The altar pulsed with a dim blue glow, its runes awakening one after another like ancient eyes stirring from a slumber of ten thousand years. Mist clung to the stone pillars around it, curling and shifting with a life of its own. The gathered disciples and elders fell silent, their breaths caught between awe and unease.
A hush spread across the valley.
"Look," whispered one of the younger disciples of the Azure Blade Sect. His knuckles tightened around the hilt of his sword as the sigils flared brighter. "It's really beginning…"
Elder Huo of the Crimson Flame Sect narrowed his eyes. His robe shimmered faintly with heat, the faint mirage of fire spirit energy surrounding him. "The altar recognizes the presence of cultivators. The first trial will begin shortly."
The crowd stirred.
Tianyu stood at the very back, his mortal shell draped in simple gray cloth. He looked more like a wandering commoner than someone worthy to stand among sect heirs and geniuses. His hands were folded behind his back, posture calm, gaze detached. He watched the altar without the slightest tremor of excitement.
So this is what they've reduced it to, he mused. A playground for children who believe themselves dragons. Hah.
The mist thickened, then parted before the altar. Six circular platforms emerged, floating in the air like petals of a lotus. Each radiated faint spiritual pressure, balanced yet sharp, demanding presence.
"The platforms are open!" shouted a disciple from the Iron Sky Sect. His eyes gleamed with greed. "This is where recognition is earned!"
Almost immediately, the strongest among the younger generation leapt forward. Figures in azure robes, crimson fire patterns, black iron armor, and even flowing silk of the Mist Valley Pavilion soared through the air, each landing on a different platform.
The audience erupted in cheers and shouts. Rivalries that had simmered for decades now surged to the surface.
On the first platform, a swordsman of the Azure Blade Sect faced a fiery-robed cultivator of the Crimson Flame Sect. Their eyes locked with the intensity of wolves over prey.
"You Azure dogs never learn," the flame disciple sneered, his palms already glowing with crimson heat. "Your so-called sword arts are brittle before the purity of fire."
The Azure swordsman smirked, drawing his blade with a clear ringing note. The sword's aura flared, clean and sharp. "Fire burns bright, but a single stroke severs all illusions. Let's see if you can even follow my edge."
The clash was immediate. Sword light slashed across the air, weaving a storm of steel threads. Flames roared in retaliation, blooming into blazing lotus petals that consumed the mist around them.
The crowd shouted with excitement, elders watching keenly, evaluating each move.
Tianyu yawned.
"Too much flash, not enough substance," he muttered under his breath. "Their foundations are shallow, their hearts distracted. If either were to face true slaughter, they'd crumble before the first strike."
A nearby rogue cultivator glanced at him, startled that such a plain mortal dared to comment. "What do you know, old man? Those are peak Foundation disciples!"
Tianyu tilted his head slightly, a faint smile curving his lips. "Peak?" He chuckled softly. "Mountains they are not. More like sand dunes, waiting for the wind."
The rogue cultivator bristled, but before he could argue further, the battle on the platform flared to a dangerous height. The flame disciple conjured a blazing whip of fire, striking across the entire arena. The Azure swordsman countered with a crescent slash, sword qi singing through the mist. The collision shook the platform, scattering sparks and steel essence into the air.
The altar pulsed brighter.
Other platforms lit as well. Rival sects clashed, each showing their strength.
From the Iron Sky Sect, a hammer-wielding brute clashed against a Mist Valley disciple who conjured streams of water into blades. The ground trembled with each hammer strike, mist hissing into vapor where water and iron collided.
Cries and gasps echoed among the crowd. Pride, envy, and rivalry churned the atmosphere into something electric.
Elder Qin of the Mist Valley raised his voice. "Remember, disciples! The altar recognizes only strength and resolve! Those who falter will be rejected!"
His words only fueled the frenzy further.
Tianyu, however, saw something else.
The altar feeds on their struggle… no, it devours it. His eyes narrowed slightly, a glimmer of void-light flickering in their depths. Each clash, each burst of spirit power, sinks into those runes. These fools are not competing for recognition—they are fueling the altar itself.
His lips curved in amusement.
How ironic. They bare their fangs like cubs, not realizing the beast they're feeding is older and hungrier than all of them combined.
A shadow moved from the edge of the crowd. A tall man in plain robes, face hidden under a conical hat, leapt onto one of the platforms. His cultivation surged outward—Core Formation, sharp and oppressive.
Gasps broke out.
"Who is that?!"
"A rogue cultivator? He dares to intrude?"
"Core Formation—he's no mere youth!"
The sect elders immediately frowned, but the altar's glow did not reject him. Instead, the platform accepted his presence, stabilizing beneath his feet.
The man's voice rang out, rough and mocking. "Sect heirs, pampered brats… let's see if your years of resources can withstand real battle."
The disciples on that platform recoiled, some drawing weapons nervously.
Elder Huo stepped forward, flames rising faintly around him. "This trial is for disciples, not stray wolves! Leave, or I will—"
Before he could finish, the altar pulsed violently, a ripple of light silencing even the elders. The platform itself sealed with a shimmering barrier, locking the intruder inside.
The man laughed. "Looks like the altar wants me here. Let's play, children."
Tianyu's eyes gleamed faintly.
Interesting. The altar chooses not by age, nor sect, but by resonance. And his core burns too brightly… almost unstable. Like a torch waiting to collapse.
He tilted his head, voice soft enough for no one to hear.
Perhaps this trial will be more entertaining than I thought.
The rogue cultivator's laughter rang across the mist-veiled platforms, sharp and mocking. His presence alone bent the air, Core Formation energy pressing down like a mountain. The younger disciples staggered, struggling to steady their breath.
One Azure Blade disciple shouted, forcing his trembling sword into guard.
"Shameless! This trial is not for outsiders—"
The man cut him off with a single flick of his sleeve. A gale of spiritual force sent the youth flying across the barrier, his sword spinning helplessly into the mist.
"Children," the intruder said with a grin beneath his hat. "I've faced real battlefields, where blood runs deeper than rivers. Do you think your sect titles will save you here?"
The disciples exchanged fearful looks, pride warring with survival.
From the sidelines, Madam Lian Huo's eyes narrowed like a blade hidden in silk.
"The altar… accepts him. Even with cultivation far beyond the intended level. What game is this trial playing?"
Daoist Shen Qing remained silent, though his gaze sharpened. His disciples stood motionless, but even their stillness seemed strained.
Tianyu leaned against a mossy pillar, arms folded loosely. His lips curved faintly.
"So much noise. Yet none of them realize the altar chose him for a reason."
The intruder raised his hand, summoning a spear of condensed qi. The weapon glowed faintly red, unstable, as though burning from within. His aura wavered—not the calm foundation of a veteran, but the fierce blaze of one who had clawed his way up through desperation.
The Mist Valley disciple across from him whispered, "His energy—it's cracked. That core is unstable."
Another replied nervously, "Then why does he still feel so strong?"
The spear slammed down. The barrier flared, and shockwaves rattled the valley. Two disciples collapsed instantly, coughing blood as their protective arts shattered.
Gasps filled the air.
Elder Han Jiansu's voice roared from the sidelines.
"This is mockery! The altar defiles its own purpose if it allows such a farce!"
Yet even as he spoke, the altar pulsed again. Runes on the stone pillars deepened from blue to violet, veins of light crawling outward as if drinking every ounce of spilled qi.
Tianyu's gaze lingered on those veins. His thoughts were calm, detached.
Yes… it feeds. Not on victory, not on glory. But on imbalance. Chaos, fear, desperation—these are its true offerings.
The rogue cultivator laughed once more, advancing on the remaining disciples.
"Is this all the sects have to offer? Paper tigers with painted fangs?"
A young woman from the Silent Bell Monastery stepped forward. Her veil shifted slightly as she lifted a single hand.
"You speak too much."
Her voice struck like a gong. The intruder's body stiffened, his aura rippling under the sound.
His grin faltered. "You—"
Before he could finish, her palm rose. Bells rang soundlessly, rippling through the barrier, pressing directly against the intruder's mind.
He staggered, the unstable glow of his spear flickering. For a heartbeat, silence seemed to smother him.
The crowd stirred. Whispers rushed like wildfire.
"Silent Bell arts… she's suppressing him!"
"Impossible. He's Core Formation—how can she…"
The intruder roared, breaking free. His qi exploded outward, shattering the unseen bells. Blood trickled from his lip, but his grin widened again.
"Good. At least one of you bites back."
He lunged, spear stabbing with killing intent.
The young woman's form blurred, stepping back into silence, her eyes glowing faintly. The clash resounded through the barrier like thunder.
Outside the circle, Tianyu tilted his head, murmuring to himself.
"Now this is interesting. A wolf against a bell. But neither sees the hand pulling the strings beneath their feet."
His finger tapped once against the stone.
The altar's runes pulsed harder, the violet glow deepening into black for just an instant. None of the disciples noticed—but Tianyu's smirk widened.