The bronze gates of Sparrow City opened with a deep clang that rolled outward like thunder. In that instant, the tension hanging over the crowd seemed to snap. A hundred and ten teams surged forward, rushing into the streets in a restless tide of ambition and urgency. The horns sounded again—clear, piercing, relentless—rolling over rooftops like a war drum announcing the beginning of the Trial of Skill.
Above the clustered rooftops, columns of crimson light rose one after another, spearing into the sky. Each pillar marked the presence of a Red Fire Orb, the single prize every team required to pass. Heads lifted in unison, eyes scanning, judging distance and direction. Some teams shot forward without hesitation, racing straight toward the nearest glow. Others sprang upward, leaping from roof to roof, scrambling up walls and ledges, climbing to higher vantage points to read the field before choosing a path.
Figures darted across tiled rooftops like swallows cutting through wind. Some balanced along ridgelines, others vaulted gaps with precise control, landing silently before pushing onward. From above, they gauged movement, estimated strength, and chose their routes through the shifting maze below. Some paused briefly, whispering quick strategies, while others abandoned caution entirely and plunged forward, gambling on speed.
Choices were made in a breath. Some trusted calculation, others trusted momentum. The city, once still, had become a living board—each red pillar a promise, each step a risk.
Lu Mao's gaze moved with the shifting crowd as he ran. Every team moved with purpose. Some charged forward recklessly, others moved like hunters, patient and measured. Occasional flashes of qi flared, faint but telling—bursts of energy spent too early.
The city sprawled in every direction—towers rising at uneven heights, some cracked and leaning, others standing firm like silent sentinels. Alleyways twisted unpredictably, opening into courtyards before vanishing into shadowed passages. It was not simply a city; it was a proving ground, designed to draw out weakness.
Yan Mei glanced back at him, expression composed, her eyes sharp with calculation.
"Listen closely," she said, voice calm beneath the rising clamor. "We can't take a senior disciple head-on. The trial is designed so multiple teams collide at a single point. Only the one who secures the orb and returns wins. If we rush blindly, we lose."
Lu Mao nodded faintly, taking in her words. His eyes moved again across the field, noting which teams split off, which advanced, which hesitated.
Yan Mei adjusted her footing and veered toward the far-right path.
"Follow me. Conserve your qi. No techniques yet. We choose carefully."
Lu Mao raised a brow but allowed a small, thoughtful smile. Holding back now was rare, but far from unwise. Those who exhausted themselves early became prey later.
He glanced at the others.
Bao Fu's breath already came heavier, sweat gathering along his brow, yet he forced himself forward with stubborn determination. Chen Yuan moved with easy confidence, steps smooth, eyes drifting over other teams with faint disdain.
Marco ran without wasted motion, his stride measured, his broad shoulders steady. His white hair, longer than the others', swept back in the wind, pale strands trailing behind him. The fur-lined collar of his vest stirred with his movement, and the curved blade at his hip rose and fell in rhythm with his pace.
The broad streets gradually narrowed into winding paths. The air carried the scent of dust and heated stone, with faint traces of incense drifting from unseen corners. Somewhere above, the faint aroma of cooked food lingered, abandoned in the rush.
Yan Mei spoke again.
"There are thirty factions within the city. Each orb is guarded by a senior disciple. Stronger factions have stronger defenders. We avoid them. We aim for weaker factions. Less resistance. Better odds."
Lu Mao tilted his head slightly. "Factions? And they all belong to the Guild?"
"They do," Yan Mei replied. "Each has its own structure and its own methods. The stronger ones train better disciples. The weaker ones are… manageable. But don't mistake that for safe."
Bao Fu huffed out a breath. "Weak sounds good to me. My princess always finds the easy path."
Chen Yuan scoffed quietly but said nothing. Marco remained silent, focus unwavering.
They soon reached a high platform overlooking the city. The group slowed as the view opened.
Sparrow City stretched wide beneath them—rows of rooftops layered like waves, towers rising like spears, and narrow lanes winding between structures like threads. Banners fluttered from walls and beams, marking faction territories. Across the city, distant figures moved in bursts—running, leaping, already locked in pursuit of the crimson pillars stabbing skyward.