Chapter 17: Into the Trial Realm
Chapter 17: Into the Trial Realm
The night of the auction burned with excitement, leaving cultivators restless in their beds. Flux, however, left early. While Ryo marveled at rare artifacts and tallied spirit stone values in his head, Flux remained quiet, his thoughts already drifting toward the challenge ahead.
By the time dawn broke, the entire city was awake.
A thunderous gong shook the sky, resonating across Mologan City's spiritual veins. A ripple of qi passed through every inn, sect lodging, and street as an announcement flared into life—ethereal words blooming across the sky in golden script:
"All participants of the Mologan Grand Tournament, report to the Outer Court Plaza. Mandatory attendance."
Flux opened his eyes before the message faded. He stood, stretched, and slung his blade over his back.
---
In the plaza, thousands gathered. The crowd was even larger than the day before. The tension was palpable—sharp.
"Not wasting time, are they?" Ryo muttered, slipping through the press of bodies to meet Flux. "Barely slept. Still buzzing from that pendant Xavier bought. What do you think it was?"
"I don't know," Flux replied simply.
Ryo rolled his eyes. "Of course it was."
Surrounding them, the plaza buzzed with voices.
"I heard some sects brought Nascent Soul disciples disguised as inner ones—cheating bastards."
"Crimson Veil's disciples? They're smiling too much. That's never good."
"Night Lotus Pavilion's here? Damn it. I thought they were banned last tournament!"
Flux listened quietly, absorbing it all. He watched expressions shift from confidence to uncertainty, eyes flitting from known sects to unfamiliar powerhouses.
A tall disciple nearby leaned toward Flux. "First time? Don't get caught in a three-way fight. That's how most first-timers get dropped before the first hour."
His friend nodded. "Keep moving. Never stop. Unless you're baiting."
Ryo blinked. "Uh, thanks for the tip, fellas."
More whispers drifted in the rising wind.
"Did you hear? The prodigy from the Reus Clan—Xavier—he's participating solo."
"He bought something strange last night. Jade pendant. Rumors are flying."
Then came the pressure.
Elders shimmered into existence high above the crowd. Their presence doused the plaza like a sudden storm. One by one, they appeared: floating silently, robes glinting with Dao-forged threads, eyes sharp with cultivation honed over centuries.
An elder with jade-green eyes stepped forward, arms clasped behind his back.
"Participants," he said, his voice ringing clear across the plaza, magnified by a floating voice-transmission formation. "The auction has concluded. The city is settled. The trial begins in one week."
The cultivators stirred. Murmurs flared again.
"You will have six days to prepare," the elder continued. "On the seventh morning, you will be teleported into the trial realm."
A pause.
"Some of you may already be prepared. Others... should use the time wisely."
He raised a single palm. "The trial realm is vast, ancient, and real. It draws from a living pocket dimension seeded with demon beasts, terrain shifts, and illusory hazards. It is not designed for fairness."
Whispers erupted. Some cultivators cursed softly. Others grinned like wolves.
"You will enter alone or in teams of no more than three. However, your landing locations will be random. The trial will last three days."
He extended a single finger. "Each of you will receive one jade token. To qualify for the second phase of the tournament, you must possess three tokens when the trial ends."
An elder added coolly, "This rule does not require you to fight—but it does require you to survive."
Another elder—this one with silver hair bound in rings—spoke. "You are forbidden from intentionally killing your fellow participants. Our overseers will intervene if such actions are detected. Any attempt to bypass this will be punished."
Several cultivators winced. Others quietly relaxed.
Then the final elder, his voice darker and calm like a flowing river, said, "Six days. No more. Choose your preparations carefully. Once the trial begins, your excuses will not matter."
The platform vanished.
The plaza exploded with sound.
Cultivators turned, swarming toward marketplaces, inns, and secluded courtyards. Some vanished instantly, teleporting away with prepared scrolls. Others barked orders to junior disciples.
Ryo scratched his head. "Six days. That's... not a lot."
"I won't waste them," Flux said.
He turned and walked away, already vanishing into the crowd.
---
The Six Days of Training
Flux traveled south, far from the city noise, to a mist-veiled glade hidden beyond the cliffs. Spirit qi here was cold, dense, and untouched. Ideal.
He started with Miststep Flow.
Day One:
He failed.
Each attempt left him stumbling mid-step, unable to sync movement and breath. The mist scattered, uncontrolled.
"Too shallow… The qi isn't sinking into my meridians fast enough. My timing is off."
His breath hitched after each try, heart pounding with irritation.
"No. I'm rushing. Speed without rhythm is chaos."
He stared at the glade, eyes narrowing. "Again."
Day Two:
Progress.
His steps quieted. Movements flowed. The mist began to respond to his presence.
"Better. It's listening now. The fog isn't resisting me—it's watching."
A calm settled over him as he began to feel the weight and subtle pull of the technique.
"This is like a conversation… not a command. I move, the mist answers."
Day Three:
Mastery.
He blinked from one point to another with seamless rhythm, feet vanishing mid-stride, never disrupting the swirling fog.
He exhaled softly, watching a trail of mist swirl behind him like a whisper.
"Now we move together."
There was no smile, but something loosened in his chest.
"One flaw smears everything. But one perfect step… rewrites the path."
---
Then came Whirling Crescent.
Day Four:
Awkward arcs. He over-swung. The blade resisted.
"Too heavy. It's not the sword—it's me. I'm dragging the wind, not riding it."
He stopped after a sloppy rotation, panting.
"It's not a cut. It's a current. The blade isn't a tool—it's a limb. Move with it."
Day Five:
He danced.
The sword moved with him, carving through wind and silence. Mist followed each crescent slash.
He twirled mid-step, watching his blade echo in the haze.
"That's it. Don't force the arc. Feel the turn. The edge is just the beginning."
His strikes began to flow without thought.
"Crescent after crescent… the sky will fall before the rhythm breaks."
Day Six:
His body screamed. Blood lined his hands. But his eyes never left the storm he created.
Each strike flowed into the next, like wind feeding fire.
Pain rippled up his arms, but he welcomed it.
"This… this is mine now."
Even as his vision blurred, he kept moving, feet light, strikes precise.
"My body will catch up. It has to. The technique is already there."
---
On the seventh morning, Flux stood atop a lone stone.
The mist no longer parted for him.
It danced with him.
---
Back at the Tournament Grounds
The plaza was filled again.
Flux returned in silence, eyes calm, blade wrapped in pale cloth. The teleportation array glowed in waiting. Ryo rushed to meet him.
"Still alive. Good. That's step one," Ryo grinned. "Ready to dive into spiritual madness?"
Flux gave a faint nod.
Nearby, groups chatted, argued, or sharpened their swords.
"I heard someone rented a top-grade formation room for 300 spirit stones a day just to train."
"My sectmate lost his jade token in a bet. He's screwed."
"Look at that guy—he's glowing with lightning. Literal lightning!"
Flux's gaze drifted toward the far side of the plaza.
Xavier Reu appeared—alone, calm, unreadable. Every step he took seemed to quiet those around him.
"I can't put it into words, but there's something really strange about him."Flux though.
Ryo exhaled slowly. "He's definitely going to be trouble."
The array began to hum. Elders floated back into the sky, cold and silent.
Flux adjusted the sword at his back. No more preparation. No more delay.