Silence.

For a long moment, the crowd remained frozen, as if unable to process what they had just heard.

"He passed?"

"That... that boy?"

"How is that possible?"

The murmurs started low, uncertain, before swelling into a cacophony of disbelief, envy, and reluctant awe. Some leaned forward as if their eyes had deceived them, while others shook their heads, unwilling to accept the result.

"This must be a mistake!" someone muttered, their voice sharp with irritation.

"A mistake? You saw it yourself. His Astral Seed was the only one still glowing," another countered, eyes flickering with suspicion.

"Maybe there's something special about him."

"Special? Hah! He must have cheated somehow!"

Aaryan barely heard them. His mind was still catching up with reality. His fingers curled and uncurled as he glanced down at his still-glowing Astral Seed, its faint pulse syncing with his racing heartbeat.

He had passed.

His breath was steady, but inside, his thoughts churned. The beasts, the endless cycle, the crushing despair—it had all been real. And yet, the moment he had let go, it had ended.

"Surrendering... was the right choice?"

He didn’t know what the trial had truly tested, but the result was undeniable. He had succeeded where every other contestant had failed. But was it really victory, or had he simply stumbled upon the answer by chance?

Before he could dwell on it further, the Fourth Elder’s voice rang out, cutting through the lingering unrest.

"Aaryan," she called, her eyes glinting with curiosity before she moved on. "Varun, Devika, Ren, Yash, Lina, Ankur, Suraj, Jia, and Ishaan."

A hushed murmur spread through the audience as the names were spoken. These were the ten experimental disciples.

Aaryan lifted his head, his gaze flicking toward the other eight. Most were from wealthy families, their fine robes and well-fed statures marking them as sons and daughters of nobility. Their expressions ranged from pride to cold calculation, eyes darting across the others as if already measuring their competition.

Among them were three familiar faces—two boys and a girl who had stood close to Varun earlier.

As Aaryan analyzed the other contestants, the others were doing the same.

Suddenly, Varun's voice cut through the noise.

"What a joke."

Aaryan turned just as Varun strode forward, his sneer sharper than ever, golden eyes brimming with condescension.

"They took my name after yours?" He scoffed, his voice dripping with disdain. "This is laughable."

He took a deliberate step toward Aaryan, lowering his voice just enough that only a handful could hear—but making sure Aaryan did.

"Do you really think you won? You passed because I wasn’t there." His golden eyes, sharp with arrogance, locked onto Aaryan. "Tch. You got lucky, nothing more. If I had participated in that joke of a trial, you wouldn’t have had the chance to stand on the same stage as me."

Aaryan met his gaze, expression unreadable.

"Lucky?"

"That’s what they’re all thinking, isn’t it? That I won because of luck—a fluke."

For some reason, the word irritated him more than it should have.

But he didn't respond.

What was the point?

Come to the central stage," the First Elder instructed, his silver gaze sweeping over the ten of them. "These are the experimental disciples. From among them, only two will become outer disciples of the Evernight Pavilion."

The square erupted into discussion.

"So it's not over?"

"Of course not! The real test begins now. Just because they’re chosen doesn’t mean they’ll remain."

"Only two will make it... which means the real competition is just starting."

Aaryan exhaled slowly.

Only two.

His fingers curled at his sides. He had fought so hard just to be recognized, just to get this far. But recognition wasn’t enough. If he failed now, he would still be cast aside.

As he took his first step toward the central stage, he could feel the weight of hundreds of eyes on him—some resentful, some intrigued, some dismissive. It didn’t matter.

He was here.

The ten contestants stepped onto the central stage, their expressions ranging from tense determination to thinly veiled arrogance. The crowd had not yet settled; whispers still rippled through them like waves, many still fixated on Aaryan.

"I still can't believe it. That kid made it here?"

"And look who he's standing next to—almost all nobles. You think someone like him can stand a chance?"

Aaryan remained quiet, his gaze scanning the other contestants. Most were from influential families, their fine robes and confident stances making that clear.

He was the outlier here, but he was no stranger to standing alone.

Before any more words could be exchanged, one of the elders raised his hand.

A flicker of light appeared above his palm before it expanded, forming a glowing orb, pulsing with shifting colors. It hovered in front of the contestants, illuminating their faces with an eerie glow.

"The final round," the elder’s voice rang out, "is combat."

The murmurs in the crowd exploded into full-blown chatter.

"Of course! This is how it should be!"

"No more tests of the mind—just strength! Let’s see who actually deserves to be here."

The elder let the noise settle before he continued.

"Defeat your opponent, and you will have a chance to become an outer disciple. Lose, and you remain an experimental disciple. That is the rule."

His gaze swept over the contestants, ensuring they all understood the weight of his words.

Then, he gestured toward the glowing orb.

"Within this orb are numbered tokens—one to five, in two different colors. Each of you will take one. The contestants who draw the same number but different colors will be paired as opponents."

The orb shimmered, and the contestants exchanged glances before stepping forward, one by one.

Varun reached out first, grabbing a token effortlessly. A smirk tugged at his lips as if he already considered himself victorious.

One by one, the others followed.

Aaryan hesitated for a fraction of a second before stepping forward. He reached into the glowing sphere, feeling an invisible pull guiding his hand.

His fingers closed around a token.

Number 3.

He glanced around. Who had drawn the other 3?

Before he could find out, the elder’s voice rang out again.

"Contestants with number 1, remain on the stage. The rest of you, step back."

Two figures stayed behind.

One was Varun. The other was a noble youth, a young man dressed in elegant robes embroidered with silver thread. His stance was poised but rigid, his face struggling to mask his unease.

A masked disciple stepped onto the stage—the referee. His mere presence silenced the crowd.

A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

"Begin."

The noble barely had time to react.

Varun moved like a phantom. One second, he stood tall, unconcerned. The next, his foot dug into the stone, and he vanished—or at least, that’s how it seemed.

The noble barely managed to bring up his guard before a palm strike slammed into his chest, sending him skidding backward. His breath hitched as he struggled to regain his balance, but Varun didn’t give him the chance.

In a blur, Varun closed the distance, spinning mid-step and driving a precise kick into his opponent’s ribs. The force sent the noble tumbling across the stage, coughing violently.

It was over.

Varun hadn’t even broken a sweat.

"Winner—Varun," the masked disciple announced, stepping forward as the noble groaned in defeat.

Varun tossed his hair back, smirking.

"Was that all?" he scoffed, stepping off the stage without sparing his opponent another glance. His eyes lingered on Aaryan.

Aaryan said nothing, but he met Varun’s gaze without flinching.

The second match began.

A girl and a boy stepped forward.

The boy barely lasted a second before he bowed deeply.

"Elder Sister Devika," he said quickly, glancing toward Varun. "I am no match for you. There is no need for us to fight."

The crowd erupted.

"What?! Is he admitting defeat already?!"

"Tch. Just another bootlicker trying to earn favor with Varun’s group."

"Pathetic. Some people would rather submit than fight."

Devika merely smiled, stepping off the stage without a word.

The elder sighed. "Winner—Devika."

Aaryan exhaled slowly.

He wasn’t surprised. This was the way of the powerful. Some didn’t need to fight—they won before the battle even started.

Pushing these thoughts aside, Aaryan made his way onto the stage.

His opponent, a tall, burly young man, was already there. He looked like a sword ready to be drawn from its sheath.

"Ren? Isn’t he the son of General Adhir?"

"He’s no pushover. I heard his father trained him since he could walk."

Ren stood tall, his stance solid—the stance of a trained warrior. His every movement carried precision, honed through years of disciplined training under his father, a renowned general.

Aaryan, by contrast, stood with a relaxed posture, his eyes locked onto Ren’s every breath, every shift of muscle.

"Why is he just standing there?"

"Does he even know how to fight?"

Ren wasted no time.

With a sharp exhale, he lunged.

His first attack was a rapid step-in—a straight punch aimed at Aaryan’s center. It came fast, backed by explosive strength.

Aaryan shifted to the side, the punch barely grazing past him.

Ren didn’t stop.

He spun with the force of his missed attack, his foot rising in a brutal roundhouse kick.

Aaryan ducked. The kick swept over his head, missing by a hair.

Then came a barrage—fists, elbows, and kicks. A storm of blows rained down, relentless and unyielding.

Aaryan dodged. Every time.

Not a single attack landed.

But to the crowd—he looked miserable.

"He’s just running away!"

"Pathetic! He isn’t even trying to fight back!"

"Ren is overwhelming him completely!"

Varun scoffed from the sidelines. "Tch. I knew it. He’s just a rat, scurrying around, hoping to get lucky again."

Yet, amidst the jeers, the elders watched in silence.

The Third Elder’s eyes narrowed. "Ren is strong. Proper form, proper execution. His attacks flow smoothly from one into the next. A well-trained warrior."

The Second Elder, arms crossed, let out a low hum. "But Aaryan… his movements are... odd, to say the least."

The Fourth Elder, the old woman with dark tattoos, grinned. "He’s playing with him."

The First Elder, who had kept his eyes closed, finally opened them.

"No training. Just instinct."

The others turned to him.

"Instinct?" the Third Elder murmured.

The First Elder’s silver gaze locked onto the fight. "Yes. He moves like a beast that has hunted all its life. Watch closely. It looks like he’s being cornered, but… he’s in complete control."

Just as the words left his lips—

Aaryan’s expression shifted.

For the first time, he moved forward.

Ren threw a heavy punch—Aaryan sidestepped, barely moving his feet.

Aaryan slid in close.

A knee—buried deep into Ren’s ribs.

The impact cracked through the air.

Ren staggered. His stance wavered.

The crowd fell silent.

Aaryan didn’t let him recover.

Like a shadow, he was already moving.

A sharp elbow—slammed into Ren’s shoulder.

A twist—a palm strike to his sternum.

Ren stumbled back, eyes widening.

What?

Why was he suddenly getting hit?

Aaryan’s feet barely touched the ground as he glided forward. A flurry of precise, devastating strikes followed.

A kick to the leg—Ren’s balance broke.

A punch to the jaw—his head snapped back.

A final, brutal palm strike to the chest—Ren was lifted off his feet and sent crashing onto the stage.

Silence.

Aaryan exhaled. His stance relaxed.

Ren didn’t get back up.

The referee stepped forward. "Winner—Aaryan."

The crowd was stunned.

"H-he was losing just a moment ago!"

"No. No, This…This…..."

"That seemed almost too easy for him... was he just dodging for fun earlier?"

The elders exchanged glances.

The Fourth Elder chuckled. "Instinct, was it?"

The First Elder’s gaze lingered on Aaryan.

"Yes. And it's terrifying."

The atmosphere remained charged as the remaining five contestants stood in a line. The Elder waved his hand, and once again, a glowing orb floated before them. Inside, three types of tokens shimmered—two with Number 1, two with Number 2, and a single blank token.

The First Elder spoke, his voice even. “Each of you will take one token. Those with matching numbers will fight. The one who draws the blank... gets a free pass to the final round.”

Aaryan reached out, his fingers brushing against the cool surface of the glowing orb before plucking out a token.

Number 2.

He glanced around.

Varun held Number 1, smirking. A commoner boy beside him, thin but determined, held the other Number 1—his opponent.

Devika held Number 2.

And the last contestant, a noble named Yash, turned his token with a victorious grin. Blank.

He had a free pass.

The crowd buzzed with conversation.

"Lucky bastard!"

"That means the rest have to fight even harder."

The First Elder nodded. "Let the next match begin. Number 1—step forward."

Varun strode onto the stage, his movements casual, arrogant. His opponent, the commoner, took a steady breath, fists tightening. He knew he was outmatched, but he wouldn’t go down without a fight.

The moment the referee signaled the start—Varun exploded forward.

The crowd barely saw the first hit.

A brutal knee to the gut crushed the commoner’s breath from his lungs. He staggered, coughing violently, but Varun didn’t stop.

A savage punch—straight to the ribs.

A sharp crack echoed.

A desperate step back—but Varun was faster.

He grabbed the commoner’s shoulder, slammed his elbow into his jaw, and then kicked him across the stage.

The boy crashed onto the stone, blood dripping from his mouth.

Varun didn’t look at him. He turned to the crowd instead, arms crossed, his eyes filled with pure disdain.

"Hmph. Weak."

There was no mercy. No restraint.

He had toyed with his first opponent. But this? This was meant to send a message.

The commoner groaned, struggling to push himself up.

Varun scoffed. “Stay down. You’re embarrassing yourself.”

The referee sighed, stepping forward. "Winner—Varun."

The audience barely reacted.

"The commoner was too weak."

"What did he expect, going up against someone like Varun?"

"Pathetic. He should've forfeited."

No one cared about the brutality. No one questioned it.

Aaryan’s fists curled at his sides.

As Varun strode off the stage, basking in his easy victory, Aaryan moved—toward the fallen commoner.

The boy flinched as Aaryan knelt beside him. His breathing was ragged, pain evident in his face.

Aaryan extended a hand. "Here."

The boy hesitated for a second before grasping it. Aaryan pulled him up effortlessly, steadying him when he swayed.

A few people in the crowd muttered at the sight, some scoffing, others simply uninterested.

The boy looked away, his jaw clenched. "I was weak."

Aaryan studied him for a moment before shaking his head. "No. You stepped onto that stage knowing you would lose and still fought anyway." He paused. "That isn’t weakness."

The boy’s shoulders tensed. "Then why is everyone laughing?"

Aaryan’s gaze swept across the crowd. Some still whispered, others looked amused. It was always the same—they only respected those who won.

He could have blamed a lack of resources for people like them, but that would only serve as an excuse in the future for the young man standing before him.

He looked back at the boy, his usual calm smile in place. "Because they only see what they want to see."

The boy blinked, caught off guard.

Aaryan’s voice was quieter, but firm. "You didn’t lose because you were weak. You lost because your opponent was stronger. That’s not something to be ashamed of."

For a long moment, the boy said nothing. Then, finally, he nodded.

Aaryan gave a small nod in return before stepping back toward the lineup.

As he moved, he could feel Varun’s gaze on him.

Mocking. Amused.

But Aaryan didn’t care.

Varun stepped off the stage, his gaze sliding toward Aaryan. A slow, taunting smirk.

The referee turned to the remaining two fighters. "Number 2—step forward."

Aaryan exhaled, stepping onto the stage.

Devika followed, her lips curved into an alluring smile.

Before the match could start, Varun’s taunting voice rang out again.

"Aaryan," he called smoothly, folding his arms. "I hope you're enjoying this moment. After all, it's not every day a beggar stands where nobles should be."

The crowd chuckled, some nodding along.

Varun smirked, his gaze sharp. "Tell you what, since you have no chance of winning, why don't you kneel and beg Devika for mercy now? Maybe she'll let you walk away with some dignity."

The audience erupted into laughter.

Aaryan’s fingers twitched.

Devika let out a soft laugh, stepping closer.

"Oh my… becoming an outer disciple must be very important to you."

She tilted her head, her voice a sweet purr. "But wouldn’t it be better to make… friends? A lowborn like you could use someone like me."

She took a step closer, her gaze predatory.

"What do you say, Aaryan?"

Aaryan said nothing.

Devika’s eyes narrowed slightly. She had expected him to react. To blush, to hesitate.

He didn’t.

She sighed dramatically. "Very well. But don’t blame me for what happens next."

The referee raised his hand. "Begin!"

Devika moved first.

She dashed forward, her speed impressive.

Her fingers curled as she prepared to strike—aiming straight for Aaryan’s throat.

Aaryan didn’t move.

Not an inch.

The crowd held its breath.

“You lowlife, I will kill you right h—”

Devika’s attack was inches away—

But before she could complete either the attack or the threat, Aaryan vanished.

A sudden gust of wind. A blur of motion.

Before anyone could register what had happened—

Aaryan was already behind her.

His strike landed.

Devika’s body stiffened, her eyes widening in shock—before she collapsed onto the stage, unconscious.

Silence.

The crowd stared.

Even the nobles, who had scoffed moments ago, couldn’t hide their astonishment.

The referee stepped forward after a stunned pause.

"Winner—Aaryan!"