> "We've done what we could," Xueyao said. "The rest… is up to him."

-

The night before departure

The courtyard was quiet.

The moon above was full.

Xie Yulong stood alone.

Barefoot. Calm.

Scales shimmered faintly across his limbs. Nine-colored vertical pupils glowed softly in the dark.

Around him hovered weapons—ice-formed, silent, waiting.

Flame coiled around his fist.

Frost curled around his wrist.

He raised his hand, palm open.

The world responded.

Not through might.

Through understanding.

From the misty air, droplets shimmered.

From the earth's warmth, motes of flame flickered.

Water gathered in spirals.

Fire danced among them.

Opposites. Bound by nature to destroy.

But in his hand… they circled one another.

Balanced. Twisting. Merging.

And then bloomed—

A lotus.

Half flame, half water.

Petals layered in perfect symmetry.

Steam rose softly between each breath of fire and pulse of water.

A moment of elemental harmony.

Silent.

Impossible.

Real.

> "One month," he whispered. "And now… I walk my own path."

Tomorrow, he would journey to Nuoding Academy.

But tonight…

A boy stood beneath the moonlight, steady and still.

And the elements… answered his call in perfect silence.

The lotus hovered above his palm—half forged from liquid flame, the other from frozen water. Every petal shimmered with impossible contradiction, yet none fought the other.

Steam curled upward in gentle ribbons, drifting into the stars like prayers unsaid.

Beautiful but dangerous.

Yulong slowly lowered his hand.

The lotus followed, dissolving into motes of light—embers that did not burn, droplets that did not fall.

No ripples. No tremors. Only stillness.

He exhaled.

Then sat cross-legged in the courtyard's center, surrounded by invisible warmth and silent frost. His breath slowed. His mind quieted.

The world, once chaotic and loud, felt small again.

Not because he had grown stronger.

But because he finally understood it.

The wind stirred gently.

The stars blinked.

And beneath the silver gaze of the moon, Xie Yulong meditated one last time—his body motionless, his soul clear.

When morning came, he would leave this place behind.

But this night?

This night was his.

A memory forged not in power…

…but in peace.