Guards came to move all the collapsed bodies toward a giant pit of icy water. The cold was so intense that frost rose in thick mist off its surface, curling upward into the grey air like breath escaping some slumbering beast beneath the ice.
They threw the recruits into the pit without ceremony. The biting Qi of the water struck their bodies immediately, and within minutes the first recruits screamed, jolted awake from unconsciousness by the sheer shock of it.
The cold surged into their bones, sharp and merciless. Their bodies screamed as thousands of needles stabbed every nerve at once. Those who screamed awake were pulled out by guards at the pit's edge and dragged clear before the cold could do lasting damage.
Only those with strong mental fortitude and a solid foundation remained submerged, gritting through what the rest of their cohort couldn't bear even a few seconds of.
Yet the pool's frigid Qi of the pool served a purpose beyond simple punishment. It tempered their meridians, widening the channels, and hardened their bones from the inside out. The pain was immense, but it strengthened the body in ways ordinary training couldn't reach — a shortcut paid for entirely in suffering, the kind of method only a place like the Northern Border would ever consider using on raw recruits.
For Mo Xuan, the effect was far more profound. A torrent of energy drew itself into him, as if beckoned by some call he couldn't consciously hear. The medicinal residue still lingering in his body — the same remnant Han Long had once sealed away after his breakthrough against the Demon Tiger — was refined further beneath the pool's pressure, thickening and expanding his meridians.
The strain was extreme, but his bones and body were further tempered and enhanced through it. This was another benefit of the pool, though it only worked when the body was already in a weakened state, and only on the very first immersion. A second attempt wouldn't produce the same effect no matter how long someone stayed submerged, the body's own defences adapting too quickly after the first exposure.
Before the horn finally signalled release, another recruit beside him woke, thrashing weakly against the cold. Guards pulled him out just in time, sparing him from further pain.
The soldiers overseeing the pit stared at the three recruits still submerged—Mo Xuan among them—with a mixture of disbelief and awe, as though they were looking at monsters wearing human skin.
A few minutes later, they carried Mo Xuan and the remaining recruits back to the tents, still collapsed and shivering uncontrollably despite the pool's benefits, their bodies too exhausted to process the improvement that had just been forced into them.
Further away, someone stood taking careful notes, observing quietly which recruits showed the potential to become seeds for future pillars within the Legion's ranks, their names likely already being passed along to officers higher up the chain than the ones currently barking orders across the training grounds.
On the third day, they rested to digest their gains, the barracks finally quiet enough for exhausted bodies to properly heal. Some recruits used the time to sleep through most of the daylight hours, catching up on rest the previous days had stolen from them entirely, their bunks creaking under bodies that hadn't moved in hours.
Others, restless despite their exhaustion, wandered out toward the market stalls crowding the stronghold's lower districts, trading stories with veteran soldiers over cheap, watered-down wine, or simply watching the blacksmiths work their forges for lack of anything better to occupy their thoughts.
A handful even ventured close enough to the outer walls to watch patrols depart into the snow, curious what awaited them once their own training ended and they were finally trusted with real assignments beyond the training grounds.
Mo Xuan spent most of the day in quiet meditation instead, letting his body finish absorbing whatever the pool had forced into him, unwilling to waste the rare stillness on anything less deliberate than steady, careful cultivation.
On the fourth day, a towering stone wall loomed ahead of them, carved with ancient sigils that radiated spiritual pressure even from a distance, the air around it thick enough to feel against exposed skin long before anyone stepped close. The recruits stood before it, hearts pounding, and were told simply to stand. Just stand, and withstand the pressure. That was the entire trial.
A crushing wave of pressure forced them all toward the ground at once. Recruits buckled instantly under the weight of it. Some clung to the snow with bleeding fingers, nails cracking against the frozen ground as they fought to stay upright. Others screamed silently, their lungs refusing to draw air properly under the strain, mouths open in soundless protest against a force no amount of shouting could push back against.
Mo Xuan felt the weight press into his mind, deeper than it pressed into his bones. It squeezed at his consciousness directly, testing its strength in a way none of the previous trials had attempted.
He closed his eyes and let the pressure wash over him. His consciousness absorbed the impact, each wave of pressure landing like a hammer strike, wiping away impurities. Without realising it, his spiritual consciousness was being refined and purified with every passing minute, growing sturdier and more expansive than it had been since first crossing into the Second Realm back at the sect. He continued resisting the crushing force without yielding. Though his knees trembled beneath him, threatening to give out entirely, he did not fall.
Minutes crawled into what felt like eternity. Some recruits fainted outright, collapsing where they stood without so much as a sound. Others vomited blood, the strain finally breaking something internal that no amount of willpower could hold together. Only a handful remained standing by the time the ordeal reached its peak, scattered across the yard.
Mo Xuan was among them.
When the sigils finally dimmed, the officer overseeing the trial spoke. "Those still awake, welcome to the Northern Border Army."
There was no praise in his voice. Survival here was merely the baseline expectation, nothing worth celebrating beyond simply having cleared it, the tone making clear that far harder tests waited ahead of anyone who mistook this for an accomplishment worth resting on.
Back in the barracks, silence filled the wooden room. Recruits lay motionless on their bunks, too exhausted to speak, let alone process what they'd just survived.
Mo Xuan rinsed the frost from his hands, wrapped his fingers carefully where the cold had cracked the skin, and sat down on his bed. His breathing stayed steady, calmer than most of the recruits around him still gasping for air, their chests heaving even in stillness.
But inside his chest, a spark burned. Anticipation. Resolve. And beneath both of those, a quiet, unexpected thrill he hadn't felt since the sect. This place would either break him entirely or forge him into something sharper than he'd ever been, and for the first time in days, that uncertainty felt less like a threat and more like an invitation.
Outside the window, snow continued falling softly over Northwatch Stronghold, indifferent to everything happening beneath it. Inside the barracks, Mo Xuan closed his eyes and prepared himself for the next dawn.
Dawn in Steel Frost Quarters always arrived like a hammer blow. Horn blasts tore through the barracks without warning, ordering every recruit out of bed before their minds were even fully awake.
Snow drifted down from the grey sky, silent and merciless. The cold bit deeply, an early reminder that the Northern Border cared nothing for comfort, regardless of how many trials a recruit had already survived to earn even a moment's rest.
Today was not a training day, but an assignment day.
The morning air hung heavy with tension as hundreds of recruits formed rows across the frozen yard, their breath misting in front of their faces in the pale early light. Their cultivation had been unsealed the night before, finally allowing them to feel whole again after days spent stripped of everything they'd built through years of practice, the return of that familiar internal warmth almost disorienting after so long without it.
The commander, a hawk tattoo inked across his bald head, strode to the front of the formation, his boots crunching against the ice with each measured step. In his hands he carried a thick, iron-bound scroll.
He did not open it right away. Instead, he pointed directly at the assembled recruits.
"Step forward if your primary weapon is the sword."
Dozens obeyed at once, Mo Xuan among them, falling into a loose cluster near the front, their expressions ranging from confident to merely curious about what came next.
"Take these."
Soldiers stepped forward, dumping long spears into their arms without explanation. The metal felt cold and heavy enough to numb bare skin within seconds of contact, an unfamiliar weight settling into hands that had spent years growing accustomed to something else entirely.
Confusion rippled through the sword users gathered together, murmurs passing between them as they exchanged the same unspoken question, glancing sideways at their neighbours for some explanation none of them could offer.
The officer ignored the reaction entirely and barked his next order. "Spearmen, step forward."
Those recruits were given swords in exchange, the same confused murmuring rising from their side of the formation now as well, several of them turning the unfamiliar blades over in their hands, checking whether some mistake had been made.
This time, actual voices rose in frustration and disbelief, no longer content to simply murmur among themselves.
One recruit stepped forward, unable to hold back any longer.