Azazel registered on the ninth day.
Not the first.
Not the second.
He had remained in seclusion, refining rather than advancing. Bone Forging was not a gate to be rushed through. It was a structure to be reinforced until collapse was no longer an option.
Only when the foundation felt unmoving did he leave his hut.
The registration hall was already occupied.
Outer disciples stood in loose groups, some waiting their turn, others lingering for reasons that had nothing to do with cultivation. At the center sat Elder Wei, brush in hand, posture relaxed but eyes alert.
He looked up as Azazel approached.
Recognition surfaced immediately.
"Name."
"Feng Azazel."
Elder Wei's brush paused.
"Realm."
"Bone Forging," Azazel said. "First stage."
The room did not go silent all at once.
It thinned.
Sound receded, like breath drawn in collectively.
Elder Wei looked at him properly this time. His spiritual sense brushed over Azazel's body—light, controlled, practiced.
The response was immediate.
Indeed first grade though he can't see the foundation he felt it should be unstable due to recent breakthrough
Nine days.
Even the best seeds needed time.
For a moment, a thought crossed the elder's mind.
Mutated root, he considered.Low at awakening… altered afterward.
He dismissed it just as quickly.
Whatever the cause, the result was real.
Elder Wei dipped his brush and wrote.
"Confirmed," he said calmly. "Bone Forging Realm. First stage."
The characters sank into the tablet and faded.
It was done.
Azazel turned to leave.
That was when attention found him.
Not respect.
Not admiration.
Interest.
Eyes lingered openly now. Whispers followed him without restraint.
"So fast…"
"That kind of talent"
"Outer sect?"
He felt proximity shift.
A woman stepped closer than necessary, her sleeve brushing his arm as she pressed her breasts against his chest, .
"Junior Feng," she said with lust. "If you need help with missions… or guidance… you can find me."
Another stood nearby, gaze darkening with lust, head tilted slightly as if already deciding something.
A third woman in her 30s said seductively .
"Junior Feng if you ever felt a need of something just say a word"
Azazel did not respond.
He did not step back either.
He simply continued walking.
The women did not follow—but their eyes did.
Men reacted differently.
Some straightened immediately, expressions turning eager. Others forced smiles and quick congratulations, already rehearsing loyalty.
"Junior Feng, if you ever need—"
Azazel passed them without pause. he was only eight yet these women, how ruthless,
Interest born of strength was the most unreliable kind.
Elder Wei watched him go.
He said nothing further.
The goodwill he had shown was intentional—and sufficient.
Too much protection drew attention.
Too little invited accidents.
By the time Azazel reached the outer court, the rumor had already begun to twist.
Nine days became "less than two weeks."
Two weeks became "almost immediate."
Azazel closed his hut door and sat.
Silence returned.
Only then did he allow the thought to surface.
If I had registered on the first day…
He did not finish it.
He didn't need to.
Weak strength paired with abnormal speed did not invite praise.
It invited elimination.
The sect was not kind to anomalies without backing.
Too much attention without power was a death sentence.
He had delayed.
Refined.
Stabilized.
That delay had bought him something far more valuable than admiration.
Time.
Azazel closed his eyes.
Outside, footsteps lingered longer than before.
Inside, his foundation did not move.