The broadcasting spheres shifted once more, flaring as the trial grounds morphed again.
Haotian's image appeared first. His new battlefield opened into a wasteland of jagged stone spires and sulfurous smoke. The earth trembled, and from fissures in the ground poured forth a horde of abyssal monsters—warped beasts of all shapes, dripping with void fire and hunger. Dozens of them. Their roars merged into a storm that rattled the arena walls and made weaker disciples collapse to their knees.
The crowd gasped.
"An entire pack at once!"
"Not even a core elder could handle that many without heavy injury!"
But Haotian's expression did not shift.
He lifted his spear upright, calm as still water. Then—
CRACK.
The butt of his spear struck the ground.
At that instant, the battlefield fell into silence.
The abyssal monsters froze mid-charge, their movements arrested in grotesque poses—fangs bared, claws raised, bodies twisted with hunger. For Haotian, time itself had bent. Space warped around his presence, folding the battlefield into stillness. To him, the monsters stood motionless, as if carved from stone.
And in that stillness, his spear moved.
Not outwardly—the crowd saw no strikes, no slashes, no thrusts. But through the resonance of the Heart of the Spear, his intent pierced each and every beast. Invisible edges tore through flesh, bone, and core in perfect sequence.
When the silence broke—
THUD. THUD. THUD.
Dozens of abyssal corpses collapsed in unison, the battlefield shaking under the weight of their fall. Smoke and blood mist rose in waves, carried upward by the flickering light of the broadcasting spheres.
The audience erupted in disbelief.
"Again—he only struck the ground!"
"Is he going to finish the entire trial like this? Just smacking his spear butt on the arena floor?!"
"No… no, that's impossible. There must be something else… but what?"
Sect masters and elders narrowed their eyes, straining to pierce through the truth. Yet no one could unravel it. Only the Four Saints leaned back with smirks carved across their faces, their eyes gleaming with recognition.
"He's folding time," Yangshen said softly.
"And bending space," added Meiyun.
"But most importantly…" Jinhai's lips curved into a rare smile, "…he's using the Heart of the Spear to kill in stillness. Each strike executed outside mortal perception."
Yuying let out a quiet laugh, her gaze sweeping toward the other sect leaders. Can any of your disciples comprehend this?
Haotian remained silent, withdrawing the abyssal cores into his ring before stepping calmly toward the trial's exit.
The sphere shifted again.
Now, it was Lianhua's turn.
Her battlefield shimmered with clear sky and scattered stone platforms suspended above a great abyss. Opposite her stood a disciple from the Iron Fang Sect—a rival sect whose arrogance was as famed as its brutality. His aura surged as he sneered across the gap.
"So, the Azure Dragon Sect sends a little girl?" His words dripped with disdain. "Good. I'll make this quick and claim your points."
With a roar, he leapt across the platforms, his blade raised high. Sparks of crimson qi trailed behind his strike as he descended, aiming to cleave her in half before she could react.
But Lianhua did not move.
Her sword whispered from its sheath, only a fraction.
SHHHK.
Then it slid back in with a clean click.
The Iron Fang disciple froze mid-air. His eyes widened, his blade shuddered, his body split cleanly from crown to hip. He fell in two silent halves before his feet even touched the platform.
Gasps tore through the crowd. Elders jolted to their feet. Sect masters clenched their fists. The merit scrolls above the arena flickered, golden light cascading as all of his accumulated points surged into Lianhua's name.
She had cut not only through his body, but through his pride, his sect's honor, and his worth in a single effortless motion.
Lianhua lowered her gaze, calm and composed, storing the corpse and the fractured core before stepping forward across the floating platforms.
Now the spheres showed them both again—Haotian striding through fields of abyssal corpses, Lianhua stepping through falling fragments of her slain opponent.
And all across the Alliance, the watching world fell into the same silence.
No struggle.
No wasted effort.
One attack.
One victory.
Haotian and Lianhua.
Heart of the Spear.
Heart of the Sword.
The golden merit scrolls continued to flicker high above the Convergence grounds. Each update projected into the skies and mirrored in every broadcasting sphere across the Alliance. Names shifted upward and downward, points gained and lost with every strike.
At first, disciples across the various sects fought with grim determination. The arenas were alive with roars, clashing weapons, surges of elemental qi. To fight here was no small matter—it was the crucible in which their reputations would be forged.
But then the contrast became undeniable.
In Haotian's sphere, entire packs of abyssal monsters had collapsed to the ground after a single resounding strike. Corpses sprawled like broken statues, cores plucked away as easily as fruit gathered from branches. His name climbed steadily, every increment sharp and effortless.
In Lianhua's sphere, an Iron Fang Sect prodigy—one whose arrogance had been notorious since his youth—lay in halves, his points absorbed by her calm blade. Her name, too, soared up the merit scroll like a lotus blooming under the sun.
And in every other sphere?
Struggle.
A disciple of the Cloudveil Spirit Sect staggered backward, his robes shredded, blood dripping from his arm as the spectral beast he fought refused to fall. He had been hailed as one of their most promising core talents—yet his strikes seemed weak, his formations barely holding. When he caught a glimpse of Lianhua's effortless draw, his heart froze. His lips trembled as he whispered, unheard by the world:"…How…? She made it look like a dream…"
Another battlefield showed disciples from the Crimson Moon Sect battling a single colossal ape demon. They shouted in unison, forming a formation of blood and flame. The ground cracked beneath their technique, their qi blazing together. It was the very image of desperate cooperation. Yet as their technique roared forward, one of them saw Haotian's sphere from the corner of his eye—saw how monsters that would take them everything they had had fallen in silence. His spirit wavered. His thrust faltered. Their formation nearly collapsed.
Even in the Frostpetal Pavilion's arena, where two sisters fought back to back against elemental phantoms, the elder of the two clenched her teeth until they bled. "We trained for decades… we studied day and night… and still, we look like children beside them."
The Convergence was meant to be a proving ground—a place where elites of every sect could shine before the Alliance. But instead, the spheres betrayed them, juxtaposing their sweat, blood, and desperation with the serene, unshakable calm of Haotian and Lianhua.
From the viewing stands, murmurs spread among the watching disciples.
"Did you see? That spear strike again—it killed all of them!"
"No, no, there has to be a technique hidden… otherwise, how?"
"That girl from the Azure Dragon Sect—she didn't even fight, she just… drew her sword once and he died!"
"They're monsters…"
Envy flared like sparks in dry grass. Some glared at the spheres with hatred. Others turned pale, their confidence fractured. A few clenched their fists so hard that blood dripped from their palms.
For to struggle and sweat, to risk one's life in the battlefield, only to see two peers walk forward without even ruffling their robes… it was humiliation sharper than any blade.
Sect elders and masters above could see the ripple this was causing. The younger generation's faith in their own talent was eroding before their eyes. Yet none could stop the merit scroll from blazing with truth:
Zhenlong Haotian — rising with each step.
Bai Lianhua — soaring like a star.
And as their names gleamed higher and higher, one thought burned unspoken in every rival disciple's heart:
How can we fight against them?
The battlefield shifted once again.
Haotian stood at the edge of a shattered valley, fissures running deep into the earth. Faint waves of qi pulsed through the ground like heartbeats, invisible to most. But when his golden eyes narrowed, the world changed.
The Eyes of the Universe opened.
Threads of energy unraveled before him, weaving themselves into flowing diagrams of light and shadow. Every ripple of qi, every shift in breath, every motion of blade or beast left a trail across his vision. Dozens of signatures scattered in every direction across the valley. Yet among them, several clustered along a single path, converging like streams meeting into a river.
His lips curved faintly.
Chasing each other… killing for points.
He stepped forward—not fast, not slow. His stride seemed ordinary, his pace measured. But with every step, the distance shrank. The threads of the Universe bent toward him, paths folding, gaps narrowing. He was not chasing them—he was arriving, inevitably, as though the world itself had conspired to bring them together.
At last, the mist parted.
Before him, three disciples clashed in a broken clearing. One bore the crimson robes of the Blood Serpent Sect, another the black of the Iron Fang Sect, the last the silver-white of the Cloudveil Spirit Sect. Their blades clashed, qi flared, hatred burned between them.
But when Haotian's foot pressed softly into the earth, one of them froze. His instincts screamed, and he broke away mid-strike, turning sharply. The other two, sensing something unnatural, immediately separated, putting distance between each other.
And then they saw him.
Haotian, walking toward them.
No aura flared. No weapon raised. His steps were unhurried, his spear balanced casually in his hand. He advanced like a man crossing a courtyard, as if the three of them were nothing more than shadows in his way.
The three disciples exchanged wary glances. Confusion twisted in their eyes.
Why isn't he running? Why isn't he attacking? Why… is he just walking?
The silence pressed on them. Their breaths grew shallow. Their grips on their weapons tightened.
Then—
SHHK. SHHK. SHHK.
Three sounds. Not loud, but piercing in the stillness.
The disciples gasped, their eyes dropping in horror. Each of them saw it—the gaping hole in their chest where their hearts once beat. Blood did not even spill. Their cores shattered, their life force erased in an instant.
Their weapons clattered against the stone. Their bodies crumbled, collapsing into motes of fading light.
The merit scroll above flared golden. Three names dimmed, erased. Haotian's points surged upward, brighter than ever.
He did not pause. Did not gloat. He simply turned, his golden eyes shifting toward another distant thread only he could see. His body bent forward into a dash—not fast, not slow. Yet as before, the distance between him and his next prey collapsed with every step, as though the Universe itself folded to guide his hunt.
The crowd watching through the spheres shuddered. Some disciples whispered in disbelief.
"He… killed them without even lifting his spear…""Did you see it? I didn't even see him move—!""That wasn't just power. That was inevitability itself."
Above, sect masters whispered behind closed lips, their expressions tightening. Yet the Four Saints once again leaned back, smirks painting their faces.
"The Heart of the Spear," Jinhai said softly.
"And the Eyes of the Universe…" Yuying added, pride burning beneath her gaze.
Haotian vanished into the haze, his calm pursuit continuing.
The hunt had only just begun.
Haotian slowed his pace, golden eyes narrowing as the Universe unfolded before him. The threads of light bent in countless directions, tracing the movements of disciples and monsters alike. Dozens of targets, all scattering, all struggling. He could pursue one path, or two, but in truth—
His steps stopped.
An idea sparked.
His gaze lifted. Beyond the valley, a jagged mountain pierced the clouds, its summit crowned with mist and fractured stone. The corner of his lips curved.
"…That might work."
In the next breath, he dashed.
His speed was impossible to comprehend. To the broadcasting spheres, he vanished in a blur, their projections stuttering as they failed to lock onto his movement. To the disciples watching outside, he had simply disappeared—like a stone sinking into still water. But in truth, Haotian was folding space and time with every step, the world itself bending to his will. The mountain summit drew closer not because he raced, but because the path between was collapsing.
And then, without warning, he reappeared—standing atop the summit, overlooking the fractured trial grounds.
Wind howled across the peak, carrying dust and fractured shards of qi. Haotian's eyes gleamed as his hands began to weave.
FWOOM. FWOOM. FWOOM.
His fingers danced through a rapid sequence of seals, each motion traced by arcs of golden light. Sigils carved themselves into the stone beneath him, glowing with intricate runes that spread outward in concentric rings.
The mountain shuddered.
One layer. Then another. Then another still.
Seven formations blossomed, stacked one atop the other, like a lotus of arrays blooming across the summit.
The first—a Chi Gathering Array, drawing in the ambient essence from miles around, coiling it into the summit like threads winding into a spool.The second—a Concealment Array, cloaking the true nature of the setup while releasing an illusion of aura unlike any natural place.The third—a Defensive Array, lacing the stone with resilience, locking down the summit like a fortress.Then came the fourth, fifth, and sixth—Killing Arrays, each layered deadlier than the last, weaving fields of invisible blades, collapsing barriers, and explosive qi detonations that would shred any who set foot within.And at the heart—he completed the Seventh Array, the eye of the lotus. A Vortex Core, fueled by the chi gathered, bursting it upward in a pillar of light.
BOOOOM.
The mountain roared as energy surged. A column of brilliance shot skyward, spiraling qi into a radiant vortex that split the clouds. From every corner of the trial grounds, disciples and monsters alike froze, their eyes turning toward the beacon.
"A treasure…!" one gasped."That qi signature—it's like a heavenly treasure is being birthed!""If I can seize it, my rank will soar!"
Already, the air filled with wings, talons, and war cries. Monsters stirred from their dens. Disciples broke off from their fights. The vortex was irresistible, promising fortune and glory.
But what awaited them on the summit was no gift of heaven.
It was Haotian's killing field.
At the center of the seven arrays, Haotian sat cross-legged, his spear resting across his lap. The glow of the formations flickered around him, shadows of runes crawling across his face. He breathed in calmly, his aura restrained, hidden beneath the concealment array's veil.
But his golden eyes glimmered faintly beneath closed lids.
He was waiting.
"Come," he murmured, his voice carried away by the wind. "Moths to flame."
And beyond the chaos, one presence above all others would see this signal.
Lianhua.
She would understand instantly. She would come. And when she did, the trap would become more than a slaughterhouse—it would be a reunion, the joining of spear and sword in the center of an array built to destroy all who dared approach.
Three birds, one stone.Slay monsters.Slay disciples.Reunite with her.
Haotian closed his eyes fully, his breath steady. The mountain summit pulsed with deadly light, its beacon blazing across the battlefield.
All that remained was the sound of wings and footsteps rising from below.
The moths were already flying toward the fire.
Lianhua had just stepped over the last fading mote of her fallen opponent. The echo of her sheathed blade still lingered in the air, like the faint ring of a bell that refused to fade.
The battlefield around her was quiet now, her enemies gone, her points surging high on the merit scroll. Yet her golden-brown eyes lifted—not to the broken platforms beneath her feet, but to the distant sky.
A tremor rippled through the heavens.
BOOOOM.
From the horizon, a pillar of light erupted, piercing through the clouds and twisting them into a vortex of radiant energy. The beam spiraled skyward, wild with the aura of concentrated chi, its presence so fierce it made the entire Convergence grounds quake. The light shimmered with the unmistakable illusion of a heavenly treasure being birthed.
Gasps tore through the watching crowds outside."A treasure!""A natural phenomenon—!""No… that's too concentrated. It can't be…"
Disciples across the trial grounds saw it too, their eyes burning with greed. They abandoned their opponents, abandoning caution, drawn like insects to fire. The air shook with cries and roars as they converged from every direction.
But Lianhua did not gasp. She did not run with the others.
Her eyes softened. A faint smile touched her lips.
"…Haotian."
She understood immediately. That wasn't nature. That wasn't chance. That was him. His hand, his mind, his array. He had sent a signal across the battlefield, not for strangers, not for rivals—For her.
The faintest pink rose on her cheeks, though her composure did not break. She adjusted her grip on her sword and stepped forward.
Her pace was calm, graceful, yet each movement surged with suppressed speed. Platforms shattered behind her as she leapt from one to the next, qi carrying her across the endless gaps. The wind sang past her ears, and the closer she drew to the vortex, the clearer her heart became.
The moths would rush blindly toward the flame. They would meet their end.
But for her, that flame was not death.
It was home.
The broadcasting spheres followed her as she cut through the battlefield, her silhouette framed against the spiraling beacon. Whispers spread through disciples and elders alike as they pieced the truth together.
"Could it be… are they trying to reunite?""That vortex… that's no treasure. That's a trap!""He's waiting for her—"
On the upper terrace, the Four Saints smirked knowingly.
"Smart boy," Jinhai murmured."Smarter girl," Meiyun added, her eyes gleaming with pride.Yuying's voice was sharp with satisfaction. "And when they meet… let the Alliance see what a true Saint Son and Saint Daughter can do together."
Lianhua's figure cut through the sky, the vortex growing brighter with every heartbeat.
Soon, she would reach him.
Soon, spear and sword would stand side by side again.
The beacon tore the skies apart.
A column of spiraling qi rose from the mountain's summit, dazzling like the descent of a heavenly treasure. Its brilliance painted the trial grounds in gold and silver, casting long shadows as it pulsed with power.
The effect was instant.
All across the battlefields, disciples paused mid-strike, monsters snarled mid-roar. Eyes—greedy, desperate, burning—snapped toward the light. A treasure in the middle of the Convergence? That meant fortune, rank, immortality's path!
They ran.
Blood Serpent disciples abandoned their battles with guttural roars, crimson qi flaring as they surged skyward. Cloudveil Sect members took flight, their robes fluttering as they skimmed the winds. Iron Fang cultivators leapt over shattered terrain, their bodies glowing with steel intent. Even scattered rogue disciples, weaker yet still hungry, broke from hiding and sprinted with reckless abandon.
And monsters… the monsters howled. Abyssal hounds, scaled serpents, and shadow-winged vultures—all twisted things born of the trial—clawed and tore their way toward the summit, eyes feral with hunger.
The broadcasting spheres followed them, thousands of tiny projections floating above the Alliance plazas. Disciples watching outside leaned forward, their hearts pounding. Elders whispered. Sect masters frowned. All of them saw the madness surging upward.
But Haotian sat still at the mountain's peak, cross-legged, eyes closed. His spear rested across his knees. The arrays thrummed around him, their layers faintly visible now as rippling circles of light etched into the stone.
The first wave arrived.
Ten disciples and twice as many monsters broke over the ridge, howling, shrieking, blades raised, fangs bared. The air cracked with overlapping auras, a storm of chaotic greed.
They saw Haotian. Alone. Sitting as though in meditation.
Their roars shook the summit.
They charged.
And then—
SHHRRRAAAK.
The first killing array activated.
Invisible blades screamed across the summit, slicing flesh, tearing stone, shattering weapons. Disciples froze mid-step, their bodies cleaved in an instant. Monsters shrieked as limbs fell away, their ichor burning holes into the earth.
Before the corpses could fall, the second array flared.
BOOOOM.
Explosive glyphs detonated beneath their feet, consuming them in blinding light. Screams rang out, then silenced, as shattered bodies crumbled into motes of light. Their points rose from their fading forms, streaming into Haotian's name on the merit scroll.
Gasps echoed across the world outside.
"He didn't even move—!""That's a seven-layered array—on the fly?!""He's… he's massacring them all!"
But more waves surged upward. Drawn by the beacon, more disciples and monsters converged, their numbers swelling, their cries growing louder. The summit thundered with incoming footsteps.
The third array bloomed—black flame spirals, rising like serpents, consuming the second wave. The fourth erupted with crushing force, gravity arrays slamming monsters into the stone until their bones powdered. The fifth sang with piercing resonance, shattering the dantians of those caught inside, reducing them to helpless prey before the killing fields erased them.
One after another, they came.One after another, they died.
And Haotian never moved.
Cross-legged, spear resting, he sat in perfect calm at the mountain's heart. His golden eyes remained closed, his breathing steady. Around him, the arrays killed for him, each death feeding his points, each scream silenced by rune and light.
From the upper terrace, sect masters stood in disbelief.
"He lured them here…" one muttered."He's turning the battlefield into his hunting ground," another whispered.
But the Four Saints only smirked, their gazes gleaming like tempered steel.
"Our Saint Son doesn't just fight," Yangshen murmured, "he bends the world into his battlefield."
The merit scroll above flared again—Haotian's name rising higher, brighter, glowing like the sun itself.
And still, more came. Moths to flame.
But beyond them, far across the trial grounds, a figure in white robes cut through the air. Lianhua, her sword at her side, her steps light but relentless. She saw the beacon. She understood the trap. And now—she was coming to him.
Soon, spear and sword would meet again atop the mountain of corpses.