Time seemed to warp, stretching into a single, terrifying moment. Zhang Fan's fist, blazing with the condensed power of the [Mountain-Crushing Fist], descended like a falling star. It wasn't just a strike; it was an inevitability. The white-hot Qi radiating from it scorched the air, and the pressure alone felt like it would grind Li Tian's bones to dust. The crowd's roar became a distant, muffled thing, a mix of horrified gasps and bloodthirsty cheers. Many were already sneering, anticipating the gruesome splatter that would mark the end of the servant's foolish rebellion.
On the elders' dais, the reaction was more nuanced. Several elders leaned forward, their brows furrowed. One with a long, white beard muttered, "That technique is forbidden in sparring. The Zhang boy crosses a line." Another, a severe-looking woman, coldly remarked, "Arrogance leads to carelessness. He seeks to kill, not to prove superiority." A flicker of killing intent, sharp and cold, emanated from one elder directed not at Li Tian, but at Zhang Fan for his disregard of the rules. Elder Zhao's face remained an unreadable mask, but his eyes were fixed on Li Tian, watching not for the expected death, but for a reaction.
For Li Tian, the world narrowed to the incoming fist. The force of it was overwhelming, a tidal wave against his solitary pebble. A direct block was suicide. His basic defensive stance was useless. Panic threatened to seize him, to freeze him in place for the final blow.
But deep within, the spark ignited by the Starfall Immortal Emperor blazed. The memory of a decade of humiliation—the shattered wooden sword, the laughter, the label of 'trash'—fueled a desperate, defiant fire. He would not die like this. Not now. Not after touching the stars.
Devour.
The command was not a thought, but an instinct burned into his soul by the legacy. He abandoned all pretense of defense. Instead of bracing, he opened his dantian wide. The Heaven Swallowing Art cycled not just around him, but through him, activating at a level of desperation he had never attempted. He wasn't trying to absorb the ambient Qi anymore; he was trying to consume the attack itself.
A visible distortion appeared in the air before him. It wasn't a shield of light, but a swirling, dark vortex, a hole in reality that seemed to drink the light from Zhang Fan's technique. The air screamed as spiritual energy was torn from its natural flow. The brilliant white Qi of the Mountain-Crushing Fist, as it slammed into this devouring field, did not simply explode. It was pulled.
The sensation was excruciating. It was like trying to swallow a volcano. A torrent of destructive, foreign Qi, far more violent than the ambient energy he was used to, flooded Li Tian's meridians. It was raw, untamed, and sought to obliterate him from the inside out. His meridians felt like they were being scoured with molten sand. Every vein in his body bulged, and a scream tore from his throat, a raw sound of agony and defiance. Blood sprayed from his lips as his body struggled to contain the power it was forcibly ingesting.
But he held on. The art, profound and heaven-defying, began its work, frantically refining a fraction of that destructive power, transforming it from a killing force into pure, usable energy. The vortex flickered wildly, unable to fully contain the blow, but it did the impossible—it slowed it. It weakened it.
BOOOOM!
The collision was not a clean impact. It was a chaotic detonation of light and sound. The obsidian arena floor cracked beneath Li Tian's feet. He was thrown backward like a ragdoll, tumbling across the stone. He came to a rest on one knee, his entire body wracked with pain. His robes were torn, and blood dripped from his mouth and nose. He trembled violently, on the verge of collapse.
But he was alive.
And he was holding a fistful of stolen power.
Zhang Fan stood frozen, his arm still extended. The brilliant light around his fist had dimmed considerably. The feedback had been bizarre; it felt like his attack had been partially… eaten. The confidence on his face had been replaced by utter, dumbfounded shock. How? HOW was the trash still breathing?
That moment of stunned hesitation was all Li Tian needed.
With a guttural roar that came from the depths of his soul, Li Tian pushed himself up. The refined energy from Zhang Fan's own attack—a savage, burning power—surged through his arm. It was clumsy. It was untrained. There was no technique, no finesse. It was pure, undiluted force, channeled through a single, desperate punch.
He launched himself forward, a blur of motion fueled by agony and rage. Zhang Fan, still reeling from the psychological blow of his failed attack, was too slow to react. Li Tian's fist, glowing with a chaotic, deep grey light—the color of devoured and hastily refined Qi—slammed squarely into Zhang Fan's chest.
The sound was a satisfying, solid THUMP.
Zhang Fan's eyes bulged. The air left his lungs in a pained gasp. The force of the blow, empowered by his own technique, was something he had never expected to feel from Li Tian. It broke his stance and sent him stumbling backward, not with a graceful flip, but with a clumsy, staggering gait that ended with him falling hard onto his backside.
Silence.
For three full heartbeats, the trial ground was utterly, profoundly silent.
Then, chaos erupted.
"HE HIT HIM!"
"ZHANG FAN FELL!"
"The servant… he drew blood! He knocked down an inner disciple!"
"What kind of demonic art is that? It devoured the Mountain-Crushing Fist!"
The whispers were no longer mocking. They were awed, terrified, and furious all at once. The world had been turned upside down.
Zhang Fan scrambled to his feet, his face a grotesque mask of humiliation, pain, and sheer, incandescent rage. The front of his fine silk robes was stained with dust and a speck of blood from where he'd bitten his tongue. The look he shot Li Tian was pure, undiluted hatred. "You… you insect! This isn't over! I will skin you alive for this insult!" he spat, but his voice lacked its earlier conviction. It was shaken.
Elder Zhao's voice cut through the din, cold and authoritative. "The match is concluded." His gaze, heavy and inscrutable, lingered on Li Tian. It was neither approving nor condemning, but deeply, deeply calculating. He had seen something today that defied all conventional wisdom, and in the ruthless world of cultivation, the unusual was either a treasure to be seized or a threat to be eliminated.
He addressed the entire arena. "The preliminary trials are over. The true test begins tomorrow. The top hundred performers will enter the Scarlet Mist Valley for a survival trial. There, you will not face controlled duels. You will face wild beasts, treacherous terrain, and… each other."
His eyes swept over the disciples, finally resting for a moment on Li Tian and the fuming Zhang Fan.
"There are no rules in the valley. Only the strong will walk out."