Step four hundred and ninety. The air grew thick, tasting of ozone and iron.
The two Hawk Clan disciples stood shoulder to shoulder, blocking the narrow path. They wielded heavy iron maces. Smart choice. Under the crushing weight of the gravity array, swinging a sword required finesse most didn't have. Gravity favored the blunt and the heavy.
One disciple smirked, sweat dripping from his chin. "End of the line, rat."
Yang Yi didn't break stride. He didn't speak. He calculated the distance, the weight of the air, and the angle of the slope.
He surged forward.
The disciple on the left swung. A massive, overhead smash meant to crush Yang Yi into paste.
Yang Yi didn't block. Blocking meant taking the weight of the mace plus the weight of the array. It was suicide.
He dropped.
His knees hit the stone. The mace roared overhead, the wind of its passage whipping his hair.
Yang Yi punched. He didn't aim for the face or the chest. He drove his fist into the disciple's groin.
The man's eyes bulged. The air left his lungs in a high-pitched wheeze. He folded forward.
Yang Yi grabbed the man's belt. He roared, muscles tearing under the strain, and heaved.
The gravity array fought him, but leverage won. He flipped the disciple over his shoulder.
The man tumbled off the edge of the stair. His scream faded into the abyss below.
The second disciple froze. The mace in his hand trembled. He looked at the empty space where his brother had stood, then at the monster rising from a crouch in front of him.
"You..."
Yang Yi stepped in. He didn't use his hands. He kicked the man's knee.
The joint shattered backward.
The disciple collapsed, howling.
Yang Yi stepped over the writhing body. He didn't look down. He looked up.
The Hawk Clan leader stood fifty steps above. His face was a mask of pale terror. He had watched his ambush disintegrate in ten seconds.
He turned and scrambled upward, abandoning his arrogance, clawing at the steps on all fours.
Yang Yi followed.
Step five hundred.
The pressure doubled again. A visible ripple passed through the air. Yang Yi's bones groaned. His heart slammed against his ribs, struggling to pump blood through veins that felt constricted by iron bands.
He forced one foot in front of the other. Pain is information. The body is still moving.
A grinding sound echoed from the cliff face beside the stairs.
Yang Yi stopped.
The stone gargoyles lining the path weren't decoration.
The statue nearest the fleeing Hawk leader cracked. Deep fissures ran through the granite, glowing with a dull, magma-red light. Stone chips rained down.
The gargoyle exploded.
A construct of jagged rock and glowing runes landed on the stairs. It stood eight feet tall, possessing four arms and no face, only a single, vertical slit burning with crimson fire.
The Guardian.
The Hawk leader screamed. He tried to dodge.
The Guardian moved with impossible speed, ignoring the gravity that pinned the humans down. A stone fist backhanded the leader.
The impact sounded like a wet gunshot.
The leader flew backward, crashing into the cliff face. He slid down, leaving a smear of red on the black rock. He didn't move.
The Guardian turned. The burning slit focused down the stairs.
It focused on Yang Yi.
Yang Yi exhaled. He rolled his neck, cracking the vertebrae. The Dragon Transformation Token at his hip burned hot, reacting to the proximity of the construct's core.
"A puppet."
Yang Yi drew his sword. The blade felt heavy, weighing fifty pounds in this field.
The Guardian charged. It didn't run; it bounded, tearing chunks out of the stairs with every landing.
Yang Yi waited. He widened his stance.
The construct raised all four arms, preparing to pulverize him.
Yang Yi closed his eyes for a heartbeat. He accessed the memory of the Flowing River Step. A technique requiring agility he didn't possess, but the principle remained: water doesn't fight the rock; it goes around it.
The fists came down.
Yang Yi slid forward. He dove between the creature's legs.
Stone smashed into the step where he had been standing a microsecond before. Debris peppered his back.
Yang Yi rolled to his feet behind the construct. He reversed his grip on the sword.
He didn't strike the stone armor. He thrust the blade into the glowing joint behind the Guardian's knee.
The steel sank in. Sparks showered the air.
The Guardian roared—a sound like grinding tectonic plates. It tried to turn, but the leg buckled.
Yang Yi didn't withdraw the blade. He twisted it.
"Break."
He channeled the last dregs of the Wolf's strength into the twist.
The stone joint shattered. The Guardian toppled sideways, crashing onto the stairs.
Yang Yi didn't wait to see if it would rise. He ripped his sword free and sprinted.
Step five hundred and ten. Step five hundred and twenty.
He passed the unconscious form of the Hawk leader. The man was broken, his chest caved in.
Yang Yi didn't pause to finish him. The mountain would do that.
He looked up. The stairs stretched endlessly into the clouds. The sun climbed higher, threatening the zenith.
"First checkpoint clear."
He wiped stone dust from his eyes and climbed. The real trial had just begun.