The sudden development made Calum's eyes contract. Instantly, he flourished his sword and thrust it in a straight line. The unknown assailant adroitly avoided the attack, grabbed his sword-wielding arm, and sent him crashing heavily against a tree a few meters away.
Crack.
Ignoring his broken bones, Calum sprang sideways, narrowly avoiding a lethal blow. The tree behind him exploded into splinters. He stood up quickly and slashed at the assailant once more. This time, the blade bit slightly into the flesh before being stopped, unable to go any further.
Seeing the lackluster effect of his slash, Calum took a few steps back. The humanoid figure looked down at his palm with amusement. The small wound didn't even bleed; it quickly closed, the flesh mending back together.
"Such reflexes! Truly impressive for a mortal," the humanoid praised. He would have looked entirely human were it not for his canine eyes, ears, and tail.
"What manner of creature are you?" Calum asked, never having encountered such a being before.
"Me? I am a demon, obviously. Sigh... If it wasn't for that vicious brat, how could I have ended up like this?!" the creature answered before flying into a rage.
This demon had been captured by a saint of the Demonic Saint Sect and sealed within this space, where he had remained for thousands of years. His true power far exceeded what he was currently demonstrating; after all, he was a seven-tribulation demon—just a couple more tribulations away from becoming a true demon king. Instead, here he was, his cultivation suppressed to almost nothing by this domain.
Calum raised a brow at the demon's hysteria.
"Don't look at me like that! You, too, would go mad if you were imprisoned for three thousand years, forced to serve as a test for your enemies' prospective disciples."
Calum finally ascertained that this was a real place. He was also profoundly baffled by the immense timespan the demon mentioned and his true level of cultivation.
"Thankfully, there are only another five thousand years to go," the demon muttered bitterly. Then, seeming to recall his purpose, he looked back at Calum.
"It's been a while since a trial-taker didn't die at my first strike, and even longer since one managed to injure me. You are something else, kid. You can go; you've passed the second trial."
Saying so, the demon retreated into the woodland and vanished.
The second trial is over? Good! When I passed the first trial, the old man said that I was already qualified to be an outer disciple. Now that I successfully passed the second trial, my qualification should be even higher.
This time, despite his wretched, battered physique, he forced himself to stay awake just to observe the entire process of transition. Before long, it happened. Ripples appeared in the air, reality twisted upon itself, and as if a fragile bubble had popped, the forest vanished.
When reality reasserted itself, Calum found himself on a battlefield.
It was already night. The army he belonged to was unnervingly silent—a force composed entirely of cultivators. The simple realization blew his mind: he was a mortal standing in the middle of a supernatural war. The cultivators' eyes were filled with wariness and apprehension. As usual, his wounds vanished, and his body was restored to peak condition.
Opposite them stood an army of skeletons, which finally explained the eerie atmosphere in his camp. A terrifying wail broke the silence of the night as the skeletal horde charged forward.
The ground shook, rattling Calum's bones as the four-meter-tall skeleton of some unknown beast trampled the earth. The situation looked grim. They were facing undead foes who possessed almost none of their mortal vulnerabilities.
Suddenly, a powerful voice shook the air.
"Fellows, we cannot let those monsters get past us! We are the last line of defense between them and our families. If we don't march into hell first, are we supposed to let our loved ones perish behind us?!"
The cultivator who spoke hovered a few meters above the army, radiating an awe-inspiring aura that showcased profound cultivation.
As if an invisible will to fight had been ignited within them, the cultivators roared in unison. It was like thunder breaking the night open, parting the ominous dark clouds above to reveal a clear sky full of shining celestial bodies.
Calum observed the atmosphere, feeling an invisible presence spread from each cultivator. That presence seemed to disregard death entirely, viewing battle as the sole truth. His eyes shone brighter and brighter as the concept became clearer in his mind. He felt as though he were on the very cusp of grasping something.
A blur.
A huge bone club displaced the air, crashing heavily toward his distracted figure. His eyes contracted as he evaded the blow with agile footwork. Calum marveled at the ease with which he moved. Previously, without false modesty, he could have called himself a skilled fighter; now, however, all his motions were refined and precise. Constantly dancing on the edge of death had forged him into a lethal entity. Naturally, his combat awareness had reached a supernatural realm. He no longer needed to see the danger to avoid it; it had become an instinctual response.
Crash.
The ground shattered from the impact. Dancing around the skeleton and evading its wild blows, Calum slipped behind it. Decisively, he thrust his sword forward. The strike shattered its skull and extinguished its unnatural life.
The skeleton dissolved into white dust, drifting away on the wind. Looking around, he saw the cultivators fighting savagely, laying waste to the undead army with various artifacts. Calum felt his blood boil, and that same elusive sensation flooded his mind once more.
In a bid to grasp it fully, he plunged into the fray, battling with absolute abandon. He forgot who he was, where he was; he knew only one thing: battle.
A few hours later, after a harrowing fight, the cultivator army triumphed. It was a pyrrhic victory, but a victory nonetheless. Calum stood in the middle of a sea of white dust, his chest heaving frenetically, his eyes closed. Suddenly, the peace was broken as a formidable, heavy presence erupted from his frail figure.
Battle Intent.
A supernatural power granted only to those who relish combat and refuse to fear dancing with death.
Deep inside a darkened room, a pair of golden eyes snapped open.
"Someone managed to pass the third trial and comprehend battle intent. Is he the one? No... it's too soon to say. The final trial will decide if it is truly fated."
Concluding thus, the mysterious voice fell silent, and the golden eyes closed once more.
The surrounding cultivators witnessed the breakthrough with gratification in their eyes. One by one, they cupped their fists toward him in silent salute before disappearing as the first rays of dawn brightened the sky.
Soon enough, Calum stood alone upon the empty battlefield. He was profoundly baffled by this development. Previously, meeting the demon had convinced him that these trials took place in a physical, alternate space, but the eerie way the soldiers vanished made him doubt his conclusions all over again.
Are they ghosts? If that's the case, was the demon a ghost, too? No—I'm certain the demon was real. I fought him and even drew blood.
He pushed the puzzle aside as reality shifted once more.
When the world stabilized, he was standing before a cascading waterfall. A lone bronze statue sat cross-legged upon a nearby rock, etched with a few rustic characters:
Treasure Assimilation Scripture