By now, the outer disciples had stopped laughing openly at Joshua.
Not respect yet—only hesitation.
When he passed, some still muttered under their breath. But their eyes lingered longer than before, as if trying to solve a puzzle they hadn't noticed existed.
Joshua walked as he always did: quiet, steady, indifferent.
Lucian, of course, trailed at his side, spinning a practice sword in one hand as though the mountain path were his stage.
"Have you noticed?" he asked casually.
Joshua didn't glance at him. "…Noticed what?"
"That they don't laugh so loud anymore. It's like watching a flock of noisy birds after you toss a stone. Skittish, but quiet."
Joshua adjusted the strap of his water bucket, face unreadable. "You talk too much."
Lucian grinned. "Correction: I talk just enough. Otherwise, you'd never notice the fun parts."
That afternoon, the outer disciples were summoned to the main courtyard. A senior instructor, robes dark with authority, stood at the platform. His voice carried across the gathered crowd.
"In seven days, the Cloud Peak Sect will hold the quarterly challenge."
A ripple of excitement tore through the ranks.
"Finally—"
"If I win, I can enter the inner sect!"
"They say the top five get to spar with the elders themselves."
The instructor raised a hand for silence. "This is your chance. The top three outer disciples will be promoted. The rest—" his gaze swept coldly over them, "—will return to their duties, and some may be dismissed."
Murmurs turned uneasy. The quarterly challenge was no mere test. It was a door. Either step through, or be left behind forever.
Joshua's eyes lowered, lashes casting shadows. Mo Xuanyu's memories stirred faintly, tangled fragments of humiliation—mockery when he failed, bruises when he tried. He had never lasted even a single round.
The ache in Joshua's chest tightened. Not fear. Not quite. Something older, heavier.
"…A challenge."
The word left his lips like a promise.
As the disciples dispersed, buzzing with excitement and dread, Lucian leaned lazily against a pillar, watching Joshua with golden eyes.
"Well, Ghost?" His grin was sharp. "Going to enter?"
Joshua looked at him evenly. "…It's required."
"Required, sure," Lucian agreed, straightening with a little stretch. "But surviving it? That's optional."
Joshua turned to leave. "Then I'll survive."
Lucian's brows lifted. He smirked. "Now that's the spirit."
He stepped up onto the pillar, balancing effortlessly as disciples passed. His voice carried, clear enough for half the courtyard to hear:
"I bet on Mo Xuanyu!"
Heads snapped around.
"You're joking—"
"Him?"
"Senior Brother Lucian's lost his mind—"
Lucian cupped a hand to his mouth, eyes dancing with mischief. "You heard me. First round, second round, all the way to the end—he'll make it."
Joshua froze mid-step, his back stiffening as murmurs surged. He turned slightly, eyes narrowing at Lucian. "…Why?"
Lucian dropped from the pillar, landing lightly in front of him. He leaned close, grin infuriating.
"Because if you win," he said, "I'll finally get to see what that silence of yours is hiding."
Joshua's gaze was cold, steady, unreadable. Then he turned away, walking on without another word.
Lucian watched him go, hand resting on his sword hilt, his smile lingering. But in his eyes, beneath the teasing light, something sharper flickered—something that wasn't a joke at all.