The air in the arena was electric, heavy with tension so thick it seemed to suffocate those present. Even the elder overseeing the battle found his brows furrowed in concentration, his hands already forming intricate seals to reinforce the barrier around the stage. This was no longer a mere exam, it was a clash of wills, ambitions, and raw power.
Han Qingshan stood amidst the chaos of his energy, the once-pristine arena now scorched and torn asunder by his demonic flames. His chest heaved, each breath a struggle as his Heavenly Demonic Spear flared brighter than ever. The veins in his arms bulged unnaturally, his lifeblood feeding into the weapon that seemed to hum with unholy resonance.
"Wu Tianjue," Qingshan growled, his voice ragged but resolute. "You are strong, but strength alone isn't enough. The Heavenly Demonic Spear is forged from the blood of fallen saints and demons alike. It is a weapon meant to conquer, not to be conquered. Today, I will carve your name into its history!"
Wu Tianjue remained motionless, a dark silhouette against the flickering light of Qingshan's inferno. His black sword, condensed into its needle-like form, shimmered faintly in his grasp. His gaze was unreadable, his calm demeanor unshaken despite the overwhelming aura before him.
"You talk too much," Wu Tianjue said flatly. His voice carried no anger, no emotion, just the icy indifference of a man who had seen too much to care.
For a moment, silence fell. The crowd held their breath, their eyes darting between the two combatants.
Han Qingshan's mind raced. He had poured everything into this final gambit, sacrificing his vitality, his very essence, to fuel the Heavenly Demonic Spear. It was a technique that should have left any opponent in ruins, but Wu Tianjue's unwavering confidence unnerved him.
Could he truly be this strong?
No. Qingshan dismissed the doubt immediately. He was the pride of the core disciples, ranked fourth among their elite. His Heavenly Demonic Spear had brought even Nascent Soul elders to their knees. This man could not be an exception.
The flames roared to life, the demonic apparition behind Qingshan growing to monstrous proportions. It towered over the arena, its fiery eyes glaring down at Wu Tianjue. "If I must fall," Qingshan roared, "then I will burn you down with me!"
Wu Tianjue's lips curved into a faint smirk, though it lacked any warmth. "Admirable," he said softly, his voice cutting through the roaring flames like a blade. "To burn your soul for one last attack… I will honor your effort with my best."
The air around him shifted. His needle expanded, stretching into a long, ominous blade. Black mist coiled around it, the oppressive energy making even the onlookers shiver in fear. The crowd, previously abuzz with whispers, fell completely silent.
The elder overseeing the fight narrowed his eyes. "That sword…" he murmured to himself. "It's as if it's devouring the very essence of the arena."
Wu Tianjue raised the blade high, his stance relaxed but radiating overwhelming dominance. "Void-Shattering Slash," he said, almost as a whisper.
The black energy around the blade erupted into a crescent of pure destruction, cutting through the air with a shrill scream. The ground beneath Wu Tianjue cracked and shattered, unable to bear the pressure.
Qingshan let out a guttural roar, his spear surging forward with the full force of his demonic apparition. The flames collided head-on with the black crescent, the resulting explosion shaking the entire arena.
The elder's seals activated in full force, forming layers of barriers to contain the energy. Even then, cracks began to form on the outermost layer. The audience shielded their faces as waves of heat and darkness surged outwards.
When the light and chaos subsided, the battlefield was revealed.
Han Qingshan stood frozen, his spear clutched tightly in his hands. A thin line of black energy had severed it cleanly in half, the once-mighty weapon now reduced to two broken fragments.
Blood trickled from the corner of Qingshan's mouth as he looked down. A single, clean cut ran diagonally across his torso. He fell to his knees, his strength leaving him.
Wu Tianjue lowered his blade, its energy dissipating as he calmly returned it to its needle form and placed it back in his hair. He regarded Qingshan with the faintest hint of respect.
"You were worthy of this stage," Wu Tianjue said. "But not of survival."
With those words, Qingshan's body collapsed, the two halves of his torso falling to the ground with a sickening thud.
The arena was silent.
The crowd stared in stunned disbelief. Han Qingshan, one of the core disciples, the wielder of the Heavenly Demonic Spear, had been defeated, no, annihilated.
Gasps broke the silence as the realization sank in.
"The Heavenly Demonic Spear… broken?"
"A single slash…"
"That man… What monster is he?"
The elder stepped forward, his face grim. "Wu Tianjue," he announced, his voice steady despite the chaos. "You have proven yourself worthy of the core discipleship. From this day forward, you are ranked third among the core disciples of the School of Talent."
The declaration sent a wave of shock through the crowd.
Wu Tianjue glanced at the elder, his expression indifferent. "Rank three?" he murmured to himself. "How quaint."
He turned his back on the battlefield, his steps slow and deliberate as he left the stage. The crowd parted before him, their gazes a mixture of awe, fear, and respect.
In the distance, atop a secluded tower, a figure watched the events unfold. A faint chuckle escaped his lips. "Rank three, huh? Interesting."