Everyone watching her now wore solemn expressions.
The beastwoman belonged to the Ironfang Beast Tribe, a race known for their physical strength and fierceness. In a direct fight, she could have matched the first human cultivator who attempted the platform, perhaps even defeated him.
And yet…
She had not even completed the first step.
Realising this, the remaining cultivators turned their eyes back toward the Dao platform almost simultaneously. Their expressions grew grave. The true weight of the trial had finally begun to sink in.
One by one, they began ascending, humans first, followed by the beastfolk. Some reached the third step; a few pushed forward to the fourth. Yet none had dared—or managed—to set foot on the fifth step.
Out of the sixteen, seven had already attempted the trial. Each had been hurled violently from the platform, bodies crashing onto the ground below. One human cultivator had been struck by the platform's surging aura mid-step, blood bursting from his lips; a bear-kin warrior had been knocked back as his shoulders and back scraped against the glowing steps; a fox-blooded cultivator's leg had been twisted midair by the platform's invisible resistance. Yet each time blood spilt on the translucent stone, it vanished almost instantly, absorbed into the platform as if it forbade blemish or imperfection.
Now only nine remained.
The eighth cultivator stepped forward.
He was a human, his eyes sharp with determination and his expression set in firm resolve. The moment he attempted the first step, an invisible resistance struck him. It responded just as it had for the others before him.
It felt as though an unseen force pressed down upon his body, testing his resolve and the strength of his will. The platform itself seemed to surge beneath his feet, its pressure rising as if probing the depths of his spirit. Yet he did not retreat.
Slowly, with deliberate effort, he advanced.
First step.
Then the second.
Each movement required immense concentration, his body trembling under the oppressive force pressing against him. Still, he persisted.
Third step.
Fourth.
By now, sweat soaked his robes, and his breathing had grown heavy, yet his eyes burned with stubborn determination. Finally, with a final surge of strength, he forced himself upward and placed both feet firmly upon the fifth step.
The instant he did, the entire atmosphere changed.
Dark clouds gathered above the platform as if summoned by his achievement. Within the thickening sky, pale lightning flickered and coiled like slumbering dragons preparing to strike. The air grew heavy, suffocating, as an immense heavenly pressure descended upon the area.
Yet the storm did not fall.
The thunderclouds churned silently overhead, as though the heavens themselves were watching… waiting to see whether he would dare to take the next step.
The cultivator lifted his gaze toward the sixth step.
From his position, it seemed impossibly high.
The distance was not merely physical. Standing before it, he felt an overwhelming sense of insignificance, as though he were a mortal gazing upon an insurmountable peak.
Minutes passed.
His body trembled violently as he struggled against the pressure bearing down on him. Veins bulged across his temples. Blood slowly seeped from the corner of his lips as the strain pushed him beyond his limits.
A hoarse cry escaped him as he fought against the invisible force, desperately attempting to summon the strength to continue.
But in the end… he could not.
The moment the decision formed within his mind. The platform beneath him shifted subtly, widening, which strangely only he could perceive. At the same time, a pure and vibrant aura surged upward from the fifth step and flowed into his body.
Warmth spread through his limbs.
The crushing pressure eased as the energy coursed through him, reinforcing his muscles, calming his mind, and restoring his exhausted body. Every muscle, every tendon, every fibre of his being seemed to align into perfect condition.
Then it happened.
As though the heavens themselves had acknowledged his decision.
A deep rumble rolled through the void, low and ancient, vibrating through the platforms beneath their feet. The empty sky above shuddered violently as streaks of lightning tore across it, blazing lines of white and blue colliding against unseen barriers.
The cultivator's heart pounded.
Crackling sparks of energy began lashing toward him, drawn by an unseen force. The air thickened, heavy with power, until the tension reached its breaking point.
Then the heavens struck.
A blinding pillar of white lightning erupted from the sky, tearing through the darkness like a spear of divine judgment. It crashed directly onto the platform where the cultivator stood.
The impact detonated with a thunderous crack that echoed across the void.
Fragments of blue lightning scattered outward in wild arcs, illuminating the surrounding platforms in bursts of electric light.
Yet the cultivator did not retreat.
He clenched his teeth and stood his ground, allowing the violent torrent of lightning to wash over him. The energy hammered against his body again and again, like a blacksmith's forge striking molten steel.
His muscles trembled violently under the relentless assault.
Thin wisps of smoke curled upward from his robes.
But he did not fall.
His posture remained firm and unyielding, as though the lightning itself were merely a tool meant to temper him—refining his body and spirit within the crucible of heaven's fire.
And still, he endured.
The lightning faded.
For a few fleeting heartbeats, the world fell silent once more. The violent brilliance that had split the heavens moments earlier vanished, leaving only a lingering glow in the storm clouds above.
Then the sky began to churn again.
The dark clouds twisted more violently than before, folding over one another like a vast, living ocean. A deeper rumble rolled across the heavens, heavier and more oppressive than the first. The pressure in the air intensified, doubling in weight until it felt as though the atmosphere itself had thickened.
Energy crackled everywhere.
The air vibrated with raw power, making the hairs along his arms stand upright. Even the ground beneath his feet seemed to tremble faintly, as if the world itself was bracing for what was about to descend.
Then the second bolt fell.
This one was fiercer.
It tore from the heavens like a falling star, a brilliant spear of blue-white lightning that shattered the darkness as it plunged downward. The moment it struck, it erupted into countless arcs of raging electricity that coiled around the cultivator like a living cage.
The lightning energy drilled through his flesh and bones, invading his meridians with merciless force before surging straight toward his dantian.
His spiritual energy trembled violently.
Inside his body, the invading lightning collided with the swirling spiritual power he had cultivated through years of relentless effort. The two forces clashed like opposing tides, violent currents tearing through his energy pathways and threatening to shatter the delicate balance he had built over a lifetime of cultivation.
Pain exploded through every fibre of his being.
The lightning rampaged through his meridians, threatening to rip them apart as it fought against the resistance of his spiritual energy.
A tremor ran through his body.
Then blood slowly seeped from the corner of his mouth.
He forced his breathing to remain steady.
Suppressing the instinctive surge of panic, he gathered the chaotic spiritual energy raging within his body and began compressing it again and again. Each cycle demanded precise control. With unwavering focus, he guided the lightning coursing through his meridians, forcing the violent power to circulate along controlled pathways.
The process was agonising. Every movement of the lightning felt like blades tearing through flesh and bone. Yet he endured, tightening his control with relentless discipline.
Gradually, the raging energy began to settle.
When the second bolt of lightning finally faded, the transformation within him became clear.
The spiritual energy flowing through his body had changed. It felt denser than before, purer in quality, and far sharper—like a blade freshly forged in divine fire.
High above, the roiling thunderclouds suddenly grew quiet.
The sky fell into an unnatural silence.
For several long seconds, there was no thunder, no movement, not even the distant rumble that had filled the heavens moments before. The vast storm seemed to pause, as though the world itself were holding its breath.
A terrifying stillness spread through the air.
Then, at the very centre of the swirling vortex of clouds, a faint glow appeared.
Slowly, deliberately, a bolt of lightning began to form.
It was far brighter than the previous two combined. Golden light pulsed within it, deep and radiant, carrying a terrifying pressure that seemed to weigh upon the very earth below.
It was not merely lightning.
It felt like judgment.
Like the will of the heavens itself taking form.
The cultivator slowly opened his eyes and immediately sensed that this lightning was different. A pressure unlike anything before descended from the heavens—heavy and absolute—as though the sky itself had become aware of his existence. At that same moment, his cosmic soul stirred violently.
Behind him, its faint form appeared. An ethereal silhouette emerged from within his body just as the third bolt descended.
There was an explosive thunderclap, a deafening crack that split the sky as lightning fell with terrifying precision. A spear of radiant gold tore through the storm and struck him directly.