Ficool

Chapter 26 - The Trial of Endurance

The sun had long since reached its peak, yet its warmth did little to ease the unrelenting strain pressing down upon the participants. The stone steps of the White Crane Sect's trial stretched endlessly upward, vanishing into the sky like a stairway to the heavens. Each step was a crucible, grinding will and body alike beneath invisible pressure.

The mountain did not roar, did not rage, did not move—yet it broke people all the same.

By now, the air was thick with ragged breaths and stifled groans. Sacks stuffed with heavy materials clung to backs like anchors, and every rise of the staircase seemed to multiply their weight. The once-proud and cocky cultivators who had jeered at their fellows now looked no different than beaten dogs, dragging themselves step by step with eyes glazed in exhaustion.

At the 200th step, bodies already littered the staircase. Some sat slumped against the stone, too weak to rise. Others had fainted entirely, their sacks rolling back down toward the foot of the mountain. The Examiner seated upon his crane only watched, arms folded, his sharp gaze unblinking.

"Pathetic," he muttered under his breath. "If the mountain alone can crush them, what right do they have to seek the White Crane Sect ?"

The staircase was a living silence punctuated only by suffering. Then came a muffled thud—a lean youth collapsed to his knees, clutching his chest as his sack slid from his back. His lips moved, voice hoarse:

"No… not like this… I trained for years…"

He reached for the next step but his body betrayed him, falling flat against the stone. The staircase did not wait—it welcomed another failure into its fold.

Others paused, their gazes darting nervously, some clearly weighing whether their own pride was worth more than their breath.

Yet above them, the determined remained.

The silver-haired youth with embroidered robes moved with disciplined grace, but even his steps had grown heavier, his smooth composure now marred by sweat beading across his brow. His teeth clenched with every rise, his qi swirling around him in controlled waves to shield his body from collapse.

Beside him, a scar-faced youth with two sacks strapped to his back snarled like a beast. His veins bulged with effort, every muscle in his arms and legs trembling as if about to snap. Yet he forced one foot after the other, blood trickling down his lip from biting through it. He earned the wary respect of those nearby—even the arrogant silver-haired youth spared him a glance.

Then there was Hei Long.

He was no different from the others. His face was pale, his breath ragged, and his legs trembled with every step. The sack on his back dragged him down like a mountain of iron, his spine bending under its weight. Sweat streamed down his temples, stinging his eyes, but he refused to stop.

At times his knees buckled, forcing him to catch himself against the step with bloodied palms. His vision blurred, and the air itself seemed to crush his chest until every breath was a battle. More than once, it looked as though he would collapse like the countless others already littering the staircase.

But each time, he bit down hard, drew on the faint threads of qi running through his body, and forced himself upright again. His progress was slow, uneven, and tortured—but it was progress. Step by step, he climbed, not with the elegance of the silver-haired youth nor the ferocity of the burly man, but with stubborn, unyielding will.

The burly cultivator who carried not only his sack but also that of a frail young woman grunted as he ascended just a few steps ahead of Hei Long. His breaths came like thunder, but his spirit blazed all the brighter for it. "Keep moving!" he bellowed—not just to her, but to everyone within earshot. "If you stop, you're finished!"

Some drew strength from his roar; others only grimaced, dragging themselves further.

By the 300th step, rivalries flared openly. A dark-haired woman with sharp, predatory eyes matched the silver-haired youth step for step, her aura shimmering fiercely. Neither spoke, but every glance they traded was a challenge. Behind them, another participant snapped under the strain, roaring defiantly as he tossed his sack aside.

"I don't need this burden! I'll climb with my own strength!"

The moment he did, the mountain itself seemed to respond. Pressure tripled around him, slamming him face-first into the stone. His scream echoed as his bones creaked under the weight, his arrogance crushed into silence.

The Examiner chuckled softly, his voice carrying faint mockery. "The mountain spares no weakness… nor arrogance."

By the 400th step, the sun had begun to dip, and the survivors had dwindled to a fraction of the thousands who had begun. Sweat, blood, and torn clothing marked them all. Every step now carried the weight of a lifetime.

Hei Long's arms shook violently as he reached for the next ledge. His lungs burned as if filled with fire. He nearly collapsed—yet his teeth ground down, a guttural growl escaping as he forced his body forward. In that moment, he resembled not a prodigy nor a failure, but something more primal: a man who refused to bow.

Around him, others struggled in their own ways. The scar-faced youth staggered but tightened the knots around his sacks, swearing aloud. The silver-haired man raised his qi defenses higher, every ounce of concentration etched into his features. The burly cultivator roared again, his two burdens swaying dangerously on his back.

The staircase was no longer just a trial—it was a battlefield of wills.

And step by step, fewer remained.

Above, the Examiner's eyes gleamed with cruel satisfaction. "Good," he murmured, his crane shifting its wings beneath him. "Now… let's see who breaks last."

More Chapters