The suffocating silence left behind by the departure of Grandmaster Huangfu Yan's projection continued to weigh upon the Beichen arena like an invisible mountain. The lingering aura of Dao he had left behind—and his bold declaration to "forge a throne worthy" of Wu Ming still echoed within the minds of tens of thousands.
No one dared to breathe too heavily, as though even the slightest disturbance might shatter this moment destined to be etched into history.
Upon the platform, Elder Chun Zi was the first to regain his composure. Though the hand concealed beneath his sleeve still trembled faintly, he drew in a deep breath, circulating his qi to suppress the turbulence within his heart. Then, with a light cough infused with resonant energy, his voice spread across the arena, awakening all from their daze.
"The Dao of alchemy knows no bounds…" he began, his voice slightly hoarse as his gaze swept across the shattered remains of hundreds of ruined cauldrons. "This third trial was a test of the utmost comprehension of the Five Elements. Though the pinnacle has already revealed itself before your eyes… the evaluation must proceed!"
With a flick of his sleeve, a current of qi swept aside the debris, clearing a path. He moved from one surviving cauldron to another, inspecting them in turn.
"Let it be known," Chun Zi continued, "anyone who survived and passed the second trial—the extraction of the Five Poisons—has already proven the strength of their foundation. All of you are qualified to advance to the final stage: the Combat Selection Trial!"
A wave of relieved sighs surged through the crowd. Many participants whose cauldrons had exploded in the third round collapsed onto the ground, tears of relief filling their eyes. Though they had failed to forge the "Ten-Thousand Manifestation Pill," their path had not yet come to an end.
"However…" Chun Zi's eyes narrowed as he halted before a pitch-black cauldron. "Those who successfully formed a pill in this round even if flawed are true geniuses of this era."
Yin Tian stood silently before his furnace, his expression cold and devoid of emotion, like a sculpture carved from ice. His half-lidded eyes were not on Chun Zi, but fixed upon Wu Ming's back in the distance. Within his cauldron, a pill hovered—emanating a dark, ruthless aura. Though stable, it was riddled with violent traces of elemental suppression.
"Yin Tian… your pill is fierce and merciless in its fusion, yet it has taken form. Initial Earth-grade. Pass."
Yin Tian gave a barely perceptible nod. There was no joy in his gaze—for he knew that today, his achievement had become nothing more than a faint shadow beneath Wu Ming's radiance.
Next came Luo Ji, the sharp-eyed Yong girls. Wiping cold sweat from her brow, she stared at his pill—marred with conflicting elemental impurities, yet barely held together by his unique technique. "This… is my limit…" he muttered. Chun Zi granted him a low passing grade. Luo Ji exhaled deeply in relief, though her gaze toward Wu Ming was filled with undisguised reverence.
Then came Han Xiaofeng the once unrivaled genius of Beichen City now standing motionless, as if his soul had been hollowed out. His cauldron was cracked, and the pill within emitted a faint blue glow, its surface rough and tainted by residual fire energy drained by Wu Ming.
"Han Xiaofeng… Mid Earth-grade, with heavy impurities… pass."
There was no longer any excitement in Chun Zi's tone.
Han Xiaofeng clenched his fists until his nails pierced his palms, fresh blood dripping onto the stone beneath him. He neither responded nor looked at anyone. The pride that once defined him had been utterly crushed.
Just wait until the combat trial… I will reclaim everything…
Chun Zi continued. Yan Lan and Ling Yu barely managed to preserve their pills, both gasping for breath. Yan Lan's gaze flickered between her distorted pill and Wu Ming, filled with complexity, while Ling Yu collapsed to the ground in sheer relief upon passing.
Even the foreign geniuses—Li Qingyun, Feng Xiaoyao, and Huo Yan—though their pills reached the high Earth-grade, felt like mere children learning to walk when compared to Wu Ming's perfection that had drawn the attention of the heavens.
When the evaluation concluded, Chun Zi rose once more into the air above the arena.
"The third alchemy trial has concluded!" his voice thundered. "All who have survived—remember this day well! From this moment, you are granted five days to rest and recover your qi. Temper your weapons, heal your wounds, and prepare your minds!"
"Five days from now, the final selection—the Martial Trial—shall commence at the Heavenly Sword Arena! Only the last one standing shall have the right to determine their own fate! Dismissed!"
As his words fell, the tension loosened like a drawn bowstring released. Exhausted participants began descending from the stage.
Yet the moment Wu Ming—clad in his plain robe—stepped forward…
An astonishing sight unfolded.
The tens of thousands in the crowd—elders, noble heirs, and foreign geniuses alike—instinctively parted, forming a wide path before him. No one dared to speak. No one dared to step within ten paces of his presence. Heads lowered unconsciously, as though making way for a true sovereign.
Wu Ming walked through in silence, his gaze calm and unperturbed. He neither rejoiced in victory nor basked in the fear of others.
He simply returned to his residence… to prepare for what he truly sought.
Battle.
Behind him, upon the now-empty stone platform, Yin Tian remained standing. His cold gaze followed Wu Ming's departing figure until it vanished from sight.
Only then did he turn and walk away in the opposite direction
A silent killing intent beginning to stir within him.
For to Yin Tian, alchemy was merely a tool…
But the sword—and bloodshed—
were the only language he truly understood.
The night in Beichen City had never been this frenzied.
News of the Five-Element Cycle Sovereign Pill—a creation capable of invoking Heavenly Tribulation—and the cold refusal of Grandmaster Huangfu Yan's soul fragment spread through every corner of the city like wildfire.
Inns, brothels, and the grand estates of noble clans alike—everywhere, there was only one name on everyone's lips…
Wu Ming.
A youth from a declining clan, once dismissed as nothing more than a struggling nobody, had now become the most mysterious and terrifying existence in the eyes of all.
The great powers began to stir in secrecy. Carrier pigeons and transmission talismans were dispatched in droves, racing beyond the city to report the rise of this "monster" to those above.
And yet… amidst the storm of chaos and endless speculation, the eye of it all remained eerily calm.
At the desolate courtyard behind the Wu Clan's dilapidated residence, far removed from the city's splendor
Wu Ming sat cross-legged upon a cold stone platform beneath the pale glow of the moon. The world around him was so still that even the falling of dew upon grass could almost be heard.
He paid no heed to the turmoil he had stirred.
To a former supreme deity who had once shaken the heavens and overturned the cosmos, the attention of cultivators from such a minor realm was nothing more than trivial noise—incapable of disturbing the slightest ripple within his heart.
In his right hand, the Five-Element Cycle Sovereign Pill emitted a gentle radiance. The life force and Dao contained within it were so pure that even the surrounding space subtly distorted.
Five days… Wu Ming mused inwardly, a faint smile touching his lips.
For the outside world, five days… but within my World of Will… it is more than enough time to overturn heaven and earth.
He closed his eyes.
In the span of a single breath, his consciousness plunged into the World of Will.
The flow of time in reality came to a standstill.
Within that vast and boundless void, Wu Ming opened his eyes once more. There was no sky, no earth—only primordial qi flowing like an endless ocean.
Without hesitation, he swallowed the pill.
BOOM!
The moment it reached his dantian, a terrifying surge of energy erupted forth. The fusion of the Five Poisons and Five Elements roared like five ancient dragons tearing through his meridians.
Pain—enough to shred even high-level cultivators into pieces—crashed upon him like a tidal wave.
Yet Wu Ming remained unmoved.
His divine soul stood firm and unshaken. With a simple motion of his finger, he guided the berserk energy through precise pathways, refining his mortal body—tempering it into something comparable to heavenly steel.
Time within the World of Will flowed slowly…
Ten days… fifty days… one hundred days…
Again and again, he practiced the most basic fist techniques and sword forms—refining simplicity into inevitable death.
Meanwhile, within a luxurious estate at the heart of the city
The sound of shattering objects echoed violently from Han Xiaofeng's study.
"Trash! All of it is trash!" he roared, his eyes bloodshot with fury. Fragments of jade vases and priceless manuals littered the floor.
He could not accept this humiliation.
Being overshadowed was one thing—but for his own master, Grandmaster Huangfu Yan, to offer Wu Ming discipleship before tens of thousands… only to be rejected
It was unbearable.
"Wu Ming… you think yourself superior just because you can refine pills?" Han Xiaofeng snarled. "The true Dao lies in strength—in battle!"
Gritting his teeth, he moved to a hidden compartment beneath a stone slab and retrieved a black wooden box. Inside lay a dark crimson pill exuding the stench of blood and black mist.
The Blood Frenzy Pill—a forbidden medicine that could forcibly elevate one's cultivation at the cost of lifespan and severe damage to the meridians.
"I will not lose… no matter the price…"
Without hesitation, he swallowed it.
A scream of agony tore through the estate.
Yet not a single servant dared approach.
In another corner of Beichen City—within a shadowed alley untouched by moonlight
Yin Tian stood silently in the darkness, his figure blending seamlessly with the night. The air around him was cold, devoid of life.
He paid no attention to rumors or grudges.
His pale hand calmly wiped blood from the edge of his black blade.
At his feet lay three corpses—assassins from a hidden faction—each slain with a single, precise strike to the heart.
No hesitation.
No mercy.
Yin Tian sheathed his sword and gazed toward the direction of the Wu Clan residence.
"Your Dao is one of control over all things…" he murmured, his voice as cold as ice.
"But death… obeys no control."
To him, Wu Ming was not an enemy
but the ultimate prey, awakening the deepest instincts of a hunter.
For others, the final trial was a contest for glory.
But for Yin Tian
it was an execution ground he had long awaited.
The five days of the outside world passed swiftly, as undercurrents surged toward their peak.
And when the dawn of the sixth day descended upon the Heavenly Sword Arena
The dawn of the sixth day tore through the heavens, sunlight piercing the clouds and descending upon the Heavenly Sword Arena.
Unlike the refined elegance of the alchemy grounds, this arena was a vast expanse of jet-black stone, carved from ancient meteorite ore. Scars of blades, charred burns, and dried bloodstains were etched deep into its surface—silent witnesses to generations of slaughter and rivalry among geniuses.
The air itself was heavy, saturated with killing intent accumulated over thousands of years.
The surrounding stands were packed with a crowd three times larger than during the alchemy trials. Every major power in Beichen City had sent their elites to bear witness, for a single question echoed in all their minds—
Just how powerful is the monster who could summon Heavenly Tribulation through alchemy… when it comes to battle?
Before long, the finalists began to arrive.
The four foreign geniuses stepped onto the arena first.
Huo Yan returned with flames fiercer than before, his aura simmering with humiliation and rage. Li Qingyun remained as calm as the ocean's depths, yet the currents surrounding him churned with restrained fury. Feng Xiaoyao and Mu Lingxuan advanced with steady steps—their previous defeat now transformed into the unyielding resolve of warriors. In the Dao of combat, they believed themselves second to none.
Next came Luo Ji, Yan Lan, and Ling Yu. Their expressions were tense. They knew they were mere underdogs in this battlefield—their sole goal was survival, and perhaps to attract the attention of lesser sects.
Suddenly, a commotion erupted from the eastern stands.
Han Xiaofeng stepped onto the arena.
His appearance had changed drastically. His once proud and handsome face was now pale, veins of dark crimson bulging at his temples. His eyes burned blood-red, exuding a feral, violent aura that forced others to instinctively retreat.
"His qi… has mutated?" one elder frowned. "That savage aura… this is not his sect's path."
Yet none dared intervene—as long as he had not violated the rules.
In a shadowed corner of the arena, unnoticed by all, Yin Tian had already arrived.
His figure blended seamlessly into the darkness beside a towering stone pillar. No aura emanated from him. One hand rested lightly upon the hilt of his black blade, his half-lidded eyes glancing briefly at Han Xiaofeng—before dismissing him entirely.
A walking corpse… unworthy of attention.
Then
The noise across the stands abruptly fell silent.
Wu Ming stepped onto the Heavenly Sword Arena.
He did not ride a flying sword. He released no overwhelming aura.
Clad in the same plain gray robe, he simply walked forward with calm, natural steps.
And yet…
Every step he took caused the high-level elders to widen their eyes in shock.
To ordinary spectators, Wu Ming appeared no different from a mortal—utterly devoid of qi.
But to those who had touched the Dao…
They saw something terrifying.
His existence was perfectly harmonized with the laws of heaven and earth. No flaws. No weaknesses.
As though he were one with the arena itself—
One with the wind.
One with time.
Yin Tian's gaze snapped toward him.
His thumb instinctively pushed his blade a single millimeter out of its sheath
The reflex of encountering an apex predator.
When all participants had taken their positions, a figure descended from the sky.
A bronze-armored elder landed upon the arena with overwhelming pressure, like an iron mountain crashing to the ground. The entire platform trembled beneath his arrival.
This was Elder Mo—the enforcer of combat law.
Unlike Chun Zi's scholarly demeanor, Mo was a veteran who had survived seas of blood.
"I do not care where you alchemy geniuses come from!" his voice thundered like lightning. "This is the Heavenly Sword Arena! The law of alchemy is creation—
but the law of battle… is destruction!"
"Blades have no eyes. If you are weak… then leave your life here!"
With a violent sweep of his sleeve, ten beams of light shot upward from the stone floor, forming ten massive floating platforms—each surrounded by a powerful barrier.
"The final trial is called—
The Ten Blood Thrones!"
"There is only one rule… ascend and stand upon a platform! Whoever can seize and hold a throne until the great incense burns out shall become the Top Ten of the Tianmen Realm!"
His gaze swept across them like a blade.
"Remember—there are no matchups. No restrictions on group attacks. No ban on hidden weapons!"
"So long as you do not surrender… or fall from the platform—
Killing your opponent… is justified!"
The declaration ignited the blood of every participant.
Some turned pale.
This was no tournament—
It was survival within a den of wolves.
"Light the incense!" Elder Mo roared.
A colossal incense stick, ten zhang tall, was ignited. Gray smoke spiraled toward the heavens.
And then
"Let the slaughter… begin!!!"
The moment Elder Mo's roar faded and the giant incense stick ignited, the Heavenly Sword Arena did not erupt into chaos. Instead, it sank into a suffocating, unnatural stillness.
It was the silence of a hundred vipers trapped in a single pit, each waiting for another to strike first.
Han Xiaofeng was the first to break the stillness. With a guttural shout, he vaulted through the air, his robes billowing violently. He landed heavily on the 7th platform. The moment his boots struck the stone, a torrential aura of blood-red Qi exploded from his body. Veins throbbed visibly against his temples, and his breath came in ragged, beast-like gasps.
"Step foot on this stage, and I will sever your meridians!" Han Xiaofeng roared, his sword already drawn, the blade vibrating with erratic, violent energy. He looked like a man driven entirely mad by the forbidden pill he had consumed.
Yet, lower on the arena floor, Li Qingyun of the Eastern Sea simply brushed a speck of dust from his sleeve. He did not look at the screaming Han Xiaofeng. Instead, Li Qingyun took two slow, measured steps backward, away from the stone platforms. He casually planted the tip of his azure scabbard into the ground. A millimeter-thin ring of frost immediately bloomed around him.
A few paces away, Huo Yan mirrored the action. He crossed his arms, leaning back as if bored, but the air within a three-foot radius of his body began to distort with terrifying heat.
They were not fighting. They were drawing invisible lines. Let the desperate cull themselves, their relaxed postures screamed. We will claim the thrones when the floor is painted red.
Then, the crowd's collective gaze shifted.
Wu Ming was moving.
His steps were slow. Hesitant. Unlike his calm demeanor during the Alchemy Trial, his shoulders were slightly hunched. A single, distinct bead of sweat traced a path down his pale cheek. He paused at the base of the platforms, his eyes darting toward the towering thrones of 1 through 5, before he quickly lowered his gaze.
With a shallow, ragged exhale, Wu Ming climbed the steps to Platform 10-the lowest, the smallest, and the closest to the chaotic mob of desperate competitors.
He stood near the edge of the platform, his sleeves fluttering in the wind. To anyone watching, his hands, hidden deep within his robes, were trembling.
High in the stands, Mei Xue's nails dug into her palms. "He... he exhausted his spiritual sense drawing the Heavenly Tribulation," she whispered, her voice laced with sudden realization. "He has nothing left for a physical fight."
Xuan Yue stood completely still beside her. Her silver eyes narrowed to fine slits, tracking Wu Ming's "trembling" sleeves. She noticed that while the fabric shook, the dust settling on the stone around his boots remained perfectly, mathematically undisturbed. Not a single grain shifted out of place.
Xuan Yue swallowed hard, a cold chill creeping up her spine.
Down on the arena floor, Han Xiaofeng, still radiating a blood-crazed aura on Platform 7, suddenly stopped roaring.
Through the veil of his "madness," his bloodshot eyes flicked directly toward Platform 10. The erratic trembling of his sword ceased for a fraction of a second, revealing a grip of absolute, lethal precision. He shifted his weight, preparing to launch himself downward to "slaughter the weak."
But before Han Xiaofeng could move, a shadow fell across the base of Platform 10.
Yin Tian.
The assassin moved without displacing the air. He stood at the bottom of the steps, looking up at Wu Ming. Yin Tian's half-lidded eyes were devoid of emotion, but his gaze swept over Wu Ming with surgical intensity: the sweat on the cheek, the hunched posture, the trembling sleeves.
For three long seconds, neither man spoke. The ambient roar of the crowd seemed to fade away, leaving only the sound of the burning incense.
Yin Tian's thumb rested on the guard of his black blade. He applied enough pressure to expose a sliver of the steel. The dark metal reflected Wu Ming's "terrified" face.
Slowly, Yin Tian released the pressure. The blade clicked back into place.
Without a single word, Yin Tian turned his back on Wu Ming. He did not go to Platform 9 or 8. He walked in a straight, unhurried line directly toward Platform 1, ignoring the heavy auras of the foreign geniuses.
The silent message was deafening to those who could hear it: I see the abyss hiding behind your sweat. I will not step into your open jaws.
Wu Ming watched Yin Tian walk away. The feigned panic in his eyes remained, but deep within his pupils, a microscopic glint of approval flashed and vanished.
Suddenly, a battle cry shattered the tension.
"The 10th throne belongs to me! The alchemist is spent!"
Luo Ji, desperate to secure a spot, lunged toward Platform 10. Seeing him move, Yan Lan and a dozen other mid-tier competitors panicked. If Platform 10 was taken, they would have to fight the monsters on the higher thrones. Greed and desperation overrode their caution.
Fourteen cultivators, their weapons drawn and Qi flaring, converged on Platform 10 simultaneously like a pack of starving wolves pouncing on an injured deer.
Standing at the edge of the stage, surrounded by a dozen killing intents, Wu Ming stopped trembling.
He didn't draw a weapon. He didn't summon an aura. He simply closed his eyes, let out a soft sigh, and let the mask of the terrified prey fall away into the void.
Fourteen weapons tore through the air, converging on Platform 10. Fourteen distinct killing intents locked onto the seemingly exhausted alchemist.
Standing at the edge of the stone, Wu Ming did not draw a weapon. He didn't even raise his hands. As the leading blade-Luo Ji's heavy broadsword-came within an inch of his forehead, Wu Ming simply closed his eyes and took one half-step forward.
He didn't strike them. He merely aligned his own breathing with the ancient, blood-soaked pulse of the Heavenly Sword Arena.
There was no explosion of Qi. No blinding light.
The fourteen cultivators suddenly felt as if they had charged full-speed into the side of a falling mountain. The combined weight of their own killing intent hit a wall of absolute, immovable Dao, and reflected violently back into their own meridians.
Crack! Luo Ji's broadsword snapped in half, the sheer kinetic rebound shattering the steel. The fourteen attackers were violently thrown backward, entirely lifted off their feet by the invisible pressure of Wu Ming's mere existence. They crashed onto the arena floor, coughing up blood, their weapons scattered.
Wu Ming opened his eyes. He still hadn't lifted a single finger. He turned his back on the groaning cultivators and calmly seated himself in the center of Platform 10, closing his eyes once more to rest.
The roaring crowd fell into a suffocating silence.
Up on Platform 7, the erratic, blood-crazed trembling of Han Xiaofeng's blade stopped completely. The veins on his forehead pulsed as he stared down at Platform 10, his teeth grinding so hard they threatened to crack. The "prey" he had been waiting to ambush was a sleeping leviathan.
Before the crowd could recover from the shock, a cold, sharp resonance sliced through the heavy atmosphere.
A young man walked slowly through the sea of stunned competitors. Chen Ye.
His face was deathly pale, a lingering shadow from the heaven-defying technique that had recently torn the laws of nature apart. Every step he took seemed impossibly heavy, yet the air around his wrapped blade fractured slightly, unable to contain the suppressed, terrifying edge of the Heaven-Severing Sword. He coughed once into his fist, a small stain of red blooming on the white fabric.
Chen Ye ignored the lower platforms. He bypassed Han Xiaofeng's bloodthirsty aura completely, ascending the steps to Platform 4. He sat heavily, resting his wrapped sword across his knees. He didn't look at anyone. He was conserving every microscopic drop of Qi his battered body had left.
A heartbeat later, the temperature in the arena dropped.
Gu Yi Fan stepped out of the shadows. His robes were pristine, his aura absolute and unyielding-the very picture of the man who had single-handedly caught the remnants of a falling sky to save his brother, Gu Fei Yi.
Gu Yi Fan did not claim the highest throne. He walked in a straight line and ascended Platform 3, directly adjacent to Chen Ye.
He stood at the edge of his platform, his posture perfect. He slowly turned his head, his gaze falling upon the pale, seated figure of Chen Ye. Gu Yi Fan did not draw his weapon. He did not release his killing intent. He simply raised his hand and tapped the jade pommel of his sword twice with his index finger.
Tap. Tap. The sound was soft, but it echoed like thunder in Chen Ye's ears. It was the unspoken promise. The final round. Chen Ye slowly opened his eyes. He didn't speak. He simply wiped the corner of his mouth with his thumb and nodded once. The debt of the Ten Thousand Realms technique was waiting to be settled.
Meanwhile, at the very peak of the arena, a black boot stepped onto Platform 1.
Yin Tian claimed the highest throne without a single person daring to contest him. The assassin turned around, his dark robes catching the wind. He looked past the seething Han Xiaofeng, past the silent promise between Gu Yi Fan and Chen Ye, and looked directly down at Platform 10.
Wu Ming, seated with his eyes closed, tilted his head slightly upward, though his eyelids never fluttered.
Yin Tian's hand fell away from the hilt of his black blade. He crossed his arms over his chest. There was no malice in his posture. No hostility. Only the profound, chilling stillness of recognizing a peer in a world of mortals. Two anomalies, occupying the highest and the lowest thrones, holding the entire arena hostage by simply existing.
The mind games were over. The board was set.