The days following his act of penitence were a study in grim austerity. Lin Feng was back to relying solely on the Basic Qi Gathering Technique and the faint, grudging energy of the world. The 300 System Points felt like blood money; he couldn't bring himself to spend them. The single Mid-Grade Spirit Stone in his inventory pulsed with a tempting, heavy energy, but using it felt like accepting the System's twisted reward. He was adrift, clinging to the wreckage of his own principles.
The social ostracization continued, a constant, low-grade pressure. Zhang Li's cronies made sure of it. Meals were silent, the training grounds offered a wide berth around him, and the Assignment Hall remained a fortress with its gates permanently closed. He was a ghost in the machine of the sect, present but powerless.
It was in this atmosphere of stifling isolation that the announcement came.
A deep, resonant bell tolled, its sound vibrating through the very stone of the mountain, echoing in the chest of every disciple. Once, twice, thrice. It was the Assembly Bell, rarely used, reserved for matters of great import.
Curiosity overriding caution, Lin Feng joined the river of grey-robed disciples flowing towards the Main Assembly Hall. The air crackled with excited speculation. He slipped in at the back, leaning against the same cold pillar as during his humiliating evaluation, becoming just another face in the thousands-strong crowd.
Elder Zhang stood on the dais, his severe face looking, for once, not just stern, but solemn. The other elders flanked him, their auras a palpable wall of power.
"Disciples of the Azure Cloud," Elder Zhang's voice boomed, amplified by his cultivation. "The Heavens have bestowed upon us a trial and an opportunity. In one month's time, the Grand Inner-Disciple Tournament will commence!"
A wave of excited murmurs swept through the hall. The Grand Tournament was a legendary event, held only once every five years.
"The tournament will be open to all disciples below the Foundation Establishment realm," Elder Zhang continued, silencing the crowd with a raised hand. "It will be a test of combat prowess, tactical acumen, and sheer will. The stakes, as always, are the highest imaginable."
He paused, letting the anticipation build. "The top one hundred contestants will be promoted to Inner Disciples, granted access to the Inner Sect's libraries, training grounds, and resources."
A collective gasp. Inner Disciple status was the dream of every outer disciple. It meant real power, real guidance, a true step onto the path of immortality.
"But that is not all," Elder Zhang's voice dropped, becoming almost intimate despite the vast space. "The top ten will receive personalized guidance from an Elder. The top three will be granted a single, priceless opportunity to enter the 'Whispering Caverns of the Ancients' for three days."
This time, the gasp was followed by an awed silence. The Whispering Caverns. Lin Feng had heard whispers of it—a sacred site within the sect where the walls were imbued with the insights and lingering will of past masters. A single day there could lead to a breakthrough that would normally take years.
"And for the champion," Elder Zhang said, his eyes scanning the crowd, "the reward is a legacy. The champion will have the right to choose one artifact from the Sect Master's personal vault and will be granted a direct audience with him."
The hall erupted. It was a frenzy of excitement and ambition. For Lin Feng, standing silently in the back, the announcement was a seismic shock. This was it. This was the path. Not through theft, not through political maneuvering, but through publicly demonstrated strength. It was a way to shatter Zhang Li's blockade, to gain the resources he desperately needed, and to carve out a place for himself, all in one fell swoop.
But the reality of his situation was a bucket of ice water. He was Qi Condensation Level 2. Most of the serious contenders would be Level 5, 6, or even higher. He had no combat techniques, no weapons beyond a cheap dagger, and a spiritual root that was the laughingstock of the sect. The idea of him, Lin Feng, competing in the Grand Tournament was absurd. It was a suicide mission.
[ New Quest Generated! ]
[ Quest: The Hero's Debut. ]
[ Objective: Place within the top 100 of the Grand Inner-Disciple Tournament, achieving the rank of Inner Disciple. ]
[ Reward: 1000 System Points, Earth-Grade Technique of choice, Legacy Key Fragment (1/3). ]
[ Failure: Inability to progress on the Hero's Path. Significant delay projected. ]
The System's prompt was a gauntlet thrown down. The rewards were astronomical—1000 points, an Earth-Grade technique, something called a Legacy Key. But the objective was terrifying. Top 100. It meant defeating hundreds of disciples who were, on paper, far his superior.
His mind, however, was already working, analyzing the problem not as a cultivator, but as a strategist. He had one month. He had 300 System Points and one Mid-Grade Spirit Stone he was now morally able to use. He had the System itself, a repository of knowledge and a taskmaster that could push him beyond his limits.
He looked around the hall, at the faces of the disciples—the arrogant, the confident, the desperate. They saw the tournament as a contest of cultivation levels and known techniques. They fought according to the rules of this world.
But he, Lin Feng, didn't just have to play their game. He could change the game itself.
He had one advantage they could never comprehend: a modern, analytical mind coupled with a System that could provide him with unorthodox solutions. He didn't need to become the strongest in a conventional sense. He just needed to be strong enough to be in the top hundred. He needed to be smarter, more prepared, and more ruthless in his methodology than anyone else.
A slow, determined smile touched his lips for the first time in days. The feeling of being adrift vanished, replaced by the fierce current of a clear, if insane, goal.
The Grand Tournament was no longer just an opportunity. It was his battleground. The path forward was no longer a blocked road; it was a cliff he had to climb. And he would use every tool at his disposal, every ounce of his cunning, to find the handholds.
He turned and pushed his way out of the bustling hall, ignoring the jostling and the dismissive glances. He had no time for their politics or their prejudice. He had a month to transform from a pariah into a contender.
He had a tournament to win.