Han Chen's mind remained unnervingly calm, even as his heart pounded with the rhythm of blood and flame. The memory of the old man's deception still burned in his chest. The way he had turned his dying breath into a weapon—his heart pierced, body failing, yet still spending his life essence to activate a Rank 3 Gu.
Yes, that sly old coot had known he couldn't survive. He had chosen to die on his own terms, dragging Han Chen's soul toward damnation as payment. Han Chen exhaled slowly, adjusting his posture as the heat of the furnaces flickered against his back. "A cornered beast always bites hardest," he muttered.
He would not make the same mistake twice. After fixing his breathing, he hunted again. His movements grew quieter, colder, efficient. One by one, he ended thirteen more lives. No hesitation, no words exchanged—just the brief reflection of fear in the dying eyes of his victims before the final silence came.
None of them had time to scream. The dagger flashed, their half‑solidified pills burst, and their refining souls suffered from backlash. Han Chen's grip remained steady the entire time, his breathing rhythmic despite the metallic scent of blood that had saturated the air.
Each death drew faint ripples in the air, and inside his sea of consciousness, the Heavenly Eye absorbed them. Faint numbers shifted.
Death Qi : 0.009178%
The purple pupil pulsed faintly, glimmering with hunger.
Han Chen could feel the change. The death qi had grown denser, its presence heavier inside his consciousness. It didn't empower his cultivation—his realm was still bound—but he could sense it refining something deeper. His awareness had sharpened, his emotions dulled; every breath he took felt clearer, colder, more precise.
He swept through the hall, gathering spoils as he went. The corpses' spatial rings clinked faintly as he pocketed them, along with the strange Gu worms that some of these cultivators had refined before the trial. He didn't yet know their origin, but they might serve some future use—or sustenance for the Heavenly Eye.
Then, he moved toward his next target. A woman sat before her furnace, silver hair cascading like strands of frost, her hands graceful and steady. The air around her was strangely serene, almost crystalline despite the chaos that filled the room. She was beautiful even in the dim cauldron light—too composed compared to the rest.
She was the leader of Poland Alliance-Li Wan, Ice Fairy.
Han Chen narrowed his eyes. He didn't know her name. To him, she was just another vessel of death qi.
He raised his dagger and stepped closer. He had barely crossed half the distance when something glimmered faintly along her wrist—a bracelet, carved with crystalline scales. It pulsed once, releasing a subtle ripple of silver light.
From its surface, a white serpent slithered out, silent as mist.
Han Chen froze. The snake glided along her delicate arm, coiling across her chest before wrapping protectively around her neck. Its body shimmered translucent under the soft glow, eyes pale gold with vertical pupils staring directly at him.
A beast‑enslavement bracelet. Han Chen's expression darkened. "She have a beast…" The serpent's hiss was silent but sharp, its fangs glinting faintly.
Even without spiritual energy, Han Chen could feel the venom radiating from it—a toxin potent enough to cripple or kill even with one drop. The dome suppressed spiritual energy, not venom.
He tightened his grip on the dagger. One strike, he thought—but he stopped himself.
This snake wasn't attacking. It wasn't hunting; it was defending. Its slit eyes only followed his movements, poised to strike if he moved closer. A living barrier bound to its master's life.
Han Chen weighed the situation quickly. Fighting such a beast would cost time... time he didn't have. Every second mattered now. If someone completed the refinement before him, he'd lose his chance—not only to harvest their life, but also to stay alive himself.
The trial would only accept five survivors. If five passed first… he would die where he stood. He clenched his jaw. "Tch. Not worth it." With a faint step backward, he sheathed the dagger once more. The serpent relaxed slightly but never looked away, its gaze locked unblinking upon him. "Refine, woman," he whispered under his breath. "I'll kill the rest."
Minutes bled away like spilled sand. Han Chen continued his silent slaughter, sparing none. His technique grew swifter; he needed no hesitation, no contemplation. Each motion was precise—a heart, a throat, a spine. Quick and final.
The Heavenly Eye pulsed again in rhythm with each death, resonating with quiet hunger as the energy of each slain cultivator drifted toward him like faint mist.
Death Qi : 0.011037%
He had grown used to the taste of fear. The silence of the hall was now smothered by the stench of death. Warm blood darkened the floor, drying against the heat of the glowing furnaces until it stained black.
Han Chen was turning toward another target when a flare of light erupted behind him. A sharp hum split the air. He turned sharply. The silver‑haired woman—the one protected by the serpent—glowed with intense white light. The furnace before her pulsed, then burst open as a brilliant aura spread outward.
The scent of refined medicine filled the room, pure and dense. The pill was complete. Li Wan—the Ice Fairy, though Han Chen did not know her name—had succeeded.
Before he could take another step, she vanished in a flash of silver light, her serpent dissolving with her. The faint echo of Wang Zhen decree filled the space."First challenger to complete the refinement : success. Four spots remaining."
The voice rolled through the trembling hall like thunder. Cultivators opened their eyes and jerked their heads up, their trance broken—except for seven who were in a critical phase of refinement and thus could not open their eyes.
Gasps fluttered through the hall.
"What—what's happening!?"
"Why are there bodies everywhere?!"
"Who did this!?"
Dozens of pairs of eyes turned to their surroundings, seeing the fallen dead, the shattered furnaces, the trails of smeared blood dried where Han Chen had walked.
Panic spread like fire. The sharp ring of fear filled the hall. Several cultivators stumbled back from their stations, voices breaking as they cursed and shouted.
"What the fuck is this!?"
"They were all alive just now!"
"Someone's murdering people during the trial!"
The tension broke entirely. For the first time since the second trial began, silence did not rule the air—chaos did. Han Chen's dagger gleamed faintly in the reflection of the dying flames as his cold gaze swept over the crowd.
...
The metallic scent of blood still lingered thick in the air. Bodies lay sprawled between shattered furnaces, their lifeless eyes reflecting the dim glow of dying flames. The silence that followed was heavy—oppressive enough to still even breath.
Han Chen stood in the center of it all, dagger in hand, the blade still wet, reflecting the faint bronze light like a shard of dusk. He had killed thirty-two people. Of the fifty who had entered, one—the silver-haired woman, Li Wan—had already passed and been teleported away. Seven others were lost deep in their critical phase of refining, eyes closed, minds bound to their furnaces. If they broke focus now, they would suffer intense backlash. That left ten.
Ten men and women who stared wide-eyed at the hellish scene around them. Faces pale, souls trembling. Their gazes darted between the pools of blood, the corpses, and the man standing amid them as if sculpted out of shadow. Han Chen met their fear with silence.
A voice, shrill and breaking, cut through the quiet first. "Why… did you kill them!?"
Another added, "You're insane! We were supposed to refine, not slaughter!"
And then more came in waves—
"What kind of monster are you!?"
"Why aren't you refining the pill like everyone else!?"
The overlapping accusations filled the chamber, their voices bright with panic.
Han Chen's expression didn't waver. He sighed softly, muttering in annoyance, "What a hassle… do I have to explain this to them?" He raised his hand lazily, pointing the tip of his bloodied dagger toward the seven refining cultivators still locked in trance. "Look behind you."
Their shouts quieted at once as they turned. The seven still refining sat in perfect stillness, flames of pure white and blue flickering faintly around them. Han Chen's voice lowered to a calm monotone. "Even if you start refining again now, they'll finish before you. One already passed. That leaves only four spots."The realization hit them like a shock. The room's air turned even colder.
One muttered softly, "He's right…"
Han Chen slipped the dagger down, resting it by his side casually. His black eyes glinted with quiet mockery. "Wang Zhen said only five may pass the trial—but did he say how to pass?" No one replied.
He went on, voice sharpening with purpose. "He didn't. He said this is a fair trial, that we could fight or refine. And yet, not one of you had the spine to act. You call yourselves cultivators, but look at you—cowards trembling at mere blood." He paused for a heartbeat, watching their faces harden."The cultivation world," he continued coldly, "has always been ruled by one truth. If you have power, you can trample upon . If you are weak, you can be trampled upon." The silence that followed was broken only by the soft bubbling of the nearest furnace.
One man snarled, tightening his fists. "So what, you think slaughter guarantees survival?" Han Chen's gaze turned to him. "No. Wisdom does. And right now, wisdom says that even if you started refining, you'd still lose. You saw the timing. You heard the rules. You understand the reality."
He raised his dagger slightly. "Let me kill those seven. You—fight among yourselves. The three who survive, I'll take you with me when I pass." Gasps rippled through the room.
"Take us with you?" one of them echoed in disbelief. "And why should we trust you?"
"Who the hell are you to make decisions for us!?" shouted another, gripping the leg of a broken table like a club.
Han Chen eyed them without emotion. "You can choose to fight me if you wish," he said bluntly. "But before you do, think carefully. Even if one of you kills me, the seven will finish refining before any of you can restart. Once they're done, your death is guaranteed." A woman among them frowned deeply, her eyes darting toward the burning furnaces where the seven alchemists continued to work, unaware of the tension exploding around them.
The implication settled like lead. The others clenched their fists, struggling between fear and fury. Han Chen's smirk returned, cutting sharp through the tension."Don't delude yourselves. This is the inheritance ground of a Deity Formation cultivator. Did you truly think a simple alchemy test would decide life and death?" A silence followed. They all knew he was right.
The trial hadn't merely tested skill—it had tested instinct. The voice of Wang Zhen had never said that killing was forbidden. Han Chen lowered his stance slightly, the confidence in his tone leaving no space for doubt. "And if you think I can't win with just mortal strength," he said, his voice quiet but cutting, "then you've never chopped wood for fifteen years." The tension broke again.
His eyes glinted cold and steady—a predator's focus honed over years of physical labor and countless silent kills. He was faster, stronger, and far more accustomed to the weight of death than the trembling cultivators around him. These people had relied on their qi all their lives. Mortal combat was a forgotten art to them.
Han Chen stepped forward, the dagger catching the faint firelight."Decide," he said, tone level. "You either fight me, or you follow my lead." The ten cultivators exchanged nervous glances. Behind them, the rhythmic pulsing of the seven furnaces grew stronger—their flames swelling as each refined pill neared completion. Time was bleeding away.
Han Chen smiled faintly, his tone eerily calm. "In the world of cultivation or mortality, the truth never changes. Strength—" He lifted his dagger. "—is truth." And the hall, once again, fell into suffocating silence before the next storm.
-----TO BE CONTINUED-----