As soon as Thomas finished speaking, two black auras erupted—one from Tom and one from Thomas.
A cold smile spread across Thomas's face as he gazed at Tom.
"So, you've managed to activate the Mark of the Sacred Yang. Very impressive—but it won't do you any good."
Thomas lunged toward Tom at the speed of light; yet, Tom's expression remained entirely unchanged.
*Clang!*
The moment their swords collided, shockwaves of energy rippled outward, sending scattered fragments of the world surging like waves. As these pieces crashed into one another, some shattered completely, while others were left in a fragile, precarious state.
Both fighters surged forward again, unleashing devastating strikes that shook the very fabric of the world, tearing fissures across its surface.
*Clang... Clang... Clang... Clang!*
*Clang... Clang... Clang... Clang!*
*Clang... Clang... Clang... Clang!*
Tom and Thomas locked eyes, pressing against each other with intense force, before both were pushed several meters back.
They studied one another—a gaze that blended the scrutiny of an examiner testing a candidate with the fierce focus of an adversary locked in a decisive battle. This test would determine whether Tom would survive or perish. Yet, neither showed a trace of fear; Tom had tasted death hundreds of times across his many past lives—as Zhao Li and as Alessandra. Although he was not physically present within either of their bodies, his consciousness was distributed equally between them. All of their memories and sensations had been transferred to him at the conclusion of the third trial, back when he was in that other world.
They lunged forward once more, resulting in a collision even more intense than the last.
The sparks flying from their blades were potent enough to sever existence itself—had such a thing even existed—yet the void-world was not entirely free of fissures; it was, in fact, riddled with cracks. Nevertheless, neither combatant ceased their assault.
"Thomas is truly formidable! In the name of the creator of hell, how am I supposed to defeat him?"
Tom muttered to himself, a hint of unease creeping into his thoughts.
Thomas possessed a wealth of combat experience—a formidable edge—gained from his past lives as Zhao Li and Fong Li Wu, as well as from his various other incarnations.
Thomas launched an attack toward Tom, catching him off guard. Tom managed to parry the blows, gritting his teeth tightly; the suddenness of the assault made defending against it exceptionally difficult.
"What's the matter, Tom? We're in the middle of a fight! Do you expect me to wait around while you gather your scattered thoughts? If you think that, you're a complete fool."
Thomas's tone was laced with cold, biting mockery.
Thomas sent Tom flying several meters into the debris of shattered worlds. The impact tore through his clothing and flesh, exposing the white bone of his shoulder and leg, while a series of moderate to severe injuries ravaged his body.
The shards of the broken world were so razor-sharp that they could slice through anything that crossed their path. Consequently, the world was devoid of any laws or concepts, all having been shattered by the fragments of a completely broken reality.
Tom steeled himself, preventing his own death before the confrontation had truly begun. The moment he steadied himself, he surged toward Thomas at the speed of light, his expression as cold as frost.
Thomas, however, evaded the attack with ease, then delivered an aura-infused kick to Tom's midsection, sending him flying backward. Yet, Tom sustained no further injuries; bracing himself against one of the scattered fragments, he launched himself toward Thomas once more—this time with even greater speed.
"What?"
A look of shock crossed Tom's face; he realized he was unable to heal his wounds.
A hysterical laugh erupted from him—a laugh devoid of any joy or emotion whatsoever.
"Hahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahaha!"
"Fool! You truly are a fool. Any injury sustained within my dimension—or the dimension of the Sacred Yang—cannot be healed."
Thomas's tone was laced with cold mockery as he gazed at the stunned Tom.
"My injuries are severe. I cannot go on like this; I will lose, and then I will die."
He let out a deep, heavy sigh, attempting to clear his scattered thoughts.
"Haaaaaaah-hooooooo!"
Tom narrowed his eyes, then muttered under his breath as he stared at Thomas:
"It is time..."
The mark of the Sacred Yang began to activate, emitting a glow that blended a deep, blackened violet with a pale, shimmering gold. His black hair grew even darker, while his brown eyes shifted into a deep, abyssal black, each centered with a white pupil. With their dark, ink-like irises and pale, golden-white pupils, his eyes bore a striking resemblance to the *yang* symbol.
*Boom! Boom!*
Tom surged forward with such blinding speed that the very fragments of existence shattered in his wake.
He unleashed an attack that forced Thomas to take only two steps back. Though Tom's expression remained cold and composed, he was inwardly stunned by how easily Thomas had deflected his strike.
A cold smile curled Thomas's lips as he observed Tom's bewilderment. He said nothing; instead, he shoved Tom back several meters, as if the latter were nothing more than a rag doll.
Thomas's gaze was as frigid as frost—a detail that puzzled Tom. Why wouldn't Thomas look at him while attacking? And why, rather than attempting to strike him directly, did he leave that task to the fragments of the world?
"Isn't this the very sword we used to carry out the massacre at Mount Mao Tang? Why is he fighting me with it? It's... it's..."
Tom's eyes widened, and memories from before the start of the trial began to flood back.
*Flashback*
Thomas came to a halt twenty paces from the Versalkin Academy.
Tom felt a sense of bewilderment, though he allowed no sign of it to show on his face. His expression remained calm, betraying no emotion, while a faint smile appeared on Thomas's face as he glanced toward Tom out of the corner of his eye.
*Snap!*
Waves rippled through the air, causing the world to shatter into shards of glass of various shapes and sizes.
The world dissolved into a void—devoid of any laws or concepts—having been completely erased.
Fragments of the shattered world, resembling broken glass, drifted within that void.
"Do not worry; your fourth test will begin soon. Patience is the key to relief, and acceptance is the key to victory."
Thomas's tone was calm as he looked toward Tom.
Yet, Tom's expression remained unchanged.Cold as frost. He kept staring into the void with an empty gaze.
"If I fail this test, what happens?"
"We die. What did you expect? Didn't you read the warning at the end of the rune inscribed on the tunnel ceiling? You fool—complete your trial and earn your power! The weak are crushed, while the strong do the crushing. Which will you be: the victor or the vanquished? Creation, destruction, or something that transcends both? This is an irreversible decision. Proceed if you are bold; turn back if you are wise..."
"The other two trials are explained there: victor or vanquished, and creation, destruction, or something beyond them. It means you must contend with both creation and destruction to rise above them—to become both. As for 'the weak are crushed, while the strong do the crushing,' it simply means that if you lose, you die; if you win, you continue on your path to complete the trials..."
Thomas let out a deep sigh, looking toward Tom, then continued:
"But if you fail, it's the end for all of us—me, you, and Alessandra. Your defeat marks the end of our journey. If we die, we die for good; there will be no coming back—not even by the hand of the most powerful entity within the realm of fantasy. None of them could bring us back. Do you grasp the gravity of our situation?"
Thomas's tone was sharp, underscoring both the risks and the potential rewards.
Tom narrowed his eyes as he looked at Thomas. The stakes were high; winning was not merely an option, but a goal that had to be achieved at any cost—his life was on the line.
A cold, silver sword appeared—three centimeters wide and a meter and a half long—etched with countless runes.
[Sword of the Heavenly Pearl
Rank: Beyond-Existence]
Thomas began the countdown, signaling the start of the fourth trial.
"10"
"9"
"8"
"7"
"6"
"5"
"4"
"3"
"2"
"1"
"0"
"I hereby declare the commencement of the first Trial of Merit for Absolute Power!"
End of flashback.
Tom let out a deep sigh as he recalled everything that had transpired. He found it strange that he hadn't been able to fully control the flood of his own memories; the dimension created by Thomas clouded his thoughts, making it difficult to focus—though he did manage to recall everything that had happened since Thomas established his own dimension.
"Well, I suppose I just have to accept it."
Tom's tone was calm. He closed his eyes and spread his arms, revealing a body riddled with severe injuries. His ribcage and arms were fractured in multiple places, and there was a grave wound near his right hip—yet, no blood flowed, as there was no gravity to pull it forth.
A faint smile graced his face; it might have been a pleasant expression, had half the flesh of his cheek not been torn away, exposing the teeth on the left side of his jaw. This was the price of weakness; yet, Tom was not troubled. Beauty and physical perfection can often go to waste—sometimes, they even prove to be a curse. Many prominent figures throughout history lacked striking looks, yet their strength, intelligence, and cunning allowed them to rule the world with an iron fist. Tom knew this deep down: no matter how beautiful a creature might appear, it is, in the end, merely a layer of attractive skin—beneath which every being is fundamentally the same, composed of nothing more than flesh and bone.
*Stab!*
Thomas thrust his blade into Tom, exposing his body. Tom offered no resistance, allowing the sword to pierce him.
A look of mild shock crossed Thomas's face, followed by a smile of satisfaction.
"Tom, why did you do this? Why did you let me stab you? I killed you once before—and now, a second time!"
Thomas's voice remained calm as he gazed at Tom, who was coughing up blood.
"Have you forgotten what you told me earlier?"
Tom's tone was steady, his eyes fixed on the void.
"What did I say? Perhaps I've forgotten—or perhaps I haven't."
There was a hint of cold mockery in his voice as he pushed the blade deeper into Tom's heart.
"Do not worry; your fourth trial will begin soon. Patience is the key to relief, and acceptance is the key to victory. That is what I said—have you forgotten? I had to allow you to stab me—or, to put it another way, I had to embrace my own inner dissolution by experiencing death itself." "Isn't what I said correct?"
A faint smile appeared on Thomas's face as he withdrew his hand from the sword—a blade that had transformed into an incredibly dense, ethereal aura, dark-violet in color and almost liquid-like. The aura began to seep into Tom's body, healing all of his injuries.
"Hahaha! So that's why you trapped the souls of the Mao Sect members inside the sword—to convert them into healing energy for my wounds! You truly are a devil."
Tom's tone was filled with respect toward Thomas, whose body began to shift, gradually becoming an entity composed of that same dark-violet energy. At the center of his abdomen, a sphere with a whitish-gold hue emerged; it resembled a vortex, perfectly still at its core, with ripples visible only along its outer edges.
"You have completed the fourth trial: the Battle of the Wall, Part 1. All that remains is to earn the power of Yin."
The Holy Yang's voice was as cold as frost, devoid of any emotion. He spoke only in facts—no praise, no satisfaction, just the raw truth.
"Very well, Holy Yang. We shall meet at the center of the tunnels once the trials have concluded."
A faint smile graced the Holy Yang's face as he listened to Tom's words.
"I shall wait for you patiently. Take care of yourself; the next trial will not be easy. Safe travels." The fragments of the shattered world began to coalesce, forming the gateway through which Tom had entered the first trial. Upon it, he found the same inscription:
[Spring always follows winter; summer follows spring; autumn follows summer; and winter follows autumn. So, too, does power follow worthiness. He who does not know himself has no right to aspire to absolute power.]
Tom glanced back toward the Sacred Yang, only to find it gone from its place. He turned his gaze once more to the gateway and opened it with complete ease. The runes carved into the stone portal glowed with a dark, violet hue, emitting a brilliant light. This time, however, Tom did not close his eyes as he had before; he kept them wide open as he stepped through.
Upon crossing the threshold, he found himself in a beautiful garden. Though he did not yet grasp its symbolic meaning, he sensed that the fifth trial would be more than a mere battle—it would be something far deeper.