The ground beneath Lu Mao trembled with the pulse of unleashed qi.
A faint golden shimmer rippled across the cracked flagstones, twisting in strange rhythms as the five of them stood shoulder to shoulder, weapons drawn, hearts pounding as if to the rhythm of a war drum.
The air was thick with heat and tension — the scent of dust, blood, and anticipation blending into something sharp enough to taste.
The senior disciple before them — that pale, untouchable beauty — stood calm amidst the storm. Her white robes fluttered like soft clouds caught in the wind. Every faint movement of her wrist, every shift in her breathing, radiated a terrifying grace. She wasn't simply standing there; she belonged to the air, the ground, the silence between heartbeats.
Even the faint glow of her qi — silver and pure — seemed to hum to an otherworldly rhythm.
And for a fleeting second, Lu Mao forgot what fear meant.
Then he remembered.
He raised his dagger slightly, the faint glint catching a stray reflection from the crimson orb hovering lazily beside the woman — spinning, humming like it had a heartbeat of its own. That orb was their goal. Their prize. The key to surviving the first trial.
And it was guarded by a moon like demon in human skin.
Lu Mao tilted his head, eyes narrowing. "Now," he murmured.
The others moved.
⸻
Qi flared.
Marco's blade erupted in silver light, cutting through the dust as though he wielded a slice of heaven. Chen Yuan's sword followed, whispering out of its sheath with a hiss that split the air.
Yan Mei's whip unfurled like lightning, flashing out from her waist in a storm of crimson arcs.
Bao Fu grinned, both hands holding metal spheres etched with orange runes pulsing faintly — his grin feral, half-crazed, as if this chaos was exactly where he belonged.
And Lu Mao —
Lu Mao's world turned quiet.
His eyes followed the shimmer of her robe, the flick of her wrist, the slight curve of her foot pressing into the earth as if she were one with it.
Everything else faded.
Only the dagger in his palm — light, curved, familiar — and the sound of his breath.
He dashed forward.
The team became a blur — five streaks of light against the fading sunlight.
They reached her almost instantly.
And she vanished.
No sound, no step. Only a faint ripple of light where she had been, as if she had melted into the air.
Lu Mao's strike carved through nothing but wind.
Before he could adjust, a blinding force slammed into him — not a blow, not a punch, but a wave, invisible yet bone-breaking.
Her palm thrust forward, and the air screamed.
The world twisted, and Lu Mao felt himself lifted — body floating for a breath of a second before crashing back onto the stone courtyard. He rolled, his dagger digging a shallow groove in the ground, stopping him just before he hit the broken wall behind.
Dust rose in choking clouds.
Pain lanced through his ribs, dull and deep. He coughed once and spat dirt, already on his feet before the others even landed.
Marco groaned. Chen Yuan steadied his sword. Yan Mei's whip hissed back into her hand. Bao Fu —
Bao Fu had already hurled one of his rune spheres.
It whirled through the air like a tiny comet, glowing hotter and hotter until it detonated with a blinding pulse.
BOOM—
The runic blast howled — not fire, not light, but sound.
A piercing vibration filled the space, making the very air shimmer.
Lu Mao winced, covering his ear for a fraction of a second, his qi surging to muffle the noise.
The other team — five cultivators who had charged in moments after them — weren't as lucky. The sonic wave tore through their defenses, staggering them mid-step. For a few seconds, they were suspended, faces contorted in agony, weapons trembling in their hands before they fell hard onto the ground.
"You bastards!" one of them — a bald, broad-shouldered brute — roared, bloodshot eyes glaring at Lu Mao's team. "Don't interfere with our hunt!"
Lu Mao straightened, dagger glinting.
"Then hunt faster," he said flatly.
The bald one's aura flared, a pulse of scarlet qi splitting cracks beneath his feet.
He was furious — and it didn't matter.
Because at that very moment, the elegant senior disciple moved again.
The pale woman — their opponent — had danced away from Bao Fu's blast like mist avoiding the sun.
And now, she descended.