The dying rays of the setting sun bathed the Grand Exhibition Plaza in a deep, blood-red glow.
Across the vast amphitheater of Sacred Flame Peak, the volcanic sulfur mists swirled lazily against the defensive gravity wards. Thousands of array lanterns carved from luminescent white jade began to flicker to life around the rising stone tiers, casting long, sharp shadows across the floor of the caldera.
On the central white-jade platform, the final shift of twenty-five Core Smiths was deep into their two-hour analytical window.
Tapping rods chimed in erratic rhythms, spirit-measuring calipers flashed with faint elemental sparks, and several young smiths from foreign vassal clans were visibly sweating, their brows furrowed as they frantically scribbled runic notes onto their jade slips. The pressure of standing on the same stage where Huo Zhen had unraveled the self-circulating thermal loop and Gu Chen had revealed the directional density gradient was nearly suffocating for ordinary craftsmen.
In the midst of this frantic scrambling, "Mu Tie"—Fang Lin—stood calmly before the basalt pedestal.
His posture was the picture of an ordinary, methodical smith. He held a pair of simple brass tuning rods in his left hand and a standard low-grade thermal resonance needle in his right. Every few dozen breaths, he would tap the obsidian shaft with the brass rod, produce a dull *ting*, pause for several moments as if deep in concentration, and then gently touch the thermal needle against a flanged edge.
To any onlooker in the stands, he looked like a cautious, hardworking junior who was doing his absolute best not to make a fool of himself.
Inside his soul sea, however, the Dark Flame Spirit was lying on a hammock woven from black fire, munching on a spectral spirit fruit while shaking its head in sheer amusement.
*You know, kid,* the spirit laughed, its voice echoing with mirth, *watching an ancient-tier Grandmaster pretend to struggle with a three-cent brass needle is probably the greatest theatrical performance this continent has seen in ten thousand years. Are you sure you're not sweating too little? Maybe throw in a dramatic gasp to make it look realistic!*
*Quiet,* Fang Lin replied with a calm, inward smile. *A true craftsman works with steady hands, not theatrical gasps. If I act too flustered, Master Huo will think I lacked composure.*
Fang Lin lowered his eyes back to the obsidian mace resting before him.
Of course, every microscopic fracture, thermal conduit, and kinetic compression vector in the *Volcanic Annihilation* was as familiar to him as the veins in his own palm. He had spent five grueling years inside the Ashen Crucible learning the forging method of Ou Yezi and hammering this very stone seventy-two thousand times during the forging. He knew precisely why the weapon breathed, why it circulated heat, and how the sovereign Laws of Destruction bound the fire into a singular, indestructible vessel.
The real challenge wasn't analyzing the weapon; the challenge was writing an analysis that was technically accurate, moderately intelligent, but thoroughly, unapologetically *mediocre*.
If he wrote nothing, he would fail the round, which would humiliate Elder Huo after the old man had personally urged him to participate.
If he wrote the full truth—explaining how the thermal loop and directional density were merely secondary symptoms of the seventy-two-strike compression matrix—he would blow the entire continent's minds, immediately putting himself at the center of a diplomatic storm between ten major sects.
Therefore, the only viable path was the middle road: a safe, foundational thesis that earned just enough points to qualify for the next stage while keeping him completely beneath the notice of the grandmasters above.
Fang Lin drew a blank jade slip from his storage pouch. Infusing a modest wisp of early Core Formation spiritual energy into his fingertip, he began to carve his treatise into the stone.
He focused entirely on one simple, physical observation:
*The weapon's internal heat is not merely contained within the core; it is compressed and redirected through the weapon's microscopic internal grain toward the flanged striking head.*
He provided basic, standard calculations for linear heat expansion. He included standard thermal-conduction vectors that any diligent student of heavy-forging would recognize. And then, right before the calculations touched upon the self-circulating loop or the kinetic law balance, Fang Lin stopped.
He cut the thesis short, sealed the jade slip, and tucked it into his sleeve.
***
*DONG——!*
The ancient bronze bell chimed for the final time of the day, its deep, resonant echo rolling across the volcanic peaks.
"The two-hour shift has concluded!" the presiding deacon's voice boomed across the caldera. "The First Round of The Annihilation Analysis Gathering is officially drawn to a close! All participants of the final batch, present your analytical treatises to the Judgment Council!"
The twenty-five crafters on the stage stepped back from the pedestal. Several let out exhausted sighs of relief, while others hurried up the stairs of the White Basalt Terrace with eager, nervous expressions.
Fang Lin walked near the middle of the group, his hands loosely tucked into his sleeves, keeping his head respectfully lowered as he climbed the steps.
One by one, the submitted jade slips were placed onto the Judgment Council's central evaluation array.
Most of the final batch's submissions were unremarkable. Disciples from small borderland sects presented repetitive theories on obsidian smelting temperatures, mineral hardness, and basic handle balance—all of which were swiftly assigned low passing or failing marks by the elder judges.
Then, the deacon took Fang Lin's jade slip and placed it upon the glowing array node.
"Ironblood Faction of Black Tortoise Mountain, Core Smith Mu Tie," the deacon announced.
*HUMMM——*
A modest, amber-red projection flickered into the sky above the Judgment Council, displaying Fang Lin's handwritten treatise for the arena to see.
The text was neat, concise, and remarkably brief. It took up barely a fraction of the colossal sky-screen compared to the sprawling, multi-layered runic models that Huo Zhen and Gu Chen had projected earlier in the day.
The stadium went quiet for a moment as the spectators and elders read through the lines.
And then, a collective wave of bewildered murmurs rippled across the basalt tiers.
"Wait... that's it?"
"The internal heat is compressed and redirected along the grain toward the striking head?"
"Is that all he wrote?!"
"Hahaha, what kind of basic observation is that? Any apprentice who has forged fire-copper for three years knows that compressed grain channels heat forward! We were waiting to see if Black Tortoise Mountain had another genius up their sleeve, and they give us this?!"
In the high VIP lodge of the Scarlet Sun Palace, Grand Elder Yan Lie leaned back in his luxurious armchair and burst into a loud, booming laugh that echoed across the entire terrace.
"Hahahahaha!" Yan Lie roared with mocking delight, slapping his knee as his crimson beard shook with laughter. "Sect Master Xuan Yuan, Brother Duan, is this the caliber of disciples your Ironblood Faction is producing these days?! Merely pointing out that heat travels along the grain? A child who has worked a bellows in a mortal village could have told us that!"
Yan Lie waved his wide sleeve with supreme dismissiveness, turning his head away and chuckling to himself, not even deigning to spare the plain, grey-robed Mu Tie another glance.
Beside him, Huo Zhen had a faint, arrogant smirk playing at the corner of his lips, his eyes full of cold condescension as he glanced down at the stage. Yan Feng shook his head with an amused scoff. To the prodigies of the Scarlet Sun Palace, this "Mu Tie" was nothing more than an insignificant ant filling out the tournament numbers.
On the host terrace of Black Tortoise Mountain, the atmosphere was somewhat muted.
Senior Brother Ma Teng, sitting among the Ironblood disciples in the stands, let out a soft, rueful sigh, facepalming into his hand. "Ah, Brother Mu... I knew you were lazy, but to write only the foundational grain theory... You really have zero competitive spirit."
However, up on the Judgment Council, Grand Domain Smith Elder Duan did not laugh.
His ancient, discerning eyes scanned through the mathematical formulas Fang Lin had carved into the jade. While the thesis was undeniably simple and covered only the most basic layer of the weapon's construction, the calculations themselves were flawlessly precise. There was not a single wasted character, not a single mathematical error, and the directional thermal flow was mapped with textbook perfection.
Elder Duan looked down at Fang Lin, who was standing quietly with his hands cupped in a humble, respectful bow.
"The thesis covers only the superficial grain conductivity," an elder judge from the Star River Alliance commented with a mild shrug, jotting down a mark. "It lacks the revolutionary depth of Huo Zhen's loop or Gu Chen's density gradient. However, the geometric calculations are entirely sound. It fulfills the criteria for a standard passing submission."
Elder Duan stroked his silver beard, nodding slowly.
"Approved," Elder Duan declared calmly, his deep voice carrying across the caldera. "Core Smith Mu Tie of the Ironblood Faction receives a middle-tier passing evaluation."
On the Ironblood bench, Elder Huo's face broke into a wide, pleased grin. He slapped his heavy palm against his thigh, letting out a loud, contented snort toward the Scarlet Sun pavilion.
"Hah! A pass is a pass!" Elder Huo muttered to himself with deep satisfaction. "The boy went up there, stayed calm, didn't make a fool of himself, and secured a clean spot for the next round. Good enough for me!"
***
Down on the platform steps, Fang Lin bowed once more to the elders before turning and walking calmly back toward the Ironblood seating.
He had heard Yan Lie's booming mockery. He had seen the dismissive sneers of the Scarlet Sun disciples. Yet, beneath his calm, unbothered exterior, Fang Lin was thoroughly satisfied.
He had accomplished precisely what he set out to do.
He had given Master Huo a solid, respectable result. He had safely qualified for the next phase of the gathering. And most importantly, by appearing thoroughly mediocre and unimpressive, he had ensured that all the continental attention, jealousy, and foreign scrutiny remained locked squarely onto Huo Zhen and Gu Chen.
In a gathering filled with hundreds of proud crafters desperate to prove their genius to the heavens, the greatest master of them all was content to sit quietly in the back row, sipping lukewarm tea in faded grey robes.
High above the caldera, Grand Domain Smith Elder Duan rose to his feet, raising his wide sleeves as the ancient bronze bell tolled to signal the end of the day.
"The First Round of The Annihilation Analysis Gathering is now officially concluded!" Elder Duan announced, his voice rolling like thunder across Sacred Flame Peak. "Out of four hundred registered Core Smiths across the continent, thirty-two participants have achieved qualifying evaluations!"
Elder Duan's eyes swept across the vast arena, lingering for a moment on the high pavilions of the two crafting hegemons.
"Tomorrow morning, the Second Round shall commence. The qualifying smiths shall step onto the platform once more to delve into the deepest, innermost mysteries of the *Volcanic Annihilation*!"
As the deafening cheers of tens of thousands of spectators shook the basalt foundations of the mountain, the two crafting hegemons prepared for the true, decisive battle that lay ahead.
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