The bustling streets of Solaris stretched endlessly before Hope as he moved through the crowd, his expression calm. He had one goal in mind: find the location of the Phoenix Cry Pavilion trial and prepare himself for what lay ahead.

It didn’t take long for him to gather the information he needed. After asking around, he learned that the trial was set to begin in three days, giving him just enough time to plan and prepare.

As Hope walked through the city, he couldn’t help but notice the energy of the crowd. The air was alive with excitement and tension as people discussed the upcoming trial. Among the many voices, one name kept surfacing: Ren. Intrigued, Hope listened more carefully to the chatter around him.

“Did you hear? Ren defeated nine out of the ten people on the top ten list!” one passerby exclaimed.

“Yeah, except Alex Carter. Some say Ren was just tired, while others think he spared Alex to save his face” another replied.

Hope’s lips curled into a slight smirk. Ren, the very first person he had encountered upon arriving in Solaris, had now ascended to the status of the city’s most talked-about genius. Hope didn’t dwell on it too much.

The news was amusing, but it didn’t alter his plans. If anything, it served as a reminder of how far he’d come since that fateful meeting.

As Hope continued through the streets, his keen ears picked up details about the Phoenix Cry Pavilion trial. The trial, it seemed, was divided into two rounds.

The first was designed to test a participant’s resilience. Each candidate would need to endure the spiritual pressure of a Will Refinement elder for five full minutes. Many believed this initial round was merely a way to weed out the unworthy, leaving only the truly capable to advance.

The second round, however, was far more brutal: a deathmatch. Half of the remaining participants would lose their lives, and the survivors would earn their place in the sect.

The rules were clear, and the stakes were high.

Hope’s expression darkened slightly at the mention of the deathmatch, but not out of fear. If the Phoenix Cry Pavilion wanted to send people to their deaths at his hands, he had no qualms about obliging them. He was eager to test his strength and see how far his abilities had grown. After all, what better way to grow stronger than to fight?

With this information in mind, Hope decided to use the next three days wisely.

He found an inn near the city’s quieter outskirts, away from the noise and distractions of the main streets. The innkeeper, a portly man with a friendly demeanor, greeted him warmly.

“Looking for a room, young master?” the man asked, eyeing Hope’s bare chest with pants made out of wolf leather, a very expensive wolf leather.

“Yes” Hope replied curtly, placing a small pouch of coins on the counter. “I’ll need it for three days.”

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The innkeeper’s eyes widened slightly at the weight of the pouch but said nothing, simply handing over a key. Hope nodded in thanks and ascended the narrow staircase to his room.

The space was modest but clean, with a sturdy bed and a small table by the window. It would serve his purposes well.

Once inside, Hope wasted no time. He locked the door, ensuring his privacy, and sat cross-legged on the floor. He grabbed the herbs he bought from his bag. These herbs were precious, each one imbued with potent spiritual energy that could reinforce his foundation in both essence and body.

Hope put a stalk of herbs in his mouth and started munching on them. Soon after a warm, tingling sensation spread through his limbs as the energy worked to strengthen his physical body. He could feel his muscles growing denser, his bones more resilient. His essence, too, seemed to hum with newfound vitality.

Hours passed as Hope repeated this process, alternating between refining the herbs and meditating to absorb their energy fully. His focus was unshakable, his mind completely attuned to the task at hand. He wanted to be prepared for any situation and he needed power to do that.

On the second day, Hope shifted his focus to his sword training. He stepped out into the inn’s courtyard during the early hours of the morning, when the city was still shrouded in silence. The courtyard was small but sufficient for his purposes. Drawing his sword, he began to practice his strikes, each one precise and controlled.

As he moved, he felt the essence within him respond, flowing through his body and into the blade. The weapon seemed to hum with life, its edge glowing faintly as it sliced through the air. Hope’s movements were a seamless blend of power and grace, each strike carrying the weight of his determination.

In between his sword drills, Hope practiced manipulating his intent. He had always been naturally attuned to destruction, and he used this time to refine that connection further. Now that his body could handle it he wanted to study what his destruction intent could do.

He focused on a single point in the air, willing it to fracture. It took a couple minutes and a lot of focus and it paid off. Slowly but surely, the air around the point began to ripple, a faint crack appearing as his destructive intent took hold. He kept repeating this exercise trying to fine tune his use of it.

By the end of the second day, Hope felt a renewed sense of confidence. His body was stronger, his essence more refined, and his skills sharper than ever. He returned to his room and spent the evening meditating, allowing his mind to settle and his energy to stabilize.

On the morning of the third day, Hope awoke early. The trial was set to begin that afternoon, and he wanted to arrive with plenty of time to spare. After a light meal, he gathered his belongings and left the inn, making his way toward the Phoenix Cry Pavilion.

The streets of Solaris were even more crowded than before, with countless cultivators and spectators heading in the same direction. The Phoenix Cry Pavilion was a towering structure, its grandeur a testament to the sect’s power and prestige. The entrance was guarded by two imposing statues of phoenixes, their eyes glowing with a fiery light.

Hope joined the line of participants, his expression calm and unreadable. Around him, others whispered nervously, their faces pale with anticipation or fear. He ignored them, his focus solely on the trial ahead. When it was finally his turn to enter, he stepped forward without hesitation, his eyes meeting those of the elders overseeing the trial.

The elder in charge, a stern-looking man with a flowing white beard, assessed Hope with a critical gaze. “Name?” he asked.

“Hope Fallen” he replied evenly.

The elder nodded, making a note on a scroll before gesturing for him to proceed. As Hope entered the pavilion, he felt a surge of energy wash over him. The spiritual pressure within the hall was immense, a prelude to the challenges that awaited. At first glance he saw at least thousands of people all waiting for their turn.

Hope’s expression was unreadable. The trial had yet to begin, but he could already feel the excitement building within him. This was what he had been waiting for—a chance to test himself, to push his limits, and to prove that he was more than capable of standing among the elite.

As Hope was looking around assessing his surroundings he heard a gong.

The trial had begun.