Chapter 15: Pressure of the Blade Formation
After a short thirty-minute rest, the remaining disciples—now reduced to less than a hundred—gathered in the central plaza of the Bright Blade Subsect. Tension was high, bodies weary, yet the fire of competition still smoldered in their eyes.
From the grand side hall of the Subsect, a sharp gust of wind blew as an elder stepped out. His presence alone caused a noticeable shift in the atmosphere. He wore silver and cobalt robes with subtle sword patterns woven into the fabric. Behind him were three younger disciples, each radiating a confident and lofty aura.
This elder, while nameless to the young disciples, was a former prodigy of the Subsect himself and now a distinguished member of the Bright Brilliant Blade Sect. Rumor had it he had once been in this very competition, later conquered its mission, and earned a direct invitation to the parent sect.
He stepped forward, pulled out a circular disk etched with dazzling engravings, and raised it high.
"This," he announced, his voice deep and clear, "is the Brilliant Blade Pressure Formation. It is an artifact forged within the Bright Brilliant Blade Sect itself. It simulates the pressure of sword aura and will test your endurance, willpower, and ability to comprehend sword essence. You will endure growing levels of pressure, pain, and mental strain. If you last thirty minutes, you pass."
He placed the disk gently onto the ground. With a wave of his hand, his powerful Gold-Tier essence flowed into the artifact. The formation activated with a bright white-blue glow, illuminating the sky above the arena. Sword light surged upward, forming a transparent dome. Faint silhouettes of ethereal swords shimmered within the dome.
"Step inside," the elder commanded.
Without hesitation, Elton, Zoro, Christy, Prince Hunter, and the others entered the glowing circle. Once the last disciple stepped in, the elder nodded. With a single hand seal, the pressure began.
A sudden, invisible weight pressed down upon everyone. It wasn't just physical—it was spiritual, slicing into their minds, bodies, and hearts like cold blades.
Elton sat cross-legged, trying to regulate his breathing. At first, the sensation was enlightening. The pressure stimulated not only his body but his awareness. Sword intent brushed against his spiritual core, and it felt oddly purifying. He realized immediately this wasn't just about brute force. It was a form of training—mental, spiritual, and physical. The mounting pressure sharpened his focus and gradually began pulling at hidden aspects of his own cultivation.
Zoro sat like a stone demon, dark Ki coursing through him. Strange black lines, almost like ancient tattoos, appeared on his skin, forming a deadly pattern. His eyes stayed shut, jaw clenched, as though he was wrestling the formation with sheer will.
Christy used her unique vision. Her silver-blonde hair fluttered despite the stagnant air, her eyes glowing with the Aka Boshi Tengan. She detected micro-fissures in the pressure's flow, adjusting her aura in real time to mitigate the worst of it.
Prince Hunter was wrapped in a thin white aura. His method was subtle but powerful, involving deep concentration and internal energy cycling. He looked calm, though veins occasionally bulged along his temple.
Ramius gripped the hilt of a training sword buried in the ground, his brow furrowed deeply. Silent, steady, and immovable as stone.
Talia pressed forward with grit, her fire-wind hybrid aura blazing, her expression sharp with determination.
Ten minutes passed. The pressure increased.
By the fifteenth minute, every breath felt labored. Some disciples already wavered. At the twentieth minute, several slumped over unconscious. A soft flash of light ejected them from the formation the moment their minds gave in.
At the twenty-third minute, Elton's state was deteriorating. His concentration flickered. Then came the voice.
That voice.
It whispered venomously into his mind.
"Pathetic… again you fall short."
"Still that weak, scared child whose parents were slaughtered like dogs…"
"You will die just as useless."
The words echoed through Elton's spiritual sea like daggers, triggering every memory of shame, fear, and helplessness. His aura faltered. By the 25th minute, his body trembled. By the 26th, he was gasping. By the 27th, his mind began to slip.
At the 28th minute, Elton was moments from collapse.
Then the voice laughed.
"Die like they did."
That broke him.
A fierce surge of energy erupted from within. Something tore open inside his spirit. A bright blue spark ignited at his core. The Star Lightning Arts surged forth.
He roared—mentally and spiritually.
A brilliant vortex formed around his core, and a previously dormant spiritual meridian cracked open. It was like a dam breaking. Energy rushed through his channels. The pressure of the formation seemed to dim—no, his spirit had simply grown stronger. His body, though bloody and ragged, found stability.
Elton was reborn through pain.
At the 40-minute mark, barely half the participants remained. Some had left willingly after surpassing thirty minutes. Others clung to the challenge for its benefits.
Christy left at the 42nd minute, pale but steady. The youngest disciple to last that long, her feat drew quiet admiration.
By the 45th minute, only ten were left.
By the 50th, only five.
Those five were Elton, Zoro, Prince Hunter, Ramius, and a beast-skinned disciple with wild instincts and untamed aura.
Zoro was a bloody mess, his arms cut, nails digging into his palms, yet immovable. Elton wasn't far behind—his body stained with sweat and blood, but his eyes were wild and defiant. Prince Hunter's aura burned with turbulence, no longer calm. Ramius mirrored him, blazing silently with effort. The beast-skinned disciple crouched low, primal ferocity barely contained.
Finally, the one-hour mark arrived. The elder raised his hand and slowly withdrew his energy from the disk.
The pressure vanished.
The dome of sword light dissipated like fog under sunlight. Deep silence followed.
The elder looked down at the five standing warriors.
"You five… passed the limit. You have shown not only talent but will. The final test begins tomorrow. And for that test… all of you who survived past thirty minutes will receive a single strike from me."
A stunned silence fell across the plaza.
A Gold Tier strike?
That wasn't a test—it was a death sentence. Yet no one complained. They were cultivators. This was the path they chose.
Later that night, Elton sat quietly in his quarters. Bandages wrapped his arms and torso. His breath came slow but steady.
He reached inward, examining the newly formed spiritual meridian. It pulsed with power, a new route for his essence to flow.
"A new path…" he whispered. "What is this new meridian…"
His inner voice was silent.
Confusion lingered.