"Is he using a first-grade rune? My God, how pathetic. Look at him — he can barely crack the stone!"
The voices were close… filled with childish mockery.
But Mo Xing didn't turn, didn't even move.
His eyes stayed fixed on the stone slab before him, trying to break it with everything he had left…
But the effort wasn't enough.
Sweat trickled down from his forehead to his chin, then a small drop fell onto the dust.
He raised his hand again, slowly… as if it weighed more than his whole body.
He took a deep breath — then struck.
The sound of cracking stone merged with the silence.
It wasn't as strong as he wanted.
Someone laughed loudly, and the others followed.
Yet… he didn't react.
He just stood there, staring at the tiny cracks on the slab.
To him, those cracks weren't just a break — they were proof of his effort, of his stubbornness.
He lowered his head slightly, then looked up at the sky.
The moon was there — pale and weak — its dim light reflecting off the Moon Rose Rune engraved on his hand.
He stared at it for a long time, until the light blurred his vision.
"Two years…" he murmured quietly.
"Two years… and not a single step forward."
He sat down slowly.
Not to rest — but because his legs could no longer hold him.
His hands trembled, not from fear… but from exhaustion without end.
He clenched his fist, feeling the pulse of the Moon Rose Rune weaken within him, as if it were withering alongside him.
Every night ended the same way:
Sweat… silence… and a hollow sense of futility.
But tonight, something was different…
A faint sound — a distant cry — came from the direction of the village.
His head shot up, listening.
He wasn't sure… had he really heard it, or was it just his imagination?
He looked around — no one.
The air was still, the trees unmoving, everything the same as always.
He exhaled slowly and muttered under his breath,
"It doesn't matter…"
But the sound came again. Louder this time.
He froze, listening until it faded away, and the silence returned.
He walked home with heavy steps.
Each step stirred the dust, its scent mixing with his sweat.
He didn't wash. He didn't eat.
He sat on the edge of his bed, staring at his hands — thin fingers, cracked skin, old wounds that never healed.
He lifted his hand, staring at the scars covering his knuckles.
Those scars were the only things left that could still tell his story.
"Moon Rose Rune…" he whispered softly.
"Useless."
He fell silent for a long time after that.
He wasn't thinking of anything specific — only of the fatigue that had become part of him.
Finally, he lay down on his bed.
He stared at the ceiling for a long while… until his mind went blank.
He knew tomorrow wasn't just any day — the clan's trial was near.
But he felt no excitement.
All he felt was that he… was useless.
He closed his eyes, letting his thoughts fall away one by one.
And for the first time in a long while…
he simply wished to disappear.