The morning sun struggled to pierce the thick, grey smog that constantly hung over Broken Hammer Peak. The air was heavy, tasting of sulfur, crushed coal, and hot iron.
Inside the Outer Assembly Hall, the temperature was stifling. The hall was an architectural monolith, built from massive blocks of dark iron-stone that seemed designed less for beauty and more to withstand a siege. High above, massive banners hung from the arched ceiling, bearing the sect's ancient insignia: a black tortoise shell layered over a pair of crossed forging hammers.
Twenty-eight youths stood in neat rows on the stone floor. Yesterday, there had been over three hundred hopefuls standing in the foothills. Today, only these twenty-eight remained.
Fang Lin stood in the middle of the formation, his completely average frame relaxed, his breathing slow and steady. He had discarded his traveling clothes and now wore the coarse, dark-grey robes of an outer disciple. Hanging from his waist was a rectangular token carved from dense black wood. It bore two simple characters: *Mu Tie*.
At the front of the hall, Elder Zhao stood with his hands clasped behind his back. Without the dust of the trial basin covering him, his deep-green and black armor-robes looked immaculate, radiating a heavy, suffocating pressure that kept the entire hall in absolute silence.
"You look at your robes," Elder Zhao began, his voice echoing off the stone walls like the steady beat of a drum. "You feel the spiritual Qi in the air of this mountain, and you think you have finally arrived. You think that because you survived the Gravity Passage and lifted the Qi-Suppression stones, you are now dragons among men."
He took a slow step forward. The heavy thud of his iron-soled boots made several disciples flinch.
"You are wrong," Elder Zhao said coldly. "You are not dragons. You are raw ore. And Black Tortoise Mountain is the furnace. If you are weak, you will melt into useless slag and be swept out with the ash. Only if you have the will to endure the fire and the hammer will you become steel."
A heavy silence pressed down on the hall. The arrogance that had been slowly building in the disciples' chests since their victory yesterday was instantly crushed under the elder's words.
"Listen well, because I will only explain the foundation of this sect once," Elder Zhao continued. "Venerated Black Tortoise Mountain has stood in the Demon Immortal Continent for thousands of years. We rely on two absolute pillars. Two divisions that form the unbreakable shell of this sect."
He raised a finger.
"The first pillar is the Earth Guardian Division. Their philosophy is simple: an immovable mountain withstands every storm. Those who walk this path cultivate earth, water, and supreme defensive arts. They temper their flesh to become living shields. They are the vanguard, the protectors, the enforcers who bleed to secure our territory and resources."
Elder Zhao raised a second finger.
"The second pillar is the Heavenly Forge Division. The flame that shapes the world."
A low scoff broke the silence.
It was incredibly faint, barely a breath of air escaping someone's lips, but in the absolute stillness of the hall, it was as loud as a hammer strike.
Elder Zhao's eyes snapped toward the front row.
Guan Sheng froze. The arrogant youth, a core scion of the local Guan Clan, had instinctively let out a sound of disdain at the mention of forging. To a noble cultivator focused on combat and glory, blacksmithing was the work of soot-covered laborers, not true experts.
The temperature in the hall plummeted. Elder Zhao did not shout. He simply walked forward until he was standing inches away from Guan Sheng. The immense pressure of a true Domain Forging expert settled over the youth's shoulders, forcing Guan Sheng's knees to buckle slightly.
"You scoff," Elder Zhao said softly. The quiet tone was infinitely more terrifying than a roar. "You think holding a sword makes you superior to the one who forged it."
Guan Sheng's face turned pale. "Elder... I meant no disrespect. I merely believe my talents lie in the martial path."
"Your ignorance is an insult to the continent," Elder Zhao sneered, looking down at the trembling youth. He raised his voice, ensuring every disciple in the hall heard his next words clearly.
"Throughout the cultivation world, combat geniuses are born every day. They fight, they boast, and they die. But a true Artifact Forging Master? They are treated with absolute reverence. Do you think sects merely tolerate us? When a Grand Forging Master walks into Heavenly Sword Lake, their martial elders bow. When our master refiners visit the Scarlet Sun Palace, they are treated as honored guests."
Elder Zhao's eyes swept over the terrified crowd. "A Forging Master does not need to lift a finger in battle. Their authority comes from their craftsmanship. They create the formations that protect your cities. They refine the armor that keeps your ancestors alive. They forge the weapons that allow fools like you to claim glory. A single high-ranking Forging Master has more favors owed to them by Sovereign Realm experts than you have hairs on your head. Disrespect the forge, and you will find no merchant willing to sell to you, no array master willing to protect you, and no weapon capable of saving you."
The heavy silence returned, but this time, it was filled with awe. The disciples, including Guan Sheng, stared at the stone floor, the reality of the cultivation world fully crashing down on them.
Fang Lin watched the exchange with cold, detached precision.
His alias, Mu Tie, was built as a peak Spirit Foundation body cultivator. Joining the Earth Guardian Division would have been the easiest way to blend in, but Elder Zhao's words perfectly confirmed what Fang Lin had already deduced.
The Heavenly Forge Division controlled the sect's material wealth, its restricted supply lines, and its ancient records. A combat disciple would never be allowed near the true vaults or the ancient inventories where the clue of the 'Old Root Storehouse' might be found. To uncover the secrets of Black Mountain Gate and the origin of the grey-green vitality leaf, he needed to be a forger.
Elder Zhao turned away from Guan Sheng, his anger simmering down into a cold discipline. "As new outer disciples, you are unqualified to choose a division. For your first year, you belong to the Basic Smelting Halls."
A murmur of dismay rippled through the candidates.
"You will break ore. You will haul coal. You will manage the furnace fires and clean the slag pits," Elder Zhao declared ruthlessly. "You will receive a meager stipend of basic merit points each month. Only when you have accumulated one thousand merit points will you earn the right to take the Division Entrance Exam."
Elder Zhao looked back over the crowd. "Are there any questions?"
Fang Lin took a deliberate half-step forward. He kept his expression stoic, his completely unremarkable and average build blending perfectly into the crowd of laborers.
"Elder," Fang Lin said, his voice imposing and smooth, perfectly matching his physical persona. "If a disciple excels in the Smelting Halls... is it possible to earn merit points faster? I wish to enter the Heavenly Forge as soon as possible."
Guan Sheng shot him a look of absolute disbelief. To him, the heavy labor was an insulting punishment. To see this rogue brute actively asking for more of it was incomprehensible.
Elder Zhao, however, paused. His harsh gaze evaluated 'Mu Tie' for a long moment, his clean robes, scholarly aura Fang Lin had, and the steady, unblinking determination in his eyes.
"The Smelting Halls reward output," Elder Zhao said, his tone fractionally less hostile than it had been toward Guan Sheng. "If you can crush double the ore, you earn double the points. If you survive the heat of the deeper furnaces, you earn more. The sect does not cap ambition in the forge. It only tests if your bones will break under the weight."
"Understood. Thank you, Elder," Fang Lin replied smoothly, stepping back into line.
It was a masterfully calculated move. With a single question, he had cemented his persona. Elder Zhao now saw him as an ambitious, forge-focused cultivator—the exact opposite of the arrogant, combat-obsessed nobles. No one would suspect a man who eagerly threw himself into the soot and ash of being an infiltrator looking for ancient secrets.
"Your assignments have been recorded in your tokens," Elder Zhao announced, dismissing the hall. "Report to your designated Smelting Hall immediately."
The disciples began infusing traces of Qi into their black wooden tokens. Groans echoed as they realized the scale of the labor awaiting them.
Guan Sheng crushed his token tightly in his hand, glaring at Fang Lin. "Enjoy the coal dust, rogue," he sneered quietly as he passed. "I will be in the Guardian Division before you even learn how to hold a hammer properly."
Fang Lin didn't even look at him. He simply infused a sliver of physical Qi into his own token.
*Mu Tie. Outer Disciple. Assignment: Smelting Hall Number Seven. Task: Heavy Ore Crushing and Furnace Fueling.*
He tied the token to his belt and walked out into the industrial maze of Broken Hammer Peak.
The outer sect was a sprawling chaos of stone paths, massive anvils, and roaring kilns. The air vibrated with the deafening clang of hammers striking steel. Hundreds of grey-robed disciples moved like ants, hauling carts of raw iron and refined ingots.
As Fang Lin navigated the complex, his mind shifted from his persona back to his true nature.
He carefully sealed his Frost, Life, and Death cores behind the reconstructed Three-River Nether Meridian Network. Then, relying entirely on the immense strength of his Peak-Solid Soul state, he released a highly compressed, completely invisible thread of divine sense.
He kept the scan tight and strictly controlled, extending it no further than a ten-mile radius. He did not probe the inner sect formations, knowing the powerful elders residing there would sense it immediately. He only mapped the immediate layout of the Smelting Halls and the defensive arrays layered over the mountain.
*The arrays are dense, heavily focused on earth and metal suppression,* Fang Lin noted.
But as his divine sense brushed the very edge of the bedrock beneath the roaring furnaces, he felt something.
It was an ancient, incredibly dense suppression rune. It felt cold, archaic, and terrifyingly heavy—like a chain meant to bind something that could not be killed.
Fang Lin instantly snapped his divine sense back, his eyes narrowing slightly as he continued walking. His heartbeat remained steady, but his mind raced.
He had expected to find records and old supplies in Black Tortoise Mountain. He had not expected to find a seal of that magnitude buried under the very foundation of the sect.
Fang Lin arrived at the entrance of Smelting Hall Number Seven. The heat radiating from the open archway was intense enough to scorch normal skin, and the deafening roar of the massive blast furnace drowned out all other sound.
He stepped inside, the heat washing over his coarse grey robes.
He needed one thousand merit points. He needed access to the deep archives. And now, he needed to know exactly what this sect was keeping chained in the dark.
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