The courtyard was quiet in the late afternoon, the sky washed in pale orange. Stephen's blade traced arcs of light through the air—sharp, controlled, unbroken. The First Form of the sword technique flowed into the Second, the shift still imperfect, but no longer the clumsy stumble it had been days ago. Every muscle in his body trembled, yet his stance held steady.
He exhaled, long and slow.
Sweat rolled down his neck and soaked the collar of his shirt. His palms burned with dull ache, and the repeated swings echoed in his bones. The world around him blurred into the steady rhythm of movements, breath, and steel.
A final step, a final cut.
He sheathed the sword.
The courtyard stones were still warm from the sun when he dropped down, legs shaking beneath him. For a moment, he simply stared up at the sky, letting the silence settle into his lungs. The shade of the outpost walls cooled his skin, and the buzzing at the back of his mind gradually quieted.
He should have felt proud.Instead, a single image lingered in the darkness behind his eyes—blood-grey mist, twisted bones, and helpless screams.
He had tried to avoid thinking about the rift. But the stories that spread through the outpost like wildfire these past weeks made it impossible to forget.
Saints had to intervene.Saints.
The Federation had dispatched an elite strike team—seasoned veterans from multiple divisions. And even they had been pushed to the brink until two beings who stood at the apex of human civilization arrived and ended the disaster as casually as one might crush insects.
Stephen pressed the heel of his palm against his forehead and laughed once, hollowly.
That day… I thought I would die.
His hand drifted unconsciously toward the place his Aspect Souls slept. The sparrow's cry still echoed in his soul sea on sleepless nights—a flash of azure wings, crystalline light wrapping around him, tearing him away from death. Every time he remembered, the moment felt unreal, as if someone had taken his body and moved it against time itself.
If I didn't have that sparrow… I would have died. Simple as that.
He sat there for a while longer, letting exhaustion blur the edges of his thoughts.
When he finally stood, his legs were stiff, and his head felt light. He wiped sweat from his chin and crossed the courtyard toward the dormitory. The outpost doors slid shut behind him with a muted hiss.
Inside, the rumor mill had quieted, but the tension hadn't. Every aspiring Hunter who wanted to join the academies walked as if the floor might give way under their feet. People spoke in hushed voices, glancing toward the officers' wing whenever a shadow passed by the corridor.
The Federation had announced that the second examination phase would be held soon—two days from now, in a valley located three kilometers outside the city. The location had a name, whispered through camp circles with a mixture of reverence and dread:
White Moon Valley.
No one knew the rules.No one knew how many would compete.But everyone understood one truth:
The weak would be eliminated.And elimination did not always mean failure—sometimes it simply meant not coming back.
Stephen had learned something else recently—something the Federation didn't openly admit.
The second phase wouldn't only involve examinees from Ironveil City.Two neighboring cities would send their candidates as well:
Earthmountain CitySwordcloud City
Three cities. One valley. Countless ambitions colliding like storm fronts.
He groaned softly.Wonderful. Even more people who can kill me.
His body only half recovered, Stephen climbed the stairs to the library level. The rows of shelves stretched deeper than he'd expected the first night he had entered them—packed with tomes on cultivation, physiology, weapon refinements, runic principles, and the Federation's history.
Nothing past the Master Realm, of course. The Federation liked its secrets sealed behind tiers of merit and authority.
But for someone like him?
It was more than enough.
He pulled a thick leather-bound text from the third shelf—"Introduction to Federated Internal Circuits: Apprentice Foundation."
He had already gone through it once. Today would be the second.
Sitting in his usual corner by the high windows, he pressed his fingertips against the diagrams, tracing the flow of energy detailed across the pages.
Cultivation was frighteningly expensive.
Energy stones, spirit meals, purity stabilizers, meridian cleansers—none of it was cheap. He had burned through merit points faster than he could comprehend. Meals alone cost five points a serving, and he needed two to function properly after long training or cultivation sessions. Add energy supplements and the occasional healing ointment…
He checked the tally in the corner of his ID band.
20 merit points remaining out of the 100 he had been granted.
He rested his forehead against the book and exhaled.
If I'm this drained at Apprentice Realm, what happens when I reach Grandmaster? Or… Saint?
It wasn't hard to understand why so many rogue cultivators abandoned independence and aligned themselves with clans, military corps, or influential families. Without resources, talent was like a candle in the rain.
Humility pressed in from every direction.
He was weaker than he had ever realized.Ignorant of the larger world.Blind to the real weight of power.
He closed the book gently.
I can't think too far ahead. Not yet. I can only get stronger.
He returned the tome, then checked out two more—one on rune fundamentals, another on energy flow stabilization. The sun was dipping low by the time he stepped out of the library.
Evening lights flickered awake across the hallways.
Stephen stopped by the cafeteria on the way back to the dormitories. His body was still burning through energy, and he had already learned the consequences of ignoring that hunger once—a night of cultivation so intense that he lost control of his meridians and nearly spiraled into qi deviation. Only emergency spirit pills had saved him.
He ordered dinner and asked the attendant to prepare the same meal as a carryout.
The clerk raised an eyebrow at the request but didn't ask questions. Everyone was preparing for the coming trial in their own way.
By the time Stephen left with the food container tucked under his arm, the sky beyond the outpost walls was a deep cobalt. The air tasted crisp and sharp, like iron and pine.
He paused at the threshold of his room, fingers lingering on the doorknob.
The world he knew had always seemed small—maybe even manageable. A place where one simply trained, grew, and fought their peers.
Now?
That illusion had shattered.Saints existed.Ancient powers acted from shadows.Entire generations played at wars they did not understand.
And somewhere out there, beings beyond human comprehension watched humanity with hungry eyes.
He stepped inside, shut the door, and locked it.
Tonight would be another long session.Tomorrow, he would visit White Moon Valley ahead of the others.He needed to see the competition with his own eyes.
Stephen sat cross-legged on the bed, breath slowing, the pulse of spiritual energy gathering around his palms.
The second examination loomed like a blade against the horizon.
And whether he was ready or not, the blade would fall.