The sun crawled higher in the sky, drenching the mountainside in molten gold. Yet its warmth was a cruel deception, offering no comfort to those still climbing. The steps of the Heaven's Trial grew steeper, wider, and heavier with each passing breath. What had begun as a test of strength had warped into a battle of will against an invisible executioner pressing down from above.
Thousands had begun this climb at dawn. Now, only a fraction remained moving. The rest lay scattered across the endless stone staircase like broken dolls—groaning, unconscious, or eerily still. The cries of the defeated carried downward, swallowed by the mountain's silence until they became nothing more than faint whispers of failure.
By the 150th step, the first illusions of invincibility had shattered.
A sharp-eyed youth, who earlier mocked weaker climbers, now sat slumped against the cold stone. His chest heaved violently, fingers clutching at his sack as though it were a beast choking him alive. Sweat drenched his robes, his arrogance reduced to ash.
"You… you can't be serious…" he wheezed. His sack slipped from his trembling hands, tumbling noisily down the steps before disappearing into the crowd below.
The sound drew bitter laughter from one participant who staggered past him. "So much for your boasting," the man rasped, before nearly collapsing himself.
Above, the Examiner remained seated on his crane, robes fluttering in the breeze, his arms folded in bored detachment. Yet his sharp eyes missed nothing. He watched the prideful youth's collapse with disdain, his lips curling faintly.
"Empty bravado crumbles quickest," he muttered, voice carrying eerily across the steps. "The mountain knows the truth of your spirit, and it is merciless."
By the 200th step, the weight became suffocating. Even the strongest were forced to channel Qi to reinforce their bodies.
The air shimmered with protective auras, but for many it was like throwing water onto a raging fire—their reserves drained alarmingly fast. Groans filled the air as cultivators dropped one by one, clutching at their cores as their Qi sputtered out. Some crawled a few steps more before collapsing flat, unable to rise.
A young woman, her long dark hair clinging to her sweat-soaked face, stumbled forward on shaking knees. She pressed both palms onto the step before her, but her body refused to obey. Just as despair clouded her eyes, a calloused hand thrust down before her.
"Come on," said a burly man with thick arms and a face lined by scars. His own breathing was ragged, but his voice carried unshakable resolve. "We didn't come this far to bow here."
She hesitated, shame flickering in her gaze, then grabbed his hand. He hauled her up with a grunt, hoisting both her weight and his own sack onto his back. With a roar of effort, he climbed onward, carrying two burdens as though daring the mountain to stop him.
From his perch, the Examiner leaned forward, his gaze narrowing. "Hm… selflessness at the edge of ruin. Admirable… but foolish. The mountain rewards strength, not sentiment."
At the 250th step, the crowd stirred as a silver-haired man emerged from the throng. His embroidered robes swayed elegantly with each stride, and though the pressure pressed as heavily on him as on the rest, his movements betrayed no strain. Qi flowed around him like a gentle tide, a flawless rhythm of control that mocked the struggles of those gasping beside him.
He paused briefly, casting a calm glance over the broken participants littering the steps. A faint smile touched his lips—cold, detached—before he continued upward as though this trial were nothing more than a leisurely stroll.
Whispers followed in his wake.
"That's him… the Heaven's Pavilion genius."
"Look at him—walking as if the mountain bends for him."
The masked figure in black, climbing steadily a few steps below, caught the sight of the silver-haired prodigy. His distinctive blue eyes narrowed behind the mask, but he offered no comment, his pace neither quickening nor faltering. Each step he took was deliberate, his silence a veil thicker than steel.
Tension rippled among the climbers. Rivalries formed unspoken; comparisons bred envy and hatred.
By the 270th step, that envy boiled over.
A scarred youth with bulging muscles snarled, veins bulging as he watched the silver-haired prodigy glide upward. Rage twisted his face.
"Enough of this!" he bellowed. His sack slammed onto the steps, cracking stone. His aura burst outward in a blaze of Qi, wrapping his body in a storm of violent energy. Ignoring the weight of the mountain, he launched himself upward in great, thunderous strides.
The result was immediate.
The mountain itself seemed to awaken in anger. The air rippled violently as the pressure multiplied around him, slamming his body down mid-step with a bone-jarring crack. Blood sprayed from his mouth as his knees smashed against the stone. He clawed at the steps, screaming in agony as the invisible force crushed his bones.
Gasps echoed among the participants. Some shrank back, trembling.
The Examiner laughed coldly, shaking his head. "And thus impatience reaps its harvest. The mountain will not be mocked. Those who defy its rhythm will be buried by it."
The scarred youth twitched once, then lay still, pinned like an insect beneath the weight of his own arrogance. His body rolled lifelessly down several steps, coming to rest among the fallen.
Fear rippled through the survivors. Pride cracked. Confidence bled into panic. The staircase reeked of sweat, blood, and despair.
By the 300th step, fewer than one in five remained climbing. The others lay strewn across the steps like offerings to a merciless altar.
The sharp-eyed woman, her aura flaring bright as a flame, pushed herself onward beside the silver-haired prodigy, her gaze sharp with challenge. Not to be outdone, she matched his every step, teeth clenched in stubborn defiance. Sparks of rivalry danced between them with every movement.
The burly man continued dragging both sacks, roaring with each stride as if to drown out his own suffering. His companion staggered beside him, tears streaming down her face, whispering prayers to any deity who might listen.
The masked figure in black remained silent, his steady pace unnerving to those who noticed. He neither faltered nor flaunted his strength. His calm was maddening—like a predator pacing, waiting for the perfect strike.
Above them all, the Examiner's smirk widened. He sat straighter on his crane, his robes rippling as the wind carried his words down the mountain.
"The wheat is separated from the chaff. The mountain has no patience for mediocrity. Those who yet remain… perhaps you may one day touch the sky."
As the sun dipped lower, the steps bathed in golden fire, the survivors climbed still. Bloodied, exhausted, yet unbroken. The summit loomed, a promise and a curse.
And the mountain pressed down harder.