Zhang Yan stepped out of the Crimson Asura Hall, his breath misting in the cold night air. The scent of blood still clung to his robes, but he paid it no mind. He had survived his first trial, but in the Nine Hells Demon Sect, survival was the bare minimum. Strength dictated all, and he was still nothing more than a mere ant in the eyes of the true demons that roamed these halls.
The stone pathways of the sect wound like a serpent through the cliffs, leading to the outer disciple quarters. As Zhang Yan walked, murmurs followed him.
"That orphan actually passed?"
"He killed three senior acolytes… but that doesn't make him strong."
"Let's see how long he lasts."
Zhang Yan ignored them. Words meant nothing... only strength mattered.
He reached the outer disciple barracks—a massive courtyard filled with dozens of warriors in black robes. Some sparred with cruel-looking weapons, others meditated to refine their Demonic Qi, the dark energy that fueled the sect's techniques. Zhang Yan had no room, no standing, no master to guide him. He was a ghost among demons.
But he wasn't alone for long.
A burly youth with a jagged scar down his cheek stepped in front of him. Wei Tian, one of the stronger outer disciples. He wielded a cleaver-like sword, its edge chipped from countless battles.
"You're the new dog, aren't you?" Wei Tian sneered. "You killed some nobodies, and now you think you belong here?"
Zhang Yan's expression remained cold.
Wei Tian's grin widened. "Let's play a game. If you can survive three of my strikes, I'll let you sleep under the roof tonight."
Before Zhang Yan could respond, Wei Tian moved. His blade howled through the air, descending like a guillotine.
Zhang Yan's eyes sharpened. He didn't step back rather he stepped in.
The moment before impact, he twisted his body, letting the sword scrape past his shoulder. A shallow cut, his face unflinching at the pain, as his eyes stared deeply at his opponent. At the same time, his fingers lashed out like claws, aiming for Wei Tian's throat.
Wei Tian barely dodged, surprise flickering in his eyes.
The second strike came, a brutal horizontal slash. Zhang Yan ducked low, feeling the wind of the attack above him. He didn't hesitate. Using his momentum, he drove his elbow into Wei Tian's ribs.
A dull crack which was barely audible sounded out.
Wei Tian staggered as his face became slightly paled.
The third strike never came. Wei Tian backed away, his breath heavy, his eyes filled with rage and something else—caution.
"You bastard," he growled. "You're faster than you look."
Zhang Yan met his gaze, unblinking. "You lost."
The courtyard was silent. Then, laughter erupted from the watching disciples.
"That was interesting!"
"Looks like we've got a new monster in the den."
Wei Tian spat on the ground. "Tch. Don't get cocky, orphan. You may have won tonight, but sooner or later, you'll be nothing more than another corpse rotting in the pits."
Zhang Yan said nothing as Wei Tian walked away.
He had proven himself. For now.
But deep in his heart, he knew—this was just the beginning. The true trials had yet to come.
And he would be ready.