I was the first to hit the water—my dive sent up arcs of spray, glinting under the turquoise sun. Seymour splashed in moments later, cutting through the surface like a drawn blade; then came Prince Edward, Ken Renzo, and Calvin Bedrock, each leaving behind a shockwave of displaced seafoam. The ocean, once again, was alive with Qi trails, but this time there was no sense of desperation—only resolve and exhaustion. The sea itself seemed to sigh in relief that there were no dragons lurking this time.
The ten-mile return was eerily calm. No monsters, no storms, just the rhythmic churn of limbs and breath, the faint shimmer of spirit energy in the water. Yet even in calm seas, competition brewed—Seymour's connection to the waves was undeniable. Midway through, he raised his palm to the current and whispered a low chant. The waters rippled obediently, forming a flowing corridor around him. He surged forward, passing me in a burst of sea-blue light.
I grinned even as Seymour's silhouette cut ahead of me. I muttered, conserving my Qi for the final stretch.
By the time we reached the Mystic Central coastline, the horizon was already filling with the returning cultivators—Seymour emerged first, hauling himself onto the sand, droplets of seawater cascading down his shoulders like a royal mantle. I was next, circulating eternal breath and smiling, followed closely by Prince Edward, Ken Renzo, and Calvin. Ichikawa stood waiting where the chariots gleamed in the sun, robes of flame unmoved by the sea breeze, his eyes like mirrors of still water. Ichikawa inclined his head slightly toward Seymour. "First to arrive. Admirable control over the sea."
Then his gaze moved to me, and for a heartbeat, the air felt heavier. "And you," Ichikawa said, his tone even, yet threaded with quiet pride. "Your battle against the Mystic Turquoise Sea Dragon was reckless, but… magnificent. The heavens take note of those who act without hesitation to save another."
Prince Edward straightened at that, his face still pale but brightened by genuine gratitude. "He truly did, Master Ichikawa. Without him—"
Ichikawa raised a hand, silencing him gently. "The sea itself bears witness. My spiritual senses followed every instant of your struggle. It was not only strength I observed, but heart."
He then turned to address the gathered twenty. "To the top five—your path continues. For the rest," his hand swept gracefully, and a gentle wave of Qi rippled through the air, drawing attention to the golden fruits many still clutched, "you have not failed. Each of you bears the Star Fruit of Immortal Radiance, a treasure that extends mortal life by twenty-five years. By my express permission, it is yours to keep—a reward worthy of your courage."
A murmur of astonishment ran through the group. Even the most stoic cultivators' eyes gleamed; a treasure like this was seldom given, never granted.
Ichikawa's lips curved into the faintest smile. "Cherish this lesson: the measure of a cultivator is not in victory alone, but in what one earns from the struggle."
The Emperor's tone left no room for delay. His eyes cut like blades of molten gold, steady on the five. "Now, we will return to the palace. You all will be allowed rest and refreshment. Afterward… we proceed to the final test."
A collective exhale swept through the twenty. Some bowed deeply in thanks, others simply collapsed onto the sand, clutching their Star Fruits like sacred relics. But for the five, the air seemed to hum—anticipation, exhaustion, a flicker of pride.
Servants hurried forward, leading the fiery chariots once more onto the coast. Each beast was a masterpiece of living flame: manes of white fire, hooves that struck the sand into glass. The air around them shimmered with heat.
Ichikawa stepped first onto his own chariot, robes of flame licking the wind. He turned, his hand raised. "Mount up."
I climbed aboard with the others, the leather hot beneath my palms, the chariot trembling as if impatient for flight. Seymour stood calm beside me, his hair still damp and eyes sharp as ever. Prince Edward muttered a quiet prayer, Ken adjusted the straps of his battle gear, and Calvin cracked his knuckles, a grin spreading across his face.
Ichikawa snapped the whip.
The fiery steeds reared back, neighing thunder into the sky. Flames leapt up from their hooves and spread beneath us in radiant waves. Then, with a single command, they launched forward.
The world blurred. The coastline vanished in a roar of wind and color as the chariots wheeled up into the firmament. Clouds tore apart under the heat of their passage, and the turquoise ocean below turned to ribbons of light.
The air was alive with the sound of rushing fire and ringing harnesses. From this height, the sea looked like a field of glass, and Mystic Capital shimmered on the horizon—a sprawling city of light and spirit towers, its walls gleaming with wards of gold and violet.
As we streaked toward it, the Emperor's voice reached us, carried by Qi through the roaring wind:
"The next feat will not measure your knowledge, but your wisdom."
The words lingered, heavy and electric, as the flaming chariots descended toward the heart of Mystic Capital.
The five of us were led through marble corridors lined with living murals — rivers of light that moved across the walls, depicting the founding of Mystic Central. Every few steps, spirit lanterns flickered to life, bowing gently as if recognizing victors. The scent of sandalwood and plum blossom filled the air, masking the faint metallic tang of cultivation energy still clinging to our bodies from the sea.
Servants opened the gilded doors to a private quarter — our reward chamber. The sight hit like a dream. Long tables gleamed beneath spirit lamps, laden with roasted meats, golden cheeses, baskets of radiant fruit, and casks of wines so potent their corks trembled with sealed Qi. The exhaustion from the trial bled away at the smell alone.
Ichikawa's attendants bowed and withdrew, leaving us to the quiet feast. Seymour immediately gravitated to the wines, pouring a cup with a smirk. Ken Renzo was already eyeing a platter of meat like it was a rival he meant to conquer. Prince Edward, in his ever-gilded composure, inspected one of the spirit cheeses with curiosity, while Calvin Bedrock simply dropped into a chair with a sigh that could have cracked boulders.
I, however, had something else in mind.
From my storage ring, I drew forth the Star Fruit — luminous even in the warm light of the hall. Its glow pulsed faintly, alive, as though containing a fragment of a small star's soul. "No sense waiting," I muttered, and took a bite.
The taste was indescribable — cool and sharp, like biting into the essence of spring sunlight. Then the rush came.
Every cell, every thread of Qi within me ignited in harmony. My dantian expanded, the flow of Eon Qi smooth as glass, and my spirit body hummed with subtle renewal. It wasn't the violent surge of a breakthrough — it was subtler, deeper. A quiet rewinding of time's pull.
I opened the Eye of Heaven. A golden screen unfolded before me, flickering with characters of celestial script. My stats glimmered like constellations.
Lifespan: 525 years → 550 years.
I couldn't help the grin that spread across my face. "It works. Twenty-five clean years."
Felicity's voice shimmered through my dantian, her tone amused. You sound pleased, young man.
I chuckled, swirling a goblet of spirit wine. "I'll take what I can get. Immortality's built one year at a time." The others were laughing now, the tension melting into camaraderie. Seymour raised his cup toward me. "To the survivors of the sea. And to our generous Emperor." We all raised our glasses. For a brief moment, the competition faded, replaced by warmth and the unspoken knowledge that the next trial — whatever it was — would push us far beyond this comfort.
The mood shifted the instant the attendant entered. His voice was crisp, polished—untroubled by the energy still simmering in the room. "Gentlemen, we are ready to proceed to the next phase. Please, follow me."
The laughter faded. Seymour set down his cup without a word; Ken adjusted his shoulder strap. The air thickened with quiet resolve. The camaraderie that had bloomed over meat and wine folded back into that old, sharp edge—rivals once more.
We fell into single file, the echo of our boots soft against the polished jade floor. The corridors of the imperial palace wound like veins of history, each turn revealing the weight of dynasty. Walls gleamed with spirit lacquer and were hung with banners depicting wars won, dragons tamed, treaties forged in Qi and blood. Sculptures of emperors past gazed down with the calm indifference of stone gods.
Then we came to a section where the walls were lined with portraits—royals and luminaries rendered in enchanted pigment that shimmered faintly with life. As we passed, one portrait caught the entire group's attention.
She was radiant—short to medium-length hair like captured sunfire, eyes a bright, mischievous green. Her expression walked the edge between playfulness and command, the kind of beauty that invited both reverence and trouble. Her robes were simple yet regal, embroidered with the crest of Mystic Central's imperial line.
For a breath, I forgot to move.
Behind me, someone gave a low whistle. "Who is that?" Calvin muttered. Ken gave a sharp grin. "I hear that's one of the Emperor's daughter, shes the champion of Mystic Central! ."
Even Seymour allowed himself a half-smile. "More dangerous than the sea dragons, that one."
The group fell silent. My gaze lingered a moment longer. There was something strange about the portrait—a faint shimmer about it, as though the paint itself hummed with intent. I could have sworn her eyes flicked toward us for half a heartbeat before we passed.
Felicity's voice stirred in my mind. Careful, Ash. Paintings that stare back usually mean one of two things: enchantment... or interest.
I smirked quietly but said nothing, following the attendant deeper into the royal maze, the lingering image of those green eyes burned into the back of my mind.
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