Testing

The silence that followed my awakening was thick, suffocating, like the air before a storm. No one moved. No one spoke. Even the wind seemed to hold its breath. The Desert Eagle hung in the air, its metallic sheen glinting like a predator's eye, and for a moment, I thought I saw fear flicker in the faces of the crowd. Fear of me. Fear of the unknown.

But fear is a fragile thing, and it doesn't last long.

No one stopped me as I walked away. Not my father, not Gong Mingli, not even the elders who had spent their lives enforcing the rules of the clan. They were too stunned, too shaken by the impossible. A spiritless boy awakening a spirit? It was heresy. It was chaos. And chaos, as I was learning, has a way of freezing people in place.

I didn't look back. I didn't need to. I could feel their eyes on me, their gazes heavy with disbelief and something darker—something like hate. I wanted to get out of there, to put as much distance between myself and that cursed stage as possible. My boots crunched against the gravel path, the sound sharp and final, like the closing of a coffin lid.

But just as I reached the edge of the grounds, a voice cut through the silence. It was soft, girlish, and dripping with poison.

"Hahaha… His spirit is so 'trash' it's not even recorded in the Book of Spirits!" Xue Xiaoqing's laughter rang out, high and cruel, like the shattering of glass. "No wonder! A trash can only awaken a trash spirit!"

I didn't turn. I didn't stop. But I felt her words like a knife twisting in my gut. The crowd, frozen in their shock, thawed instantly. Laughter erupted, sharp and jagged, as the spell of fear broke. They needed this. Needed to tear me down, to remind themselves that I was still the failure, the outcast, the boy who didn't belong.

"Just a trash!" someone shouted, their voice thick with scorn.

"Pathetic!" another sneered.

The insults came faster now, a torrent of venom that washed over me like a wave. I kept walking, my fists clenched at my sides, my jaw tight. Behind me, I could feel my father's gaze shift, his piercing stare lifting from my back. His relief was almost tangible, a man unburdened by the weight of his son's potential.

And then, cutting through the noise like a blade, came Gong Mingli's laugh. It was a wet, guttural sound, full of malice and triumph. He had been waiting for this moment, waiting to see me humiliated, and now he reveled in it.

"One month from now," my father's voice boomed, silencing the crowd, "the Black Elephant Sect will hold its examinations. Train hard. This way, you might yet join your brothers and sisters in the sect."

The words were a death sentence, delivered with the cold precision of a executioner's axe. The Black Elephant Sect—the most prestigious, most ruthless institution on the continent. Every year, three were chosen from Red Blood City. Three out of thousands. My six brothers and three sisters had all made the cut, their names etched in gold in the annals of the clan. And me? The seventh son. The spiritless runt. The one who didn't belong.

I didn't look back. I didn't need to. I already knew the truth. Without a spirit root, I had no chance. The trials were a gauntlet of spirit beasts, poisoned puzzles, and merciless duels. They were designed to break the weak, to cull the unworthy. And I was the weakest of them all.

Or so they thought.

As I walked, the Desert Eagle's weight stirred in my mind, a low, resonant hum that vibrated in my bones. It was there, waiting, a secret coiled in the shadows. 'Cheat', the voice whispered, the same one that had spoken of guns and glory. 'Cheat. Cheat. Cheat.'

The word pulsed in time with my heartbeat, a promise and a threat. I didn't know what the Eagle was, or where it had come from, but I knew one thing: it was my only hope.

The Black Elephant Sect's trials were legend, a crucible that forged the strong and destroyed the weak. But I wasn't strong. I wasn't even whole.

And yet, as I walked away from the laughter, the insults, the disdain, I felt something stir inside me. A spark. A flicker of defiance.

Maybe I didn't have a spirit root. Maybe I was trash in their eyes.

But the Eagle was real. And the Eagle hungered.

The ceremony was over, but its weight clung to me like a second skin, heavy and suffocating. I stumbled back to my room, the echoes of laughter and scorn still ringing in my ears. The door creaked shut behind me, and I collapsed onto the bed, the thin mattress groaning under my weight. My chest heaved as I took deep, shuddering breaths, trying to calm the storm raging inside me. The air in the room was stale, thick with the scent of dust and neglect, and it felt like the walls were closing in, pressing down on me with the weight of everything that had happened.

The ceremony had been a nightmare, a circus of humiliation where I was the main attraction. My father's cold indifference, Xue Xiaoqing's venomous laughter, Gong Mingli's smug smirk—it all played on a loop in my mind, each memory a fresh cut. I clenched my fists, my nails digging into my palms, and forced myself to breathe. In. Out. In. Out. But the calm wouldn't come. How could it? From this day forward, my life in Red Blood City would be a living hell.

My father had disowned me, not with words, but with silence. That silence was louder than any declaration, and it echoed through the clan like a death knell. The bullies would come, drawn like vultures to carrion. Not just my brothers, who had already left for the Black Elephant Sect, but the common folk too—merchants' sons, minor nobles, anyone with an ego to stroke and a grudge to settle. They would see me as easy prey, a fallen prince to kick while he was down.

And then there were Xue Xiaoqing and Gong Weiyuan. I could feel their malice like a storm on the horizon, dark and inevitable. They wouldn't let this go. They would come for me, not just to humiliate me, but to break me. The thought sent a shiver down my spine, but beneath the fear, there was something else—a spark of defiance, faint but growing.

"I have to test the powers of the Desert Eagle as soon as possible," I murmured, my voice barely above a whisper. The words felt strange, foreign, as if they belonged to someone else. But they were mine. And they were true.

I sat up, the bed creaking in protest, and glanced out the window. Night had fallen, the sky a deep, inky black studded with cold, distant stars. The city was quiet, the streets empty, but I knew better than to think I was safe. Eyes were everywhere, watching, waiting. I grabbed a black cloak from the corner of the room, the fabric coarse and heavy, and draped it over my shoulders. The hood shadowed my face, hiding me from prying eyes.

I slipped out of the courtyard, my footsteps silent on the cobblestones. The forest loomed in the distance, a dark, jagged silhouette against the night sky. It was a place of shadows and secrets, and tonight, it would be my sanctuary. I moved quickly, my breath coming in short, sharp bursts, my heart pounding in my chest. The city faded behind me, its lights swallowed by the darkness, and soon I was alone, the only sound the crunch of leaves underfoot and the distant hoot of an owl.

The forest was vast, its ancient trees towering overhead like silent sentinels. My father and his army cleared the area of dangerous beasts regularly, but the woods still had an air of menace, a primal wildness that made my skin crawl. I pushed deeper, the darkness closing in around me, until I found a small clearing bathed in pale moonlight. This was it. This was where I would test the Desert Eagle.

I took a deep breath, the air cool and sharp in my lungs, and summoned the gun. It materialized in my hand with a faint hum, its weight familiar yet alien. The metal was cold against my skin, the grip textured and solid. I stared at it, the moonlight glinting off its barrel, and felt a strange mix of awe and unease. This was no ordinary spirit. It was something else—something darker, something hungry.

I raised the gun, my hand steady despite the storm raging inside me. The forest was silent, as if holding its breath, waiting to see what I would do. I squeezed the trigger.

The sound was deafening, a thunderclap that shattered the stillness of the night. The bullet tore through the air, striking a tree with a crack that echoed through the woods. Splinters flew, and the tree shuddered, its trunk now marred by a gaping hole. I stared at the damage, my heart pounding, my breath coming in ragged gasps. The power was real. The power was 'mine'.

But as I lowered the gun, a chill crept up my spine. The forest felt different now, the shadows deeper, the silence heavier. I could feel something watching me, something ancient and hungry. The Desert Eagle pulsed in my hand, its hum growing louder, more insistent. It wasn't just a weapon. It was a key. And I had just unlocked something I didn't fully understand.