The withered corpse approaching Fang Lin did not move quickly.
Its ancient robe dragged across the stone floor, leaving faint black marks behind it. The black fire in its hollow eyes burned without heat, and every step it took made the lamp flame above tremble slightly. It was not a living cultivator, yet the pressure it carried felt strangely complete, as if the Black Judgment Lamp had taken the weight of Fang Lin's answer and given it bones.
Around the hall, other corpses also stepped down from their stone seats.
Some moved toward the Green Bamboo Sect disciples. Some moved toward the River Sword Sect. The weaker disciples faced corpses with weaker auras, while stronger ones attracted more oppressive opponents. This trial was simple. There were no more questions, no more hidden prices, and no more soft whispers digging into the heart. The black lamp had weighed desire. Now it demanded proof.
The ancient voice echoed once, cold and direct. "Defeat the dead before the lamp burns low. Those who cannot prove their desire shall lose what they claimed."
The dark flame above the hall lowered by a small amount.
Everyone understood immediately.
This was a timed battle.
Feng Jiu'er stood opposite a corpse wearing broken crimson armor. Its aura was close to Peak Spirit Foundation Realm, and the black flame inside its eyes flickered with a pressure that seemed to challenge her very words. She had said she wanted strength that did not need permission. The lamp had answered by giving her an opponent that would not step aside because of her sect, her bloodline, or her beauty.
Feng Jiu'er's expression became cold. Her crimson aura rose, pale-green Qi flowing beneath it like roots beneath flame. She lifted her sword and said calmly, "Then come."
The corpse moved.
Its dry palm struck forward, and black fire spread across the air in the shape of a claw. Feng Jiu'er stepped sideways, her sword cutting a thin crimson line through the flame. The impact forced her sleeve back, but her footing did not shift. Her Peak Spirit Foundation aura pressed outward, not wildly, but with the steady arrogance of someone who had already chosen to stand alone.
Across the hall, Xu Hanjiang's opponent also appeared.
His corpse held a rusted sword, and its aura was also Late Spirit Foundation Realm, but its sword pressure was heavier than Xu Hanjiang's. The black lamp had heard his desire to surpass those under Heavenly Sword Lake's banner, and the corpse before him seemed to carry a faint trace of higher sword intent. Xu Hanjiang's face turned ugly. He wanted honor, but the lamp had given him the shadow of the very thing he feared standing beneath.
Fang Lin saw it and almost smiled.
The lamp was not merciful.
Yet it was fair in an unpleasant way.
Then his own corpse arrived.
The corpse facing him wore no armor and held no weapon. Its body was thin, almost fragile, yet the pressure around it was heavy enough to make the stone beneath its feet crack. Black fire moved along its arms like veins. It looked at Fang Lin silently, then raised one hand.
The air sank.
Fang Lin's eyes narrowed slightly.
The corpse did not use Black Mountain Suppression Art, but the feeling was similar. It carried weight, restraint, and the will to force a path closed. If Feng Jiu'er's opponent tested whether she could stand without permission, then Fang Lin's opponent tested whether he could open a road when something stood in front of him.
Very good.
At least this trial knew how to choose its enemies.
The corpse struck.
Its palm descended without sound, but Fang Lin felt the space above him grow heavy. If he dodged too late, his bones would be pressed down by force. If he countered too strongly, he would reveal more than Shen Mo should. He took half a step back, just enough to avoid the center of the pressure, and raised his hand.
"Black Mountain Guard."
A heavy defensive force formed in front of him. The corpse's palm slammed into it, and the impact spread through the hall like a muffled drumbeat. Fang Lin's sleeve fluttered, and his body slid back one step.
Only one step.
Several River Sword Sect disciples noticed and their expressions changed. They had expected the rogue cultivator to be crushed backward. Instead, he had taken the blow cleanly and looked as calm as before.
Murong Yue, who was fighting a thin corpse with a broken dagger, still found time to glance over. Her eyes brightened, but she did not speak. The corpse before her punished distraction immediately, forcing her to twist away from a blade aimed at her shoulder.
Fang Lin looked at his opponent.
The corpse raised its hand again.
This time, Fang Lin moved first.
"Stone Vein Crushing Step."
His foot landed on the floor, and the force spread forward through the stone. The corpse's next step was interrupted for half a breath. That was all Fang Lin needed. He crossed the distance quickly, palm already raised.
"Black Mountain Breaking Palm."
His palm struck the corpse's chest.
The sound was dull and heavy. The corpse staggered back, but the black fire in its eyes only brightened. Its chest had caved in slightly, yet no pain appeared on its face. It was dead. Pain meant nothing to it.
Fang Lin's gaze became thoughtful.
So ordinary injury was not enough.
The corpse's body was merely a vessel. The true core was the black fire inside it, and perhaps the desire-weight drawn from the lamp. If he wanted to destroy it, he needed to break the rhythm connecting corpse and lamp without using his soul power openly.
That was not difficult.
Merely troublesome.
And trouble, if handled properly, could become profit.
The corpse attacked again. This time, both of its hands pressed forward, and the pressure folded inward from two sides. Fang Lin's black-grey robes tightened against his body, and the stone beneath his feet cracked. He let the pressure build for a breath, enough to make it look as if he was being forced into danger.
Then he smiled faintly.
A mountain was heavy, but a road did not need to lift the mountain.
It only needed to pass through the gap.
"Black Mountain Lock."
His suppression force did not target the corpse's body. Instead, it locked onto the flickering black fire around the corpse's elbows. The movement of the corpse paused for the smallest instant. Fang Lin stepped into that instant as if he had been waiting for it from the beginning.
"Stone Vein Crushing Step."
The floor trembled beneath the corpse's feet.
The black fire inside its legs flickered out of rhythm.
Fang Lin's palm followed.
"Black Mountain Breaking Palm."
The second palm struck the exact same place as the first. This time, the corpse's chest cracked open, and a thread of black flame spilled out like blood.
The corpse staggered back three steps.
Fang Lin did not chase immediately. He let his breathing grow heavier, showing the strain a Late Spirit Foundation rogue cultivator should show after forcing back such an opponent. It was a small lie, but useful lies were like small coins. Spend enough of them, and people would believe they had seen your true price.
Feng Jiu'er noticed him again while crossing swords with her corpse.
Her opponent's black flame claw tore through the air, forcing her to twist her wrist and meet it with a crimson sword arc. She did not have the luxury to watch Fang Lin for long, but one glance was enough for her to realize that he was controlling the rhythm of his battle far too well. He looked pressured, yet every retreat gave him a better angle. He looked cautious, yet every strike landed on something important.
He fought like a man who had already found the road.
Feng Jiu'er's eyes sharpened.
Shen Mo was hiding something.
She was certain of it.
But strangely, instead of feeling only suspicion, there was also a faint irritation in her heart. It was the same irritation she had once felt when Fang Lin pretended to be weaker than he was, only to shock everyone at the last moment.
Her opponent attacked harder.
Feng Jiu'er's gaze turned cold, and all distraction vanished.
"Crimson Verdant Line."
A thin red sword line flashed across the hall. The corpse's black flame claw split apart, and Feng Jiu'er stepped through the scattered fire. Her aura pressed forward, Peak Spirit Foundation power blooming around her with restrained dominance.
"I said I would stand alone," she said softly. "That does not mean I stand weak."
Her sword struck.
"Crimson Leaf Sword."
The crimson arc cut across the corpse's shoulder, tearing through ancient armor and black flame together.
On the River Sword Sect side, the situation was uglier.
Xu Hanjiang was strong, but his heart had been shaken before the fight began. His corpse's sword pressure carried a faint imitation of Heavenly Sword Lake's style, clean and cold, and every clash seemed to remind him of what he wanted to surpass. The more he tried to overwhelm it, the more the corpse's sword forced him back.
A River Sword Sect disciple shouted, "Senior Brother Xu!"
Xu Hanjiang's face darkened. "Shut up!"
His cold-blue aura rose sharply, and his sword finally drew a long line of water light through the air.
"River Severing Sword."
The strike was powerful, cutting deep into the corpse's chest. But the corpse did not fall. It lifted its rusted sword and struck back, forcing Xu Hanjiang to retreat with blood at the corner of his mouth.
Fang Lin saw it from the corner of his eye.
Xu Hanjiang still wanted to win beautifully.
That was his mistake.
In a trial like this, face was heavier than any corpse.
Fang Lin's own corpse suddenly lunged forward. Its cracked chest opened wider, and black fire spilled out, forming a ring of pressure around Fang Lin. The ring shrank rapidly, cutting off his retreat.
The Alliance disciples nearby grew tense.
Zhao Feng had just shattered the arm of his own corpse and looked over with concern. "Fellow Daoist Shen!"
Fang Lin did not answer.
His gaze remained on the corpse.
The ring of black fire closed in.
If he used death Qi, he could swallow part of it. If he used the Nine Nether Phantom Body properly, he could crush through it. If he used soul force, he could shatter the black fire's control. But none of those belonged to Shen Mo.
So he used what Shen Mo had already shown.
Pressure.
Weight.
Timing.
Fang Lin raised his right hand and pressed down gently.
"Black Mountain Descent."
The air above the corpse sank.
At the same time, his left foot landed.
"Stone Vein Crushing Step."
The floor trembled.
One pressure descended from above.
One force rose from below.
The corpse was caught between them.
For a brief moment, the black fire ring around Fang Lin loosened. That breath was enough. Fang Lin stepped forward, passing through the weakest point of the ring. His robe brushed against black flame, and a faint burn mark appeared on the edge of his sleeve.
He did not care.
His palm was already moving.
"Black Mountain Breaking Palm."
The palm struck the corpse's cracked chest for the third time.
This time, the force did not spread outward. Fang Lin compressed it into one point. The corpse's body shook violently, and the black fire inside its hollow eyes flickered as if something had been struck at its root.
Fang Lin leaned slightly closer and said in a voice only the corpse could hear, "You are blocking the road."
His palm force erupted.
The corpse's chest shattered completely. Black flame burst out, twisted once in the air, and then collapsed into the ground like dying smoke. The corpse fell backward, its body breaking into ash before it touched the floor.
The black lamp above trembled.
A small stream of dark light fell from the lamp and entered the back of Fang Lin's hand. It formed a faint mark shaped like a black flame.
Fang Lin lowered his hand calmly.
He could feel the mark, but he made no move to inspect it. The trial was not over, and showing interest now would only invite attention. Still, he understood one thing. This was not a reward yet. It was recognition.
The lamp had marked him as someone who had proven his words.
Across the hall, Feng Jiu'er's battle reached its end.
Her corpse opponent had lost one arm, but the black fire around it grew fiercer. It roared silently and rushed toward her, the broken crimson armor burning as if trying to swallow both of them together. Feng Jiu'er did not retreat. Her eyes were bright, and her aura rose with a proud sharpness that forced even Xu Hanjiang to glance over.
"Verdant Flame Lotus Guard."
The layered veil of crimson and green opened before her, blocking the corpse's final charge. The black fire slammed against it, and cracks spread through the defensive veil. Feng Jiu'er stepped through those cracks with her sword raised.
"Burning Bamboo Line."
The sword line pierced the corpse's forehead.
Black fire burst apart.
The corpse froze, then collapsed into ash.
A second stream of dark light fell from the black lamp and entered Feng Jiu'er's hand, forming the same faint black flame mark.
For a moment, Fang Lin and Feng Jiu'er looked at each other across the hall.
No words passed between them.
But both understood.
The lamp had chosen them differently from the others.
Xu Hanjiang saw the marks on their hands, and greed flashed in his eyes despite the blood at his lips. He did not know what the mark was, but it was definitely not ordinary.
His own corpse still stood before him, sword raised. He had not won yet.
Fang Lin noticed that greed and smiled faintly.
The man had not even crossed his own road, yet he was already staring at another's reward.
Some people truly made traps unnecessary.
They carried one in their hearts.
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