Chapter Five – The Trials of Humiliation
The Verdant Bloom Moon rose like a pale jewel above the sect, spilling silver-green light over the sprawling Main Arena. Its stone walls echoed with the roar of gathered disciples. Once every three months, the Quarterly Combat Trials determined who climbed higher in status, who earned resources—and who was crushed into dust.
Jesse Jordan stood at the edge of the arena, his cracked sword wrapped tightly in his grip. The air buzzed with excitement, but none of it for him. Whispers chased him like blades.
"There he is, the orphan trash."
"He actually showed up again? Hah!"
"Maybe this time he'll break before the first strike lands."
Jesse's jaw tightened. He kept his gaze cold, eyes fixed on the arena's center. His heart pounded, not from fear but from the pressure of a thousand eyes waiting to see him fall.
At the opposite side of the grounds, Ken Miles lounged with his entourage, lips curling in amusement. His cousin Den leaned close, muttering, "Cousin, when do you want to break him? In the first round? Or wait until he crawls his way up?"
Ken chuckled. "Let him climb a step or two. The higher he thinks he's risen, the harder the fall. I'll make sure Daisy Mellon is watching when I crush him."
At the mention of her name, several disciples perked up. Daisy was well-known, though not for arrogance or cruelty like so many others. She was respected for her steady cultivation and calm demeanor, a rare quality in a nest of rivalry.
The elders seated themselves high above the arena, their robes billowing like clouds. Elder Morris's cold gaze swept across the disciples, lingering a fraction longer on Jesse.
Let's see if you can survive, his thoughts echoed.
The gong struck.
"First match! Jesse Jordan versus jack pio!"
The crowd roared with laughter. jack pio, a tall disciple with the strength of a bull, strode into the arena with a smirk. He twirled a bronze spear easily, the tip glinting in the moonlight.
"You should've stayed hidden in your broken courtyard," Lin mocked. "One thrust, and this will be over."
Jesse said nothing. He raised his cracked sword, its dull edge barely reflecting the light. The crowd howled with laughter at the sight.
"Is that even a weapon?"
"Looks like scrap metal."
"Maybe he'll stab himself and save us the trouble."
But inside, Jesse's breath flowed steady, guided by the Ninefold Void Sutra. Qi shimmered faintly in his veins, feeding strength into his limbs.
The elder raised his hand.
"Begin!"
jack pio lunged instantly, spear flashing like lightning. Jesse twisted aside, the tip grazing his sleeve. The crowd erupted with jeers.
"Too slow!"
"Just give up already!"
But Jesse's eyes gleamed cold. His sword swung in a sharp arc—faster than anyone expected. The cracked blade struck the spear's shaft, sending a faint hum through the air. Lin staggered back, eyes wide.
"What—?"
Jesse pressed forward. His footwork, refined through endless nights in the courtyard, carried him like water flowing over stone. His sword flickered again, grazing Lin's wrist. Blood blossomed, and the spear slipped an inch.
Gasps rippled through the arena.
"How… did he move like that?"
"That broken sword—did it just resonate?"
Lin roared in fury and stabbed wildly. Jesse flowed around the strike, his blade slamming down with precision. The spear clattered to the ground. In the same motion, Jesse's cracked sword stopped at Lin's throat.
Silence fell.
The elder's voice rang out.
"Winner—Jesse Jordan."
The crowd erupted—not with cheers, but with disbelief.
"What?!"
"He won?!"
"Impossible!"
From the stands, Daisy Mellon's eyes widened slightly. She had seen Jesse training alone, broken and bleeding, when others turned away. Now, watching him stand unyielding in the arena, something stirred in her chest.
Ken Miles, noticing her gaze, clenched his jaw. A dangerous glint lit his eyes.
"This won't last," he muttered. "I'll grind him beneath my heel soon enough."
Back in the waiting grounds, Jesse sat quietly, steadying his breath. His arms trembled from the exertion; victory had not been easy. But the jade slip's teachings burned in his veins, a silent promise that more strength awaited.
Other disciples avoided him, whispering in confusion. He caught fragments:
"Did you see that strike?"
"Was that really Jesse Jordan?"
"No… it must've been luck."
Jesse ignored them all. His path was not for their understanding.
The matches continued. Blood spilled, cheers rose, and disciples fell. Finally, as the moon climbed higher, the elder's voice called again.
"Next match: Jesse Jordan… versus Den Miles!"
The crowd roared with anticipation. Den stepped forward, his grin sharp as a blade.
"Well, cousin," Den sneered, though they shared no blood, "let's end your little miracle here. I'll make sure you can't stand ever again."
Jesse rose slowly, cracked sword in hand. His gaze was ice. "Try."
They entered the arena. The crowd pressed forward, hungry for blood. Even the elders leaned closer, sensing the storm building.
The gong struck.
Den charged, fists wrapped in iron qi, the ground cracking beneath his steps. Jesse met him head-on, sword flashing, qi thrumming through his veins. The clash sent a shockwave rippling across the arena, dust rising into the moonlit sky.
As the dust began to settle, a faint glow shimmered along Jesse's cracked blade.
The crowd froze.
"That sword—!"
"It's glowing!"
Jesse felt it too. The broken sword pulsed faintly, responding to his qi, as though awakening from a long slumber.
Den's grin faltered. "What… what is that?!"
The elders leaned forward, eyes narrowing in sharp interest. Elder Morris's lips curled faintly, as though he had been waiting for this moment.
And in the stands, Daisy Mellon's lips parted slightly, whispering only to herself:
"…That sword… it chose him."
The glow grew brighter—