Chapter 22: The Heaven’s Spiral Beckons
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A hush blanketed the Grand Arena as dawn crept over the distant peaks, casting golden rays upon the elevated platforms where the Top 8 stood. The once-raucous atmosphere of competition had transformed, replaced by something heavier, more sacred. The usual chants and cheers of disciples gave way to a reverent silence, broken only by the soft whirr of circulating spirit energy and the low hum of the arena's protective formations.
In the center, beneath the arched banners of the Inner Sect, the Grand Elder stood with hands clasped behind his back. The sunlight struck his pale, weathered robes, making the woven symbols of heaven and fate shimmer faintly. His gaze swept across the eight cultivators standing in a loose semi-circle before him.
Li Shen stood near the edge, arms relaxed at his sides, his presence quiet but sharp, like a blade sheathed at rest. His eyes moved slowly across his competitors. Gao Lei's brow was furrowed in concentration, his massive arms crossed. Ling Xia stood poised, her expression tranquil but taut as a drawn string. Wei Han's heavy aura flickered around him like an unstable flame, while Xue Jin, silent as ever, stood still with eyes closed, hair drifting despite the lack of wind. Ran Qiu was smirking—too confident by half—while Fang Yuan and Mu Yiren looked between the Grand Elder and the Illusory Arena with mixed expressions of fear and anticipation.
When the Grand Elder finally spoke, his voice carried through the silence with ease, deep and commanding.
> "Today, you stand not as warriors, but as seekers. The Heaven's Spiral is not a battleground of flesh, but of will and spirit. Within the Illusory Arena, your mind shall be the blade—and also the battlefield."
He paused, letting his words sink in. The air itself felt denser, pressing down on all who listened.
> "What you face within will be drawn from your own hearts. Fears. Flaws. Doubts. Some of you will conquer them. Others may not return whole. Remember—true strength lies not in how many you defeat, but in whether your Dao can survive its own shattering."
A wave of solemn energy pulsed outward as the Grand Elder gestured with two fingers, activating the heart of the formation. Intricate runes burst into light beneath the platform, interlocking into a radiant lotus that swallowed the Top 8 in a blinding storm of spiritual brilliance.
From the stands, thousands of cultivators gasped as the competitors vanished. In their place, eight massive spirit screens flickered to life above the arena, displaying swirling clouds of color, formless shadows, and stuttering pulses of light. The screens gave no clear view—only a sense, an impression—of what battles now raged within.
Atop the main viewing platform, a smaller screen, finer and clearer, shimmered before the Grand Elder and his trusted advisors. It showed fragmented visions, half-glimpses of landscapes and figures, symbols of each disciple's inner turmoil. Elder Guo leaned forward, eyes narrowing.
> "Their spirits are already beginning to fray," he murmured.
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Li Shen opened his eyes to nothing.
No light. No shadow. Just a void. A weightless, shapeless space that pulsed with ancient, intangible pressure. A breath later, the void cracked—and his nightmare began.
He stood amidst flames.
The sky overhead was a churned storm of red and black, and around him stretched the burning remnants of his home: the Heaven Destruction Clan. The scent of blood and burning wood flooded his senses. Screams tore through the smoke.
"Mother?"
His voice sounded young—too young. And when he looked down, he saw his child self: thin arms trembling, a bloodied tunic clinging to his frail frame. Powerless.
A figure staggered out of the smoke, face half-burned, crying his name. Then an explosion of Qi incinerated her mid-sentence.
He turned—but there was no enemy to strike, no blade to draw. This was not a battlefield of fists or weapons. This was memory. Pain. Failure.
A cruel whisper echoed around him.
> "You were too weak then… and you are still weak now."
He clenched his fists, nails digging into flesh.
> "These flames forged me," he said coldly. "They do not own me."
The illusion shifted. The flames vanished.
He now stood in a quiet hall, beneath the banner of the Heaven Suppression Sect. Murmurs filled the air, laughter tinged with mockery. His elders, his fellow disciples—all sneering.
"Look at the cursed one. Can't cultivate. Stuck. Stagnant."
"Heaven itself sealed his fate."
"You're broken, Li Shen. Why keep fighting?"
He tried to move—but found himself unable. No Qi flowed. No strength answered his call. His dantian felt hollow, a black void.
But even here, in this suffocating emptiness, he felt it—that flicker of resolve.
Blade Intent, Stage Three.
He closed his eyes. When he opened them again, the illusion had seams—cracks along the edges of people's faces, distortion in the walls. Like flaws in glass.
He raised his hand.
A shimmering edge of intent flowed from his palm, cutting through the false reality like silk. The laughter died. The hall shattered into a thousand fragments of silver light.
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The refined spirit screen before the Grand Elder flickered again.
One projection showed Gao Lei collapsed to his knees, trembling as the image of a lifeless comrade hovered above him.
Another showed Ling Xia spinning in a hall of mirrors, her every movement distorted, her usually graceful swordplay turned jagged and imprecise.
Wei Han thrashed within a vortex of crimson clouds, tearing at illusions of himself committing acts he'd never remember, his monstrous strength proving useless against inner torment.
Even the stoic Xue Jin trembled as deafening static overwhelmed her Wind Dao, her lips moving silently, eyes wide in desperate focus.
And yet, Li Shen's screen showed… calm.
A moment of fire, then ice. A shadow of torment—and then, nothing but steady, almost surgical clarity. Elder Guo frowned.
> "He's… cutting through them. The illusions. As if they're threads."
> "His Blade Intent is acting on more than physical perception," another elder noted. "It's slicing the bindings of the illusions themselves."
Zhou Tai leaned forward, watching the screen with narrowed eyes.
> "That cursed brat… how is he so stable?"
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Li Shen now stood before a mountain—impossibly tall, its peak veiled in celestial light. Runes of judgment glowed along its surface, and atop it, a throne of golden stone sat empty. A voice echoed from above.
> "Submit. All must bow before Heaven's Will."
A faceless figure appeared atop the throne, cloaked in divine energy—the perfect emblem of the Heaven Will Judgment Clan. Its voice boomed.
> "Your path is meaningless. Your rage is a child's tantrum. Bow, and be granted peace."
The weight of the heavens fell upon him. His knees buckled. His breathing slowed. The pressure wasn't just physical—it was spiritual, existential. It questioned his right to exist.
> "You will never be more than a footnote. Another rebel crushed beneath the stars."
But from within that crushing presence, another voice rose. Quieter. Colder. His own.
> "I've already died once."
He gritted his teeth, the image of the Asura Tomb flashing in his mind. Nine hundred twenty-two demon kills. Nine hundred twenty-two defiant strikes of will. He hadn't survived that place through luck. He had endured because his purpose burned brighter than the darkness.
He raised his hand again.
This time, the edge of his Blade Intent didn't shimmer—it roared. A silent storm of cutting force, not aimed at enemies, but at the illusion's very foundation.
The mountain cracked.
The golden throne trembled.
The voice faltered.
> "Impossible…"
"I do not bow."
With a final step, he surged forward—not climbing the mountain, but cutting through it, severing the illusion from root to peak.
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The smaller spirit screen went blank.
A moment of stunned silence.
Then—slowly—the projection of Li Shen reappeared. Still surrounded by the void, but now floating in calm, meditative stillness. No distortion. No torment. Only silent clarity.
The Grand Elder leaned back slightly, a deep breath escaping him.
> "His mind… is like tempered steel."
Elder Guo's lips were tight.
> "Or something even more dangerous."
Below, the larger public screens rippled, some beginning to show the others collapsing, screaming, or shaking. A few competitors' spirit lines began to destabilize, and medical elders moved into position.
But Li Shen remained steady.
Zhou Tai turned from the screen, unable to watch.
> "He won't last. He can't last. That curse of his—"
"—has become his armor," the Grand Elder finished softly.