The Saints' Watchful Eyes — Trial's End in Sight
Back at the sect, the Seven Saints stood in silent observation, their towering figures unmoving as they gazed into the formation that displayed the trials. Spiritual light rippled across the surface, revealing fragmented scenes of the remaining disciples fighting for survival. Of all those who had entered, only two groups remained.
Xiao Yan and Mi-An.
Nem and Di'or.
The fact alone was enough to stir unease.
The Saints, who had witnessed countless generations of cultivators rise and fall, could not hide their growing interest. Expressions that were usually calm and detached now carried faint traces of tension. Each trial was meant to eliminate the weak, yet these two groups had endured beyond expectation, pushing through horrors that had already claimed hundreds of lives.
"They've passed the fifth trial," one of the Saints murmured, his voice low. "Only two trials remain."
Those words echoed heavier than they should have.
Around them, the gathered disciples watched in hushed silence. No one dared speak loudly anymore. Awe lingered in their eyes, but fear followed closely behind it. The earlier confidence many had carried into the trials had long since vanished, replaced by the harsh realization of how thin the line between survival and death truly was.
The fifth trial alone had broken countless pairs—some torn apart by demons, others by fear itself. To reach this far was no small feat.
And yet, the road ahead was far more dangerous.
The Saints knew this better than anyone.
The remaining trials were not designed merely to test strength. They were meant to strip cultivators down to their very core—to expose resolve, fear, instinct, and the will to stand when everything else demanded surrender. Only those who could endure such pressure deserved to step closer to immortality.
Above all of it loomed an unspoken shadow.
The Ansha.
Though he was not present within the trials themselves, his existence weighed heavily on every Saint watching. The threat he represented had reshaped the purpose of this training entirely. This was no longer just a path toward ascension—it was preparation for survival in a world that might soon be torn apart.
Saint Lu Qi stood at the forefront, his gaze fixed on Xiao Yan's image. His expression was unreadable, yet his eyes betrayed deep thought. He had seen the awakening of that unfamiliar power. He had felt the shift in the flow of fate the moment it surfaced.
Xiao Yan was changing.
Within the trial realm, Xiao Yan stood beside Mi-An, the battlefield around them scarred and silent. The remains of the fifth trial still lingered in the air, traces of heat and destruction fading slowly. His breathing had finally steadied, but his heart had not.
He could still feel it.
That surge of power.
That moment when something deep within him had answered his desperation.
It frightened him.
He had faced death—true death—for the first time. Not the distant kind spoken of in stories, but the kind that stood directly before him, teeth bared, waiting. He had seen Mi-An fall. Had felt the sharp panic of helplessness claw at his chest. That feeling had shattered something inside him… and from those cracks, power had emerged.
A power he did not understand.
Mi-An stood nearby, quiet now, her earlier composure restored. Yet Xiao Yan could sense the change between them. Unspoken, fragile, lingering. The moment they had shared during the chaos of battle replayed in his mind no matter how hard he tried to suppress it.
There was no time to dwell on it.
The trials were not yet over.
Only two remained.
Whatever awaited them next would not simply test strength—it would test whether they deserved to continue walking this path at all. Xiao Yan clenched his fists slowly, feeling the unfamiliar energy resting beneath the surface of his body.
He had stepped onto a road he could no longer turn away from.
And somewhere beyond the trials, beyond the Saints' watchful eyes, fate itself seemed to be holding its breath.