I had been the last person to step onto the Bridge of Judgment, yet somehow I was the first to complete the crossing.
Looking back across the span, I could observe the other disciples' progress.
Zhang Feng was nearly finished. His face was showing visible strain, but his steps were still steady. Liang Ruxue followed not far behind him, her pace smooth despite the strain clearly weighing on her.
But what truly caught my attention... was not the front.
It was the back.
Yang Dong, despite his injuries and earlier struggles, had managed to push past the halfway point. His face was drenched in sweat, his entire body trembling, but he continued inching forward with stubborn determination. Greed truly is a powerful motivator.
The one furthest behind wasn't him, however.
It was Yue Lian. The ice-cold cultivator, who had shown no emotion until now, was trembling.
She stood barely one-quarter of the way across the bridge, completely motionless. Tears streamed freely down her beautiful face. Her eyes remained tightly shut, and her lips moved constantly, whispering words I couldn't make out from this distance. Her entire body shook with visible tremors.
So her Dao Heart, or rather, it seems that her past is her weakness.
Everyone else had at least reached the halfway point, but she appeared utterly paralyzed, unable to advance even a single additional step past the first quarter.
Then, suddenly, her eyes snapped open.
A cry tore from her throat, filled with anguish that echoed across the chasm.
And then, the stone steps beneath her feet simply faded.
Yue Lian plunged downward into the abyss.
She continued screaming as she fell, her voice growing more distant with each passing second as the darkness below swallowed her—
Then her eyes focused. Clarity returned to her gaze.
Her hand moved with desperate speed, withdrawing something from her robes. A medallion flashed in her grip.
Brilliant white light erupted around her falling form, so intense it hurt to look at directly. The light consumed her completely, and when it faded a heartbeat later—
She was gone, leaving no trace.
I watched the empty space where she had been.
So she recovered her mental state at the last moment.
The realization was almost impressive. To pull herself back from whatever psychological torment had driven her to tears and to regain enough presence of mind to activate the emergency medallion while in freefall spoke to considerable mental resilience despite her failure.
But the outcome remained unchanged: she'd used the sect-issued medallion that each of us had received upon entering the Obsidium Sanctum. The one that guaranteed safe extraction in life-threatening situations.
Which meant her participation in this trial was finished. She'd be transported back to the sect, alive but eliminated from the competition for the Core of the Five Symbols.
One down. Nine remaining.
Before I could continue observing the others' progress, something materialized directly in front of me.
A weapon.
It appeared without warning, simply manifesting from empty air.
It was a scythe.
Massive in scale, towering over me completely. The shaft alone had to be nearly three meters long, crafted from some dark wood that seemed to drink in light. But what truly drew attention was the blade.
Pure white. Pristine, almost luminous white that contrasted starkly with the dark shaft. And shaped like a perfect crescent moon. The weapon radiated power.
I reached out and grasped the shaft.
The instant my fingers made contact, information flooded my mind.
Pure understanding flowed directly into my consciousness. Knowledge of the weapon's nature, its capabilities, and its proper use. How to wield it. How to maintain it. How to channel Qi through its structure for enhanced effects.
"...What an exceptional weapon," I breathed out, genuinely astonished.
This was the kind of weapon that Foundation Establishment, no, probably even Core Formation cultivators would kill to possess.
I examined the blade more closely. It towered over me completely, the crescent moon shape giving it an almost ceremonial appearance. Yet I could feel the latent lethality in its construction.
But this size is impractical for actual combat.
I focused my intent, mentally commanding the weapon to adjust.
The scythe responded immediately. Its physical dimensions began shrinking, compressing down smoothly until it reached a perfect fit for my current height. Only the form had altered. Its power remained completely unchanged.
Good. Now let's test compatibility.
I channeled Metal Qi through the shaft.
The pure white blade shifted, taking on a silvery-black hue that gleamed like polished steel. Intricate runes manifested along the shaft's length, dancing and flowing in mesmerizing patterns. The entire weapon hummed with barely contained cutting force.
I slightly cut my finger and switched to Blood Qi.
The scythe's appearance transformed again, this time taking on a far more ominous character. The blade shifted to deep crimson red, and what looked like flames began writhing along its edge. It wasn't actual fire, but condensed Blood Qi shaped to resemble flickering tongues of flame. The shaft darkened to near-black, and the entire weapon radiated an aura of menace that made the air around it feel heavier.
I glanced ahead toward the bridge's far edge. Zhang Feng was taking his final steps, nearly across completely. His eyes remained closed, his face taut with concentration.
I gave another mental command. The scythe responded instantly. The massive weapon started flowing into my open palm like liquid, then seemed to dissolve into my skin entirely. It didn't enter a storage ring or spatial pouch. It simply merged with me somehow, becoming part of my existence while remaining accessible for instant recall.
A soul-bound weapon? Or something similar?
Just as the scythe finished its integration, Zhang Feng's foot touched down on solid ground beyond the bridge.
His eyes opened slowly, and for a moment, he stood motionless, clearly recovering from whatever trials he'd endured. Then his gaze focused, sweeping across his surroundings to orient himself.
And his eyes widened considerably when they landed on me.
The shock on his face was almost comical.
His mouth opened slightly, then closed. Then opened again.
"You...How did you...?"
He trailed off, apparently unable to formulate a complete question through his confusion.
Yes, I imagine it would be disorienting to cross what felt like an eternity of psychological torment, only to find the weakest cultivator in the group already waiting on the other side.
"I simply had a peaceful childhood," I replied evenly.
Zhang Feng's eyebrows rose skeptically. "With that level of killing intent you displayed earlier?"
"That came after my peaceful childhood."
"..."
His mouth opened again, presumably to press the issue further, but something materialized in the air directly in front of him, cutting off whatever question he'd been about to ask.
It was a spear. It looked very high in quality, but compared to the crescent moon scythe I'd received, it was distinctly ordinary.
So the bridge rewards are scaled based on performance during the crossing.
Zhang Feng examined his new spear for several moments, running his fingers along the shaft and testing its balance with a few experimental movements. Though I couldn't read it based on his expression, he seemed satisfied with the reward.
Then he glanced at me. Back at his spear. Then at me again, as though trying to determine whether I'd also received a weapon and what it might have looked like.
Finally, he stored the spear away in his spatial ring with a decisive motion.
Interesting. Either his weapon lacks the soul-binding capability mine possesses, or he's deliberately concealing that feature if it exists.
I kept my expression neutral, offering no information about my own reward.
Regardless, under normal circumstances, I would have continued ascending immediately. The Core awaited at the summit, and standing around served no productive purpose.
But the path ahead was blocked.
It wasn't a physical obstruction, as the path ahead continued upward, but some invisible barrier that prevented forward movement. Probably a formation designed to hold everyone at this checkpoint until the trial phase was completed for all participants.
Zhang Feng noticed it as well. He'd taken a few steps toward the ascending path only to encounter resistance, like walking into an invisible wall. He tested it briefly, then accepted the limitation and turned back.
His gaze swept across the bridge behind us, taking inventory of who remained on the span and how far they'd progressed.
Then his eyes narrowed slightly.
"Where is Junior Sister Yue Lian?" he asked, turning back to face me. "She should have been among the middle group. I don't see her anywhere on the bridge."
"Her Dao Heart wasn't strong enough to withstand the trials," I replied simply. "The steps beneath her dissolved. She fell into the abyss but managed to activate her emergency medallion before hitting whatever's at the bottom."
Understanding crossed Zhang Feng's features, followed immediately by a quiet sigh. "I see. She always struggled with unresolved matters from her past. I suppose the bridge found those weaknesses and exploited them."
"Seems so."
We didn't further comment on the subject, and instead we waited.
The awkwardness of standing near each other with nothing to do and no conversation to fill the void stretched out uncomfortably. But neither of us seemed inclined to initiate small talk, so we simply... existed in proximity, watching the remaining disciples battle their internal demons.
...
Several minutes passed before the next person completed the crossing.
It was Liang Ruxue.
Just like Zhang Feng, she needed a few moments to recover from whatever state the bridge had left her in. Her eyes opened slowly, surveying her surroundings with uncharacteristic caution.
For the first time since I'd met her, her expression carried genuine gravity. The perpetual teasing glint in her eyes had been replaced by something more somber, more reflective. Whatever she'd experienced on that bridge had affected her deeply, even if only temporarily.
Spotting Zhang Feng standing nearby didn't surprise her, but when her gaze landed on me, her eyes widened slightly.
Then, just as quickly, the shift happened. The seriousness evaporated, replaced by that familiar teasing demeanor like a mask sliding back into place.
"Oh my~" A smile bloomed across her face as she walked toward me without hesitation. "You're already here, Junior Brother?"
Before I could formulate any response, she reached out and began tapping various points on my body with her pointer finger as though conducting some sort of physical inspection.
"Hmm..." she murmured, stepping back slightly, though not nearly enough to be considered proper distance. "Now I'm curious... who arrived first? You..." her gaze flicked to Zhang Feng, "or Senior Brother Zhang Feng?"
Zhang Feng didn't answer. He simply looked at me.
That gave Liang Ruxue everything she needed.
"How interesting... how very interesting~" she hummed. "So? How did you do it?"
I shrugged. "I walked."
"Mhm~" She nodded with exaggerated seriousness. "And I'm the Sect Leader."
She leaned in again, far too close, her face only inches from mine as she studied me with unabashed fascination.
"Tell me, Kiyotaka," she whispered, voice light but probing, "what did you see?"
I took a half-step backward to reestablish some distance.
She immediately followed, closing the gap once more.
"Nothing worth mentioning," I replied flatly.
"Hmph!" She puffed her cheeks slightly. "That just makes me more curious, you know!"
Her finger tapped my temple this time.
She has absolutely no concept of personal space whatsoever.
"Junior Sister Liang Ruxue," Zhang Feng's voice carried across the clearing, carrying a note of mild exasperation that suggested this wasn't the first time he'd had to intervene in her invasive behavior. "Give Junior Brother Ayanokoji some room to breathe."
I mentally thanked him.
She glanced back at him over her shoulder, smiled with perfect innocence, then turned back to poke my shoulder one more time for good measure.
"Alright, I'll accept that... for now." She laughed softly, but something in her eyes suggested she was taking mental notes for future interrogation. The playfulness remained, but underneath it ran a current of genuine seriousness.
Then, finally, she stepped back and gave me actual space.
Just then, a weapon materialized before her, just like what occurred with Zhang Feng and me. A short sword with a jade-green blade that radiated concentrated Wood Qi. She examined it briefly, turning it over in her hands and testing its weight, then smiled with evident satisfaction before making it vanish into her spatial storage just as Zhang Feng had done with his spear.
Then she looked between Zhang Feng and me again. An unreadable smile appeared on her face.
We settled into waiting once more. Unlike the awkward silence between Zhang Feng and me, Liang Ruxue showed absolutely no inclination toward quiet contemplation. She hummed that same unidentifiable melody while occasionally offering casual observations about the remaining disciples' struggles on the bridge.
...
Over the next twenty minutes, the others completed the trial one by one.
Hua Mingzhu came through next. Her breathing was heavy but controlled, and despite obvious physical exhaustion, her mental state appeared intact. She immediately assessed her surroundings with tactical awareness before her gaze settled on our small gathering. A pair of earthen-brown gauntlets materialized before her. She examined them briefly, nodded with satisfaction, then moved to stand apart from our group without initiating conversation.
Zhao Wuying emerged after her.
His expression was notably darker than usual, his jaw set tight, and his eyes carried shadows that suggested whatever the bridge had shown him hadn't been very pleasant. A sword appeared before him. It was well-crafted but unremarkable compared to some of the other weapons I'd seen. He examined it with barely concealed disappointment before storing it away.
Then his gaze found me.
"You!" He pointed accusingly, his voice sharp. "How did you—"
He cut himself off abruptly, jaw clenching so hard I could hear his teeth grind even from several meters away. Whatever accusation or question he'd been about to level apparently died in his throat. Instead, he simply glared with undisguised fury before stalking to the opposite side of the gathering area, putting maximum distance between himself and me.
Even he managed to pass despite his arrogance and obvious personality flaws.
The observation made me reflect once more on what that disembodied voice had told me within the darkness. The Dao Heart wasn't evaluated based on moral goodness or righteousness. It had nothing to do with being right in any ethical sense.
It was purely about conviction. About possessing absolute clarity regarding your chosen path, regardless of what that path looked like or where it led.
Which means even genociders, mass murderers, people who've committed atrocities beyond counting—they could all possess flawless, unshakeable Dao Hearts if their convictions were strong enough.
The cultivation world doesn't judge the content of your beliefs. Only their strength and coherence.
Zhao Wuying's path was arrogant, selfish, and driven almost entirely by ego and a pathological need to prove superiority over everyone around him. By any reasonable moral standard, his worldview was shallow and toxic.
But he held those convictions with sufficient strength that the Bridge of Judgment's trials couldn't shatter them.
There really is no "wrong" Dao Heart. Only weak versus strong.
Dong Mei crossed next, her face pale and drawn, her movements almost mechanical. She avoided eye contact with everyone, especially me, and immediately positioned herself at the furthest possible point from where I stood. Her reward was a pair of dark daggers that seemed to drink in surrounding light. Her hands trembled visibly as she stored them away in her spatial pouch.
Following her, Yang Dong and Xun Liang arrived. Both displayed varying degrees of psychological trauma, but ultimately they endured and completed the trial.
This left only one person still on the bridge.
Meng Ning.
He only had about thirty meters remaining. In less than the time required to drink a cup of tea, he should cross the bridge.
But then, without any warning whatsoever, every single step on the bridge vanished simultaneously.
Not just the stones beneath Meng Ning's feet. Every segment across the entire thousand-meter span simply ceased to exist in a single instant.
And with nothing beneath him, Meng Ning plunged downward into the abyss.
His scream tore through the air. It was the sound of someone who understood with absolute certainty that they were about to die and possessed no means of preventing it. I've once seen that absolute despair.
The scream echoed across the chasm, bouncing off invisible walls, seeming to come from every direction at once as it reverberated through the vast emptiness.
Several disciples flinched at the sound. Yang Dong and Xun Liang both looked genuinely frightened. After all, they'd been standing on that same bridge mere minutes ago.
The rest watched with varying degrees of detachment. This level of danger wasn't particularly shocking for cultivators who'd reached Foundation Establishment. By that stage, they should have become accustomed to the reality of life and death struggles. Only those who'd grown up heavily protected by their sects or families would find such scenes novel. And those pampered disciples typically died quickly once they ventured beyond their protective barriers.
Zhang Feng and Liang Ruxue appeared completely unfazed. Their expressions carried no shock or distress. There was just the observation of an unfortunate but unremarkable event.
The screaming continued for several more seconds, growing progressively fainter and more distorted as Meng Ning fell deeper into the darkness.
Hua Mingzhu's expression suddenly shifted to realization. "Activate it!" she shouted toward the abyss, amplifying her voice with her cultivation base so it would carry into the depths. "The medallion! Use the medallion!"
Whether Meng Ning heard her warning or simply regained enough presence of mind independently, a brilliant flash of white light erupted from deep within the darkness below.
The screaming cut off abruptly, replaced by complete silence.
Meng Ning was gone. Transported to safety outside the sanctum.
It would have been more interesting to observe without her interruption, I thought dispassionately. To see how long it would have taken him to remember the emergency exit on his own. Whether panic would have prevented activation entirely.
"Two failures," Zhang Feng observed quietly, his tone neutral and analytical. "A twenty percent elimination rate just from the first major trial."
"I cannot believe that Junior Sister Yue Lian would be the first to fail..." Hua Mingzhu muttered after recovering from witnessing Meng Ning's fall. Her voice carried genuine surprise and perhaps a trace of sadness.
"Hmph!" Zhao Wuying snorted derisively. "Quite the attitude she always carried, just to become the first failure. How pathetic."
He instantly received furious glares from Hua Mingzhu, who apparently had been closest to Yue Lian among the gathered disciples. "Are you that petty? Is this because you know she would beat you in any fair fight?"
"Haha!" Zhao Wuying's laugh was harsh and mocking. "Someone who couldn't even pass the first trial, a trial that even our tiny Qi Condensation cultivator managed to complete, you think she could defeat me? Don't make me laugh!"
His gaze swung toward me with undisguised contempt as he spoke those last words.
The atmosphere immediately tensed.
I looked at him with my usual neutral expression and said nothing.
"Did you hear me?" Zhao Wuying's voice rose with a challenge.
I disregarded him and turned my attention to the path ahead as though he'd said nothing of consequence.
"Are you ignoring me?" Zhao Wuying's voice climbed higher with anger.
I didn't respond. Instead, I took a slow, deliberate step toward the barrier, examining its faintly shimmering surface with apparent interest.
I could feel every pair of eyes tracking my movement.
"I asked you a question!" Zhao Wuying's shout carried genuine fury now.
"Junior Brother Zhao," Zhang Feng's voice cut through the tension, carrying a note of warning. "What exactly are you trying to accomplish here?"
"I'm trying to get this brat to show some respect—"
I tuned out the rest, letting their voices fade to background noise while I looked at the sky.
Hmmm. What wonderful weather we have today...
"—even listening!" Zhao Wuying's shout broke through my appreciation of today's weather. I will remember that.
I turned around slowly, looked at him for a long moment, long enough that the silence became weighted with expectation of how I would react to his provocation, just to turn back to face the sky above.
Hmm. Clear visibility today. The cloud layer we saw from below has dispersed at this altitude.
My casual sky-gazing appeared to be the final trigger.
"You—!" Zhao Wuying's voice cracked with rage. Footsteps rushed toward me, accompanied by the distinctive sound of a weapon being drawn from its sheath. "I'll teach you to mock me!"
Finally.
I didn't even turn around and just continued looking upward at the clear sky.
The approaching footsteps accelerated.
Zhang Feng's voice cut through the air. "Junior Brother Zhao, stop—!"
Liang Ruxue's amused murmur followed. "Oh my~"
The sound of rushing movement came directly behind me. Close enough that I could hear the whistle of displaced air as his sword came around in what was probably a horizontal slash aimed at my back or shoulder. It wasn't a killing blow, but more than enough to seriously injure me.
Interesting. There are two things this simple attack tells me.
First: He perceives me as more of a threat now than during our last encounter. Previously, he attacked barehanded. Now he's drawn his weapon immediately. His threat assessment of me has risen.
Second: He's still sane enough to observe the sect's fundamental rule, alas, the no-killing blow. The attack trajectory deliberately avoids vital organs.
Still insufficient.
When I felt the force behind the blade reaching the point just before contact, I ducked smoothly.
The sword passed through empty air where my shoulder had been a fraction of a second earlier, the displaced wind ruffling my hair.
I remained in the ducked position, still facing away from him, my gaze never leaving the sky above.
"Stand still!" he snarled, recovering his balance and preparing his next strike.
I straightened from my crouch and took a casual step to the right, as though adjusting position to get a better view of the sky.
His next strike cleaved through the space directly in front of my face, close enough that I felt the blade's passage against my skin.
That attack was notably more lethal than the previous one. He's starting to lose his rationality completely.
Good. Keep pushing.
"Stop moving!"
I finally lowered my gaze from the sky and turned to face him. I attempted to project mild curiosity, though I suspected my limited facial control made it look more like blank confusion, as though I were only now noticing something unusual happening.
"Senior Brother Zhao," I said in my usual flat tone, "you seem agitated. Is something wrong?"
His face had gone purple. I hadn't known that level of color change was physiologically possible in living humans outside of strangulation cases.
"You—you're mocking me!" He raised his sword again, the blade trembling slightly with the force of his grip.
I tilted my head slightly. "I thought you were practicing sword forms. The movements seemed very... vigorous. But not particularly accurate."
Dead silence from the observers.
Then Liang Ruxue burst out laughing, which she didn't even attempt to suppress.
From the corner of my vision, I registered the others' reactions. Apart from Yang Dong and Xun Liang, who appeared too nervous about provoking Zhao Wuying to show amusement, the rest were clearly struggling to contain laughter. Even Dong Mei, who seemed to hate me nearly as much as Zhao Wuying did, had a hand pressed over her mouth to suppress what looked like an involuntary smile.
Zhao Wuying's grip on his sword tightened until his knuckles went white, the bones standing out starkly against his skin. "I'm going to kill you!"
"That seems counterproductive," I observed in the same flat tone. "Sect rules explicitly prohibit killing fellow disciples. Also, you haven't managed to hit me yet, which suggests that killing me might prove more difficult than you're currently assuming."
"Then I'll cripple you!" He lunged forward with a straight thrust aimed at my center mass.
I side-stepped with minimal motion.
"Still haven't hit me," I noted.
He came at me again. And again. And again.
He came at me again, and again, and again. I moved through the attacks without even one grazing me. I was everywhere, just not where the blade arrived.
"STOP DODGING!" he roared.
"Why would I do that?" I asked, genuinely curious despite the tactical purpose behind the question. "Getting hit seems objectively worse than not getting hit."
Hua Mingzhu made a strangled sound somewhere between a laugh and a gasp.
My response appeared to strike another nerve entirely.
Because suddenly, Qi began gathering visibly around his blade. The sword's edge took on a faint metallic glow as he channeled his Foundation Establishment Qi into the weapon.
Took him long enough.
Until now, he'd relied purely on physical ability and basic sword technique. But now he was getting serious, channeling the full advantages of his cultivation realm. The qualitative difference between Qi Condensation and Foundation Establishment was beginning to show.
The atmosphere shifted immediately.
The other disciples' expressions turned serious. Even Liang Ruxue's amusement faded, replaced by alert wariness. Zhang Feng's posture changed subtly, preparing to intervene.
"Stop it, Wuying!" Zhang Feng's voice carried absolute authority.
A crushing pressure descended onto Zhao Wuying. His expression twisted, and his knees buckled slightly under the weight.
Incredible. So that's the difference between two Foundation Establishment cultivators in the same realm? Zhang Feng is in an entirely different category.
I looked at Zhang Feng and shook my head slightly. "It's okay, Senior Brother Zhang Feng. But thank you for the concern."
Then I turned back to Zhao Wuying and deliberately made a beckoning gesture.
"YOU! PREPARE TO MEET YOUR ANCESTORS! NOT EVEN THE HEAVENS CAN SAVE YOU NOW!"
Qi exploded beneath Zhao Wuying's feet and along his blade simultaneously. The technique launched him forward with such velocity that he seemed to simply disappear from his position.
He reappeared directly above me mid-flight, sword already descending in a downward slash. The blade blazed with condensed metallic energy, and the killing intent radiating from the attack was unmistakable.
If this attack connects, I die. No question. The Qi density alone would pulverize bone without even considering the sword.
Time seemed to slow as the attack descended—
I raised my right arm, Metal Qi flooding through my meridians into the limb in compressed layers. The compression process, which had previously required multiple seconds of focused channeling, was now executed in milliseconds. Once. Twice. Three times. The cycle repeated itself with mechanical precision until it had completed nine full iterations, each fold doubling the density and hardness of the previous layer.
My month of seclusion wasn't wasted. My comprehension of Metal has fundamentally transformed.
My arm took on a black, mirror-like sheen, as though forged from dark steel rather than flesh and bone. The surface gleamed unnaturally in the light.
The descending blade met my transformed arm.
CLANG.
The sound of metal striking metal rang out across the mountainside. Sparks erupted from the point of contact.
The force of the impact drove my feet several centimeters into the stone ground beneath me. Cracks spiderwebbed outward from where I stood, radiating across the rock in fractal patterns. The shockwave rippled through the air with visible distortion, and I registered peripherally that all the disciples except Zhang Feng and Liang Ruxue visibly flinched from the pressure wave.
The blade stopped dead against my forearm.
Zhao Wuying's eyes widened with complete shock, his pupils contracting to pinpoints. "How—?!"
I didn't give him time to process the impossibility of what had just occurred.
My left hand was already in motion, driving forward with every ounce of momentum I could generate from close quarters. While the fist traveled toward its target, I executed the same nine-fold compression technique, but this time, I layered Darkness Qi into each compression alongside the Metal Qi.
The fusion wasn't perfect, but they achieved enough temporary cohesion for what I needed.
My fist transformed. The metallic black of compressed Metal Qi was overlaid with darker patterns. There were tendrils of shadow that flowed down my knuckles and coiled around my wrist like living tattoos.
My strike crashed into Zhao Wuying's solar plexus with devastating precision.
The impact produced a sound like a sledgehammer striking a war drum. Zhao Wuying's entire body folded inward around my arm like paper crushed in a fist. His eyes bulged grotesquely. All air was expelled from his lungs in a single strangled, agonized wheeze.
Then the secondary effect was activated.
The Darkness Qi I'd channeled into the strike started invading his body. Black tendrils forced their way past his defensive Qi layers and into his internal systems, spreading through his meridians like poison through veins. The corrosive nature of Darkness began its work immediately, disrupting his cultivation base's circulation and degrading the structural integrity of his Qi channels. His Qi defended him from proper damage, but this was more than enough.
Zhao Wuying's mouth opened in a silent scream.
Then he vomited. A mouthful of foul, dark blood erupted from his throat. Due to the Darkness Qi invasion, it barely looked red anymore. It was more black than crimson.
The force of my strike, combined with his body's violent rejection of the foreign Qi, sent him flying backward like a puppet with cut strings. He tumbled across the stone ground in an uncontrolled sprawl, limbs flailing, before finally skidding to a halt nearly twenty meters away.
Complete and utter silence fell across the mountainside.
I lowered my hand slowly and examined my right forearm with detachment. The sleeve was completely torn away, hanging in tatters. A thin line of blood showed where the blade had managed to cut despite my ninefold Metal Qi reinforcement.
My left hand drew more immediate concern. The knuckles were swollen, the skin already darkening with the early stages of bruising. Pain radiated up through my wrist, not severe, but noticeable.
So I still can't achieve perfect fusion of Metal and Darkness Qi in a single strike. The two elements resist integration. The instability causes backlash damage to my own hand.
Zhao Wuying pushed himself up on trembling arms, his entire body shaking violently. He coughed and produced more of that dark, corrupted blood.
Each breath came in a ragged, agonized gasp as he struggled to draw air into damaged lungs.
His face had transformed from its earlier purple flush to an ashen, death-like pallor. But his eyes...
His eyes burned with pure, undiluted killing intent.
He was still a Foundation Establishment cultivator. I wouldn't be able to kill him with even ten more of these perfect hits.
"I'll... kill you..." The words emerged as barely more than a wheeze, each syllable clearly agonizing to produce. "I'll... rip you... apart..."
Qi began gathering around him again, but this time, the pattern was different. I couldn't immediately recognize the technique structure, which meant it was either advanced or unusual enough to fall outside standard sect teachings.
A wall of crackling lightning-aspected Qi materialized directly in front of Zhao Wuying before he could complete whatever technique he was forming. The electrical energy was so dense and intense that the very air was ionized, creating a visible plasma barrier.
Zhang Feng stood between us now, his expression carved from absolute stone.
"That. Is. Enough." Each word carried crushing authority, backed by the full weight of his Foundation Establishment cultivation base.
The spiritual pressure he released intensified dramatically. Zhao Wuying's knees buckled completely under the force, and he collapsed face-first onto the stone ground.
"You lost control," Zhang Feng stated with cold finality. "You escalated to lethal force against a fellow sect member. You ignored multiple warnings to stop. And you were thoroughly humiliated for your trouble."
He took one deliberate step closer. The pressure increased proportionally. Zhao Wuying made a sound somewhere between a whimper and a sob.
"If you attack again—if you so much as raise your weapon in his direction, I will personally ensure you're expelled from this Sanctum immediately and reported to the Sect Leader for severe disciplinary action." Zhang Feng's voice dropped to something colder and infinitely more dangerous. "Do you understand me?"
Zhao Wuying's hands clenched into fists so tight that blood began seeping from where his nails dug into his palms. His entire body shook. Rage, humiliation, and the crushing weight of Zhang Feng's spiritual pressure all combined into visible tremors.
"Do. You. Understand?"
"...Yes." The word emerged through gritted teeth, forced out with visible effort.
Zhang Feng maintained the oppressive pressure for another five full seconds, long enough to ensure his point was absolutely, unquestionably clear, then released it with abrupt finality.
Zhao Wuying slumped forward completely, his forehead actually hitting the stone as his body gave out. His breathing came in heavy, labored pants. His sword had fallen from nerveless fingers at some point and now lay several meters away.
Zhang Feng turned to face me, his expression still grave and serious. "Junior Brother Ayanokoji. That was extremely reckless. You could have died."
"I apologize," I replied, keeping my tone neutral and controlled.
"And while you weren't the one to initiate this conflict," he continued, though his voice carried less reprimand and more... weariness, "I would appreciate it if you would attempt to de-escalate situations in the future rather than escalating them further."
The words carried the form of criticism but lacked genuine accusation. He understood, perhaps better than the others, that I'd been deliberately controlling the escalation's pace and direction.
Before we could continue the exchange, the barrier dissolved. The shimmering wall of energy simply vanished without warning.
Everyone's attention shifted immediately. The dramatic confrontation, violent as it had been, suddenly became secondary to the fact that the way forward had opened and the trials were continuing.
Zhang Feng gave me one final measuring look. "We should continue. Standing here accomplishes nothing productive."
With that pronouncement, everyone began ascending. Even Zhao Wuying, moving like a badly wounded animal, forced himself upright and stumbled toward the path. He didn't look at me, nor did he acknowledge my existence. He simply started ascending upward, one hand pressed against his solar plexus.
I stood alone for a moment, looking up at the path ahead where the others were beginning their ascent into unknown territory.
Hmm.
So that wasn't enough, huh?
...
Kiyotaka stood motionless, watching the other disciples begin their ascent. His expression remained perfectly neutral. It was the same blank mask he'd worn throughout the entire time.
But something had shifted beneath that surface. The neutrality had acquired a different quality, like water transitioning to ice without any visible difference in appearance.
His gaze tracked Zhao Wuying's struggling form as the wounded cultivator made his way up, still radiating killing intent.
After a moment, Kiyotaka began walking, following the others at his own pace.
Zhao Wuying didn't know it yet, but his fate had been sealed in that moment. And it wasn't a pleasant fate.
The mountain stretched upward into clouds and mystery. And somewhere in that uncertain future... Zhao Wuying's story would reach its conclusion.
It would not be a merciful one.