The Road to the Sky-Piercing City

The path from the docking platform to the city proper was a magnificent architectural marvel known as the Sky-Walk. It was a wide, suspended causeway carved from the same luminous white stone as the city itself, arcing gracefully through the open air. Walking on it felt like treading on a ribbon of solidified cloud, with the dizzying, breathtaking expanse of the valley floor thousands of feet below.

For the newly arrived geniuses, this walk was their first parade. They strode in proud, cliquish groups, their voices loud and confident. Their retinues followed, carrying ornate chests and banners that proclaimed their noble lineage. They were peacocks displaying their feathers, each one trying to subtly assert their dominance before the trials had even begun.

Amrit walked alone, a quiet stream flowing through a river of boisterous rapids. He kept a steady, unhurried pace, his presence so unassuming that he was practically invisible. The other young nobles, sizing each other up with predatory gazes, glanced at him and saw nothing of note—no powerful aura being deliberately flaunted, no priceless artifacts on display, no entourage of powerful guards. They saw a minor cultivator from a minor land and dismissed him instantly.

This anonymity was a powerful shield, allowing him to observe without being observed. His spiritual sense, a silent and subtle net, swept over the passing groups, gathering information. The system in his mind provided a constant, flowing commentary.

He passed the phoenix-like princess from the south.

[Target: Princess Fenghua of the Vermilion Sun Empire.]

[Realm: Spirit Sea - Second Stage. Foundation: Excellent (Imperial Phoenix Bloodline). Possesses a nascent Divine Fire. Primary Cultivation Art: 'Blazing Sky Sutra.' Threat Level: High.]

He passed the wild-eyed youth with the scimitar.

[Target: Khulan of the Sand-Walker Tribes.]

[Realm: Peak Body Tempering (On the verge of breakthrough). Foundation: Savage (Tempered in life-or-death beast hunts). Possesses an innate connection to the wind element. Primary Cultivation Art: 'Blade-Dancer's Gale.' Threat Level: Moderate (High potential).]

He saw sons of grand dukes, daughters of sect masters, and chosen champions of ancient clans. Each one was a powerhouse, a one-in-a-million talent. Any one of them could have been the undisputed hegemon of a smaller kingdom like Kshirapura. Here, they were simply part of the crowd. The sheer concentration of genius was staggering.

As he walked, a commotion erupted ahead. A lavishly decorated sky-carriage, pulled by four majestic griffins, had landed directly on the Sky-Walk, blocking the path. This was a flagrant violation of the rules—all transports were meant to stay at the docking platforms. This act was a deliberate, arrogant display of privilege.

The carriage door opened, and a young man stepped out. He was tall and impossibly handsome, with silver hair that seemed to catch the light and eyes the color of pale amethysts. He was dressed in robes of exquisite silver and purple silk, embroidered with the sigil of a coiled, celestial dragon. A palpable aura of ancient power and immense wealth radiated from him.

"Make way for Prince Valerius of the Draconian Empire!" a herald announced, his voice magically amplified.

The crowd of proud geniuses, who had been strutting moments before, fell silent. Many even took a half-step back, their expressions a mixture of awe, envy, and fear. The Draconian Empire was one of the continent's true hegemons, a colossal power whose influence stretched across a dozen vassal kingdoms. Its royal family was said to possess the blood of ancient dragons, granting them unparalleled talent and authority.

Prince Valerius surveyed the crowd with an air of bored indifference, as if he were a dragon observing a field of ants. His gaze swept over them, dismissing each one, until it landed on Princess Fenghua.

"Princess," he said, his voice smooth as silk but laced with an undercurrent of command. "It has been too long. My father sends his regards to your Emperor. We should dine together before the entrance trials begin."

It was less an invitation and more a royal summons.

Princess Fenghua, whose fiery aura had intimidated everyone else, seemed to dim slightly in his presence. She offered a polite, if strained, smile. "Prince Valerius. Your arrival is as grand as ever. I would be delighted."

Valerius gave a slight, satisfied nod, then his gaze continued its sweep, finally landing on Amrit, who had simply stopped walking and was observing the scene with a neutral expression. Valerius's amethyst eyes lingered on him for a moment, a flicker of curiosity in them. It was the look of a collector who had spotted an unusual, though likely worthless, pebble.

Amrit's plainness, his utter lack of a powerful aura or overt status, made him an anomaly in this sea of peacocks. Valerius's gaze passed over Bhim's powerful frame or Jian's sharp intent without a second thought—they were just guards. But Amrit, a participant walking alone with no presence, was odd.

He dismissed Amrit a moment later and gestured for his retinue to clear the path. The other young nobles scrambled to get out of his way, creating a wide berth for the imperial prince.

Amrit did not move. He simply stood his ground, an unmovable stone in the river.

One of Valerius's guards, a hulking man in dragon-scale armor, stomped towards Amrit. "Out of the way, peasant!" he snarled, reaching out to shove Amrit aside.

The guard's hand was about to make contact with Amrit's shoulder. Amrit did not tense. He did not prepare to retaliate. He simply allowed a minuscule, almost undetectable pulse of his spiritual pressure to leak out. It was not a wave of power. It was a single, needle-sharp point of pure, conceptual intent from his Divine Ocean—the intent of his Soul-Sunder blade.

The armored guard froze mid-shove, his hand hovering an inch from Amrit's robe. His face went deathly pale. His body trembled. The other nobles felt nothing, but the guard, the direct target of that intent, felt as if the concept of death itself had just whispered his name. He felt as if a million invisible blades were resting against his soul, ready to shred it to ribbons. His Spirit Sea, the pride of a royal guard, nearly shattered from the sheer, terrifying pressure.

He stumbled back, his eyes wide with a terror so profound he couldn't even scream. He looked at Amrit, no longer as a peasant, but as a primordial, soul-devouring horror in human form.

Valerius, whose senses were far more acute, felt the faint ripple. His bored expression vanished, replaced by a sharp, focused intensity. He looked at Amrit with new eyes. He had felt that whisper of intent, an power so pure and so deadly it defied his own draconic understanding.

He raised a hand, stopping his other guards from advancing. "Enough," he commanded, his silken voice now holding a hint of steel. He looked directly at Amrit, his amethyst eyes trying to pierce the veil of normalcy that surrounded him. "You have my apologies for my guard's… enthusiasm. May I know your name and kingdom?"

The entire Sky-Walk fell silent. Prince Valerius, the heir to the Draconian Empire, was apologizing to an unknown youth. It was an unprecedented event.

Amrit met the imperial prince's gaze without flinching. "My name is Amrit," he said, his voice calm and even. "I am from Kshirapura."

Valerius tasted the names on his tongue. He had never heard of either. And that made the mystery even deeper. How could an absolute unknown from a backwater kingdom possess such a terrifying, perfectly controlled spirit-weapon intent?

"Amrit of Kshirapura," Valerius repeated, committing the name to memory. A slow, dangerous smile spread across his handsome face. "I see. It seems this year's gathering might be more interesting than I anticipated. I will be watching you."

He gave a final, lingering look, then turned and strode towards the city gates, his entourage hurrying to follow. The other nobles stared at Amrit, their expressions having shifted from dismissal to wary, fearful speculation. In a single, silent confrontation, he had gone from a nobody to the most intriguing and dangerous enigma at the Academy.

Amrit watched them go, his expression unchanged. He had not intended to make a scene, but he would not be pushed aside. He had wanted a cloak of anonymity, but he had learned a valuable lesson. In a place like this, true anonymity was impossible. The only choice was what kind of reputation you cultivated.

He had just cultivated one of sheer, terrifying mystery. And in a city of proud, arrogant geniuses, that was a far more powerful weapon than any flashy display of power.

He resumed his walk, the crowd now parting for him as they had for Prince Valerius. The road to the Sky-Piercing City was still before him, but the nature of his journey had already changed. He had arrived as a ghost. He was now a specter, a question mark that the most powerful players on the board were now determined to answer. And Amrit was more than happy to let them try.