The dungeon did not wait. Already, the stone beneath his feet began to shift. The cracked walls trembled, and the air itself bent unnaturally, twisting in ways no normal space should.
This place was not built like any mortal hall. The dungeon was a world stitched together by contradictions. Each chamber was a separate reality, its paths reshaping themselves with every victory, a shifting labyrinth designed to bend will and spirit until they snapped. Each finalist had been cast into a different path, each path winding and endless, crafted as if the dungeon itself were alive—watching, waiting, choosing.
And Wuxie, with a grin and a careless swing of his blade, stepped into the next.
Minjun's Trial
