The sky above a hundred miles of wilderness was sealed beneath rolling clouds, thick and oppressive, as if the heavens themselves were holding their breath. Thunder rumbled endlessly, overlapping peals echoing through mountains and forests alike, forming a vast, suffocating dome of sound.
At the center of this storm, a young-looking man floated silently a hundred feet above the ground. His posture was steady, legs crossed in deep meditation, spine straight like an unyielding spear aimed at the heavens. Long black hair streamed freely behind him, lifted and pulled by violent winds, yet never falling into disorder. He wore black robes trimmed with thin white outlines, simple in design yet carrying an indescribable dignity that made him appear both aloof and terrifyingly handsome.
Around his body surged black-purple spiritual qi, dense enough to be visible to the naked eye. It did not merely circulate—it roared. Each rotation sent invisible shockwaves outward, flattening ancient trees and crushing the forest canopy as though a tsunami had swept across the land. Leaves were stripped bare, trunks cracked, and the earth itself trembled beneath the pressure of his aura.
Within a hundred miles, no living creature dared to approach. Beasts hid deep underground, cultivators fled long ago, and even insects had vanished. The forest had become a dead zone, suppressed by a single presence.
He was the strongest person in this world.
His cultivation had reached the Ninth Level of the Mahayana Stage, a realm spoken of only in legends. With a single thought, he could shatter mountains. With a single breath, he could still rivers. Mortals worshiped such beings as gods, and even peak cultivators bowed before them without hesitation.
Yet he was not satisfied.
Beyond this world lay the Immortal Realm—a higher plane where true eternal beings resided. To step into that domain, he needed to break through the final barrier, to transcend mortality itself. For that, he had chosen to face the ultimate trial: the Heavenly Tribulation.
Above him, the clouds began to churn violently.
The thunder grew sharper, heavier, as if each rumble carried judgment. Lightning flashed again and again, tearing open the sky. Then, slowly, something changed.
The clouds turned black.
Not dark gray, not storm-black, but an abyssal black that swallowed light itself. The lightning within them followed, transforming into jagged veins of pitch darkness. The thunder no longer sounded like the roar of nature—it screamed, distorted and chaotic, as though something ancient and hateful had awakened.
The final stage of the Heavenly Tribulation.
Chaotic Black Thunder.
It was said that even immortals had fallen beneath this thunder, their immortal bodies reduced to nothingness, their souls erased without leaving even ashes behind. This was not a test—it was an execution passed down by the heavens.
The young man remained unmoving.
One heartbeat.
The next instant, the black thunder descended.
It fell like a spear forged from chaos itself, crossing the distance in less than a breath and slamming straight into his body.
The impact shook the world.
His eyes snapped open, blazing with a deep purple-black light. Pain exploded through every inch of his being, beyond anything he had ever experienced. He threw his head back and roared, a raw, furious sound torn from his soul.
His robes ignited instantly, reduced to ash before they could even burn. The artifacts he wore—treasures refined over thousands of years—cracked, shattered, and disintegrated as if they were nothing more than brittle glass. Defensive formations collapsed one after another, erased by overwhelming force.
Black thunder crawled across his flesh like living serpents.
His body burned.
Skin split apart, blood vaporized, meridians shattered. Bones glowed briefly under the lightning before cracking and turning to dust. His cultivation base shook violently, threatening to collapse under the pressure of chaotic energy invading every corner of his existence.
Seconds stretched into minutes.
Each moment was pure agony.
Finally, his body could no longer endure.
With a final surge of black lightning, his physical form was completely destroyed—flesh, bones, and blood erased in a silent explosion of chaotic energy. Nothing remained where he had been floating.
The thunder stopped.
The black clouds dispersed as if they had never existed. The sky cleared, revealing calm blue heavens. Sunlight poured down gently, illuminating the devastated forest below.
The land slowly returned to life.
Birds cautiously emerged from hiding, their calls tentative at first, then growing louder. Beasts crept back into the forest. Leaves rustled once more as the wind softened, and the world resumed its natural rhythm, as though nothing extraordinary had happened.
One year later.
Early morning light spilled across the vast grounds of the Celestial Dignity Sect, bathing white stone platforms and towering staircases in a soft golden glow. Mist lingered in the air, drifting lazily between ancient buildings and spiritual trees, giving the entire sect an otherworldly, dignified atmosphere.
Celestial Dignity Sect was one of the most powerful sects on the Dragon Continent.
Its name alone was enough to make countless cultivators tremble with awe.
Today was disciple recruitment day.
At the foot of a massive staircase leading into the inner grounds of the sect, hundreds of youths aged around seventeen or eighteen had gathered. They stood on a broad platform paved with pristine white tiles, engraved with complex spiritual patterns that faintly shimmered under the morning sun.
The crowd was chaotic.
Some youths chatted excitedly, their faces filled with anticipation and pride. Others stood silently, arms crossed, eyes sharp and calculating as they observed everyone around them. There were also those whose tempers flared easily—arguments broke out, fists were clenched, and a few hot‑blooded idiots even exchanged blows, eager to prove who among them was the strongest before the test had even begun.
Above them, five stair levels higher, stood two male senior disciples of the Celestial Dignity Sect.
They wore flowing blue-gray sect robes, their expressions cold and indifferent, eyes filled with a faint sense of superiority. Their presence alone exerted pressure on the crowd below. These two were responsible for overseeing the entrance test, and to them, the people gathered below were nothing more than potential resources—either worthy of recruitment or trash to be discarded.
On both sides of the staircase, rows of ancient spiritual trees stood neatly aligned. Their trunks were thick and old, leaves rustling softly as spiritual qi circulated naturally around them.
Far from the noisy crowd, beneath one of the trees positioned at the edge of the platform, a lone figure sat quietly.
A young boy leaned against the tree trunk, apparently asleep.
His black hair was tied neatly behind his head, held in place by a small black‑silver metal crown engraved with unfamiliar runes. He wore a black outfit outlined in white, simple in design yet inexplicably eye‑catching, as though it did not belong to this place. His boots were high‑fitting, clean, and well‑made, showing no signs of wear despite the dusty ground.
Compared to the restless crowd nearby, he seemed completely out of place—calm, still, detached from everything around him.
Suddenly, his eyes snapped open.
They widened instantly, shock flashing across his face as his breathing turned uneven.
I am alive… I thought I was dead after that black thunder hit me.
His mind roared as memories surged back like a flood—rolling black clouds, chaotic thunder, unbearable pain, and the moment his body was destroyed under the final strike.
His hands trembled slightly as he looked down at himself.
His body was intact.
No burns. No shattered bones. No signs of destruction.
What the hell…
He slowly raised his head, eyes scanning his surroundings. All around him were unfamiliar faces—hundreds of youths standing on a vast platform, talking loudly, arguing, or staring at the staircase above with eyes filled with ambition.
What's going on here?
His brows furrowed.
Where am I?
Confusion mixed with disbelief surged through his heart. He clearly remembered dying under the Chaotic Black Thunder, yet here he was, breathing, sitting under a tree, surrounded by strangers.
The noise of the crowd filled his ears, grounding him in reality.
This was not an illusion.
He was alive.
And whatever had happened after that heavenly tribulation had brought him to this place, to this moment.
The young boy leaned back against the tree once more, eyes narrowing slightly as calm slowly replaced shock.