Al walked through the Housing Units district. He was on his way to meet Romann, the Captain of the 23rd Supreme Seed.

An increasing number of people were walking in the same direction as Al. They all wore robes with intricate insignias and names embroidered on the hem. He passed the Hospital. Expansive, verdant fields emerged. Nestled in the grassy grounds, a colossal statue stood soaring to a towering height.

The statue portrayed a figure—a man in his prime, donning ornate armor. He sat regally upon a throne forged from bones. The bones depicted Death bowing at the man's feet. The messenger of death was offering a spear and sash to the man.

The crowd of cultivators slowly gravitated towards the statue. Lost in thought, the masses flowed past him, "What a fearsome monument. I wonder if he's still alive?" Al mused.

Suddenly, a voice pierced through the air, interrupting Al's contemplations. "Hey, you in the armor!" Startled, he swiveled around to find a disheveled and weathered Cesar wearing plain gray robes.

Al gestured towards the statue. Cesar regarded the statue momentarily, then shifted his gaze back to Al. "Let's go. I spotted that short white-haired guy."

Al trailed after Cesar, who headed towards the center of one of the green fields. As he got closer, Al discerned a figure with white hair accompanied by five others.

Seeing the others' robes, Al turned towards Cesar, asking, "So, what's with the gray robe? Are you homeless already? I guess you can stay at my place if you need to."

Cesar erupted into laughter before clutching his C-stone, his grin stretching from ear to ear. "I need six more feathers, and I'll have a tidy sum of 150 merits."

Before Al could respond, a voice entered his ear, cutting through the air. "Hurry up, you're both late. There's no need for introductions. Join the rest." It was Romann's voice. He was surrounded by a small group.

Al looked at the small group around Romann, which consisted of five figures. The two quickly joined the group. Al positioned himself next to a red-haired girl. She was adorned in a glorious brown robe embroidered with the name "Mitchell."

Seeing everyone present, Romann addressed the group. "I've been tasked with guiding the next generation of cultivators for the Blood Leaf's 15th Mortal Ring. My teacher recommended I take on this task. I will prepare you for the 301st Mortal Ring's Tournament."

Romann's gaze swept across the group, and apart from Al and Cesar, heads nodded in acknowledgment. He recognized a few familiar names on the robes.

Romann continued his introduction. "In 34 years, a tournament will occur, wherein all Six God Leafs will open their Mortal Rings to accommodate 225 Unrecognized Disciples. This event signifies a major turnover of Mortal Culitvators."

Romann paused before continuing. "This means there's a higher chance of you becoming a Recognized Disciple. However, it also means standing out will be much harder. You will have to wholeheartedly dedicate yourself to cultivating your Will."

Romann's gaze fixed on Al, who was standing motionless. He pointed at Al, causing the group, including Cesar, to look in Al's direction.

Romann's voice sliced through the tension: "My Will manifests itself through sound. While everyone's heart rate increased at the mention of having to stand out, yours your heart only skipped a beat when I mentioned the 34-year timeframe."

Al's heart raced, and he involuntarily took a step backward. It felt as if he stood naked, stripped of his armor's protection.

Romann lowered his hand. "Remember, everyone eventually dies, including family. However, that doesn't mean you must blindly follow the same path. The choice is yours."

Al's tension eased slightly, yet his thoughts were all over the place. "He can't read my thoughts. Still, he does raise a valid point. I don't intend to spend 34 years here and leave my mother alone! Still, I know she won't live forever. There must be a middle ground, damn it!"

Before Al could fully process his thoughts, an impulsive response escaped his lips. "So we should abandon our families and loved ones? They're destined to die anyway, right?"

Romann paused, and to Al's dismay, the girl standing next to him and the others erupted into laughter, mocking him.

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Cesar spoke up, his voice filled with indignation. "Shut up, you damn animals! Don't laugh when a man speaks from his heart." The red-haired girl pointed at Cesar, taunting him too, "Look, the homeless boy is defending the emotional rust bucket. Hahaha!"

Cesar's face contorted in anger, but quickly, he regained his composure.

Ignoring the remarks, Romann continued speaking. "Firstly, I myself was an orphan. My parents passed away when I was nine. I never had a real family, so I apologize for not being able to offer guidance in that regard. However, I can tell you that I've witnessed countless friends held back by attachments that ultimately lead to their demise."

Romann pointed at Cesar and added, "Maybe he's the one who killed that Chimera, and you just happened to be in the right place for a second time."

A collective gasp rippled through the group, except for Cesar, who bit his tongue as Romann proceeded. "This will be my third experience with the Mortal Rings Tournament. I recognize some of the names on your robes like our youngest unrecognized disciple over there." Romann pointed towards a small, young, blonde boy of around sixteen, donned in a red robe named "Graham."

The boy seemed to freeze under Romann's intense stare, his eyes wide with anticipation. "What's your full name, kid?" The boy hesitated briefly, summoning the courage to respond. "My name is Matthew Graham, son of Luke Stanley Graham!"

Romann's expression softened, and he glanced downward. "Ah, I remember old Stanley. We were good pals for a short while. The last time I saw him was during the 300th Mortal Rings Tournament. Poor Stanley almost lost his life, but he still wasn't able to secure one of the available 110 spots at the time. How old is he now, 80? He must be approaching his deathbed. I hope you train harder than your old man."

Matthew stood there, stunned by Romann's revelations. His father's tales had always painted him as a dedicated cultivator, but now, the truth seemed far more complex. The group stared at the young boy, their minds filled with assumptions.

Romann scanned the rest of the group. He was well aware that everyone who wore a signature robe was a student of someone who either won or participated in the 300th Mortal Rings tournament. However, exceptions like Cesar and Al had been chosen based on their potential rather than lineage.

Romann strode purposefully towards the farthest edge of the field, his voice resonating as he explained the first week of their training. "Consider this breaking the ice," he declared. "You will engage in a melee-style race, circling the 10-mile perimeter of the 15th Blood Ring ten times each. The starting line has already been marked. You have five days to complete the challenge."

Before anyone could utter a word, a thunderous sonic boom reverberated through the air, causing them to shield their ears and shut their eyes instinctively. When they opened their eyes, Romann had vanished.

Simultaneously, a man in their group swiftly discarded his green robes and flung them toward the group. He sprinted off, exclaiming, "I'll take the first lap! The rest of you sort things out. Oh, and please take care of my Robes!"

The remaining six individuals exchanged bewildered glances. It was the red-haired girl standing beside Al who finally broke the silence. "Alright, it's evident that this is some kind of training meant to force us to work together." Her gaze swept across the group as she continued. Does anyone struggle with running?"

As she scanned the faces around her, her eyes eventually settled on Al. She asked, "What's your name?"

Al replied, "It's Alexander Adamos, but you can call me Al."

With a touch of frustration, she replied, "Well, Alexander, please tell me you're not planning to run with that steel armor on." Al was taken aback, realizing everyone had turned to look at him.

Gathering his thoughts, he responded, "If you're worried about me slowing you down, that's my concern, not yours. Just focus on yourself. Okay, Mitchell?"

The girl clenched her teeth and took a deep breath. "My name is Louise Farley. 'Mitchell' is my family's surname," she clarified.

Rubbing her temple, she lowered her voice. "Look, just understand that the longer you take, the longer it will take for all of us. It's selfish to train as individuals for this event. This is about fostering teamwork, and in a team, there's no room for individuals who think only of themselves."

Her words resonated with the group, their heads nodding in agreement. Even Cesar found it difficult to argue against her rationale.

Yet, Al wouldn't concede, "I won't be the slowest one, I can promise you that. But this metal armor isn't coming off, and that's final!"

Louise closed her eyes, suppressing the urge to force him out of the armor. She turned to the rest of the group, suggesting, "So, who's next in line? It's fair to say that Alexander will be running last."

With a surge of excitement, Cesar leaped to his feet, declaring, "Me! My name is Cesar Rey Gonzales! I'm running next!"

Cesar felt a blazing determination ignited within him. It was as if a world of boundless possibilities unfurled before his eyes. Memories from his past flooded his mind.

He recalled his mother's story. As a newborn, he cried until his father picked him up. Gripping his father's pinky finger was the only thing that calmed him.

From that moment, his father believed he had a future champion and wasted no time enrolling Cesar in combat sports. Eventually, Cesar's passion for Muay Thai emerged.

He internalized his father's belief that he was destined for greatness, nurturing a fiercely competitive mindset.

Growing up with multiple siblings further fueled Cesar's competitive spirit. With his dedication and talent, he quickly surpassed his peers, becoming his father's pride and joy.

However, after winning his last tournament, Cesar's life took a downward spiral. Before self-destructing, his father forced him into a church trip.

Here he was again, immersed in a world where his competitive nature could thrive. A singular thought reverberated through his mind, "I have to be the best. I am the best!"