The jade doors of the Hall of Arrival trembled as Emperor Ichikawa re-entered, the golden light preceding him like the dawn itself. Every cultivator straightened instinctively—princes, dukes, heirs of dynasties—all drawn taut by the weight of his presence. Even the air seemed to bow.
Ichikawa's robe was woven flame; each motion left faint tracers of light that refused to die. When he raised his hand, the murmurs died instantly.
"You are gathered here today," the Emperor began, his voice rolling through the hall like thunder smothered in silk, "as contestants to vie for the greatest treasure in all the land."
The words hung there—treasure—and it was as though the air thickened. Every aura flared a little higher, every heartbeat pressed harder. The silence that followed trembled with expectation until one voice broke through it.
A man in coral robes rose from the ranks, his fan snapping open with perfumed grace. "Your Radiance," he said, bowing low. "Varnell of the Tropical Flower Continent humbly seeks clarity."
Ichikawa inclined his head. "Yes, Duke Varnell—speak."
Varnell straightened, his tone respectful yet edged with curiosity. "We have heard much talk of this quote 'greatest treasure,' yet not its nature. What is it we are to strive for with such fervor?"
The emperor smiled then—slowly, a glimmer of amusement flickering in his eyes. "Ah," he said. "The most common question, and least wise."
Varnell's face blushed and there was a ripple of laughter.
"I cannot tell you what it is," Ichikawa continued, his voice deepening. "Besides, if I do—" he paused, gaze sweeping over the gathered prodigies, "—tell you what it is. You'll just be that much more crest fallen when you fail to earn it."
For a heartbeat, no one dared breathe. Then a few cautious smirks appeared among the bolder heirs, masking their unease. Another hand rose from among the seated prodigies—steady, deliberate. The figure it belonged to was a young man clad in royal mist armor. His face was handsome but obscured by a thin veil of his continent's qi mist, that swirled gently with each breath Prince Edward took.
"Ah yes," Emperor Ichikawa said, his tone turning almost indulgent. "You, Prince Edward of the Shrouded Mist Continent. What is your question?"
Edward bowed slightly, his voice low but precise. "What was the purpose of crafting the Tri-Emblems, Your Radiance? We have all poured our essence, blood, and time into their forging, yet their true intent remains veiled."
The Emperor's eyes gleamed. "A fine question," he said warmly. "And one few dared to ask." he clasped his hands behind his back, pacing slowly before the assembly. Every step left faint ripples of golden qi across the marble floor. "Ahhh yes… the Tri-Emblems." He smiled, and the light in the hall seemed to shift in tone—brighter, warmer. "Their purpose is three-fold."
A pause. All leaned closer. "First," Ichikawa said, raising one finger, "they were a bar test. A measure I set before the continents—far and wide. For surely, any cultivator capable of forging a mythic-level relic—especially an artifact comprised of the notoriously difficult alloy processed from rainbow ingots—would be a worthy candidate indeed."
Murmurs spread among the nobles. The phrase rainbow ingots alone drew awe; those were said to devour the sanity of unworthy black smiths. "Second," the emperor continued, raising another finger, "the Tri-Emblems you crafted are not for me. They are for yourselves. You will find their 80% resistance to all elements invaluable, in this contest."
The air thickened as cultivators glanced down at their emblems—some pulsing faintly with their wielder's qi. I quickly took my Tri-Emblem out and threaded a loop of leather through its anchor and wore it as an accessory necklace charm. I felt a smooth sensation across my scales, for a brief instant every hue of color flashed in my vision. The protection of the Tri-Emblem was now active.
"And finally," Ichikawa said, smiling faintly, "they are your door prize. Should you fail…" His gaze swept across the grand hall. "You may keep the Tri-Emblems as my gift—for the effort, and the courage, you've shown in standing here today."
A few nervous laughs rippled through the hall. Ichikawa raised a hand, and the sound died instantly.
Another hand rose from the crowd. Ichikawa's eyes found it. "Yes, you—young prodigy. What is your question?"
The green-haired boy from the quake continent stepped forward, offering a respectful bow before speaking. "May I ask, Your Majesty, what are the tests or trials? Are we to do combat with one another?"
Ichikawa's smile deepened. "No. You will not be battling one another—at least, not yet. For now, you must complete four feats: of Strength, Wisdom, Speed, and Accuracy."
Whispers and murmurs spread through the gathered prodigies like wildfire.
The Emperor continued, his voice cutting through the noise. "Come. You will follow me now to the site of the first test."
At his gesture, the palace sentries swung open the towering doors behind him. The vast space beyond shimmered with golden light as Ichikawa turned and began to walk forward. One by one, the prodigies followed. The procession wound through the palace gardens—lanterns swaying from ancient trees, koi ponds gleaming beneath moonlight, and soft petals drifting through the air like falling snow. Ahead, Emperor Ichikawa's flame-colored robes trailed light across the marble path, leading the gathered prodigies into the Royal Archery Grounds.
A field of white sand stretched before them, marked with targets at varying distances—fifty, one hundred, and even two hundred paces. Gold banners fluttered along the walls, each bearing the crest of the emperors personal archers a sun pierced by three arrows.
"This," Ichikawa announced, turning to face them, "is the First Test—the Feat of Accuracy. Let your arrow carry the weight of your intent, for precision without focus is nothing."
A murmur of excitement spread among the crowd. Prince Edward of the shrouded mist continent stepped forward with a confident smirk, he summoned his earth grade bow from his spiritual dantian. Several other prodigies who were archery specialists followed, their bows releasing quiet auras of elemental Qi.
"For those without weapons," Ichikawa said, gesturing, "the Royal Grounds shall provide." Servants stepped forward with racks of polished bows and quivers, offering them to the rest. I accepted a simple lightening enchanted long bow, testing its draw. My movements were calm, almost meditative. While the others stretched, bragged, or warmed up their archery techniques, I closed my eyes. A faint light rippled from my spirit ring as I poured my intent into the Philosopher's Stone. Knowledge streamed into me like water through a cracked dam—stance, breathing rhythm, mental stillness, hand and finger positions, how to hold the bow, elbow position, all of the world of archery flowed into me within seconds, my mind now held the memory of thousands of archers, each motion refined to perfection.
A palace attendant stepped forward, holding a ceremonial scroll. "The rules are as follows: each prodigy will fire three arrows. The targets begin at fifty paces. Those who pass the first mark shall attempt the second, and those who pass the second shall shoot at two hundred paces. Scoring will be judged by impact, control of Qi, and composure under pressure. The Emperor himself will observe."
"Begin," Ichikawa said simply.
Prodgies began to form a single file line, waiting there turn to shoot, finally I too joined the line.
The first prodigy in line stepped up—a golden-haired youth from the cloud Continent. His stance was elegant, his arrow whistling through the air to strike near the center of the fifty. His Second arrow hit the second target at 100 paces, He then took aim at the third target at 200 paces, focusing his intent and qi for a charged shot. He released and the arrow sailed through the air, piercing the target at two hundred paces in the third ring from the center. A polite round of applause followed. Others in line came after, each loosing their shots amid murmurs of admiration and critique.
At the first distance, more than ninety-five prodgies hit the target. At the second, fewer than 85. By the time the range stretched to two hundred paces there was only 60. 40 contestants had already failed.
It was finally Prince Edwards turn who was a few spaces ahead of me, he stepped forward next in the line of prodigies. His aura pulsed like emerald fire as he drew his bow, he made his first and second shots easily, then came the third. Prince Edward focused his intent forming a thin spiral of wind qi around his arrow.
Thwip!
The shaft split the center of the final target cleanly in two. Cheers erupted across the grounds. Edward lowered his bow with a confident smirk and turned to Ash, who still stood silently at the rear of the group. "Your turn, Iron Fang," Edward called out.
A few snickers rippled through the crowd.
I said nothing. When it was my turn I stepped forward, my plain long bow in hand, the simple wood almost dull beside the ornate weapons of the others. I nocked the first arrow. No Qi flared, no wind swirled. The world seemed to still. I poured my intent into the eye of heaven, calling the target closer to me with my enhanced vision.
He inhaled once, paused, steadied my intent, then exhaled.
Thwip!
The first arrow struck dead center. A murmur went through the audience. I called the second target to me with the eye of heaven, there was already an arrow in the center from another prodigy, I focused on it and let my second arrow fly— it flew so fast the eye could barely track it—and embedded itself through the shaft of the other cultivators arrow, splitting it perfectly in half. A shaft shot. Now the murmurs became shouts of disbelief. For the final shot, I raised the long bow, then closed my eyes.
Prince Edward frowned. "What's this? Showmanship!"
I aimed high and let the last arrow fly. It sailed straight into the air, vanishing into the clouds. Seconds passed. Then a distant ping echoed. One of the servants shouted, "The arrow struck the bell behind the two-hundred-pace mark! Perfect hit!" The assembly of royals fell silent, but in the silence there was the sound of an impressed girlish laugh. Even Ichikawa's expression shifted—mild surprise, touched with satisfaction.
At last, the emperor spoke. "True accuracy is not the eye's aim, but the spirits will." The prodigies bowed, some in respect, others in reluctant awe. Ichikawa turned toward the next chamber as the sentries moved once more to open the path ahead. "Come," he said. "The Second Test awaits—the Feat of Strength."