The morning sun had only just crested the eastern peaks, casting long, golden rays across the outer training grounds of the sect.
A chill clung to the air. Breath misted in small puffs from the mouths of over twenty gathered disciples. Their robes, some faded and patched, fluttered slightly in the breeze. Most stood in silence, their expressions tight with unease. Others shifted restlessly, eyes drawn again and again toward the iron gate at the edge of the arena.
This was their final chance.
Twenty-three registered disciples—those who had failed to qualify as outer sect disciples in previous assessments—now stood before the last trial. If they failed again today… they would be expelled from the sect.
No exceptions.
At the head of the arena stood two figures.
Instructor Gao stood straight and sharp as ever, arms crossed behind his back. His plain robe was neat and pressed, his jaw square, his eyes watchful. Many in the crowd had trained under him, and all knew him to be a man of discipline and little tolerance for excuses.
Beside him stood a taller man draped in deep blue robes embroidered with silver patterns. His eyes were narrow and piercing, carrying a weight of presence that silenced even idle whispers.
"That's Elder Qian Wu…" someone murmured in the crowd.
"An outer sect elder," another whispered, "They say he once crushed a High-Rank Beast with a single palm."
Qian Wu said nothing. He merely watched.
The pressure of his presence alone was enough to make many straighten their backs.
Among the gathered disciples, a few stood out.
Zhao Kun, broad-shouldered and cocky, leaned lazily on a wooden spear. His robe was clean, his hair tied neatly, and a confident smirk tugged at his lips.
"Tch… twenty-three of us, and I bet half won't even last a minute," he said loudly enough for everyone to hear.
Beside him, Meng Yao, a quiet girl with sharp eyes and tightly bound hair, adjusted the wraps around her wrists without so much as a glance in his direction.
"You talk too much," she said calmly.
"Just speaking the truth," Zhao Kun shrugged. "Not my fault if it stings."
A little farther off stood Chen Hui, tall and handsome, his expression distant. He didn't bother to engage. Everyone already knew he was one of the strongest present.
Suddenly, a hush spread across the group.
A lone figure approached from the edge of the arena—quiet footsteps against packed dirt.
He wore a simple robe, frayed at the sleeves, stained with dirt and sweat. His walk was calm, unhurried. A cloth was tied around one forearm. His face, though leaner than before, was steady.
Someone's eyes widened.
"…Li Fan?"
"Didn't he vanish five days ago?"
"No way. I thought he was dead.
Whispers rose among the disciples.
Even Instructor Gao's brow lifted faintly. "You're alive," he said, flat and without emotion.
Li Fan stepped forward and bowed.
"I'm here for the assessment."
A heavy silence followed. Some disciples exchanged glances. Others smirked.
Wen Tao clicked his tongue.
Elder Qian Wu turned his head slightly, eyes narrowing as he looked at Li Fan. For just a heartbeat, a flash of something passed in his gaze—curiosity, perhaps—but it vanished just as quickly.
Instructor Gao didn't press. He simply nodded.
"Then stand with the rest."
Li Fan took his place at the edge of the group, arms folded, gaze steady.
After a moment, Instructor Gao stepped forward and spoke, his voice clear and commanding.
"This is your final assessment."
His words fell like stones.
"There will be no extensions. No second chances. Pass, and you will be promoted to outer sect disciples. Fail, and you will be removed from the sect."
He gestured toward the side of the arena, where a line of weapons lay neatly displayed on a wooden rack: swords, sabers, staves, spears, and knives—all forged of common steel.
"You will each select a weapon. Then, one by one, you will enter the ring and face a Mortal Beast."
Gasps and murmurs rose instantly.
Instructor Gao raised a hand. "Silence."
"They're not like the rabbits you catch in the hills," Gao continued. "They are stronger than wild beasts, faster, and more aggressive.
He pointed toward the iron gate. The ground nearby was torn and scorched, the stone marked by claws and fangs.
"Your task is simple: survive for three minutes. That's all. You do not need to defeat the beast. If you can last, you pass."
A heavy silence fell.
A few nervous laughs slipped out. But the tension remained.
"Let's begin," Gao said. He looked down at his board. "Zhao Kun. You're first."
Zhao Kun stepped forward with a grin, walking over to the rack and selecting a long spear with a red cloth tied near the head.
"Watch closely," he said to no one in particular. "I'll show you how a real disciple fights."
The gate creaked open.
A growl echoed from within.
The beast that stepped out was huge—almost the size of a small cart. Bristling dark fur, burning yellow eyes, and two massive tusks curved from its jaws.
"A tusked boar," someone muttered. "Brutal… and fast."
The bell rang.
The boar charged.
Zhao Kun spun his spear and stepped sideways.
"Hmph—easy!"
He jabbed once, catching the beast in the shoulder. The boar snarled and wheeled, swiping its tusks toward him.
Zhao Kun moved fast, stepping back and lashing out again. Sparks flew as the spear scraped its hide.
"Stone Body Step!"
His footwork shifted—tight, practiced. He leapt again, dodging a tusk aimed for his ribs.
The boar snarled and lunged.
Zhao Kun parried, barely keeping his footing.
"Damn it—stop moving!"
He stabbed down, driving the spear into the beast's back. It roared and reared.
Blood sprayed—but it wasn't enough. The beast shook off the blow and slammed into him, knocking him back.
The crowd gasped.
Then—
Gong!
Three minutes.
Instructor Gao nodded. "Pass."
Zhao Kun stood panting, a gash across his thigh, but grinning.
"Told you," he muttered, limping off.
Next: Chen Hui.
He picked a short sword, said nothing, and entered with calm steps.
His beast was leaner—a crimson-furred wolf.
The fight was quiet. Precise.
Chen Hui dodged. Slashed. Moved in circles.
A shallow cut on the beast's side.
Another on its leg.
He didn't shout, didn't show off. Just fought—efficiently.
Three minutes passed like water dripping from a jug.
Gong.
"Pass."
Third: Meng Yao.
Meng Yao chose twin daggers and entered silently. Her opponent was a snake-like beast with shimmering scales and a wide, fanged maw.
The moment it struck, she was already moving.
"Flowing Wind Step," she whispered.
She slipped past its jaws, slicing across its flank. It hissed, coiling back, but she kept moving—her form fluid, low to the ground.
"You see that footwork?" someone muttered.
"Beautiful…"
She didn't try to fight head-on. She focused on dodging, striking only when openings appeared.
When the final gong rang, she stood tall, barely winded. The snake hissed from the edge of the arena, its body cut in several shallow lines.
"Pass."
Even Elder Qian Wu gave her a brief glance of acknowledgment.
Fourth: Zhou Ping.
Zhou Ping was muscular and stubborn. He took a massive broadsword and tried to overwhelm a hulking bear-like beast with brute force.
"Come on, then!" he roared, charging in.
The beast slammed into him, knocking him back. He gritted his teeth, wiping blood from his mouth.
"Steel Fang Chop!"
He struck—once, twice—each blow echoing loudly. The beast howled but didn't fall.
They clashed again and again, until Zhou Ping's arms shook with exhaustion. The three-minute mark came just as he was driven to one knee.
"Pass."
He limped out, bloodied but triumphant.
Fifth: Xue Lin.
A nimble girl with quick hands. She chose a curved saber.
Her beast: a panther-like creature, low and fast.
She didn't fight.
She fled.
She leapt, rolled, ducked under logs and dashed between stone outcroppings.
The beast gave chase, claws swiping, tail lashing.
"Minute left!" someone cried.
Xue Lin turned—just once—and slashed the beast's leg.
It howled, reared—
Gong!
She collapsed to the ground, laughing breathlessly.
"Pass," Gao said.
One by one, the rest stepped forward. Some passed. Others were pulled out early by Gao when injuries became too severe. The tension built with each round.
Finally—
Only one name remained.
Instructor Gao looked at the last disciple.
"Li Fan."
The field quieted.
All eyes turned.
"…That guy's really doing it?" someone whispered.
"He doesn't even have a real weapon."
Zhao Kun scoffed. "Bet he won't last thirty seconds."
Li Fan stepped forward in silence.
He walked to the rack.
Ignored every sword, every staff, every spear.
He picked up a plain, short dagger.
Then, without a word, he walked to the center of the ring.
The iron gate creaked open once more.
A low growl echoed from the dark.
A sleek, black hound stepped into the light. Its eyes glowed crimson. Three horns curled from its skull like blades. Saliva dripped from long fangs.
"A three-horned hound…" someone gasped.
Even Gao's expression shifted.
Elder Qian Wu leaned forward slightly.
Li Fan stood quietly.
The dagger in his hand gleamed.
From the sidelines, someone whispered:
"…Is he… smiling?"