The sun had long risen by the time Qiang Ming reached the outskirts of Shrek City. His boots struck the dust-hardened path with rhythmic finality, his gait relentless. His breath came in deep, controlled bursts—exhausted, but far from spent. The Lich's Hands, which had aided him on his forced sprint through bloodied hills and death-laced woods, were now quietly sealed away within his back, invisible once more.
He couldn't risk causing a stir, not here—not at Shrek's gates.
His clothes were still soaked in blood, now dry and flaking like red dust. His skin, still sticky in parts, glistened under the midday sun. With each step he took across the grand stone-paved road leading to Shrek's outer gates, more eyes turned his way.
Some looked in amusement.
Some in curiosity.
Some with sneering disgust.
A few murmured amongst themselves—about a "late student" perhaps, or a "lunatic" trying to test into Shrek Academy after the deadline had long since passed. His appearance didn't help—he looked like a savage who had run from war itself, clothes torn, blood-stained, purple hair disheveled and tied only by a loose pin. A wounded beast with sharp eyes.
But Qiang Ming didn't slow down.
He passed through the outer celebratory gates without stopping, his feet thudding over white marble etched with gold dragons and silver phoenixes. He crossed market stalls, passed through residential rings, and continued onward through the winding streets toward the central Inner Gate—where Shrek Academy proper stood like a monolithic fortress of learning and power.
It had been half an hour since he'd entered the city. His legs didn't falter.
At last, he stood before the front gate, twin towers rising on each side like stone sentinels. Between them, two men in deep-green armored uniforms stood watch—Shrek's outer guards.
"I'm here to take the entrance examination," Qiang Ming said simply.
The two guards looked at him, blinking.
And then they laughed.
It wasn't loud, but it wasn't hidden either. There was mockery in the sound. Vitriol. Amusement at the boy's idiocy.
"The registration closed this morning, kid," said the first guard, a broad-shouldered man whose Martial Spirit glowed faintly beneath his robe.
"Yeah," said the second, his hand resting lazily on the hilt of his saber. "Come back in three years, alright? If you manage to survive until then."
Qiang Ming's eyes narrowed.
He didn't speak immediately.
Instead, his presence began to shift.
It wasn't something visible—no light, no aura—but the air changed. The pressure that suddenly radiated from him wasn't just Soul Power. It was murder. Experience.
The kind that came from killing too many people too young.
The guards' eyes widened, their amusement draining like blood from a wound.
In an instant, both of them released their Martial Spirits—a glyph-filled book and a long, flaming saber.
But Qiang Ming hadn't moved.
And yet, it felt like the air itself had frozen.
"Get someone to take me to the exam," he said quietly, each syllable sharp as a blade, "or I will gut you both and use your entrails as a ladder to climb over this fucking wall."
The guards froze.
For a moment, only the wind moved.
Then, without a word, the guard with the book nodded to his partner and turned back into the Academy grounds, running deeper inside.
Qiang Ming released his pressure. The second guard exhaled shakily, his Martial Spirit flickering out, sweat already visible at his brow.
Ten minutes passed.
And then, from within Shrek Academy, a new presence emerged.
She walked with swift, confident steps—her black hair tied into a no-nonsense bun, face serious but youthful. Her uniform was distinct, the symbol of a Shrek Instructor sewn over her left breast.
"Miss Chen Yi, this is the boy I told you about," the guard said quickly, then hurriedly retreated, as if her presence alone protected him from whatever was coming next.
Chen Yi looked at Qiang Ming.
And frowned.
"Now what gives you the courage to act so ungovernable at Shrek's gate, boy?" she asked sharply.
Qiang Ming met her gaze evenly. "I'm here for the entrance exam. I have a clan spot."
Chen Yi raised a brow. "Oh? And you thought that meant you could just show up whenever you liked?"
"I was attacked on the way here. I killed more than a hundred people and missed the train. Then I ran all night and morning to get here. All I want—" his voice dropped, like thunder before a storm "—is to take the damn test."
Chen Yi turned to leave. "Rules are rules. You missed the registration. Come back—"
She didn't finish the sentence.
Because the killing intent struck her like a cold spike to the spine.
She whirled.
Qiang Ming now stood tall, his Martial Spirit fully released. Three deep-purple rings hovered behind him, flickering with restrained power. In his right hand, the Blackstone Abyss Hammer loomed—its shape enormous, matte black, humming faintly as if it hungered for blood.
Chen Yi blinked. Her eyes lingered on the hammer.
'That… that hammer…'
She remembered her Martial Brother's stories. The student who refused Class Zero. The heir of the Clear Flow Clan, who vanished for years, presumed lost.
"Wait…" she murmured. "Are you… Qiang Ming?"
He gave a slow nod. "Yes."
Chen Yi stared. Then she burst into a quiet laugh. "Well then, aren't you lucky?"
She spun on her heel, motioning him to follow. "Come on, scamp. You've just been given a second chance."
Qiang Ming narrowed his eyes.
"I'm your teacher's Martial Sister," she explained, already walking. "And I think we can pull a few strings, especially considering your clan spot. Those don't get thrown around lightly, after all. You made it just in time—barely."
She glanced back at him.
"Now stop with the pressure, hide those rings, and come with me. Fast."
Qiang Ming stared at her back for a moment, then allowed his Martial Spirit to vanish.
He cracked his neck once, then followed, a faint grin tugging at the corners of his mouth.
He wasn't in yet.
But the gates had opened.
And that was more than enough.