The First Move
The Trial of Strength was set. Three days from now, the sect would force every Outer Sect disciple to fight for their place.
Most were scrambling to prepare, desperate to avoid being cast out.
Xian Ye wasn't.
He wasn't concerned about losing. He was concerned about what would come after.
Because this trial wasn't just about eliminating the weak—it was a cover. A distraction.
The elders were looking for something, and if they even suspected him, the trial would be the least of his problems.
If he wanted to survive, he needed to take control first.
The Choice of a Weapon
Xian Ye walked into the Sect Armory, a massive stone chamber lined with racks of swords, spears, and polearms.
Outer Sect disciples weren't allowed to keep personal weapons. They had to borrow them from here before official trials.
Normally, disciples rushed in to claim the best swords. Xian Ye had no intention of fighting like everyone else.
Instead, he walked past the neatly arranged weapons, deeper into the armory, where the less conventional choices were kept.
There—half-buried under dust and forgotten by time—he found it.
A blade with no edge.
It looked like a sword, but the entire length of the weapon was blunt, forged from a dense, weighty metal. A training weapon, meant for building strength rather than combat.
To most, it was useless.
To Xian Ye, it was perfect.
He lifted it with one hand, testing its weight. The sheer density of the metal was absurd—this was meant for cultivators at the Foundation Realm or higher. An Outer Sect disciple would barely be able to lift it, let alone swing it in battle.
But when Xian Ye held it…
It felt natural.
He spun the weapon once, the motion fluid. Controlled.
The sigil beneath his skin pulsed faintly.
This was no ordinary blade.
It was a weapon that shouldn't be possible for someone at his level to wield—but his body remembered something his mind did not.
And that meant one thing.
"This will do."
A Warning from the Inner Sect
As Xian Ye left the armory, he noticed three disciples blocking his way.
They weren't Outer Sect.
They wore the black robes of the Inner Sect.
And their expressions made it clear they weren't here for friendly conversation.
One of them, a tall man with a scar across his cheek, stepped forward.
"Xian Ye, isn't it?"
Xian Ye didn't answer. He simply stared, waiting.
The man smirked.
"I don't know what you did, but you've drawn the wrong kind of attention."
"The elders are watching you."
The air between them grew tense.
"And if you make a wrong move during this trial—"
The man leaned in slightly, voice lowering.
"—you won't walk away from it."
Xian Ye's grip on the training blade tightened slightly.
A threat.
No—more than that. A warning.
The sect knew something was different about him. They weren't sure what yet, but they were preparing for the moment he slipped up.
The scarred disciple studied him for a moment longer, as if waiting for a reaction.
But Xian Ye gave him nothing.
After a moment, the Inner Sect disciple chuckled, stepping back.
"Enjoy the trial, Xian Ye."
Then, without another word, they left.
Xian Ye stood in silence, watching them disappear into the distance.
"They're already making their move."
He had no intention of waiting for them to strike first.
This trial wouldn't just be a test of strength.
It would be a battlefield.
And Xian Ye would make sure he was the one controlling it.