The morning bell rang across Arathor Academy, deep and sonorous, signaling the gathering of every disciple chosen for the Third Trial.
Kael stood at the front of the Trial Gate, the great obsidian arch carved with runes older than the Academy itself. His breath was steady, his eyes sharp, but inside his chest burned a steady anticipation.
One by one, the other students arrived. Sons and daughters of powerful clans, each radiating pride and arrogance, their auras sharp enough to cut the air.
Whispers spread like wildfire the moment Kael was spotted.
"That's him… the weakest of the Veynar Clan."
"He's only Tier Four, isn't he? Pathetic compared to Tier Five peaks like us."
"Why is he even here? The Third Trial will swallow him alive."
Kael ignored them, his gaze fixed on the looming gate.
Soon the elders filed in, their robes shimmering with authority. Vice Master Sylara stood to the left, arms crossed, her cold eyes sweeping the disciples as though daring them to falter. Finally, Academy Master Arathor stepped forward, his presence silencing the courtyard instantly.
When Arathor spoke, his voice rolled like distant thunder.
"Today, you face the Third Trial. Only thirty may enter, and only ten will leave with the qualifications to advance further. Consider carefully before you step through this gate."
The disciples straightened, pride warring with unease.
"This trial is unlike the others," Arathor continued. "Inside lies a maze — vast, shifting, and dangerous. Hidden within are boxes. Whoever finds them… keeps them. Treasures, pills, manuals, or weapons. Each belongs to the one who claims it."
Gasps spread among the students. Treasures owned outright were rare indeed.
"But know this," Arathor's tone sharpened, "instructors walk within the maze as guardians. Each box is theirs to protect. To claim it, you must defeat them in battle. You may also fight each other. One hour and thirty minutes — no more. When the bell sounds, the trial ends. What you carry then is yours forever."
Excitement surged in the crowd, but so did fear.
A smirk spread across the face of Daelith, eldest son of the No.2 Demi-God clan. He nudged his companions, his voice carrying just enough to reach Kael. "I almost pity him. Tier Four against Tier Five peaks? He'll be crushed before the first box."
Laughter rippled among the clan heirs. Even Kael's own peers from the Veynar whispered doubts.
Kael said nothing. His silence only seemed to fuel their mockery.
But Sylara noticed the faint curve at the corner of his lips — a smile not of arrogance, but of certainty.
---
The Gate Opens
The runes on the obsidian arch flared to life. The gate shuddered, a deep hum filling the courtyard, and then the maze revealed itself — an endless labyrinth of stone corridors stretching into darkness, walls shifting as though alive.
"Enter," Arathor commanded.
The disciples surged forward, swallowed by the shadows one by one.
Kael stepped last, his eyes narrowing as the air shifted around him.
The maze smelled of ancient dust and iron. The walls shifted slowly, rumbling like beasts, cutting off paths and opening new ones. Strange torches burned with cold blue fire, casting long shadows across the floor.
His footsteps echoed as he moved deeper, senses sharpened.
---
The First Instructor
It didn't take long.
From the darkness ahead, a figure stepped forward. Robes trimmed in silver. Eyes cold and sharp. The aura of a seasoned warrior pressed down — Tier Seven.
"Student," the instructor said, unsheathing a curved blade. "To claim this box, you must face me."
A small chest glowed faintly behind him.
Kael inhaled. The weight of Tier Seven power pressed on his shoulders, but compared to the battles he had already survived, it was laughable.
He stepped forward. "Then step aside, or be broken."
The instructor sneered. "Arrogant brat—" He struck, blade carving the air with deadly precision.
Kael's body blurred. His fist slammed forward, golden qi bursting like a hammer. The clash shattered the instructor's stance, the curved blade ringing as it cracked.
With a second strike, Kael sent the man crashing into the wall, the stone splitting under the force.
The chest was his.
---
Box by Box
Kael moved deeper. The maze shifted constantly, but his senses guided him unerringly. Each time he found a box, an instructor appeared — Tier Six, Tier Seven, even a rare Tier Five.
But every battle ended the same.
Blades shattered. Spears broke. Bodies slammed against walls.
Kael's fists glowed with the rhythm of his Aura Farming technique, harvesting every ounce of killing intent thrown at him. With each clash, he grew sharper, steadier.
The instructors could not believe it.
"This… this is Tier Four? Impossible—"
"His aura… it devours mine…"
One by one, they fell, and Kael collected the boxes they guarded. Pills, scrolls, blades — each treasure vanished into his storage ring.
---
Other Students' Struggles
Elsewhere in the maze, the heirs of the Demi-God clans battled furiously. Tier Five peaks clashed with Tier Six instructors, their pride driving them forward. Some succeeded, others faltered, blood staining the ancient stones.
Whispers spread among them.
"Did you hear? Someone already defeated three instructors…"
"Impossible. Who—?"
The name began to spread like wildfire.
"Kael."
At first, disbelief. Then anger. Then fear.
The weakest son of the Veynar Clan was walking through the trial like a storm.
---
The Final Clash
Near the end of the allotted time, Kael entered a wide chamber where three instructors waited together. Their combined auras pressed like a tidal wave.
Tier Five. Tier Six. Tier Seven.
"You've come far," one of them said grimly. "But this is where your harvest ends."
Kael's lips curled into a rare grin.
"Then let me show you… why I farm."
The battle erupted. Blades slashed. Spears thrust. Walls crumbled under the shockwaves.
Kael's fists moved like thunder, absorbing their intent, breaking their formations. He weaved between strikes, every counter shattering weapons, every blow harvesting their strength.
One instructor fell, coughing blood. Then another. Finally, the Tier Seven dropped to his knees, disbelief in his eyes.
Kael stood amidst the ruins, chest heaving, a dozen glowing boxes at his feet.
The bell rang.
The Third Trial was over.
---
Kael wiped the blood from his lip, eyes blazing.
Let them laugh. Let them doubt.
Today, the harvest had begun.