A narrow field at the foot of Silent Fang Peak buzzed with muted anticipation. Faded banners danced in the wind. Dozens of families stood in scattered groups, eyes turned toward the center where the testing was underway.
Once every five years, the mountain sect sent someone down.
To test the blood.
To taste potential.
To those gathered here, this was no less than divine judgment.
The Hollow Bone Sect, a modest gathering of cultivators living far above the clouds, was revered like gods among mortals. In truth, they were not powerful. But compared to farmers and blacksmiths, their very existence was a myth made flesh.
Today, the elder from the sect had returned.
---
Elder Wei, robed in grey, stood beside a glowing jade orb atop a wooden pedestal. He had a weathered face and a deep, unreadable gaze—like someone who had seen far too many paths rot before ever bearing fruit.
> "Next," his voice rasped.
Children walked forward one by one. Some held their heads high, others trembled. Most were ordinary—no glow, no response.
> "No spirit root. Mortal."
Time and again.
One girl's parents wept on the spot.
---
Then came a ripple.
The orb shone faint blue.
> "Eighth-grade root," Elder Wei murmured.
"Name?"
> "Huo Lin," the boy said proudly.
Gasps. Whispers ran like wildfire.
A grade eight root—unheard of in these parts.
Elder Wei nodded with slight interest.
> "This one may reach Bone Refining Peak. Perhaps Qi Refining, with great effort."
The boy's father collapsed to his knees, thanking the heavens.
---
Later, a small boy stood at the edge of the crowd.
Black hair. Pale skin. Unblinking eyes.
He stepped forward in silence when his name was called.
"Feng Azazel."
The orb flickered once.
A dull, grey glow.
So faint, it looked like ash.
"Ninth-grade root," Elder Wei said, unmoved.
A few laughed in relief—better than nothing.
The majority of children had tested mortal.
To possess even a ninth-grade spirit root was enough to enter the sect.
And Azazel… had been chosen.
---
His family stepped forward.
His father, Feng Han, nodded solemnly—eyes locked on the mountain.
His mother, Li Yuan, smiled through her tears.
His younger sister, a bright-eyed girl of seven, ran to him and hugged his legs.
"Brother! You're going to become an immortal!" she chirped.
He did not respond.
His eyes remained fixed on the stone stairs leading into mist above.
---
The villagers watched with awe.
"So the boy was chosen…"
"He always seemed strange, that one."
"But ninth grade! That's more than enough!"
"His family must have good fortune in their bones."
Pride bloomed around the Feng family like silent fire.
Azazel's parents bowed to the elder.
"Thank you, honored one," his father said, voice low.
Elder Wei did not answer. His eyes briefly rested on Azazel—and for a second, there was something strange there.
Curiosity? No.
Wariness.
Then the moment passed.
---
The group of chosen children gathered at the base of the path. There were around twenty in total—all with ninth-grade roots, save for Huo Lin.
Azazel stood slightly apart from the others.
One boy whispered, "He doesn't talk at all, does he?"
Another replied, "He's weird… even for a cultivator."
Azazel heard them.
But did not care.
His eyes traced the stone steps winding upward, swallowed by mist and silence. The path to the Hollow Bone Sect.
The boy beside him shifted nervously.
Azazel did not move.
Inside him, there was no joy. No pride. No fear.
Only stillness.
And the distant hum of thoughts… too cold for his age.
> A dog given a bone wags its tail.
But the wolf—he waits, until his fangs can sink deeper.
Azazel began his ascent.
The sect awaited.
And with it, the blood-soaked path of cultivation.
---
End of Chapter 3