The moment the bronze gates of Sparrow City clanged open, the air seemed to shiver with tension. Hundred and ten teams spilled into the streets, a living river of ambition, each group surging forward with desperate determination. The horns blared again, sharp and insistent, echoing off the towers, a metallic drumbeat signaling the start of the Trial of Skill.
Lu Mao's eyes narrowed, scanning the surge of bodies around him. Every team ahead moved with purpose, some sprinting like hounds chasing a scent, others leaping and darting between alleyways, their auras flickering faintly as they tested the limits of their own qi. The city stretched before him, sprawling and chaotic, an intricate labyrinth of stone towers, crumbling walls, narrow alleys, and open courtyards. It was alive, breathing with the pulse of the Guild, a playground designed to test every shred of cunning and skill any candidate could muster.
Yan Mei glanced back at him as they moved, her expression unreadable in the sunlight. Her eyes were sharp, calculating, and yet there was a softness to them that belied the ruthlessness she would show once the trial began. "Listen closely," she said, her voice low but carrying over the wind that swept the city's heights. "By ourselves, we can't take a senior disciple head-on. The trial is designed that way. At least three or more teams will converge on a single orb at the same time. The first member to grab the orb and return it to the gathering ground—that's the team that wins. Every opportunity is precious. If we rush recklessly, we'll fail."
Lu Mao nodded, absorbing her words with a mix of curiosity and calculation. His gaze darted toward the flurry of motion around them. Rival teams were already breaking formation, moving like predators, their movements sharp, precise, each subtle flicker of aura revealing more than the candidates might suspect. Their faces were masks of determination, some arrogant, some anxious, all burning with the same desire.
He glanced at Yan Mei as she adjusted the straps of her gear and began leading the way toward the far-right gate. "Follow me," she said, her tone quiet but commanding. "Keep your qi in reserve. Don't use martial techniques yet. We'll pick our target carefully."
Lu Mao raised an eyebrow. Martial skills unused? That was unusual, but he quickly realized the wisdom in her words. Sprinting full-out, expending energy needlessly, would leave them vulnerable before the real opportunity presented itself. He glanced at the others. Bao Fu was panting slightly, sweat dotting his forehead, yet he matched the pace, though Lu Mao could see the effort in the boy's rotund frame. Chen Yuan walked with that arrogance of someone confident in their own skill, his eyes scanning every rival team. Marco was silent, methodical, calculating, his broad shoulders moving fluidly, his gaze always forward.
The streets beneath their feet shifted with the rhythm of the city. Towers rose like jagged teeth, some cracked and leaning as if centuries of wind and battle had gnawed at them. Between the buildings, alleys twisted unpredictably, hiding paths and exits that could be exploited for speed or strategy. The smell of dust, heated stone, and distant fires from the lower city wafted upward. Lu Mao's senses tingled, absorbing every detail—the sharp scent of burning incense from distant temples, the metallic tang of old weapons discarded in alleys, the faint fragrance of cooking wafting from rooftops where the less cautious inhabitants had left food unattended.
Yan Mei's voice cut through his observations. "The city is divided into factions. Thirty of them. Each orb is protected by one faction's senior disciple. Stronger factions have higher-level disciples, tougher defenses, more resources. We avoid them unless we're ready for a fight that will cost more than it's worth. We aim for the weaker factions. Easier to approach, fewer risks."
Lu Mao tilted his head, curiosity piqued. "Factions?" he asked. "What exactly are they?"
"Groups within the Guild," Yan Mei explained, her tone patient. "They operate missions across the city and plains. Each has its own hierarchy, strategies, and specialties. The higher-level factions have better training, more capable disciples. The lower-level factions… are where we'll have the best chance at success. But even then, the orbs are guarded. Careless or reckless teams will fail."
Bao Fu let out a small whistle. "Low-level factions, huh? Sounds like my kind of luck. My princess, you always think ahead!"
Lu Mao smirked, shooting Bao Fu a sidelong glance. He found the boy amusing, a chaotic spark in a team that already had a calculated edge. Chen Yuan scoffed softly, muttering something about not needing to rely on luck. Marco said nothing, as always, his silent assessment as sharp as any blade.
They reached the gates and emerged onto the high platform overlooking the city. The view stole Lu Mao's breath. Sparrow City was a sprawling network of stone and timber, roofs stretching like waves, towers clawing at the sky, and alleyways twisting below like veins in a living organism. The sunlight glinted off tiled rooftops, catching the edges of broken stone in flashes. Here and there, banners flapped, each embroidered with subtle insignias indicating the territories of factions within the city. From this height, he could see rival teams darting across rooftops, vaulting over walls, scaling narrow towers, all moving with a lethal grace that made his pulse quicken.
Yan Mei moved ahead with fluid precision, her footsteps silent yet deliberate. Lu Mao fell into step behind her, feeling the rhythm of the group, their own movements coordinated in instinctive understanding. "Do not engage yet," Yan Mei instructed, glancing back. "Conserve your energy. Avoid drawing attention. Our target is visible. It's the weakest of the factions' orbs. We only need one chance."
Lu Mao's curiosity burned. "Weakest… but which one?"
"You'll see," Yan Mei said, lips curling faintly. "It'll reveal itself soon enough."
The streets below were alive with motion. Teams leapt between walls, vaulting from roofs, their qi shimmering faintly in the morning light. Some rival groups were already clashing with senior disciples, sparks of aura lighting up the alleys as blows were exchanged. The sounds of grunts, steel clashing, and controlled exhalations of energy echoed faintly even from this distance. Lu Mao noted the chaos with a careful eye, understanding the layers of strategy unfolding even as the trial had just begun.
Bao Fu lagged slightly behind, panting but determined, waving a hand toward the rival teams as if signaling polite greetings while still following Yan Mei's pace. Chen Yuan's eyes flicked over every detail, analyzing, calculating who posed a threat and who could be ignored. Marco's gaze was forward, unwavering, scanning the rooftops and alleys for the orb's faint glow before anyone else could see it.
Their path took them past skirmishes where senior disciples were already engaged with multiple teams. A senior with a Blue Phoenix sigil fought with fluid precision against four separate teams, each move a dance of deadly control. Lu Mao's team didn't stop, moving past them without drawing attention, Yan Mei guiding them with quiet authority.
They slipped into an alley where another young senior disciple stood waiting, smirking with mild amusement. His aura was strong, confident, and he clearly expected challengers. Lu Mao glanced at Yan Mei. "Should we engage?"
She placed a hand on his shoulder, firm and guiding. "Not him. Ignore him."
Bao Fu waved lazily toward the smirking disciple, a gesture of exhaustion that spoke more than words could. The senior's eyes widened, confused, as the small team bypassed him entirely.
Two more senior disciples were ignored in the same fashion. Their confusion grew, and murmurs of frustration trailed in their wake, but Yan Mei's strategy remained clear. Observe, bypass, choose the optimal target.
Then, at the end of a narrow alley, Lu Mao noticed a sigil fluttering on a banner — dark, ominous, simple — yet distinct. Yan Mei stopped abruptly, her eyes flicking over the insignia with the faintest trace of calculation.
"It's here," she said, her voice low but commanding. "The Black Dragon Faction. Weakest of the factions in Sparrow City. Weakest of the Golden Sparrow Guild."
Lu Mao's eyes widened. Finally, the target revealed itself. The building before them was modest compared to the towering constructs around the city, yet it emanated a quiet authority, subtle but not entirely absent.
As they stepped into the open courtyard, a senior disciple emerged to meet them. Lu Mao's breath caught. She was stunning — pale as porcelain, eyes like carved crystal, lips soft and rosy. Her robes were white, flowing, and immaculate, yet the way she carried herself suggested skill and confidence beyond mere beauty. There was something almost ethereal about her, a presence that made even Yan Mei's striking elegance feel muted by comparison.
Lu Mao felt his chest tighten for a moment, though he masked it quickly. Bao Fu, however, couldn't help himself, whistling softly. "Yan Mei… sure knows my taste," he muttered.
Chen Yuan's laugh was low and sharp. "Doesn't matter. She'll see you as a pig anyway."
Before they could move, a new team arrived from behind, five individuals with malicious expressions, clearly seeking the same orb. One voice cut through the tension: "What a fine chick we've got here hiding."
Another chimed in, eyes gleaming. "True… there's no fun in fighting others without her."
Lu Mao's pulse quickened, but he forced his focus. "Time's come. Let's move before any others arrive."
Marco gave a single nod, silent and steady. "Yes."
The five of them activated their aura, a shimmering wave of energy manifesting subtly in the air, marking the activation of their martial skills. Lu Mao felt the familiar tightening in his chest, the anticipation, the edge of power coiling within him, ready to spring forth when the moment arrived.
From the corner of his eye, Lu Mao saw the other team mirror them, a perfect counterpoint, their own auras flaring in tandem. For a moment, time seemed to stretch — the city held its breath.
The Trial of Skill had truly begun. And Lu Mao knew, with a quiet certainty, that the next moments would test every ounce of wit, speed, and daring he possessed.