Chapter 37: Path Narrows

The glowing runes of the guardian arena dimmed slowly, and the silence left behind was heavy—not from tension, but from loss.

Not everyone had passed.

Jin Ye watched from the upper tier of the arena platform as the next cultivator—a young man in crimson and black—stepped forward. His robes bore the insignia of the Feng Clan, known for their flame cultivation, and his Qi pulsed erratically with tension.

"Feng Lian of the Fire Spiral Path," the formation declared, sealing the arena around him.

A few of the remaining cultivators whispered among themselves. Bai Xueqing arched an eyebrow. "He's supposed to be decent. Strong Qi output, but unstable."

Shen Li snorted. "We'll see how far 'decent' gets him."

The guardian formed—a lithe figure of flowing wind and glassy arms, flexible and unpredictable. A natural counter to fire.

Feng Lian growled, planting his stance. His hands blazed with red-gold energy as he activated his technique.

Flame Spiral Burst!

A swirling vortex of fire shot outward from his fists, racing to engulf the guardian in a cone of destructive force.

It hit dead-on.

For a second, it looked like the fight was already over.

Then the flames twisted, sucked inward.

The guardian's wind-formed arms spun in a spiral, absorbing the fire and redirecting it as a razor-sharp current.

Slicing Gale Return!

Feng Lian's own attack was thrown back at him—enhanced.

He screamed, trying to pivot, but it was too late. The flames—now infused with cutting wind—tore through his shoulder, knocking him to the ground.

The crowd winced.

He pushed himself up, blood dripping from his arm. He tried again.

Blazing Comet Fist!

He charged with a flaming punch aimed straight at the core of the guardian. The moment his fist touched it—

The guardian exploded in a shockwave of wind blades.

Feng Lian screamed and dropped.

The arena flashed red.

He failed.

The formation seized his body, lifting him in a cocoon of light before depositing him outside the gate with his sect mark erased.

The silence was thick.

Bai Xueqing folded her fan, her tone neutral. "All the power in the world means nothing if your control is lacking."

Feng Lian wasn't the only one.

Three more failed after him—one rogue cultivator was overwhelmed by a dual-weapon guardian that exploited his reliance on footwork. A Zhao Clan member couldn't break through a guardian's reflective defense formation, his strikes turned back on him with punishing force.

Another girl—a formation-focused cultivator—simply didn't have the raw speed to react in time. Her guardian used Shadow Leap Strikes, flitting behind her with each exchange until she panicked and activated a flawed barrier.

Crack.

Her formation shattered.

And so did her chance.

All of them were ejected—stripped of their marks and escorted out by the formation's will.

Shen Li crossed his arms, his expression darker.

"They trained for years. Just to fall like that."

Jin Ye didn't respond. He'd seen this before. In battle, it didn't matter how long you prepared—only that you adapted when it counted.

Not far from them, Liu Yan leaned against a stone column, his spear planted beside him, his jaw clenched tight.

His earlier clash with Jin Ye had left a deeper wound than the one on his ribs.

He hadn't spoken since. Not even to his fellow Liu Clan disciples, who whispered in tight circles behind him.

"He didn't even move to block."

"That robe... no way it's just Grade 1."

"Didn't they say he was Qi Refinement? That wasn't Qi Refinement power."

Jin Ye caught the looks. He didn't acknowledge them.

Instead, he rolled his shoulder and looked to the next staircase now forming at the far side of the guardian arena.

"Come on," he muttered, "we're not done yet."

The platform shifted with a dull groan, runes lighting the steps one by one. Beyond the staircase, the path twisted downward into a vast corridor of black stone and flickering torches.

It was quiet.

Too quiet.

Bai Xueqing stepped in beside him. "This place doesn't feel like ruins anymore."

Jin Ye nodded once. "It feels like it's still alive."

Shen Li sniffed the air and frowned. "Or watching."

As they walked, the walls seemed to breathe, Qi pulsing faintly through the stone like a vein system. Statues lined the edges—faceless monks in kneeling positions, their heads bowed toward the hallway.

Occasionally, Jin Ye would hear something—a whisper. A faint hum. A thought that wasn't his.

He didn't react. Not yet.

The others didn't seem to hear it.

But his body… his instincts were sharpening.

Whatever waited ahead, it wasn't just a trial.

It was a judgement.

The corridor eventually opened into a vast chamber, its ceiling lost in darkness, the floor divided by glowing lines of ancient formation script. Ahead, two archways stood tall—both pulsing with light, but each giving off a distinct presence.

On the left, the air radiated heaviness, as if weighted by spiritual gravity. A trial of endurance, likely one focused on body and defense.

On the right, the energy was more volatile, sharpened like a blade drawn from the sheath. A path for those who favored offense and precision.

Above them, golden letters burned into the air:

"Only twelve may enter each path. Choose your trial. Strength alone is no longer enough."

A murmur swept through the crowd. Some cultivators looked around, waiting to see where the strongest would go. Others pushed forward without hesitation.

"Move or lose your spot!" a Zhao Clan disciple barked, shoving past a stunned alchemist.

Jin Ye's eyes scanned the groups. The Liu Clan disciples lingered near the endurance path—no surprise, considering their spear arts relied on momentum and reinforced meridians.

Bai Xueqing tilted her head. "Left seems better for you, doesn't it?"

Shen Li cracked his knuckles. "Sure, if I felt like carrying deadweight."

Jin Ye stepped toward the right, the edge of the offensive path glowing brighter beneath his foot. "We go forward. Not sideways."

Shen Li and Bai followed without another word.

Behind them, a quiet figure in gray, bearing a Ren Clan crest, entered the left path alone, his eyes closed in quiet meditation. Nearby, a Zhao Clan enforcer turned down the right path, locking eyes with Jin Ye as he passed.

A silent challenge passed between them.

Only a few steps in, and already the alliances were unraveling.

The offensive path narrowed fast, winding like a serpent through the stone. The further they moved, the more the air shifted, now crackling with residual energy.

Suddenly, Bai Xueqing held out a hand. "Stop."

Frost gathered on her fingers as she waved them forward—thin, glimmering threads of ice extended ahead, clinging to the air like spider silk.

Mist-Cutting Ice Threads.

The threads pulsed against unseen barriers, revealing illusions layered over the hallway walls.

One step forward, and they would've walked straight into a Qi-locked compression glyph, meant to crush anything weaker than Foundation Establishment into paste.

Shen Li let out a low whistle. "This place really doesn't hold back."

Jin Ye focused, his refined spiritual sense pulsing out in a wave. Faint distortions danced across the floor—pressure plates masked by mirrored illusions.

"False floor. Leads to something worse below."

He reached out and dropped a small broken stone. It passed through the illusion and was immediately engulfed in purple flame from a sealed pit.

"Good catch," Bai said softly.

They advanced carefully. When a series of dart glyphs launched from the ceiling, Shen Li activated Steel Anchor Stance, letting the projectiles bounce harmlessly off his braced forearms.

"Keep moving," Jin Ye muttered. "No telling what's behind us."

Eventually, the traps ended, leading them into a hollowed-out chamber lined with ancient carvings and statues.

Each statue was a kneeling figure of stone, hands clasped, heads bowed—not in reverence, but in resignation. They pointed toward a sealed gate at the far end.

A monolith pulsed in the center, etched with runes that shifted with each breath taken in the room.

Jin Ye stepped closer—when something whispered to him.

Not in words, but in sensation. A weight behind his heart. A voice that didn't echo aloud, but inside.

"You should not be here, Fated One."

He froze.

The words felt like truth. But also, like a challenge.

Bai turned toward him. "Something wrong?"

Jin Ye shook his head slowly. "No. Just… the air's heavier in here."

He didn't lie. But he didn't share what he heard either.

Shen Li stood before one of the statues. "They all look like they gave up."

"No," Bai murmured, reading the ancient script near the monolith. "They were judged."

The gate ahead trembled. Runes lit up above it, burning into a single phrase:

"Only those who endure the weight of legacy may step forward."

The gate cracked open.

Jin Ye stepped forward first, his gaze steady.

Whatever judged those who came before—

he would meet it head-on.