The stone pillars of the Sigu Sect trial grounds stood tall, their ancient carvings gleaming faintly in the morning light. Hundreds of disciples lined the grand arena, their gazes locked on the trial platform. The air was thick with incense and the faint crackle of spiritual energy from the trial formation. Even the whispers seemed heavy, every sound weighed down by the intensity of the occasion.
Jian Wushen stood silently among the gathered disciples, his figure straight yet unassuming. His grip tightened slightly around the Immortal Spear as his thoughts lingered on the strange vision he had just experienced—the endless labyrinth of mirrors, the mysterious Oracle cloaked in silver, and the words that still echoed in his mind:
"You are not strong enough. Return when the time is right."
In that world, he had fallen. He had not been able to conquer himself. He had not been chosen. At least, not yet.
But to those watching from the outside, all they had seen was Jian Wushen momentarily falter during his trial, his body stiff as if struck by invisible force, then withdrawing without a word. The elders had exchanged glances, their sharp gazes narrowing, but they said nothing.
Now, it was no longer his turn.
"Next challenger—Zhang Yifeng of the Zhang family!"
The voice of the elder overseeing the trial resounded like a hammer, and a wave of murmurs erupted through the audience.
"It's him… the youngest son of the Zhang family."
"I heard he broke through to the Martial Lord realm at only seventeen!"
"They say his talent surpasses even some of the core disciples…"
Disciples leaned forward, excitement flashing in their eyes. Even the elders shifted slightly in their seats, their expressions unreadable but their attention undeniable.
From the far side of the trial grounds, a young man stepped forward. His steps were slow but firm, each one resonating faintly with the trial formation beneath. His figure was tall and straight, his robes of deep blue embroidered with silver thread that shimmered under the light. His eyes were calm, like a pool of still water, yet within them lay the sharpness of a drawn blade.
This was Zhang Yifeng—the prodigy of the Zhang family, the pride of his generation.
He walked without arrogance, yet his presence alone made the crowd instinctively fall silent. It was not the silence of respect, but of awe. He did not need to declare his strength; it radiated from him naturally.
Jian Wushen's gaze followed Zhang Yifeng closely. Every movement, every breath, every faint ripple of energy around him was imprinted in Jian's mind. There was no denying it—this youth's aura was worlds apart from the average disciple.
"He's different…" Jian muttered under his breath.
The trial formation lit up as Zhang Yifeng stepped onto the platform. Golden runes flared along the stone floor, weaving together into a barrier that shimmered faintly. Within moments, three towering figures of condensed spiritual energy materialized before him—trial guardians, each holding a different weapon: a sword, a halberd, and a spear.
The crowd erupted again.
"The trial guardians already feel more solid than before. Is it because it's him?"
"As expected of a prodigy. Even the formation acknowledges his talent!"
"This will be a fight worth remembering."
Zhang Yifeng's expression did not change. He drew his saber slowly, the steel glinting with a faint silver sheen. The sound of the blade leaving its scabbard rang crisp and clear, cutting through the murmurs like thunder through clouds.
He moved.
There was no hesitation, no unnecessary flourish. In a single step, he closed the distance to the guardian with the sword. His saber descended like a comet falling from the heavens—clean, sharp, merciless. The guardian's blade came up to meet him, but in that instant, the audience saw something shocking.
The guardian's weapon split in half.
The entire guardian itself followed, its form dissolving into sparks of light.
Gasps filled the arena.
"One strike! He destroyed it with a single strike!"
"His comprehension of saber intent… it's already at this level?"
"At seventeen years old, how is that even possible?"
Zhang Yifeng did not pause. His saber arced again, flowing seamlessly into the next motion. He turned on his heel, meeting the halberd-wielding guardian head-on. Their weapons clashed, spiritual energy surging like a tidal wave. The ground beneath his feet cracked, but Zhang Yifeng stood firm. With a twist of his wrist, he redirected the guardian's attack, then slashed upward.
The guardian crumbled into fragments of light.
The last guardian let out a roar, charging with its spear thrusting like a dragon piercing the sky. For the first time, Zhang Yifeng's eyes sharpened, his aura surging like a storm. His body blurred, vanishing for an instant, only to reappear right before the guardian. His saber struck again—no wasted movement, no hesitation.
The guardian froze. A thin line of light ran down its form before it shattered completely, disappearing into nothingness.
Silence.
The entire trial ground was utterly silent.
Then, as if released from a spell, the crowd erupted.
"Incredible!"
"That was artistry!"
"This Zhang Yifeng… he's truly the brightest star of this generation."
Even some elders nodded faintly, their gazes filled with rare approval.
Jian Wushen stood among the disciples, his grip tightening around the Immortal Spear. His heart burned—not with envy, but with determination.
So this is the level of the so-called prodigies of this generation… he thought. I may not have his recognition, not yet. But I have seen something far greater. The Oracle, the Nexus… the Nine Galaxies. He shines now, but my path stretches further than he can imagine.
He said nothing. He did not need to. His silence was his vow.
The trial continued, but in the hearts of the disciples, Zhang Yifeng's name was etched deeply. As for Jian Wushen, he remained unnoticed by most, just another figure among the crowd. But within him, the fire blazed brighter than ever before.
The Oracle's words echoed once more. "Return when you are ready."
And Jian Wushen knew—he would.
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