The moon rose once more over the jagged peaks of the Five Evil Beast Sect, casting long shadows over the courtyard where Mo Gufeng stood alone. The air was crisp, but there was an unsettling stillness that lingered in the mountain air—a silence that seemed to stretch out into eternity. The wind had died down, as if the world itself was waiting, holding its breath, for what would come next.
Gufeng stood still, his small form clad in the Sect's standard black robe, his fists clenched at his sides. His body still ached from the trials of the past days—every muscle screamed in protest—but his spirit burned brighter than ever. His eyes, though young, had gained a sharpness that belied his age, and his thoughts were no longer solely consumed by the brutal training imposed upon him by his father. Instead, his mind lingered on the cryptic words of Elder Bai, her warning about the two paths before him.
The night seemed to deepen around him as he stood there in silence, lost in thought.
Power through strength, or power through understanding?
It was a question that gnawed at him, each word digging deeper into his mind, leaving a trail of uncertainty in its wake. Gufeng had been raised to believe that strength was the only thing that mattered. His father's cold, demanding gaze had shaped him, had driven him to push his body beyond its limits. But now, a seed of doubt had been planted. Was there more to power than what he had been taught?
He was snapped out of his thoughts by the sound of heavy footsteps approaching. The familiar, imposing figure of Mo Tianxie, his father, strode into the courtyard. The crimson robes swirled around him like a cloud of blood, and his cold, calculating gaze locked onto Gufeng.
Without a word, Mo Tianxie motioned for Gufeng to follow him. The child's legs, still stiff from the trials, moved with an almost mechanical precision, each step heavy with the weight of his father's expectations.
They walked in silence, the sound of their footsteps the only noise that filled the air. They passed through narrow stone corridors and into the heart of the Sect's training grounds. The massive stone pillars of the arena loomed before them, and the air seemed to vibrate with the lingering echoes of countless battles fought. This was where the strongest of the Sect trained—where warriors who had passed countless trials fought for their place in the hierarchy.
Mo Tianxie stopped in front of one of the many stone pillars. His eyes, sharp as ever, turned to face his son.
"Today," Mo Tianxie began, his voice cold and impassive, "you will fight. Not with the puppet. Not with the wind. But with a living opponent."
Gufeng's heart skipped a beat. A living opponent? He had seen the other warriors of the Sect spar before, but he had never been allowed to take part. His father's cold gaze seemed to pierce through him, as though reading his thoughts.
"You are not yet ready to face a true adversary," Mo Tianxie continued, "but today, you will begin to understand what it means to fight and survive. You will face one of the Sect's most experienced disciples. Win, and you will have earned your place among the next generation of warriors."
Gufeng nodded silently. There was no room for fear in his heart—not after all he had endured. He had been trained for this moment, and he would not falter.
Without another word, his father led him into the center of the arena. The area was massive, a circular expanse of stone where dozens of warriors had trained over the years. At one end of the arena, a tall figure stood waiting, his back turned to them.
The man was an elder of the Sect, but unlike the others who wore the crimson robes of authority, this man was dressed in simple black attire, his face marked with the scars of countless battles. His eyes, sharp and calculating, flicked toward Gufeng as he approached. There was no warmth in those eyes—only a cold, deadly intent.
"This is Zhen Kaixin," Mo Tianxie introduced the man. "He will be your opponent today."
Gufeng stood tall, despite the swirling dread that began to coil in his stomach. Zhen Kaixin was a legend among the Sect's warriors. He had fought on the frontlines during countless raids, and his skills were unmatched. To face him was an honor, but it was also a death sentence for those who were unprepared.
Zhen Kaixin's lips curled into a faint smirk, but his eyes remained locked on Gufeng, as if sizing him up.
"Don't hold back, boy," Zhen Kaixin said, his voice low and gravelly. "If you do, it will be you who falls today."
Gufeng's hands clenched into fists. He had no choice. His father's eyes were on him, and there was no room for weakness, no room for hesitation.
"Begin," Mo Tianxie's voice rang out, and the arena came alive with the sound of their movements.
In an instant, Zhen Kaixin surged forward, his body a blur of motion. Gufeng barely had time to react before a massive fist swung toward his face, forcing him to leap backward. The blow was so fast, so powerful, that it cracked the stone beneath their feet.
Gufeng's body was still small and unrefined, his movements not as fluid as they needed to be. But his instincts were sharp. He dodged the attack just in time, his small frame twisting out of the way, though the force of the punch sent a gust of wind crashing into his chest. His breath caught, but he did not fall.
The elder was relentless. He was a whirlwind of power, each punch faster, more precise than the last. Gufeng's body moved on its own, darting and dodging with every strike, but the blows were coming too fast. Zhen Kaixin's power was overwhelming. His strikes were like thunder, each one capable of breaking a mountain in half.
Survive, Gufeng thought to himself. I cannot fail.
His feet moved faster, his heart thundering in his chest. He was still too small. Still too weak. But his mind was clear. His muscles screamed in protest, but he kept moving, dodging, weaving in and out of the elder's deadly attacks.
And then, in the midst of the chaos, he saw it—the moment of vulnerability. Zhen Kaixin's foot slipped, just for a split second. It was all the opening Gufeng needed.
With a sudden burst of speed, Gufeng darted forward, his small form slipping past Zhen Kaixin's guard. He grabbed the elder's arm, twisting it with all the strength his tiny frame could muster. The elder's surprised grunt echoed through the arena as Gufeng slammed him to the ground, the stone beneath them cracking with the force of the fall.
For a moment, there was silence.
Zhen Kaixin lay on the ground, his face twisted in pain, but there was no anger in his eyes. Just a quiet respect.
"You… have more potential than I thought," Zhen Kaixin muttered as he slowly rose to his feet, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. "Not bad, kid."
Mo Tianxie's gaze was as cold and unwavering as ever, but there was a flicker of something in his eyes. It was almost imperceptible, but it was there. Pride, perhaps, though he would never show it.
Gufeng, panting and battered from the fight, stood tall. His body trembled with exhaustion, but his resolve was unwavering. He had passed the trial—not through sheer strength, but through the sharpness of his mind and the precision of his movements. The path his father had laid out for him was brutal and unforgiving, but Gufeng had proven that he could endure.
As he looked up at his father, the weight of the unspoken expectations pressing down on him, something deep within him stirred—a sense of both defiance and determination.
He would survive.
But the question lingered, as it always did:
At what cost?