Chu Feng moved silently through the forests, over crystal rivers, and across jagged cliffs, feeling his cultivation deepen with each trial. Some participants surged ahead, their auras flaring like storms, while others endured quietly, their strength hidden yet steadily accumulating.
But Chu Feng followed his master's principle: do not chase breakthroughs. Instead, he focused on strengthening his foundation until it was unshakable, letting breakthroughs come naturally, slowly but inevitably. He treated the journey not as a race for power, but as a path of cultivation—gaining insight, refining his essence, taking what was valuable, and discarding what was unnecessary.
He did not neglect his alchemy either. It would have been pitiful to merely encounter treasures without using them to address his weaknesses. Rather than hoarding them, he transformed these resources into personal strength. A few days ago, his diligence bore fruit:
He sat in meditation beside a pool of silver water, the Alchemy Atlas open before him after months of study. His hands moved through the final steps of a pill refinement, his qi flowing with precision honed by countless failures, his consciousness expanded to its limits.
The pill furnace chimed.
Within lay a perfect Grade 4 Essence Condensing Pill
Finally, he has achieved a breakthrough in alchemy and officially became a Grade 4 Alchemist—a rare accomplishment for someone of his age.
By the time the central area came into view, each of the surviving cultivators had been reshaped by isolation, struggle, and perseverance. The two-year journey had carved them into sharper versions of themselves. Strength, aura, and insight had all been tested, yet no one had emerged unscathed.
Chu Feng exhaled, feeling the culmination of his own solitary journey. The central area awaited, yet the forest, cliffs, and rivers that had tested him for two years were a reminder: the path to the strongest was not a race of numbers, nor a contest of alliances. It was the perseverance of a single individual, measured only against themselves and the trials of the realm.
As each approached the boundary of the central area, the atmosphere shifted. The air grew thick and oppressive, saturated with a feral aura that tested their resolve. Waiting at the threshold was a peak Tier 5 beast, a guardian that challenged anyone who dared approach.
It stood as the final trial—one last formidable obstacle before stepping into the heart of the central area.
The Tier 5 beast emerged from the shadows as Chu Feng approached.
It towered over a dozen men, its form a nightmare fusion of scales and muscle. Jagged plates of black and crimson armour covered a body built purely for slaughter. With each movement, its claws gouged deep trenches into the rocky soil, and its eyes—ancient, intelligent, and cruel—tracked him with the patience of a predator that had slain countless challengers.
A Jagged Maw, named for the rows of teeth lining its mouth, each one capable of shearing through spiritual steel.
Chu Feng stopped fifty paces away.
The beast did not charge immediately. It watched him, measuring, calculating, its tail lashing slowly behind it.
Chu Feng drew his sword, and the beast lunged.
The first exchange nearly killed him.
The Jagged Maw moved faster than anything its size had a right to—a blur of black and crimson that crossed fifty paces in the space between heartbeats. Its claws swept toward his chest, and only years of border combat saved him, his body flowing aside on pure instinct while his mind was still processing the attack.
The claw grazed his ribs.
Pain lanced through him, hot and sharp, blood instantly soaking his robes. But he was still moving, still fighting, his sword already rising in a counterstroke that slashed across the beast's flank.
Black blood sprayed.
The Jagged Maw roared—a sound that shook the air like thunder, that rattled his bones and tested his resolve. It spun, tail sweeping, and Chu Feng barely cleared the strike, the wind of its passage tearing at his robes.
They circled each other in the blood-soaked grass.
The beast's eyes burned with fury and something else—surprise, perhaps. It had not expected a human to survive its opening strike.
Chu Feng's lips curved slightly.
"Again," he said.
The beast lunged.
Across the boundary, other battles raged.
Huang Wei—one of the twelve from distant powers, a young man with a spear and the stubbornness of someone who had never learned to yield—fought a lion-like creature of immense proportions. Its mane bristled with spikes of black crystal, each one capable of piercing spiritual armour, and its claws left furrows in the stone with every swipe.
He gritted his teeth as he parried a strike that would have severed his arm. The impact drove him to one knee, his spear shuddering with the force.
"Damn it... too strong..."
But he did not fall.
His spear swung with deadly precision, colliding with the beast's claws in a shower of sparks and blood. The lion roared, shaking the ground, and pressed its attack with renewed fury. Huang Wei's arms burned, his muscles screaming, yet he met each strike with everything he had.
Blood sprayed across the jagged stones.
The battle was far from over.
Yan Lu spun through the air, her Phoenix flames trailing behind her like wings of crimson light.
The serpent she faced was a nightmare of scale and sinew—a Tier 5 coil-fang that moved with the fluid grace of water, its body undulating through the grass as it struck again and again. Its fangs dripped venom that smoked where it touched the ground, and its eyes held the cold calculation of a born killer.
Yan Lu's hands flared with fire, wind swirling around her in a protective vortex.
"Not today," she hissed.
The serpent struck.
She rolled beneath its fangs, flames and wind slicing through its scales in a devastating combination. Black and green blood sprayed across her robes, steaming where it touched, but she did not slow. Could not slow down. Hesitation meant death.
The serpent shrieked, writhing, its tail whipping toward her with lethal force.
She twisted, barely avoiding the strike, and drove a lance of condensed flame into its side.
"Fight... fight...!"
Chu Feng's battle had become a war of attrition.
He bled from a dozen wounds. His ribs burned where claws had found their mark. One arm hung slightly wrong, the shoulder dislocated and hastily reset mid-combat. His sword felt heavy in his grip, each swing costing more than the last.
But the Jagged Maw was suffering too.
Black blood pooled beneath it, staining the silver grass. Its movements had slowed, its strikes less precise, its roars tinged with something that might have been fear. It had never faced a human who refused to die, who kept rising, who met each attack with the same cold precision, no matter how many times it struck.
Chu Feng's mind had narrowed to a single point.
Pain. Fatigue. Blood. All of it faded into background noise, irrelevant to the only thing that mattered: the next strike, the next dodge, the next opening. His consciousness expanded, reading the beast's movements before they happened, anticipating its attacks with the clarity that came from countless brushes with death.
The beast lunged again into attack.
Chu Feng also moved, closing the distance before its claws could fully extend. His sword traced a rising arc, qi surging along the blade, and the strike tore into the beast's forearm with a loud snap of bone.
The Jagged Maw screamed.
Black blood sprayed as it staggered backwards, its limb hanging uselessly, its eyes wide with fury and disbelief. It stared at him—this small human who would not fall—and for the first time, something flickered in its ancient gaze.
Fear.
Chu Feng straightened.
His sword rose.
The beast roared and charged one final time.
Across the boundary, the other battles reached their climax.
Huang Wei screamed as the lion-beast slammed him to the ground. His spear was gone, lost in the chaos, his arm shattered, his vision swimming. But he was not dead. Not yet.
"Argh! Come again!"
He forced his remaining arm up, qi channelling into a desperate spinning strike that tore through the creature's throat. The lion staggered, roaring in fury, black blood mixing with the earth as it thrashed and fell.
Huang Wei collapsed beside it, one arm useless, his chest heaving, but his eyes burned with unyielding determination.
He was alive.
The serpent facing Yan Lu shrieked one final time.
Its body writhed violently, torn by flames and wind, its scales shattered, its blood painting the grass in shades of black and green. It struck at her one last time—fangs aiming for her throat—and she met it head-on.
Fire and wind swirled together, a tornado of energy that ripped through the serpent's body and tore it apart from within.
The creature collapsed.
Yan Lu stood over it, gasping, her robes soaked with blood—some hers, most not. Her hands trembled. Her legs threatened to give way. But she remained standing.
She had endured.
Chu Feng's blade found the Jagged Maw's heart.
The beast lunged, claws extended, jaws gaping, and he stepped into the attack one final time. His sword punched through scales and muscle and bone, driving deep into the creature's chest, severing the core that powered its existence.
For one frozen moment, they stood together—human and beast, locked in the final embrace of combat.
Then the Jagged Maw's eyes went wide.
Its roar died in its throat.
It collapsed.
Chu Feng fell with it, his body giving way at last, his sword still buried in the creature's chest. He lay in the blood-soaked grass, staring at the sky that never changed, feeling the weight of two years pressing down on him.
He had won.
And then he felt it.
A shift in the pressure that had weighed on him since crossing the boundary. A sudden absence of hostility, as if the realm itself had exhaled and relaxed its grip. The oppressive weight that had driven him through two years of solitude simply... lifted.
Across the boundary, other survivors collapsed as well.
Huang Wei's spear clattered from his grip as he pitched forward, his broken arm twisting beneath him. He lay there without moving, his chest barely rising, eyes closed.
Yan Lu collapsed moments later, her torn robes spreading around her like crimson wings.
Others followed. One by one, they fell where they stood, their bodies finally surrendering to exhaustion.