Within the winding depths of the cavern, the labyrinthine paths stretched endlessly, each more peculiar than the last.
Some groups had gradually vanished into the shadows, their presence fading into unsettling silence. The leader of one such group, sensing the eerie disconnection, frowned deeply. It was as though an invisible force had severed their lines of communication.
Determined to uncover the fate of his missing comrades, he reorganized his remaining men, preparing to explore the paths where the others had disappeared. Yet, just as they were about to move, a voice—low and chilling—echoed from the darkness.
"Going somewhere, are we? Ah, such fragile beings wandering where they shouldn't. Do you not fear the whispers of the abyss?"
The group froze, their hearts pounding as the weight of the voice settled upon them. It was not merely a sound but a presence, ancient and foreboding, watching their every move.
Within the labyrinthine depths of the cavern, they encountered something-a frail, wandering creature whose very presence exuded unease. Its voice, faint yet chilling, sent shivers down their spines. Fear gripped them tightly, and they trembled at the sight before them.
"W-Who are you? Why are you here in this place?" one of them stammered, their voice quaking with terror as though facing the most dreadful thing they'd ever seen.
The creature replied in a whispery, almost honeyed tone, "I am the guardian of this cavern. You, intruders, have no place here. For this transgression, you shall die."
With those words, an aura of murderous intent radiated from the being, enveloping the group in a suffocating grip. Instinctively, they raised their weapons, their grips tightening in readiness for the inevitable clash.
As the creature's faint and frail voice faded into silence, it began to grin-a slow, eerie stretch of its mouth that revealed razor-sharp, stained fangs. Its unsettling smile widened grotesquely, and the group prepared to charge, their fear-driven resolve sharpening into action.
But before they could act, an explosion thundered through the cavern, shaking the ground beneath their feet. Walls cracked and debris rained from above as the force of the blast caused part of the cave to collapse.
"Ugh!" one of them groaned, pinned beneath the rubble. "What the hell was that? Damn it, this hurts!"
From the swirling dust and rubble emerged a shadowy figure, stepping forward with deliberate intent. As the figure came into view, it became clear -it was none other than the frail, lifeless-looking creature they had encountered earlier. But something was different now. Its long, demon-like hair fell around it, and as its face detached like a mask, it revealed its true, hideous form beneath.
"You-y-you're-!" one of the men tried to speak, but before the words could leave his lips, the creature plunged its blade through his mouth, piercing his skull. The man fell lifelessly to the ground.
From the shadows, another voice rang out-calm and calculating. "It seems our plan worked perfectly. With just a little bait, they've fallen like leaves in the wind. Only a few remain, and they're barely holding on. Let's clean up the rest swiftly."
The others responded in unison, quickly moving to finish off the injured survivors, executing them without hesitation. The air grew heavy with the scent of blood, and the cavern became a silent tomb for the unfortunate souls.
The man chuckled softly, his voice laced with mockery. "Well, it seems playing the role of an ancient guardian has grown tiresome. Now then, it's time to seek out the true treasures," he declared with a smirk, as though the chaos and death he orchestrated were nothing more than an amusing game.
---
Meanwhile, at the heart of the ancient ruins, a pair of young adventurers—a strikingly handsome man and an equally stunning woman—walked hand-in-hand into a grand hall bathed in golden light. The chamber was brimming with treasures: mid-tier celestial artifacts, high-tier celestial armor, and rare herbs of unmatched quality—some of which were thought to be extinct in the outside world.
These two were none other than Zhao Wei and Chen Xinyue.
As they gazed upon the dazzling hoard, Chen Xinyue couldn't shake an uneasy feeling, her instincts warning her of something amiss. Zhao Wei, too, noticed the peculiarity. Though the treasures were alluring, he knew they were not the true inheritance of the ruins.
Zhao Wei's sharp mind recalled the ancient texts he had studied, which often spoke of trials and conditions to claim genuine legacies. As his eyes lingered on the chamber's ornate walls, he turned to Chen Xinyue with a gentle smile and said, "It seems I will need your help for this next part."
Chen Xinyue, her unease momentarily replaced by excitement, nodded eagerly. "What do you need me to do?" she asked, her voice filled with curiosity and determination.
Before she could say more, Zhao Wei suddenly struck the back of her neck with a precise and calculated motion. Chen Xinyue collapsed into his arms, unconscious. His expression darkened as he gently laid her down on the cold stone floor.
"Forgive me, my dear Xinyue," Zhao Wei muttered under his breath, his voice soft yet laced with cold resolve. "It seems this trial was meant for me alone." A faint chuckle escaped his lips as he added, "I promise I'll make this worth it."
Zhao Wei then turned his attention to the far end of the chamber, where a massive mural adorned the wall. The intricate carvings depicted an imposing figure surrounded by celestial symbols. Stepping closer, his sharp eyes scanned every detail, searching for the secret hidden within the image.
As he studied the mural, a faint, almost imperceptible hum began to resonate through the chamber, as if the very air around him was reacting to his presence.
The mural seemed to pulse, responding to Zhao Wei's very existence. Suddenly, a surge of energy erupted, and his body, along with the unconscious Chen Xinyue, was drawn directly into the distorted painting. The warped image slowly reverted to its original form, leaving no trace of the pair's presence.
Moments later, as silence reclaimed the chamber, a man clad in black robes and a dark face mask stepped into the hall. His movements were deliberate, his gaze sharp as it fixated on the mural that had swallowed Zhao Wei and Chen Xinyue.
Without hesitation, the man extended a gloved hand and pressed it against the mural's surface. Instantly, his body began to twist and contort unnaturally before being consumed by the image, just as those before him had been.
Not even five minutes passed before another figure emerged from the shadows, a second man shrouded in a black cloak and wearing a mask that obscured nearly all of his face, save for his piercing eyes and dark brows. He observed the mural with an air of intrigue, his gaze lingering on the intricate details of the painting.
"Ah," he muttered under his breath, his voice low and cold. "So this is the true inheritance. It seems the test within this painting has been prepared long ago... a trial designed by someone who once ruled unchallenged in this forgotten land. It won't be simple, of that I'm certain."
His tone carried a subtle mix of knowledge and caution, as if he were no stranger to the legacy hidden within. Yet, he wasted no more time contemplating. With a single, fluid motion, he leapt into the mural, unyielding to its pull, entering the unknown trial willingly.
The chamber fell silent once more, the golden light dimming as the ancient test awaited its challengers.
Barely an hour had passed when another group of four individuals arrived at the radiant golden palace. These were the same men and women who had ruthlessly hunted and killed every other intruder within the twisting caves. Now standing before the grand structure, they were awestruck by its splendor and the divine aura that seemed to emanate from its every surface.
The group scanned the area thoroughly for traps but found none. With practiced efficiency, they swept through the palace, looting every treasure within its gilded halls. Their movements were swift and precise, like seasoned thieves, leaving nothing of value behind.
In the midst of their plunder, one of them—a shorter man with a curious demeanor—paused before the mural. His gaze narrowed as he remarked, "Hmm? What's this? A painting?"
The others gathered around him, intrigued by the elaborate artwork. The four began to debate, torn between the desire to claim the painting, which radiated an aura of great value, and the impracticality of transporting such a massive object. The conversation dragged on until the short man suddenly shouted, "Why are we overthinking this? Just put it in a spatial ring, and we're done!"
His companions nodded in agreement, their initial hesitation fading. But when they checked their spatial rings, they found them overflowing with treasures and resources from their earlier raids, leaving no room for the painting. Frustration mounted as they deliberated further.
Suddenly, without warning, the shorter man reached out and touched the mural. In an instant, his body contorted unnaturally, as though consumed by some unseen force, and he was violently sucked into the painting. His final scream echoed through the chamber before vanishing completely.
The remaining three stood frozen, their eyes wide with shock. One of them stammered, "What... what just happened? How did he get pulled in?"
For a long moment, they hesitated, glancing between each other and the mural. Then, one of them—a woman with an air of confidence—stepped forward. Without a word, she extended a single finger to the painting. As soon as her finger made contact, her body began to distort as well. She was swiftly drawn into the mural, leaving only two of the group behind.
Fear and indecision gripped the remaining pair. They exchanged glances, uncertain whether to flee or investigate further. Ultimately, perhaps driven by greed or a morbid curiosity, they reached out simultaneously, their hands brushing against the mural's surface.
As before, the painting reacted instantly. Their forms twisted and warped before being swallowed whole.
The room was silent once more, the mural remaining as still and inscrutable as ever, its secrets locked away with its new captives.
Once all of them had been drawn into the mural, a strange stillness enveloped the room. The vibrant painting, which had stood so prominently upon the wall, began to fade. Colors dulled, lines blurred, and within moments, the mural dissolved entirely into the void, leaving behind nothing but the cold, barren surface of the wall.
The golden palace, once echoing with the debates and cries of the intruders, was now eerily silent. The painting had vanished without a trace, as though it had never existed. All that remained was emptiness—a haunting reminder of the inexplicable force that had claimed them.
Within the dimension of the painting lay a fabled inheritance—one left behind by the Thunder Ancestor, a being of unparalleled might and the progenitor of an entire legacy. His inheritance was no mere treasure; it was a trial of unimaginable difficulty, designed to test the worth of those who dared seek it. For his lineage had long since been extinguished, eradicated in a dark chapter of history.
"The Thunder Ancestor (Yu Cheng Leixia)" was a figure of legend, revered and feared across the continent he once ruled. His strength was unmatched, and his name echoed through the eons as the greatest immortal of his era. But his ascent to the heavens, a feat that should have cemented his dominion, ended in failure.
Stricken by the devastating backlash of attempting to transcend the limits of reality, he succumbed to his wounds. His death marked the downfall of his once-mighty clan, as other powers sought to erase his legacy, fearing the potential resurgence of such strength.
Yet, his death was not without a cause. The Thunder Ancestor had drawn the ire of the Balance Deity, a celestial entity charged with maintaining equilibrium throughout the realms. To this deity, the Thunder Ancestor's unparalleled might threatened the fragile order of existence.
In an age forgotten by most, the Thunder Ancestor prepared for his grand ascension. The event shook the foundations of reality itself. Realms trembled, dimensions shuddered, and the skies were rent apart by his overwhelming aura. The heavens responded with fury, casting down divine tribulations of unimaginable intensity, each one meant to obliterate his being.
Even in the face of such wrath, the Thunder Ancestor persevered, withstanding trial after trial. But as he reached the pinnacle of his struggle, poised to transcend mortality, "the Balance Deity struck (Lingzhong Daojun)". In an act of treachery, the deity delivered a fatal blow, shattering the Thunder Ancestor's aspirations and ending his long reign of supremacy.
Thus, the Thunder Ancestor's legacy became a myth, and his final resting place—this very trial—was imbued with his will. The treasures, artifacts, and secrets hidden within were meant to find a worthy successor, one who could reclaim his lineage's glory and perhaps finish what he could not.
This place, both a tomb and a test, stands as a testament to the Thunder Ancestor's indomitable spirit and his unfulfilled dream of godhood.
Zhao Wei stepped cautiously into the enigmatic world, a place utterly foreign to him, carrying Chen Xinyu's unconscious body over his shoulder. His gaze swept across the vast surroundings, yet nothing appeared familiar. Every detail of this world seemed alien, defying any knowledge he had gained from his homeland. Here, even the names and concepts he once knew held no meaning.
However, he had gleaned a single certainty from his scattered understanding-this was the realm of trials.
Determined, Zhao Wei surged forward with incredible speed, so swift it seemed as if time itself had frozen in his wake. For what felt like an eternity of ten minutes, he raced forward until he arrived at a particular location. It appeared pristine, untouched by the passage of countless epochs, its structures unmarred by the decay of time. Intrigued, Jia Wei descended to investigate further.
The site revealed itself as a grand hall, magnificently adorned. Luxurious tributes lined the space, while ornate lanterns on the ceiling cast an ethereal glow. Their radiance resembled that of priceless gems, their designs described in ancient texts Jia Wei had read long ago. Everything here was of extraordinary value, treasures even a high-tier Level 8 practitioner would covet.
For a moment, Zhao Wei felt the urge to claim these relics for himself. Yet he quickly dismissed the thought. This was no treasure trove to plunder-it was something else entirely, unrelated to the trials. Without hesitation, he took to the skies once more, venturing further into the unknown.
Unbeknownst to Zhao Wei, a figure cloaked in black trailed him, concealed within the shadows. The man's eyes burned with seething hatred, yet a sliver of restraint held him back from acting on his fury. Silently, he followed Jia Wei, his rage tempered by an inner voice that whispered caution.
Hours passed as the pursuit continued. Eventually, another figure arrived at the grand hall Zhao Wei had left behind. Draped in dark robes with a black mask obscuring his face, this newcomer meticulously surveyed the surroundings. Stroking his chin in contemplation, the figure marveled at the priceless artifacts around him. Even the wealthiest sects, such as the Moon Pearl Pavilion, could not boast treasures of such caliber.
Yet, despite the allure, the man did not dare disturb the sanctity of this place. He understood its significance-this was the burial ground of a mighty being from the primordial era, the progenitor of the Thunder Deity lineage. Bowing deeply in reverence, he prepared to leave, but a sudden azure light flared behind him, halting his steps.
Turning, he beheld a sight that rendered him speechless-a Thunder God's Codex.
This ancient tome contained techniques to cultivate and absorb all forms of lightning, even the calamitous Heavenly Lightning that could obliterate realms. Not only could it allow its wielder to harness such devastating energy, but it could also convert it into their own power. A treasure of unimaginable value, capable of bending all lightning to its wielder's will.
Greed and awe warred within him as he reached for the codex. Yet, as his fingers approached, a surge of lightning struck his hand with overwhelming force. The pain shot through his soul as his flesh dissolved, leaving only bare bones behind.
Shaking off the searing agony, he glanced at his hand, now stripped to the bone, the sight both horrifying and humbling. Resolute, he reached out once more with his other hand, only to suffer a similar fate. This time, the lightning's wrath extended to his entire arm, leaving nothing but skeletal remains and a pool of blood that stained the floor.
Realizing the codex was beyond his reach, he let out a heavy sigh. Despite its allure, it was clear that he could not claim it-not now. Before departing, he summoned a massive formation to conceal the hall, ensuring that none would stumble upon its treasures. This place would remain hidden, its secrets known only to him.
"If fate allows... I will return," he muttered.
Tending to his grievous injuries, the man invoked his formidable regenerative abilities. Slowly, flesh and blood began to regenerate, covering his skeletal arms until they returned to their original state. Testing his hands, he clenched his fists, finding them as functional as before.
His wounds healed, he set off in the direction Zhao Wei and the masked pursuer had gone. Unwavering, he followed their trail into the depths of the unknown.
Zhao Wei had flown for a long time before finally arriving at a place he deemed the starting point of the inheritance trial.
Before him loomed a ferocious beast, no ordinary creature, but a tier-8 Earthshaking Heaven Dragon. This beast, with its innate celestial bloodline, possessed strength rivaling the noble dragon clans. Even though it bore only the lowest rank of its lineage, its mere existence could send tremors through the heavens.
Despite the formidable presence, Zhao Wei remained composed. From his storage ring, he retrieved an artifact bestowed upon him by his ancestor before he embarked on this journey—a golden orb, faintly exuding a divine aura. Yet, beneath its modest glow lay an unfathomable destructive power. Once unleashed, even mid-tier level 8 beasts would be reduced to ash. Wei had reserved it precisely for such a moment.
He devised a cunning plan, luring all three tier-8 beasts into a carefully prepared trap. As they surrounded him, he smirked coldly and subtly activated a dimensional confinement array. This array was a unique creation of Wei's, allowing only its creator to escape while permanently imprisoning those trapped within. The Earthshaking Heaven Dragon, though mighty, lacked the intellect of a sacred beast and was incapable of breaking free.
Enraged, the dragon clawed and roared against its confinement. Wei, standing resolute, declared mockingly, "Now, let us see if you can survive the wrath of this sacred core!" His voice carried a sinister cheer, as if narrating a spectacle.
Moments later, the orb began to tremble, radiating an ever-growing energy. At the critical moment, Wei dashed out of the array with speed so unparalleled that time itself seemed to warp. The golden orb exploded in a cataclysmic blast, its power annihilating everything within its radius. Even the dimensional array shattered, leaving nothing but a vast crater and scattered remnants of the tier-8 beasts, their blood tainting the air for miles.
Wei wasted no time. He sprinted toward a massive gate guarded by the now-destroyed beasts. Standing before it, he hesitated briefly before a plan formed in his mind. Drawing his blade, he inflicted severe wounds upon himself, ensuring his injuries appeared grievous. With his clothes tattered and his body drenched in blood, he collapsed theatrically, feigning unconsciousness.
Counting silently, "Three, two, one," Wei's lips curled into a sly grin.
From the other side, Chen Xinyue awoke. Her drowsy eyes fluttered open, and as she surveyed her unfamiliar surroundings, her gaze landed on Wei's battered and bloodied body. Shock and sorrow overwhelmed her.
"What happened? Where are we? Why are you in this state?" she cried out, her voice trembling with panic and despair.
Zhao Wei, blood trickling from his lips, smiled faintly. As she cradled him in her arms, he whispered weakly, "I battled three tier-7 beasts to protect you... Though I vanquished them, I paid a heavy price."
Chen Xinyue, noticing the devastation around them and sensing traces of divine energy, was overcome with guilt and gratitude. She believed Wei had sacrificed everything for her. Tears streamed down her face as she clung to him.
Zhao Wei continued, his voice fading. "This is the inheritance trial of a supreme deity, meant for the most worthy successor. Yet fate has forsaken me. This opportunity now belongs to you... Go, claim your destiny."
"No! You must not die!" Xinyue protested through sobs. "You deserve this inheritance more than anyone!"
Zhao Wei, his breathing ragged, reached out to wipe her tears. "Do not grieve, for even if I perish, I will rest easy knowing you will forge ahead. My only regret... is that I could not stand by your side." With these words, his hand fell lifelessly, and his body grew cold.
Heartbroken, Chen Xinyue wailed uncontrollably. But after some time, she steeled herself, laying Zhao Wei's body to rest. "I will not let your sacrifice be in vain," she vowed, stepping toward the gate. As her hand touched its surface, the gate pulled her inside, signaling the end of the trial.
Moments later, Zhao Wei stirred. Rising to his feet, he sneered, "Such filthy tears. Truly vexing." He wiped his face clean, muttering in annoyance, "Feigning death and halting my vital energy for this farce was no easy feat."
His laughter echoed coldly as he stretched. "My performance was flawless. Now, the pure-hearted maiden is none the wiser, and the trial is complete. What an amusing game!"
Suddenly, Wei's voice hardened. "Now then, it's just the two of us. You can come out now." His words resonated across the void.
From the shadows, a figure emerged—a man cloaked in mystery, his gaze burning with hatred. "Using a woman's heart as your tool? Truly despicable," he spat.
Zhao Wei smirked, retorting, "Her love is her own choice. I merely accepted it. How can you accuse me of manipulation?" His feigned innocence was dripping with mockery.
The stranger, undeterred, drew his blade. "Enough talk. Let us see if the 'sacred son' is as formidable as the legends claim."
Zhao Wei's eyes gleamed with malice. Gripping his sword, he taunted, "Allow me to send you to the afterlife, free from the burdens of love and morality." His voice, laced with menace, promised a battle worthy of the heavens.
The two clashed fiercely, their every move imbued with deadly precision. Each exchange of blows sent ripples of power through the air, yet neither could claim the upper hand. It was as if their duel had reached an impasse, but neither combatant showed any sign of relenting. They continued to unleash their vast arsenal of martial techniques, each move more profound than the last, refusing to give an inch.
Wei's eyes gleamed as he activated his Flowing Blade Dance, a technique that turned his sword into a tempest of motion. The blade moved like a shadow in the wind, capable of deflecting any strike while launching counterattacks with an ethereal grace. The masked man faltered under the relentless onslaught, his defense shattered as he was sent hurtling through the air.
Blood spilled from his lips as he staggered back to his feet, gripping his sword tightly. His gaze burned with unyielding determination. Gritting his teeth, he activated his secret art, channeling his consciousness to achieve perfect unity with his body. Every movement, every breath, flowed seamlessly as though his body was a divine instrument under absolute control.
With this newfound precision, he launched a devastating counterattack. His blade radiated an aura of finality, striking with the weight of heaven's judgment. The impact sent Wei sprawling, a jagged wound torn across his chest.
"Impressive," Wei said, a cold smirk playing on his lips. "To think someone like you could wound me, the Son of Heaven's Will."
The masked man scoffed, his voice sharp as a blade. "Your so-called divinity is nothing but a facade. Weaklings like you have no right to claim such a title."
Wei's smirk darkened. "And what of you? A man who failed to protect what he cherishes most… What worth could you possibly hold?"
The masked man's expression twisted in fury. His rage surged like a tidal wave, and his blade resonated with his wrath. He unleashed his ultimate technique, a strike so fierce that the heavens seemed to quake. Time and space trembled as he dashed forward, his blade tearing through the void itself.
Wei braced himself, channeling his strength into a desperate defense. When their blades collided, the resulting explosion shook the very earth, rending the skies and shattering the surrounding space into fragments.
Wei coughed up a mouthful of blood, his body trembling as he staggered back. His voice was filled with disbelief. "How… how could I fail to withstand such an attack? Have I truly been so blind to your strength?" He steadied himself, a bitter smile crossing his lips. "It seems I underestimated you after all."
The masked man advanced slowly, his voice filled with icy disdain. "Weakness. That is the reason you stand on the verge of defeat. Someone as feeble as you has no place among the heavens."
He raised his blade, the killing intent pouring from him like an endless tide. Just as he prepared to deliver the final blow, Zhao Wei's aura exploded, his power surging to its zenith. With a roar, he unleashed his Blade Essence, the slash so swift it seemed to rend the air itself.
The masked man was struck, sent hurtling into the distance. His mask shattered, revealing his true face—a visage scarred by countless battles.
As the dust settled, Zhao Wei's eyes narrowed in recognition. "So, this is the face behind the mask. Chen Yunxiao… How unexpected." A mocking smile crept across his lips. "Well, I must admit, your looks are more pleasing than mine. What a shame it won't matter when you lie beneath my blade."
Unbeknownst to the combatants, a dark figure stood in the shadows, observing their clash with cold indifference. Clad in a black cloak, his masked face betrayed no emotion.
"How amusing," he muttered, his voice dripping with disdain. "To think these fools believe their petty squabbles hold any meaning."
He folded his arms, his gaze sharp and unyielding. "The first trial has begun. I suppose I'll let them entertain themselves for now. There's no need for me to intervene… not yet." His eyes gleamed like frozen stars, his presence exuding an otherworldly detachment. It was as if he stood outside the flow of mortal concerns, his thoughts fixed on plans far beyond their comprehension.