A Score That Breaks the Needle

The silence in the Trial Plaza was a physical entity, a thick, suffocating blanket of disbelief. The thousands of geniuses who had been jeering and cheering moments before now sat frozen, their minds struggling to process the scene. The Great Spirit Stone, an ancient artifact that had judged the potential of heroes and kings for a thousand years, stood dark and inert, like a dead god. The grand runic screen, the arbiter of glory and shame, was a smoking ruin.

All of it, broken by the touch of a single, unknown boy from a kingdom no one had ever heard of.

Kael Volkov's triumphant sneer had frozen on his face, replaced by a slack-jawed, idiotic gape. Princess Fenghua's fiery pride had been doused, her expression one of pure, unadulterated shock. Even Prince Valerius, the scion of the Draconian Empire, had lost his regal composure. He stared at Amrit, his amethyst eyes wide, his knuckles white where he gripped the armrest of his seat. He had displayed a power of 9.9, the very peak of mortal potential. Amrit had displayed a power that broke the scale entirely.

On the high platform, the ten Academy Elders were in a state of controlled panic.

"Report!" Elder Shanti commanded, her voice sharp and steady, though her hands were trembling slightly.

An Elder specializing in formations rushed to the base of the dead monolith, placing his hands on the master runes. His face went pale. "It's not just the stone, Elder Shanti! The primary energy conduits that connect it to the core spiritual veins have been… overloaded. Fused shut. The artifact isn't just drained; it's been disconnected from its power source. It would take our finest runemasters a month to even attempt repairs."

"Impossible," another Elder murmured. "The conduits are designed to withstand the power of a full-fledged Celestial Being! What kind of potential could possibly cause such a backlash?"

Their gazes all converged on Amrit, who stood calmly in the center of the plaza, looking at the dead stone with an expression of mild, detached curiosity, as if observing a failed experiment. To them, his calm was the most terrifying part. A normal youth possessing such power would be arrogant, unstable, or terrified of their own nature. Amrit was simply… serene. It was the serenity of a deep ocean, unbothered by the storms that raged on its surface.

Elder Shanti took a deep breath, her authority reasserting itself. The trial had been catastrophically derailed. She needed to regain control.

"The first stage of the Entrance Trial is concluded," she announced, her voice magically amplified, cutting through the stunned silence. Her words were a shock to the students. How could it be concluded? There was no score.

She looked directly at Amrit, her gaze complex and probing. "The Great Spirit Stone has suffered a… technical malfunction. A phenomenon unseen in the Academy's long history."

She was deliberately downplaying the event, framing it as a mechanical failure to prevent mass panic and preserve the Academy's mystique.

"However," she continued, "the arbiters have reached a decision regarding Student Amrit's score."

Every ear strained to listen. How do you score someone who breaks the test?

"The purpose of this trial is to measure potential," Elder Shanti explained, her logic sharp and clear. "The scale is from one to ten. A score of ten represents the theoretical maximum potential that the Great Spirit Stone is capable of measuring. Student Amrit has not just reached this maximum; he has surpassed it to a degree that overloaded the artifact itself."

She paused, letting the implication sink in.

"Therefore," she declared, her voice ringing with finality, "his score for this stage is not a ten. For the purposes of trial ranking, Student Amrit is awarded a score of… eleven."

The number echoed in the silent plaza. Eleven. A score that shouldn't exist. A score that broke the needle.

It was a brilliant, pragmatic solution. It acknowledged the magnitude of what had happened without admitting the Academy's prize artifact was flawed. It assigned a value that, while impossible, could be entered into the ranking system. But in doing so, it cemented Amrit's status. He was no longer just an enigma. He was an anomaly, a being who operated outside the established rules of the world.

A wave of reactions swept through the student body. There was no applause. There was only a collective exhalation of awe and a torrent of frenzied whispers.

"Eleven? Is that even possible?"

"He didn't just beat Valerius… he's on a completely different scale!"

"What is he?"

Rohan, sitting in the stands, looked like he had been struck by lightning, his face pale with shock and a dawning, giddy excitement. He had befriended a monster.

Kael Volkov's face had turned a deep, blotchy red, a mixture of fury and humiliation. His score of 9.0, which had seemed so glorious moments ago, now felt like a child's scrawl next to a divine masterpiece. His hatred for Amrit intensified, but it was now tainted with a new, bitter ingredient: fear.

Prince Valerius's expression was the most intense. The initial shock had faded, replaced by a burning, obsessive fire in his eyes. He was a dragon, the pinnacle of creation. He had never known a true rival among his peers. He had just found one. And that rival was a complete mystery from a kingdom of no consequence. This was not just a challenge to his status; it was a challenge to his entire worldview. His pride and his draconic blood screamed at him that he had to defeat this Amrit, to prove that his own 9.9 was the true ceiling of power.

Amrit listened to the declaration of his impossible score with the same placid calm. To him, the numbers were meaningless. Ten, eleven, a million… it made no difference. He knew the true, boundless nature of his own potential, and it couldn't be captured by a number.

Elder Shanti gestured for him to return to his seat. "The second stage of the trial will commence tomorrow at dawn. It will be a test of survival and combat prowess. Details will be transmitted to your tokens tonight. You are all dismissed."

The students began to file out of the amphitheater, but the atmosphere was completely different from when they had entered. The confident swagger was gone, replaced by a nervous, electric tension. The hierarchy they had all understood had been shattered. A new, unknown variable had been introduced at the very top, and his name was Amrit.

As Amrit walked back up the stone steps, the crowd parted for him instinctively. No one dared to meet his eye. He was an unknown quantity, and in a world of cultivators, the unknown was the most dangerous thing of all.

Only two people met his gaze.

The first was Zian of the Whispering Scroll. The scholar-cultivator gave him a deep, meaningful look, a faint, excited smile on his lips. Zian was not intimidated; he was fascinated. He saw not a rival to be beaten, but a grand, beautiful pattern to be studied, a cosmic event to be witnessed.

The second was Prince Valerius. The imperial heir's amethyst eyes were like chips of ice, burning with a cold, challenging fire. It was a look that promised a future confrontation, a clash that was now inevitable. It was a silent declaration: This is not over. I will prove that you are the fluke, and I am the true dragon.

Amrit met both gazes with a calm, acknowledging nod. He had expected rivals. He had expected challenges. The path he had chosen was a solitary one, but it seemed it would not be a lonely one.

He returned to his simple house in Sector 7, the whispers and stares of the entire Academy following him like a shadow. He entered his room and closed the door, shutting out the chaos he had created.

He sat on his meditation cushion, not to cultivate, but to reflect. The first trial was over. He had intended to make a statement, but he had ended up making a legend. He had wanted to show he was a player, but he had instead shown he could break the game itself.

This would make his goal of quietly recruiting allies more difficult. Fear and awe were barriers to true connection. But it would also serve as a powerful filter. Those who were still willing to approach him, like Rohan and Zian, were either incredibly brave, incredibly foolish, or possessed a unique kind of wisdom. They were the ones worth paying attention to.

He looked out his window at the towering central spire, the seat of the Academy's true power. He knew the Elders would be discussing him, analyzing him, perhaps even fearing him. He had their undivided attention.

A faint smile touched his lips. The score didn't matter. The broken stone didn't matter. What mattered was the message it sent.

A new power had arrived at the Academy. And it did not adhere to the old rules.