A blade of searing, silent light split the dimness of the wooded area behind the rest stop. It wasn't the warm glow of a lumen-crystal or the cool shimmer of moonfall moss. This was violence given pure, blinding form—a photonic scream that swallowed all shadow and sound.
"Holy sh—! The light! Cover your eyes!" a panicked voice yelped, the sound immediately muffled as if swallowed by thick cloth.
"Cover what? We've got hoods on, you idiot," another voice, gruffer, shot back, though it too was laced with tension.
But the advice was pointless. Absolute light, in its most extreme form, became a white void—a blindness more complete than any darkness. It seared the eyes, leaving afterimages that pulsed like negative suns. The brilliance bloomed outward, a silent, stunning flower visible even to those outside the tree line.
Other examinees near the restroom facilities recoiled. One, caught mid-stream, stumbled back with a choked curse. "Damn it all! Trying to take a piss, not get my retinas scorched!"
Outside, near the quaint, magelight-lit shops that lined the plaza, a pair of teenagers paused. They were perched on a low stone wall, sharing a slice of chilled frost-melon, its pale green rind glittering with condensation. The girl, with hair the color of spun moonlight and eyes that held the faint, ever-shifting gleam of high-grade mana perception, glanced towards the erupting light. Her expression was one of mild, detached curiosity, as if watching a minor scuffle between lesser forest imps.
"What's to see? Eat your melon. It's just the rabble down there making a fuss," she said, her voice melodious but edged with an unshakeable ennui. To her, the mana-signature of that burst felt thin, almost crude. Like the first, clumsy spark of a novice fire-mage. It held no depth, no layered intricacy. A blunt instrument.
The boy beside her, whose pointed ears twitched slightly at the distant crackle of dissipating energy, shrugged. His fingers, stained slightly with melon juice, gestured vaguely. "Who's got the stones to be that flashy? Trying to loot someone already?"
"Unlikely," the girl, whom her companion thought of as 'Cloud Baby', replied, taking another delicate bite. The sweet, cold juice dripped, and she caught it with a flicker of summoned moisture that vanished instantly. "Killing's off the table. The proctors would intervene if it got real. If you just refuse to hand your core-stone over, what can they do? It's not the real trial grounds yet." Her tone was the epitome of disinterest, the kind reserved for insignificant insects battling over a crumb. One might watch if bored, but it was never worth actual attention.
The boy nodded, his own assessment confirming hers. The flare's intensity, its raw output… "That burst, on the Guild's scale, would barely qualify an Elite at Rank 10. We were about that level when we were ten." The statement was simple fact, devoid of boastfulness. It was merely a measure, and the measure fell short. He looked down, his interest gone, and focused on the sweet, crisp flesh of the frost-melon.
Most examinees were still inside the various shops, bartering last-minute supplies or seeking cryptic clues. Those who had seen the light were either unimpressed or had already retreated to the relative sanctuary of the great, hulking transport coaches.
Within the lead coach, designated Bus One, the atmosphere was a study in focused calm. Here, the air hummed with a different quality of mana—restrained, polished, potent. An applicant near the window, a boy with a worn traveler's cap pulled low over sharp eyes, nudged the brim up slightly. He gazed towards the fading afterglow, his eyes narrowing to slits that gleamed with cold calculation. After a moment, he let the brim fall back, shrouding his face in shadow once more, and leaned his head against the cool window. He hadn't even bothered to disembark earlier. Some, like him, had chosen to conserve their resources—both physical and arcane—from the very start.
Among them were the four from Azure Rain City. Qin Minfeng watched the distant commotion through the tinted window, a faint, icy smirk playing on his lips before it vanished, smoothed into an expression of neutral observation.
Back in the now-quieting copse, the blinding radiance faded, leaving behind the scent of ozone and scorched earth. Four figures lay sprawled in the undergrowth, their low-level defensive talismans—crude things resembling interlinked cards—shattered into fading motes of light. They were bruised, battered, faces already beginning to swell. Groans filled the air, laced with pain and shock.
Standing over them was a lone figure—a youth who looked about eighteen. A thin, smoking roll of dreamleaf was clamped between his teeth, a tiny ember glowing in the sudden gloom. He reached down, his movements deceptively casual, and closed a hand around the neck of one groaning form, hauling him up with unsettling ease. The victim's feet scrambled for the ground, finding only air.
No… he's not going to…? The proctors… he can't!Panic, cold and sharp, lanced through the other three. They held their breath, the urge to fight or flee stifled by the sheer, dominant aura of the victor. Just endure, just endure…
The blaring, resonant chime of a crystal horn echoed across the gathering grounds. Assembly time. The informal, often treacherous prelude was over.
Like moths drawn to a greater flame, figures began streaming towards the twenty massive, rune-inscribed coaches. Most had returned early, their brief explorations concluded. Only a few stragglers hurried from the tree line or the shops.
At Coach Nine, the atmosphere was taut. Luo He and the others from the three border cities had returned earlier, only to be met with a barrage of sidelong glances and evaluating stares from examinees from the more prosperous, inland cities. A silent, heavy tension lay over the seats, thick enough to choke on. No one spoke of it. It simply was. Many eyes flicked intermittently to the empty seats near the front.
Then he appeared.
A lanky figure ambled out of the twilight, the glow of magelights casting long, exaggerated shadows. The youth known as 'Ox'—or 'Ao Ke Si'—nonchalantly flicked the stub of his dreamleaf roll into a nearby cleansing bin. In one hand, he carried a bottle of fizzing Star-Soda, its pale green liquid bubbling; in the other, a flask of something amber and strong. He moved with a loose-limbed, almost arrogant saunter. Behind him, trailing like beaten hounds, came four others. Their faces were a canvas of purpling bruises and swelling cuts, the marks fresh and vivid. They moved stiffly, the picture of recent and thorough defeat.
The procession of five across the open square was a spectacle. It drew eyes, even from the windows of the distant Coach One. There, most looks were dismissive, laced with contempt. Weaklings from the backwater coaches, already causing drama. They're just courting an early elimination.A few watched with mild, academic curiosity, but their focus quickly returned inward. Their real competition sat beside them, in the same plush seats.
Inside Coach One, a boy with hair as pale as winter frost and eyes like chips of clear ice—Que Baige—watched as 'Ox' meandered towards Coach Nine. His mind, sharp and analytical, cross-referenced the figure with the snippets of information flowing through the network of lesser affiliated examinees who served as eyes and ears.
Ox. Numerous enemies. Sources trace to three factions: those under the Xie banner; the Qin Minfeng cluster; and plenty of personal grudges from within the three border cities themselves.His gaze was impassive, but beneath the calm surface, a blade of cold intent was being honed. That blurred facial contour from the earlier scan… whose was it? The Xie are too arrogant. Anyone with shape-shifting technique and speed of that caliber would hold some status there. They wouldn't dirty their hands with a mongrel raised by a side-branch like Zhou Miao. Eliminated. The three-city students lack the capability. That leaves only one likely source… Qin Minfeng's group.
Que Baige turned his face away from the window, his expression a mask of serene indifference. Inside, the blade was now held ready, poised to strike. Blue-bloods?The thought was a whisper of frost in his mind. Insects.
Within Coach Nine, the tension snapped into something new and hostile. Among the two dozen or so examinees from Luo Yu City, a swell of collective indignation rose. They might be rivals at home, but out here, in the crucible of the national trials, they were supposed to be a united front. To see their own so publicly humiliated was an affront to all of them. As one, several of the most formidable Luo Yu youths stood, their mana stirring the air, sending a collective wave of icy, predatory intent washing over the occupants from the three border cities. The hypocrisy of the act was lost on them—they had, not an hour before, been the ones hurling insults.
The air in the coach grew thick and brittle, pressing down on everyone. The proctor from the Guild, a middle-aged man with a weary demeanor, paid it no mind. He was absorbed in a small, glowing view-crystal, sipping from a carton of moon-milk, utterly engrossed in a mundane drama.
The standoff lasted until 'Ox' reached the coach door, only to veer off towards the proctors' monitoring station. A brief exchange, the flash of the amber flask changing hands, and a moment later, a smaller, secondary coach was gestured towards. 'Ox' pointed. The four bruised youths scrambled into it, moving with frantic, fearful obedience.
"Follow. Don't lose us," came the casual, almost bored instruction.
"Yes, yes, of course!"
Only then did 'Ox' saunter back to Coach Nine. The proctor paused his drama, the glowing image freezing mid-scene. He raised a bushy eyebrow. "And what was that about?"
The youth's face was the picture of earnest explanation. "They complained. Said someone on this coach had… a certain pungent aroma. Refused to ride together. I tried to reason with them. No use. Had to arrange alternative transport. That acceptable?" His tone was flat, matter-of-fact.
A wave of silent, incredulous outrage swept through the coach. Who the hell has body odor?! Couldn't you come up with a better lie?!Every examinee on board, all two hundred of them, felt a collective, internal scream. Now, thanks to him, all four thousand examinees across twenty coaches would hear about the mythical 'stench' of Coach Nine. Several female examinees facepalmed, one simply letting her forehead thud against the seat in front of her in utter despair.
The proctor's eyes, old and seen-it-all, slid to the four faces in the following vehicle. "This true?"
A chorus of frantic, nasally affirmations came back. "Yes, yes! Absolutely!" "Just couldn't take it!"
"Fine. Keep up," the proctor grunted, unpausing his drama.
With the proctor's dismissive wave, 'Ox' finally boarded. He moved down the aisle, meeting the venomous glares of the Luo Yu City leaders with a blank stare. He paused as he passed the tallest of them, a youth with a severe face and sharp eyes—Xin Yunhai, their acknowledged top contender.
"What?" 'Ox' asked, his voice devoid of inflection. "Didn't say it was you."
A visible tremor of rage went through the Luo Yu contingent. Xin Yunhai's voice cut through the thick air, cold and precise. "Ao Ke Si. I sincerely hope our paths do not cross in the trial grounds."
'Ox' took his seat, popped the cap off his Star-Soda with a crisp hiss, took a long swig, and then replied, his words casual as a comment on the weather. "Say that again, and I'll make it my business to find you. And I'll bring Qin Minfeng and his little fiancée along for the introduction. Make it a party."
The blood drained from Xin Yunhai's face, and from those around him. Is he insane?A common enemy did not make an alliance. Not here. In an elimination trial, the powerful from the core cities like the Donglong heir would simply crush them all—Luo Yu and three-city outliers alike—without a second thought. This bastard was threatening to strap a live mana-charge to all of them and light the fuse.
"You'd have to find me first," Xin Yunhai sneered, pride forcing the words out.
"Would I?" 'Ox' took another sip, the fizz bubbling softly. "Tell me, could you have taken all four of them down? Alone? At the same time?"
The question hung in the air. Xin Yunhai and his companions were stunned into silence. They'd assumed an ambush, a group effort.
'Ox' looked at him, a ghost of something—amusement, contempt—flitting in his eyes. "You think it was a group effort? A sneak attack?" He shook his head slowly. "Wrong. It was just me. One against four. Unstoppable. You got that in you?"
He didn't. None on this coach did. Xin Yunhai had faced those four in spars. He was ranked first, but a one-versus-four victory? Impossible. The stark admission, delivered so calmly, was a deeper insult than any boast.
In a private, hastily formed communication channel—a psychic link buzzing with frantic text—the real accomplices were reeling.
Pang Ci: OMG! My bro is the GOAT! Got the loot, made us bail to cover our tracks, took the heat himself! What did I do in a past life to deserve this?? My ancestral graves are spewing auspicious smoke!
Old Lu: Sure it's smoke and not because they exploded?
Pang Ci: The guy above me is eating sh*t .jpg
Liu Yun: Never involve me in such things again. I am a gentle soul, a healer. I admire drifting clouds and serene blossoms. I write poetry, I paint, I arrange flowers. Why must I partake in such… visceral endeavors?
Luo He: I recall the moment he suggested 'action', you were the first to summon your inner hound.
Liu Yun: Slander! And profanity! I was merely coordinating with Sister Lin, who summoned her spirit-goose!
Goose-Taming Sister Lin: …Who changed my identifier?
Yu Qin: Probably the 'auspicious smoke' guy on the first floor.
Lin Chengxiu: First floor, that short, wide fellow.
Pang Ci: Gods, even the way he smokes is majestic… A true legend of the rivers and lakes! Boundless in loyalty, vast in spirit!
The log paused there.
Then, the voice they called 'big brother' cut through the coach's tension, conversational, almost bored. "What, you think I needed to call on the goose-herding siblings in row four? The compact gentleman in row five? The try-hard ice-block and the delicate, dog-whispering healer in row seven?" He took a final sip of soda. "You give yourself too much credit."
He sat back, the cheap, 10-copper Star-Soda in his hand somehow looking like a vintage elixir. The collective glare of the Luo Yu City group now burned into Pang Ci and the others.
Pang Ci & Co.: "???"
Yu Qin (in her own mind): Thank the stars I'm young and weak. Didn't get involved. Hehe. If I'm not there, the old, treacherous ditch can't catch me.
The proctor, who had been watching the entire exchange with an air of detached bemusement, finally spoke, his voice dry. "We're moving. Settle in."
A heavy, awkward quiet descended. It was Pang Ci who finally cracked, leaning over the seat back, his voice a pained whisper. "Big Bro… why? What transgression have I, your humble junior, committed to earn such… public defenestration?"
'Ox' didn't look at him, his gaze fixed on the passing, darkening landscape outside. "I dropped out in middle school. Thought you were like me. Uncultured. But that three-thousand-word analysis you posted in the group earlier? The syntax was too elegant. The prose, too polished. Clearly plagiarized." He finally turned his head, and the look in his eyes was one of profound, utterly sincere grievance. "I have a zero-tolerance policy for academic dishonesty. Do better next time."
The sheer, unadulterated pettiness!Pang Ci's soul wept. He desperately wanted to dig a hole and bury this walking calamity. But he couldn't. Because the unspoken truth, the one that chilled him more than any threat, was that the guy was right. He couldhave handled those four alone. Which meant he could handle them, too. Hadn't Luo He, since the skirmish in the woods, stopped looking at 'Ox' with any hint of competitive fire? Now that gaze was directed squarely, and with growing intensity, at Pang Ci himself.
Dammit! I can't take you yet!
The remaining 198 examinees on the bus sat in a silence that was part shock, part horror, part reluctant awe.
The coach's engines hummed to life, a deep, resonant thrum of enchanted mechanics. The proctor glanced in the rearview mirror, caught a glimpse of the bizarre tableau, and a snort of laughter escaped him before he could stop it. Whether this coach held any future top-100 finishers was anyone's guess. But in the art of chaotic, soul-crushing trolling, it definitely housed a master.
Unseen, in the following coach, the four battered youths wore expressions of pure, seething hatred, their swollen faces twisting with it.
"Did the data transmit?"
"Yes. Full spectral analysis went through. Damn that Ox. Let him have his moment."
"When the trial starts… the contact promised us a spot in their follower group. Protection. A chance to leech some points."
"The beating was worth it… but he was stronger than projected."
"Obviously. Why else would they pay for the probe?"
"Just wait… he's dead when the trial begins."
Back in Coach One, the atmosphere was one of quiet, intense focus. In a private, encrypted chat-scroll, four names glowed.
Chen Sihai: Skill categories and tiers confirmed. Damn. High-level stuff. Must've blown all that coin on spell-tomes.
Qin Minfeng: My fault.
Donglong Zhao: Recriminations are pointless. We were moving regardless. The data also shows a mana-reserve spike. Roughly 50,000 units now. Compared to the 10,000-ish estimate from the entrance exams. That's not trivial.
Lian Sujin: So what? At that output, his combat rating caps at Elite, Rank 10. Sihai alone could crush him.
Qin Minfeng: I know him. He's deeper than he looks. Fooled Zhou Linglang, didn't he? I don't think he used his full strength back there. You agree, Zhao?
Donglong Zhao: Likely. His spell-weaving speed is 18% above baseline. The tri-light combination was seamless. High burst potential. That fluency suggests a hidden foundation. How much do you think he held back?
Qin Minfeng: At least fifty percent.
Chen Sihai: Impossible! That would put him above me! Feng, you're overestimating garbage.
Could Chen Sihai tolerate being surpassed by someone from the scrap-lands?Qin Minfeng's eyes darkened behind a carefully neutral mask. He knew the answer better than anyone. He knew Chen Sihai barely tolerated him, another scrap-lander, which was why he constantly, meticulously performed just a little worse. Let this 'Ox' become the target of that seething, privileged insecurity.
Donglong Zhao: It's plausible. My calculations suggest it would take at least two of us, working in tandem, to subdue him cleanly. We should move fast. He's clever. Adapts. Uses the environment.
Qin Minfeng: If the trial scenario prohibits initial team-ups… I'll go for him first. Can't have him wasting your time and focus. Your parents would be displeased. If I can handle it, good. If I can't… I'll signal. At least you'll be warned. My biggest fear is my… history… causing you all trouble.
Lian Sujin: Don't say that! He's the one who's odious. A clingy, low-born stain. Only someone as pretentious as Zhou Linglang would ever—
Qin Minfeng: I insist.
The others acquiesced. The outcome was never in doubt; their squad would prevail. Donglong Zhao gave Qin Minfeng a sidelong glance, and a flicker of approval passed through his eyes. The attitude was correct. 'Ox' was a problem to be managed, not the primary objective. Their families' expectations weighed heavily; ranking was paramount. Let Qin Minfeng be the first, probing strike.
As they strategized, Yao—the true mind behind 'Ox'—sipped her Star-Soda, watching the twilight world blur past the window. In the privacy of her own consciousness, a dialogue unfolded with a tiny, symbiotic presence she thought of as 'Little Locust'.
"Sis, why leave their scanning gear intact? Should've crushed it."
A mental smile, cold and sharp. "They needed a data packet. What if they overestimated me? Calculated me as a direct, overwhelming threat requiring their full, coordinated attention from the start?"
The transmitted metrics were a carefully measured dose—strong enough to be taken seriously, but not so terrifying as to provoke immediate, united focus. Just enough to make a solo hunter, or perhaps a duo, feel it was a manageable hunt. A calculated enticement.
"That one… Qin Minfeng. If he's convinced I'm a notch above Chen Sihai, but still within a range he believes he can handle… he'll come. Alone. He plays the weakest in their little quartet. It soothes the pride of the high-borns. But he's greedy. He'll want the spoils from my core-stone for himself."
"You speak of him like he's smart. Aren't you afraid? What if he's… monstrous?"
"He's not."
The logic was cold, societal calculus. If he truly possessed some world-breaking, hidden power, he wouldn't be settling for the daughter of a mere Blue-blood lineage. He'd be aiming for the three princesses from the Orange-blood families in Coach One. He surely knew of his own… gravitational pull where certain women were concerned. But he also knew his limits. A scrap-lands mongrel, no matter how charming, who got too close to true royalty would simply vanish, arranged by a family retainer without a second thought.
He wasn't worthy.
"Based on the Lian family's median strength, and Lian Sujin's own capabilities, one can extrapolate his upper limit without any fancy scans."
The preparation was done.
"The hard part isn't the ambush in the trial. It's managing the aftermath. Minimizing the cost of success."
The wrath of families like the Donglong was the inevitable tax. The exam's start was the final trigger. Everything until now had been stage-setting.
She finished the soda, the sweet fizz gone flat. Closing her eyes, she let the vibrations of the coach soothe her surface thoughts. Deeper down, her mind touched the strange, inert object in her storage—the puzzle fragment. It offered no resonance now, locked until the trial began. A puzzle… likely corresponding to trial-ground information. Its usefulness was unknown. She'd chosen it on instinct. Her combat framework was set; more power-ups were incremental. This oddity, tucked in the far eastern corner of the display hall, separate from the western resource piles, the northern gene-mod clusters, the southern combat talismans… it felt significant. A hunch.
The core of it all wasn't brute force. It was the subtle art of making your opponent see exactly what you wanted them to see, desire exactly what you wanted them to desire, and walk willingly into the trap you'd built just for them.
It was all just… stratagem.