As Xiao Tian and his group stepped through the dimensional gate, they were greeted by a blinding light that forced their eyes to narrow momentarily. When their vision cleared, an immense expanse unfolded before them—a coliseum of staggering proportions. The arena stretched so far that it could accommodate a thousand cultivators, its center stage alone spanning over a kilometer in diameter. The vastness of the space imbued it with an undeniable sense of majesty, an arena built to test the mettle of the strongest.
Gasps and exclamations rippled through the crowd. Some were struck speechless by the sheer scale, while others maintained an air of indifference, their faces betraying nothing. Xiao Tian, however, remained stoic, his gaze fixed ahead as if the grandeur held no sway over him. He awaited the next decree with quiet resolve.
Moments later, Elder Xie Baishan's voice resonated across the coliseum, carrying authority and gravity.
"Take your seats. Choose from those that remain unoccupied. Once seated, you will await the announcement of the numbers and names of those matched with the corresponding beasts."
At his command, the cultivators scattered, each finding a place amidst the designated seating. Tension thickened as Elder Xie began calling names.
"The first to enter the arena," Xie Baishan announced, "is Lin Ying of the Fei Li Demonic Sect. You are assigned Number One, and your opponent shall be the Abyssal Fiend. This beast's strength rivals your own, standing at the sixth stage of cultivation, mid-level. Its resilience and speed are unparalleled. Without adequate skill, you will face certain death. Prepare yourself—you have but ten minutes before the battle commences."
Lin Ying stepped forward, his lips curling into a faint, disdainful smile. "Preparation is unnecessary," he declared, his tone cutting and unwavering. "Elder, let the match begin. I have no time to waste."
His words drew murmurs from the crowd. Some sneered at his arrogance, whispering among themselves.
"Foolish child," one muttered. "Does he truly think so little of his opponent? Such overconfidence is a path to ruin."
The coliseum was a grand spectacle, its architecture akin to an ancient, oversized colosseum. Ten massive gates lined its circumference, each shrouded in an aura of anticipation. At Xie Baishan's signal, the first gate creaked open, revealing the Abyssal Fiend.
Towering at over two meters, the creature emerged—a hulking beast covered in thick, wolf-like fur. Its form was a grotesque amalgamation of man and beast, with razor-sharp claws capable of rending even the most fortified defensive artifacts. Its fur bristled, acting as both armor and weapon, each strand imbued with the strength of steel wire, lashing out to deflect attacks or form a makeshift barrier.
The crowd collectively held its breath, but Lin Ying's expression remained unchanged. His hand moved to the hilt of his blade, the weapon gleaming faintly as it left its scabbard. His stance was calm, steady, and unyielding. The air around him seemed to shift, carrying an invisible pressure that hinted at the storm about to unfold.
Not long after, the overseers released the seals binding the Abyssal Fiend, granting it complete freedom from its chains. The creature snarled and growled, its eyes locking onto Lin Ying with an insatiable hunger. Sharp fangs gleamed in its maw as it bared its teeth, its gaze radiating a murderous intent so intense it seemed to taint the very air. The fiend, though cloaked in a shaggy mane of fur, betrayed signs of its prolonged captivity-its gaunt form barely concealed beneath its wild coat, like a withered old man starved for countless months.
Freed from its restraints, the fiend wasted no time. It lunged with terrifying speed, closing the distance in a blur. Its massive claws slashed downward with deadly force, driven by a hatred that felt ancient, as though Lin Ying had wronged it in a previous life.
But what happened next left the spectators in stunned silence. The fiend's monstrous swipe never landed. Its body, mid-strike, abruptly froze. A shadow appeared behind it, blade glinting under the light. The shadow was Lin Ying. Before the beast could even react, Lin Ying resheathed his blade with a fluid motion, the metallic clink reverberating through the coliseum.
In the next instant, the Abyssal Fiend's massive form collapsed, cleaved cleanly in two. Blood spilled onto the arena floor as its lifeless remains crumpled, the fight ending as swiftly as it had begun. The once-feared predator lay in two pitiful halves, reduced to nothing more than a cautionary tale.
Lin Ying regarded the corpse with icy detachment, his eyes devoid of pity or pride. To him, the fiend was neither a creature to be feared nor pitied-it was simply an obstacle to be eradicated. His mission was clear: eliminate threats without hesitation.
The audience erupted into chaos.
"That speed-how is it even possible?!"
Many among the crowd were left in utter disbelief, their eyes struggling to follow Lin Ying's movements. For some, it felt as though he had transcended the limits of mortal speed altogether. Yet, as awe gave way to admiration, cheers began to rise.
"Unbelievable!"
"This is strength worthy of respect!"
Though they knew such power might one day turn against them, the cultivators could not help but marvel. In this world, where strength reigned supreme, it was only natural to revere those who stood above the rest. For strength surpassed all-family, titles, even intellect. Before absolute power, all else became secondary.
As the tumult subsided, Elder Xie Baishan's voice cut through the noise, commanding order once more.
"The next challenger is Number Two-Jiang Yu!"
Eyes turned toward Jiang Yu as the elder continued.
"Your opponent shall be the Infernal Bull Fiend, a demon of the sixth stage, low level. It possesses immense durability and overwhelming offensive power. Beware its devastating charges-it strikes with the force of an avalanche. Prepare yourself."
All eyes now shifted to Jiang Yu, who stepped forward, his face a mask of determination. As the coliseum doors creaked open once more, the crowd leaned forward in anticipation, the atmosphere thick with tension. The fight was far from over, and the spectacle promised to escalate even further.
Before long, the battle began.
The Infernal Boar Demon wasted no time. With a deafening roar, it charged forward with startling speed, its massive frame hurtling across the arena like a streak of lightning. Gasps erupted from the audience, disbelief painted on their faces.
"A creature of that size... moving so fast? How is it possible!?"
The beast's sheer momentum was awe-inspiring, its hooves pounding the ground like thunder. Yet, Jiang Yu, a proud cultivator of the Sword Dao, remained unshaken. With a calm and deliberate motion, he unsheathed his blade, the steel gleaming as it drank in the arena's light. Channeling his will, Jiang Yu imbued the blade with his Sword Intent, unleashing a slashing arc toward the charging demon.
But the Infernal Boar was no ordinary beast. Its reflexes defied expectations, its massive body twisting with uncanny agility to evade the strike. Despite its size, it moved with a grace and swiftness that seemed almost unnatural.
Jiang Yu narrowed his eyes, his expression unchanging. He waited, poised like a coiled spring, as the demon began to circle him. The boar's strategy was clear-it feigned an assault, darting left and right in rapid succession, seeking an opening. The crowd watched with bated breath as the demon's movements grew erratic, a whirlwind of speed and power that blurred around Jiang Yu.
Then it struck.
With a guttural roar, the Infernal Boar activated its innate technique, Battle Frenzy Instincts, a skill unique to demon beasts of its kind. Its muscles swelled, its aura grew oppressive, and its strength and ferocity surged to five times their normal levels. The boar's eyes gleamed with a crimson light as it charged forward, a living battering ram of primal fury.
To the crowd, the outcome seemed certain. The boar was unstoppable, its charge a force of nature that no ordinary cultivator could withstand.
To the crowd, the outcome seemed certain. The boar was unstoppable, its charge a force of nature that no ordinary cultivator could withstand.
Yet, as the beast neared, something impossible happened.
Jiang Yu vanished.
The boar skidded to a halt, its massive frame reeling as it scanned its surroundings, confusion flickering in its blood-red eyes. Suddenly, it froze, every fiber of its being seized by a chilling realization. An oppressive aura of death enveloped it-a presence so cold, so razor-sharp, it pierced straight to the core of its instincts.
Before the beast could react, the space it once occupied erupted. A single slash had carved through the air, leaving a deep gash in the arena floor. The boar leapt aside in desperation, narrowly avoiding the fatal strike.
Its panic was palpable now. The primal confidence it once exuded had vanished, replaced by trembling legs and darting eyes. It understood, with a clarity born of fear, that it was facing an opponent far beyond its ability to handle.
The demon turned to flee, but there was no escape. The towering walls of the arena loomed over it, and the only path was toward its relentless foe. It scrambled, clawing for a way out, its terror driving it to frenzy. But Jiang Yu was unmoving, his blade glinting faintly as he stepped forward, the calm embodiment of death itself.
With a final flourish, Jiang Yu unleashed his signature technique: Dance of the Tempest Blades. A whirlwind of sword light engulfed the demon, cutting through its thick hide and tearing its massive body apart in an instant. By the time the storm subsided, the boar was no more-its form reduced to countless fragments scattered across the blood-soaked arena floor.
The crowd erupted into a cacophony of cheers and gasps, their awe tangible.
"The victor," Elder Xie Baishan declared, his voice booming, "is Jiang Yu of the Wind Blade Sect!"
Jiang Yu sheathed his sword, his movements deliberate and serene, as though the battle had been nothing more than a fleeting windstorm. The Infernal Boar Demon was a fearsome foe, but against Jiang Yu's unshakable composure and peerless swordsmanship, it stood no chance.
The audience's applause thundered through the arena, their voices chanting his name. In this world, strength was the ultimate truth, and Jiang Yu had proven himself worthy of its highest praise.
---
As the competition progressed, the remaining contestants ascended the stage one by one.
Each battle unfolded with its own unique flair, showcasing the diverse techniques and cultivation paths of the participants. While many displayed formidable strength and skill, it became increasingly clear that the tournament was merciless. Among the contestants, a staggering 178 fell in defeat, unable to withstand the relentless onslaught of their demonic beast opponents.
This high number of casualties revealed a harsh truth—many of these cultivators lacked a solid foundation. Their rapid advancement in cultivation realms seemed to have been fueled by elixirs, treasures, or shortcuts, bypassing the arduous process of tempering their bodies and spirits. Without the depth of experience and mastery that comes from genuine cultivation, they were no match for the challenges presented. Their fate was sealed, their lives claimed by the beasts they faced, their remains serving as nourishment for the savage creatures.
Yet, amidst the carnage, one segment of the competition stood out above the rest—the battles of the Ten Sacred Scions.
These paragons of cultivation represented the pinnacle of talent, each one having reached the Seventh Realm of Dao Cultivation, a level of mastery that dwarfed most of their peers. Despite all sharing the same cultivation realm, their true strength varied, dictated by the depth and quality of their foundational training. The disparity in their understanding of the Dao and the refinement of their techniques set them apart from one another.
One by one, the Sacred Scions overcame their trials, their strength and elegance on full display. Their opponents, fierce demonic beasts of immense power, fell before them as if their defeats were preordained. Yet, one battle captivated the audience above all others—the duel of the First Sacred Scion.
His opponent was no ordinary beast. This creature teetered on the edge of the Eighth Realm, its raw power and ferocity surpassing anything faced by the other contestants. The clash was monumental, drawing the attention of esteemed masters and sect leaders alike. The arena was silent, the crowd entranced by the ferocity of the combat.
For over twenty minutes, the First Scion and the beast engaged in a brutal and breathtaking dance of life and death. Waves of energy rippled through the arena with every strike, and the air seemed to tremble under the sheer force of their blows. The audience, though in awe of the spectacle, could not help but feel the weight of the Scion's unparalleled resolve.
Despite the prolonged battle and the ferocity of his opponent, the First Sacred Scion emerged victorious, his swordsmanship peerless and his composure unshaken. Not a single wound marred his form, a testament to his superiority. He paid no heed to the roaring cheers and frenzied applause of the crowd. To him, this was merely another step on the path of his cultivation—a trial to be conquered without hesitation or pride.
As the dust settled, the grim tally of the day was announced: 178 lives lost, their dreams extinguished amidst the chaos. Of the original participants, only 442 advanced to the next stage. Though this number remained significant, it was clear that the path ahead would only grow more treacherous.
Two more trials awaited—each designed to cull the weak and test the true mettle of those who remained. Only the strongest, the most resolute, would endure to face the final challenge and claim their place among the legends.
---
The air was thick with anticipation as the elders of various sects gathered in discussion, their words carrying the weight of centuries of experience.
"What an enthralling battle," remarked an elder with a deep, resonant voice. His long, flowing white beard and matching hair exuded an air of wisdom and authority. Stroking his beard thoughtfully, he chuckled. "It seems this year's competition has attracted many promising talents. Hohoho!" His laughter, lighthearted yet imposing, carried a sense of satisfaction.
Before the moment could linger, another elder interjected. This one had fiery red hair, his appearance betraying a sharp, impatient demeanor. His clean-shaven face was lined with a touch of arrogance, and his voice cut through the conversation with fiery disdain.
"Promising talents?" he scoffed. "This competition is dull. Weaklings vying for glory they don't deserve. Why waste words praising them? Only the strong deserve respect. Coddling the weak will only breed arrogance, making them think they're worthy of standing among us."
The white-bearded elder's expression shifted, his kind demeanor replaced by a chilling gravity. He turned his gaze toward the red-haired elder, his voice steady but laced with frost.
"Wang Hao," he began, his tone measured yet sharp enough to pierce the soul, "are you suggesting that acknowledging the efforts of these young cultivators is beneath us? That their potential is unworthy of respect? Do you truly believe that the future pillars of our sects and realms deserve only scorn for not yet reaching their peak?"
The hall grew deathly quiet as the elder continued, his voice now icy cold. "By your logic, should I—an old man well past his prime—be deemed unworthy of your respect as well? Is this the measure of your character?"
A terrifying aura spread from the white-bearded elder, Wen Dong, freezing the air around him. Time itself seemed to slow as the sheer pressure of his cultivation bore down on Wang Hao. It felt as though he were drowning, unable to breathe, his chest constricting as if he were trapped beneath an endless ocean. Desperation clawed at him, and with immense effort, he managed to stammer out, his voice trembling, "I— I dare not, Elder Wen Dong. Please... forgive my insolence!"
His words were choked and ragged, as though each syllable cost him a lifetime of vitality. Just as he felt the weight would crush him entirely, the suffocating aura receded, the room returning to its normal state. Wang Hao gasped for air, his breaths uneven and frantic, as if he had been pulled back from the brink of death.
Wen Dong regarded him with an expression of calm, as though nothing had transpired. "It is good that you recognize your error. In the future, do not belittle these young ones. The weak of today may become the titans of tomorrow, their strength surpassing even ours. Should your careless words reach their ears, not even I would be able to shield you from the consequences." His words carried the weight of a gentle rebuke, yet beneath them was an unmistakable warning.
Despite his outward compliance, Wang Hao's heart burned with fury and humiliation. His mind seethed with hatred for Wen Dong, though he dared not show it. Inwardly, he swore vengeance, but he suppressed his feelings, knowing that Wen Dong's status and power were leagues beyond his own. To act against him would be tantamount to courting death.
Soon after, the competition concluded for the day. The elders dispersed, and preparations began for the third trial. It was announced that the details of the next round—its time and place—would be revealed in due course. The tension lingered, promising that the battles to come would be fiercer than ever before.
"Listen well! You have only two hours to rest before we proceed to the third round of the competition," the announcer declared, his voice stern and unyielding. "Prepare yourselves during this time, for the upcoming battle will be nothing like the previous ones. If any of you doubt your abilities, leave now and never return.
"But if you dare to stay, knowing you may not survive, then I suggest you write your final letters to your families and clans. Let them know of your bravery, for we will not let your sacrifice go unnoticed. For those who perish valiantly, their families will be compensated with resources and wealth—a tribute to the courage shown by their fallen kin, who dared to strive for greatness."
The announcer's tone grew colder, carrying a hint of menace that chilled the hearts of many. The air seemed heavy with tension as the weight of his words pressed down upon the contestants. Many began to falter, and out of the 422 participants who had made it this far, only 227 remained, their courage tempered by fear and uncertainty.
"This is the true test," said Elder Wen Dong, observing the scene from above. His voice carried a mix of admiration and lament. "It seems only those with unwavering resolve remain, willing to risk their lives for the chance to advance. Yet, even among them, 125 more must fall. The fourth round will allow only 100 to continue."
He sighed softly, his gaze shifting to a young man in the crowd. "Hmmm... That one—why does he seem so calm, so untroubled by it all? Is he truly this composed, or is there something more to him?"
Using his spiritual senses, Wen Dong attempted to probe the young man's essence, seeking to discern his true nature. But to his astonishment, he found nothing—no aura, no spiritual flow, nothing that revealed his strength or cultivation.
"What is his name?" Wen Dong asked, addressing the overseer, Xie Baishan.
The overseer hesitated for a moment, then replied, "He is Xiao Tian, hailing from the Di Tian Sect."
"Xiao Tian, you say?" Wen Dong mused, stroking his beard. "So, the rumors are true. This is the so-called wastrel son of the Di Tian Sect's master. A man said to squander his wealth on frivolities and women, yet never sullied his purity—a fool easily duped by courtesans into parting with his gold. Yet here he stands, unyielding in the face of death. Could the rumors have been lies to tarnish his name?"
Intrigued, Wen Dong turned to Xie Baishan. "Do you wish me to investigate his background further?" the overseer asked.
Wen Dong shook his head. "No. To do so might provoke unnecessary hostility. Though the Di Tian Sect is not a power to rival ours, making an enemy of this young man would be unwise. Should he survive and grow stronger, he may rise to a position where even I would regret such a move. He has a rare quality—integrity—and I cannot risk offending someone of his potential."
"Potential?" Xie Baishan asked, curiosity piqued. "What makes you so certain of his value?"
"I cannot perceive his energy," Wen Dong admitted. "Not a single thread escapes his body. To achieve such mastery over one's internal flow is unheard of for someone so young. Even I required three decades to reach that level. If he has no master, his talent is beyond measure. I may even consider taking him as my disciple."
Xie Baishan's eyes widened in surprise. "Shall I summon him to meet you, then?"
"No," Wen Dong replied firmly. "Let him prove himself in the trials ahead. Should he fall, then perhaps he is not the prodigy I suspect. But if he endures... we shall see."
With that, the two elders fell silent, their eyes fixed on the young Xiao Tian, waiting to see how he would fare in the crucible of the third round.
Xiao Tian approached his elder sister, Xiao Hanyan, who looked at him with a hint of worry in her eyes. "Be careful, brother," she said softly. "I do not know how dangerous the next round of this competition will be. I can only pray for your safety, as I am unsure how much help I can truly provide."
Without a word, Xiao Tian presented her with a ring—a stunning masterpiece adorned with gemstones that sparkled like moonlight, radiating a beauty unmatched by anything seen before. Such an exquisite item would surely incite envy in any woman who laid eyes on it. Yet, Xiao Hanyan remained composed, her expression cool and detached. Unbothered by her demeanor, Xiao Tian gently placed the ring on her middle finger.
"This ring," he began, his tone steady yet serious, "contains a special treasure I acquired during our visit to the Moon Pearl Pavilion. It is a life-saving artifact. Should you find yourself under attack, the ring will activate a protective shield. Even if the shield is destroyed, it will expel you from any confinement—be it a domain sealed by powerful formations or ancient spells. Distance is irrelevant; this ring will transport you away from any perilous location. Simply drip a drop of blood onto it to bind it to you. From now on, tread carefully. If fate allows, we shall meet again."
Turning on his heel, Xiao Tian strode away. But before he could take another step, a soft, cold hand grasped his arm. It was Xiao Hanyan. He turned to face her, meeting her gaze. She said nothing, and neither did he. After a moment of silence, he gently pulled his arm free and walked away, heading in the opposite direction to avoid drawing attention.
Xiao Hanyan placed her hand over her chest, feeling the rapid rhythm of her heartbeat.
Thump… thump… thump…
She watched his retreating figure, her eyes filled with unspoken emotions. Finally, she closed her eyes, turning away to mask her feelings.
---
The overseer's voice echoed across the arena.
"Well then, everyone, the two-hour preparation period has ended. I trust you've tended to your wounds and readied yourselves. The rule for the next round is… no rules."
His words stunned the participants, sending waves of shock and fear through the crowd. Whispers broke out—no rules meant no restrictions on killing. It was nothing short of a bloodbath in the making. The overseer raised his hand, silencing the murmurs.
"Allow me to explain how you will pass this test. You will be sent to a place known as the Realm of Ruin. It is an ancient domain tied to the concept of duality. Your task is to find a way to escape. The realm will grant you a reward should you fulfill its conditions and comprehend the essence of duality. Should you achieve profound understanding, the realm will bestow great benefits upon you, sharpening your insight and enhancing your cultivation. However, be warned—the dangers within this realm are manifold."
The overseer paused, his tone turning grim.
"The Realm of Ruin is home to numerous threats, including high-level demonic beasts such as the Celestial Demon Serpent—a creature over a hundred meters long. Its appearance alone can devastate an entire city. It possesses unparalleled speed and agility, and its scales are reinforced by dense laws of nature. In your current cultivation stages, even at the peak of the sixth or seventh realm, you stand no chance of defeating it. Not even holy scions can hope to slay it."
He continued, his voice heavy with foreboding.
"If luck is on your side, you may encounter a low- or mid-level seventh-realm beast. But should misfortune strike, you may face one of the three eighth-realm spirit demons. Two of these are mid-tier eighth-realm entities, their power rivaling the strongest holy scions. The third is the supreme being of the Realm of Ruin—a Spirit Demon Deity that commands life and death within its domain. It can traverse vast distances instantly and strike through sacred formations with ease. Its power defies comprehension, and should you encounter it… you will not survive. Even the greatest holy scion would have no choice but to flee."
The overseer's gaze swept over the trembling participants.
"Now, there is no turning back. Only by confronting death can you grasp life. Struggle and survive, or fall into oblivion. Should you succeed, the rewards will be unimaginable. Should you fail… your bodies will remain in the Realm of Ruin."
Fear gripped many as the overseer's words sank in. Some trembled, their resolve wavering. Yet, for others—those burdened by the hopes of their struggling families—the prospect of death was a price they were willing to pay for a brighter future.
The overseer raised his hand, and a massive gray portal shimmered into existence, its surface glowing with an otherworldly light. One by one, the participants stepped into the portal, disappearing into the unknown.
---
In the distance, a group of elders watched the scene unfold, their expressions uneasy.
"Isn't this trial too harsh?" one elder asked, his voice filled with concern.
The overseer shook his head.
"I understand your worries, but this is an order from above. I have no authority to change it."
The elders exchanged shocked glances.
"Orders from above? When did they become involved in this competition?"
The overseer sighed.
"I don't know their reasons, but the decree is absolute. We must obey."
Elder Wen Dong leaned back in his chair, a troubled look on his face.
"If Xiao Tian survives this, it will prove his immense potential. But if he perishes… what a tragic waste of talent."
He let out a weary sigh, closing his eyes as he tried to suppress the growing weight of worry.