As his foot landed on the first step, a strange sensation flooded his entire body. His surroundings shifted entirely, plunging him into a desert of black sand. Calum looked around, puzzled. His bare feet pressed against ground hot as glowing coals. Any normal person would have started screaming their head off, the pain utterly unbearable.
Not Calum.
He had been born with two distinct "flaws." First, he could not feel pain—whether physical, mental, emotional, or even spiritual. Second, he was entirely incapable of feeling fear. Because of this, people sensed that something was fundamentally wrong with him, and his clan summarily alienated him. Only his father had accepted him, outlandish as he was.
These flaws were also believed to make him fundamentally unsuited for spiritual cultivation; his being was deemed "incomplete." His sense of Qi was almost nonexistent, and in the Sky-Reaching Continent, Qi affinity correlated directly to one's ability to cultivate. Consequently, an inferior Qi sense made someone a complete failure in the eyes of others. This was precisely why Calum had chosen to join a demonic sect, which routinely ignored such conventional limitations.
It seems otherworldly methods have been infused into these steps—either transporting one to another realm or plunging the mind into a hyper-realistic illusion. In either case, it's not something mere mortals can break. If so, I can only advance boldly.
Calum deliberated calmly.
Having assessed the situation, he simply walked forward. Standing still would not help him pass this test; it could even prove fatal.
He felt as though he had been walking through the desert for an eternity, with no end in sight. His feet were scorched and bloodied, his clothes in ruins, and his hair disheveled. Yet his expression remained completely unchanged; looking closely into his eyes, one would have seen only sheer boredom.
This terrain would have driven ordinary people to utter despair, but to him, it was merely tedious. Notably, despite his inability to feel physical pain, he could still precisely gauge the extent of the damage he sustained. His flesh was burned nearly to the bone—an injury severe enough to cripple the most robust man. Yet because of his unique constitution, Calum could keep walking indefinitely, so long as his physical vessel held together.
After what felt like another age, a shape flickered into view: an oasis. As he gazed at it, he realized his mouth and throat were parched like sandpaper. His body was suffering from severe dehydration, so he headed toward it. Whether it was a desert mirage or not, he didn't care; after all, there was already a strong chance he was trapped within an illusion.
Entering the oasis, he was greeted by verdant foliage and an emerald pool of water. The air itself felt incomparably fresh, creating a startling contrast with the blistering desert.
Ah, my wounds have vanished. My body is full of energy and vitality. All the ailments I suffered prior to entering the oasis are gone. This is incredible... truly, immortals are unfathomable. I, too, will become such a being.
As he walked deeper into the grove, he came upon an old man sitting cross-legged on the ground. Hearing footsteps, the old man looked up. Age lines ran across his face like the bark of an ancient tree, pure white hair cascaded down his back, and his cloudy eyes were heavy with the weight of countless years.
"Congratulations, youngster. You managed to pass the first part of the Nine Torments Trial. You can choose to stop here, and you will be accepted directly as an outer disciple," the elder said plainly.
"Thank you, senior. I wish to continue," Calum replied, cupping his fists respectfully.
"So be it. You may rest here for the night; tomorrow, you will face the second part of the trial."
Before the elder could finish speaking, he vanished into thin air like a fading mirage.
Left alone, Calum paused to think before foraging for food. An hour later, he found fresh fruits and edible herbs. At that point, he was even more bewildered than when he had first arrived. If this was a separate world, how could his physical injuries be healed so completely? If it was merely an illusion, how could it feel so vivid, entirely devoid of perceptual gaps?
Regardless, the only certainty was that the creators of this trial were absolute sadists. Giving a mental shrug, he sat by the water's edge and calmly ate his fill.
The previous trial was clearly testing individual willpower, endurance, and persistence. For anyone else, it would be exceptionally difficult. No wonder my father said that despite recruiting massively regardless of background or talent, the Demonic Saint Sect maintains a remarkably meager number of disciples compared to other powers.
Sighing, he realized there was indeed no such thing as a free meal. It had sounded too good to be true for a major sect to recruit indiscriminately without strict criteria. It turned out their vetting process was simply deferred to conditions far harsher than those of orthodox sects.
Feeling satiated, Calum leaned back against a rock. The fruits seemed infused with a unique energy that revitalized his frame. It felt as though he hadn't drawn a proper breath in days.
He closed his eyes and drifted into a dreamless sleep—until a piercing howl shattered the quiet.
The sound came from afar, carrying a chilling intent that closed the distance in a single blink. Calum snapped his eyes open, searching for the source. To his profound astonishment, the oasis was gone. In its place, he stood in the middle of a bleak, seemingly infinite plain.
He fixed his gaze on the creature before him: a dark wolf the size of a small cart. Suddenly, his father's sword materialized in his hand from the void, summoned as his implement to face the beast.
Is this the second part of the trial? Combat?
He wondered to himself. Fear did not grip his heart at the sight of the monstrous beast. On the contrary, he remained exceptionally calm. Though he had been unable to cultivate all these years, he had diligently practiced swordsmanship. According to his father, he possessed an extraordinary capacity for comprehension—had he been able to cultivate, it would have been like adding wings to a tiger.
He dropped into an open stance, his blade pointing downward as his eyes locked onto the creature. The wolf crouched slightly, preparing to pounce. Calum narrowed his eyes and shifted his footing, drawing the sword back to his waist as if sheathed in the empty air.
A blur.
The wolf vanished from sight, its speed so ferocious that the human eye could not track it. Without relying on his limited spiritual senses, Calum waited. His breathing deepened, and then he slashed forward. His sword flashed like a streak of light, severing flesh.
Calum hadn't needed to track the beast's approach; he had calculated the precise timing of its strike. Of course, it was also a gamble—after all, who was to say the wolf's trajectory would remain so straightforward? The decisive factor in the creature's swift demise, however, was the nature of the blade itself. It was no ordinary iron sword, but a Rank 3 spiritual artifact whose edge was peerlessly sharp.
As for whether equipping him with such a weapon defeated the purpose of a mortal trial, one could argue that pitting an uninitiated human against a monstrous beast capable of absorbing world Qi was sheer folly. Granted, the creature was barely a low-tier beast, yet it was far more ferocious and powerful than any mundane animal.
He flicked his blade, letting the beast's dark blood slide down the steel onto the ground. Turning away from the carcass, Calum chose a direction and pressed onward.
Along the way, he encountered more wolves. As if possessed, they attacked relentlessly without pause. No matter how adept he was with the blade, he inevitably sustained numerous wounds from the onslaught.
Even so, he kept moving forward. The plain seemed endless, and he soon understood that conventional concepts of distance did not apply in this bizarre dimension. Consequently, he focused entirely on slaying the beasts and pressing ahead.
After a time, the landscape finally shifted. The vast plain gave way to a dense, wondrous woodland. Calum stopped at the threshold, looking very much like a disgruntled beggar—his clothes in tatters, his body marred by bloodstains and raw wounds.
The scenery has changed, but does this mean I've completed the second part, or are we still within it? Well, since that senior hasn't appeared, the latter is more likely.
Calum mused quietly, taking a brief respite. He drew deep, measured breaths, his body teetering on the edge of collapse from accumulated fatigue. Yet Calum remained unmoved. Unless he passed out cold, his body could protest all it wanted; he had no intention of listening.
Anyone observing this scene would have felt a chill: the picture of an utterly exhausted physique paired with an impassive, indifferent face was deeply unsettling.
He took a step forward and crossed the boundary. Deeper in the woodland, the trees grew thick and intertwined, making advancement arduous. The sky was entirely blotted out by the towering canopy.
Before long, he ground to a halt. His entire body snapped to high alert. The brutal battles on the plains had honed his instincts to a razor's edge, and those instincts were now screaming that he was in mortal danger.
At some point, the ambient noise of birds and insects had completely vanished, as if fleeing in terror from an approaching horror.
"Tsk, tsk, tsk... look what we have here. A mere human dares venture into the Demonic Woodland? I applaud your bravery! For that, I shall reward you with a magnificent feast... of course, you are the main dish!"
From the shadows of the trees, a humanoid figure lunged straight toward him.