Silence had settled over the trial grounds like a shroud after Jian Wushen's spear shattered the last guardian. The collective gasp of the crowd had died away, replaced by murmurs of disbelief that rippled through the disciples. Even the elders, known for their unshakable composure, sat with tightened jaws, their brows furrowed in thought.
Jian stood in the center, chest heaving, spear still gripped firmly in his hand. Sweat dripped from his brow, although he felt colder than ever—it was as if every nerve in his body had come alive, alert and aware. Around him, the rune lights on the platform dimmed, dissolving into soft embers as the guardians vanished.
A distant disciple's faint voice broke the silence. "He… he actually did it."
Others echoed, some louder:
"That spear technique…"
"He didn't just break the guardians—he destroyed them."
"Is this… his true strength?"
Disciples leaned forward. Some faces lit with admiration; others with envy. The mood had shifted—Jian was no longer a footnote. He had become tomorrow's headline.
Across the courtyard, Zhang Yifeng remained still, arms folded. His piercing gaze held Jian's for a long moment, inscrutable. When it shifted away, those watching felt the weight of that look—less an acknowledgment, more a wary respect.
The elder overseeing the trial rose from his seat, gaze sharp. He raised a hand, silencing the murmurs. "Jian Wushen… step down for now." His voice held authority, but also a note of surprise.
Jian bowed respectfully, shoulders steady, and exited the platform. Disciples parted for him like a river parting for a stone, curiosity shining in their eyes.
In the shadows, two elders exchanged words quietly.
"Did you see that?" one asked. "I underestimated him."
"Too late for regret," the other replied. "He holds the spear of legends now. We must reevaluate."
Jian returned to his place among the crowd. He didn't speak; he didn't need to. His eyes still burned with the memory of every clash, every spark, forged anew in his confidence.
Nearby, a group of disciples clustered in hushed conversation.
"He defeated all three guardians—it takes a veteran to do that. But he's still young."
"This is like… glimpsing the storm before it arrives."
One older disciple, with a hardened face, shook his head slowly. "Call it intuition. That spear… it isn't natural. It's the kind of weapon legends are forged by."
Jian heard none of it. His inner world pulsed with energy. He replayed every moment—the hum of the spear, the echo of steel, the flash of light. And then the recollection of the Oracle's voice, deep and silent: Return when you are ready. That voice had become a beacon.
The trial continued around him—others took their turns, successes and failures alike. But the crowd's eyes rarely left where Jian stood. He was the afterimage, the new standard.
As students filtered away, the elder calling the next challenger paused, looking at Jian as if weighing destiny itself. The hush that fell carried both awe and the faintest hint of fear—this spear might awaken more than just now.
Jian exhaled, steady. The path was only beginning—and now, everyone was watching.
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