The pure innocence Liam radiated conflicted with what the basin had shown. Only a bottomlessly foul feeling could have caused that terrible reaction in the liquid, but Carl saw no trace of it in Liam's expression.
Still, the test had been clear. Despite Liam's incredible talent, Carl couldn't allow him to become a cultivator. The Recruiters Guild had strict orders to filter out anyone who might harbor resentment toward the Dragon Kingdom.
"The seed of resentment has infected you deeply," Carl declared. "The Guild will warn everyone. No Sect will ever awaken your core."
Carl lowered his arm now, sighing helplessly. It was truly a waste to reject a kid with such potential, especially due to the benefits that pushing him toward a specific Sect could bring to the Guild, but his hands were tied.
Of course, Liam was clueless about those topics. He only had Carl's previous words to go on, leading to another innocent question.
"But," Liam muttered, furrowing his brow, "Can I be a cultivator without awakening my core?"
That second burst of blinding, youthful innocence made Carl sigh again. It seemed Liam wasn't the sharpest tool in the shed, but he was also to blame for not explaining himself clearly.
"You will never be a cultivator," Carl explained. "This test revealed your impure motivations. It's a pity to let your talent go to waste, but this is for the best."
Liam's eyes went wide at that point. That outcome had always been a possibility, but its manifestation uncovered Liam's unwillingness to give up on his goals.
"No, please, Sir Uncle Carl," Liam pleaded, stepping forward. "You said I have the talent, right? I must become a cultivator. Otherwise-!"
Liam couldn't finish his line since something suddenly appeared in front of him. His survival instincts reacted, his hair standing on end, prompting a swift retreat that put him at the caravan's edge.
Carl had somehow jumped over the basin without making any sound, his size not hindering that instantaneous move at all. His expression had grown stern, exerting an invisible pressure that made Liam feel incredibly small.
"Otherwise?" Carl asked, taking a single step forward, somehow managing to freeze Liam's entire being.
'Crap!' Liam realized his mistake, but was utterly powerless. Despite his screaming fear, his body wouldn't move, forcing him to watch as Carl took another step forward, reaching him.
"Never utter those words," Carl warned, his chilling voice sounding like knives in Liam's ears. "Don't even think them. I can pretend nothing happened because you are a child. I wouldn't be able to if you were a cultivator."
Actually, Carl could still report the incident, delivering a terrible punishment to Liam. Yet, Liam's blinding innocence had tugged his heartstrings, saving him from that fate.
"See this as mercy," Carl continued. "Now, get out."
Liam felt able to move again, and his body didn't hesitate to summon the training from the mountain. He leaped without turning, crossing the caravan's curtains, crashing on his butt on the muddy square, only for his figure to roll to soften the landing.
"Next!" The envoy's voice resounded from the closing curtains while Liam was still sitting in the mud, too shocked to move.
Still, Liam's ears were far too sharp for mere shock to deafen them. His dramatic exit from the caravan had caught the surrounding crowd's attention, triggering an incessant series of whispers he couldn't help but hear.
Everyone around the caravan also shot glances at Liam, which joined his internal shock to turn it into panic. The mountain had only taught him one way of dealing with that, so he jumped to his feet and darted away, planning to return to his treasured home.
The journey back to the mountain felt like a blur. Liam didn't see anything, letting his expert legs lead him through paths he had long since committed to memory.
Meanwhile, other memories resurfaced. Liam's father, mother, and sister's screams echoed in his ears, blending with the voices of the four men who had carried out the Screening in his old house.
The memory was so deafening that Liam almost missed when the first drop fell on his head. Still, a second arrived, and countless more followed, eventually forcing him to acknowledge the rain.
Nevertheless, that did little to distract Liam. His awareness of his surroundings only returned when he was deep inside the mountain, standing in front of a particularly big tree with thick roots poking out of the ground.
As if possessed, Liam kneeled among a specific spot between two thick roots, digging through the increasingly muddy ground with his bare hands, ignoring the intensifying rain.
Liam had to dig until he could fit his entire forearm underground before his fingers touched something cold. He gripped onto it, pulling with all the strength he could muster, landing on his butt once he retrieved what he had hidden ten years ago.
A metal stick ending in a circular shape appeared in the open, only for the heavy rain to clean it of the mud it had captured. The process revealed the tip's true nature, which was a dragon-shaped stamp identical to the mark on Liam's right forearm.
Luck had wanted for Adrian to go through the Screening before Liam, so his father had been able to forge an illegal stamp by using his burn as a blueprint. Cyrus was a good blacksmith, and he hadn't hesitated to cover for Liam after he found him in his old house, still hidden in the trapdoor with his family's corpses lying above.
Yet, Liam couldn't help but think that all that had been for naught. As he stared blankly at the stamp, he believed he had survived the Bloodline Screening just to live with the memory of its tragedy, cursed to know that he was powerless to make it right.
The four voices Liam had forced himself to remember felt pointless, too, his desire for revenge being nothing more than a childish dream that didn't want to disappear.
Even now, Liam kept hearing those voices, always accompanied by his family's screams, which shielded his ears from the rain. Part of him felt as if he had lost, but his itching forearm turned his torrent of emotions into anger, making him lift the stamp to slam it into the tree.
Nevertheless, a firm hand grabbed Liam's wrist before he could complete the action, and a familiar sensation washed over him. The same pressure he had experienced in Carl's presence descended, but his body was able to move now, so he tilted his head to look up.
The rain dampened everything, acting as Liam's incredible hearing's greatest enemy. However, he had grown used to that, too. At least, his ears were good enough to spot anyone nearby despite the eventual downpours.
But that skill didn't work now, and it failed against the most unlikely character. Liam saw the old man from earlier standing behind him, his disheveled hair and unkempt beard somehow immune to the rain, while an uncommonly focused gaze met his.
"Crazy Uncle?" Liam called, confused, too full of emotions to remember that he was holding an item that could earn him a death sentence.
"The hand of fate beckons," The old man stated, his voice deep and eerie. "Will you take it and let a terrible destiny unfold? Or will you refuse it and wallow in self-pity for the rest of your days?"