The Mission Hall of the Golden Sparrow Thieves' Guild was alive with restless energy, almost as if the stone walls themselves hummed with the anticipatory pulse of the disciples. Hundreds of eager, nervous, and boastful figures crowded every inch of the cavernous hall, voices rising and falling in waves until the first elder's staff struck the dais with a resounding clang, cutting through the noise like a blade. Silence fell, sharp and heavy, a prelude to the revelation that would soon ripple across the entire cultivation world.
"This is no ordinary gathering," the elder intoned, his voice carrying authority that demanded attention. "The labyrinth opens once every few centuries. From this hall, each faction of the Golden Sparrow alliance will name its chosen disciples. The disciples sent forth will face trials that will test not only strength, speed, and skill but also the very limits of will and spirit. Take heed, for some will not return, and some who return will be forever changed."
A shiver passed through the crowd. The whispers rose again, low but feverish. Names, reputations, and grudges echoed in every corner of the hall. Every disciple here understood that the labyrinth was not merely a treasure trove of relics, but a battlefield where even the strongest could die within a heartbeat if they underestimated their opponents.
The announcements began.
"The Golden Flame Hall will send Wu Tian and Shen Ruyi."
Wu Tian strode forward with flames flickering faintly along his shoulders, his confident smile sending a ripple of unease through the onlookers. Beside him, Shen Ruyi, Flame Saintess of the Hall, descended with poise so radiant that the collective murmur of the hall dropped into a stunned hush. Every step she took radiated authority; her aura was the soft, terrible beauty of a blazing sunrise, commanding attention even before her voice could speak.
"The Azure Sky Pavilion will send Lan Yue and Bo Heng."
Two figures emerged from the shadows, robes flowing like water in motion. Lan Yue's piercing blue eyes scanned the hall, every glance sharp as a sword. Bo Heng followed, imposing, his presence weighted as though the earth itself carried him on its shoulders.
"The Nine Heavens Sword Sect will send Chen Wu and Han Zhen."
Gasps rippled through the disciples. Chen Wu radiated sword intent that cut through the tension like steel through silk, a presence that seemed to make the very air feel taut. Han Zhen walked silently beside him, his calm demeanor and unblinking gaze carrying the subtle, undeniable threat of someone who could strike and end life before thought could even form.
"The Serpent Fang Alliance will send Xiang Long and Fang Ru."
The duo's presence caused a shiver in the crowd. Xiang Long moved with the sinuous grace of a predator, his smile dangerous, almost feral. Fang Ru followed, quiet and calculating, her eyes like twin blades of venom, assessing and weighing everything with a precision that made even the bravest disciples feel an involuntary tightening in their chests.
"The Violet Moon Palace will send Mei Xun, Saintess of the Palace, and Zhou Yan."
The hall seemed to pause as Mei Xun descended. Silver and violet silks shimmered around her like moonlight caught in flowing water. Every movement was poetry, every glance a blade. Even in this assembly of top disciples, her aura radiated the subtle but overwhelming power of a War Blood cultivator at peak refinement. Beside her, Zhou Yan moved with silent efficiency, one hand hovering near the hilt of his sword, ready to strike at the first sign of provocation.
And then, the silence deepened. All eyes turned toward the Black Dragon Faction. The elder's gaze swept over the assembly, solemn.
"The Black Dragon Faction will send… Li Xian and Lu Mao."
For a heartbeat, nothing moved. The echoes of disbelief reverberated through the hall.
"Black Dragon?!" someone scoffed. "They're barely above beggars!"
"They'll be corpses before the labyrinth gates even open."
"Perhaps they've come to entertain us," a third muttered, smirking.
The laughter died abruptly as Li Xian stepped forward. Her presence was immediate, a palpable force that pressed upon the heart and mind of every disciple in the hall. Her hair, black as ink, framed a face of sharp elegance. High cheekbones, slightly arched brows, eyes that shimmered like molten gold framed in obsidian—each glance carried intelligence, ferocity, and the subtle grace of a lifetime spent mastering her own body and spirit. Even in the crowded hall, she seemed larger than life, a new War Blood cultivator whose aura dwarfed most of the older disciples in the room.
Gasps rose. Murmurs spread like wildfire.
"She… she's War Blood already?!"
"No… Martial King stage! Impossible…"
"Black Dragon… they sent Martial King cultivators?"
Lu Mao followed silently, shadowing her like a silent storm. His golden-black vein shimmered faintly beneath his skin, his calm demeanor belying the immense pressure radiating from Li Xian. Where she was a blazing comet, he was the steady, inexorable tide, unyielding and constant.
Yan Fao of the Red Hawk Faction sneered from the sidelines, his lips curling in contempt. "War Blood or not, mud-born trash remains mud-born. Li Xian, Lu Mao… mark my words. In the labyrinth, your bones will be left as offerings."
The crowd tittered, yet unease lingered in the snide tones. Black Dragon had already surpassed the low-tier factions. Newer Tier 2 clans shifted uneasily, subtle whispers running through their ranks.
"The Jade Owl Syndicate… they won't allow them to climb unchecked."
"Nor the Scarlet Blade Hall… one War Blood cultivator and they think they can rise above us?"
Even the humor of the lower-tier factions could not hide the brewing tension. Eyes darted to Li Xian, many from Tier 1 clans now whispering in fear, noting the presence of a War Blood cultivator whose name was still barely known but whose aura suggested she could topple entire factions.
Weeks passed, the caravans stretching for miles across plains, ridges, and winding mountain paths. Discussions, rivalries, and calculations filled the journey. Every faction sent scouts, every prodigy practiced, and every elder remained vigilant. Rumors reached fever pitch: the labyrinth devoured more disciples than it spared; the treasures within could elevate entire clans; and the Blood Sword from Heaven would awaken when enough blood was spilled below it.
At last, the Black Mountains rose from the horizon, jagged and foreboding, their peaks bleeding red into the clouds. Buried deep within the earth jutted the colossal Blood Sword from Heaven, red as molten metal and vast enough to sever kingdoms, its aura bending the air, pressing down on even War Blood cultivators with a weight that stole breaths and stiffened limbs.
Whispers ran through the disciples like wildfire.
"The labyrinth lies beneath the sword…"
"It waits… to drink blood again…"
The crowd at the base of the mountains was staggering in its scope. Chen Rong of the Dawn Lotus Sect casually strolled forward, his Green-gold robes flowing. Wei Quing of the Amber Viper Clan followed, his presence taut and calculating. Crimson Fang, Silver Crane, Jade Tiger, and Shadow Whisperer disciples emerged as well, their collective aura making the plains feel small beneath them.
The Realm-Ruler clans loomed at the edges, their aura like distant storms—Celestial Phoenix, Nine Dragon Sword, Eternal Lotus—all present. Even from afar, their power made lower-tier cultivators tremble.
Bao Fu whispered, voice trembling, "Boss… the Mission Hall was wolves. This… this is a sea of dragons and phoenixes."
Li Xian's expression remained calm, her aura steady but unmistakable. She felt the eyes on her, noting her beauty, her newfound strength, and the sheer presence of a War Blood cultivator who had broken the Martial King threshold so young. Many from top factions noted her quietly, evaluating, calculating, some with awe, some with the faintest tinge of jealousy.
Lu Mao's fists clenched, eyes fixed on the labyrinth gates ahead. In his mind, one thought pulsed like molten iron: This is the stage where we rise—or the grave where we vanish.
The disciples from the Golden Sparrow alliance—Wu Tian, Shen Ruyi, Lan Yue, Bo Heng, Chen Wu, Han Zhen, Xiang Long, Fang Ru, Mei Xun, and Zhou Yan—lined up with precision. Every glance, every step, every flicker of qi was a statement of intent.
The Black Dragon Faction moved forward with Li Xian leading, her eyes like molten gold, every step radiating confidence and latent power. The whispering winds carried the murmur of awe, envy, and fear alike.
Some disciples whispered in the back, eyes wide: "Look at her… that's the Black Dragon's Li Xian? She's… magnificent."
"She walks like the mountain itself carries her weight," another murmured.
Wei Quing's gaze lingered on her longer than was polite. He had known prodigies, he had known cultivators of strength—but this… this radiance, this mastery of aura so young, it was beyond what he had seen even among the Amber Viper's top disciples.
Li Xian caught none of these glances directly. Her mind was already calculating strategies for the labyrinth, anticipating the trials, estimating opponents' strength. Her beauty, her aura, her presence—all would command attention, yes—but her mind was a weapon just as sharp as the qi coiling in her veins.
The Black Mountains waited. The Blood Sword above the peaks pulsed with anticipation, as if sensing the flood of ambition and bloodlust that now surrounded its base. Every disciple, every faction, every prodigy—some eager, some trembling, some arrogant—now had one path forward. Enter the labyrinth, survive, and emerge stronger, or die beneath the crushing trials waiting for even the strongest.
Li Xian adjusted her stance, feeling the warmth of Lu Mao beside her. "Let's go," she whispered, her voice steady, almost casual, yet carrying the weight of a War Blood cultivator commanding her fate.
The gates loomed ahead. Shadows from the jagged peaks danced across the plains, and the whispers of the gathered disciples swirled like a tide. The labyrinth would test all they were and all they could become. And at the center of it all, the Black Dragon Faction would step forward, led by a young Martial King, eyes ablaze with the fire of ambition, strategy, and raw, unrelenting spirit.
Every gaze followed her as she moved, and in the hearts of many top disciples—Wei Quing, Chen Wu, Xiang Long, Mei Xun, and Chen Rong alike—something new had awakened: recognition, curiosity, and the faintest glimmer of unease. She was no longer just a rising faction member; she was now a presence that could not be ignored.
And as the shadow of the Blood Sword loomed above them, the whispers turned to tense murmurs. This is no ordinary labyrinth. This is the stage where history will remember those who survive—and those who die will be forgotten.
The Black Dragon Faction stepped forward. Their journey into the labyrinth, and the trials that would decide the fates of hundreds of disciples and countless clans, had begun.