The first trial had begun.

Cedric, the overseer of this phase, entered the grand chamber without a word. His presence alone was commanding, a shadow that loomed over the tens of thousands of hopeful cultivators who had gathered. His steps were measured, deliberate, echoing through the vast hall like a countdown to an impending storm.

Without preamble, Cedric unleashed the full force of his Will Refinement realm pressure, a suffocating wave that blanketed every corner of the room.

For many, it was as though a mountain had descended from the heavens and crushed them where they stood. Cries of alarm turned into silence as nearly 30% of the contestants crumpled to the ground, unconscious before they could even comprehend what had hit them. The remaining 70% fared no better in spirit, their faces twisted with desperation and anguish as they clung to the faint hope of enduring this ordeal. For them, this was not just a test of will; it was a battle for survival and the possibility of a brighter future within the prestigious pavilion.

Hope stood amidst the chaos, his expression unreadable.

While others visibly struggled, their knees buckling and sweat pouring down their brows, he felt only a faint pressure, like the weight of a heavy cloak rather than the crushing force others seemed to endure. This disparity intrigued him. Could he, perhaps, contend against a Will Refinement realm cultivator? His mind briefly wandered, assessing his chances. But the thought was quickly discarded. A cultivator at that level likely possessed at least one intent, and Hope was unsure if he was ready to face such power.

Better to remain cautious than reckless.

Around him, the scene grew grimmer with each passing moment. After the first minute, only 20% of the original participants remained. Bodies lay sprawled across the floor, some twitching as they tried to rise, others motionless. The sound of heavy breathing, groans of pain, and cries of frustration filled the chamber. For those still standing, every second felt like an eternity. Hope could hear faint whispers of defiance, voices muttering curses or pleas to unseen deities, and then the dull thuds of bodies collapsing, unable to endure any longer.

Among the participants still standing, there was a wide array of reactions. To Hope’s left, a burly man with tribal tattoos etched across his arms clenched his fists so tightly that his knuckles turned white.

Sweat poured down his face, and his teeth were bared in a grimace. “This… this isn’t enough to stop me” he growled through gritted teeth, his voice barely audible but filled with defiance. “I’ve endured worse. I’ll endure this too.” Despite his determination, his legs trembled, and his body swayed precariously.

Not far from him, a young woman with fiery red hair had dropped to one knee. Her eyes burned with frustration, and she muttered under her breath, “No… I can’t fail here. Not after everything I’ve sacrificed. Mother… Father…” Her voice cracked, and she clutched at her chest, struggling to rise. Each word seemed to cost her dearly, but she refused to give in.

To Hope’s right, a wiry youth with an unkempt appearance laughed bitterly. His lips quivered as he spoke, his voice dripping with self-mockery. “So this is what they meant when they said the trials were brutal. A mountain on my back? Hah… I’ve been carrying one my whole life.” Despite his lighthearted words, his knees buckled slightly, and he clenched his jaw in silent agony.

This book's true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience.

By the second minute, the room had become a battlefield of broken wills. Only 10% of the initial tens of thousands remained upright, their figures trembling, eyes bloodshot from the strain.

Hope’s sharp gaze flicked from one person to the next, noting the varied reactions. Some gritted their teeth, their faces pale but determined, while others swayed like candles in a storm, teetering on the edge of collapse. The pressure continued to mount, growing heavier with each passing breath.

A young man in elegant robes, clearly from a noble family, muttered under his breath as he struggled to stay standing. “I am a son of the House of Tian. This trial is nothing compared to the expectations placed on me. Nothing!” His voice was filled with a mix of pride and desperation. Yet even as he spoke, his face turned ashen, and his legs quivered uncontrollably. He seemed to be trying to convince himself as much as anyone else.

Nearby, a middle-aged cultivator with streaks of gray in his hair knelt on one knee, his face a mask of pain. He whispered softly, almost inaudibly, “My family depends on me. I can’t… I won’t… let them down.” His hands pressed against the ground as he forced himself upright, his resolve shining through despite his trembling frame.

Hope’s attention briefly returned to his own condition. His breathing had grown uneven, his chest rising and falling in deep, measured breaths as he worked to steady himself. The pressure was no longer ignorable, pressing against him like an invisible vice tightening with every moment. Despite this, he stood tall, his figure steady amidst the chaos. The pain was bearable, though not insignificant, and he instinctively cycled his energy to maintain his peak form.

By the fourth minute, the true survivors began to emerge. Only a hundreds of the original group remained. Among them, Hope noticed a young girl no older than sixteen. Her face was pale, and her small frame trembled violently under the pressure, but her eyes burned with an intensity that belied her age. She whispered to herself, “I have to prove them wrong… I’m not weak. I’m not weak!” Her voice was shaky, but the determination in her tone was undeniable.

Another figure caught Hope’s eye—an older man with a scar running down the side of his face. Unlike the others, he seemed eerily calm, his expression unreadable as he weathered the storm of pressure. His lips moved in silence, as though reciting a mantra or prayer. Hope couldn’t hear the words, but the man’s presence was steady and unyielding, like a boulder amidst a raging river.

The final minute was the most grueling. Hope’s sharp ears caught the sounds of roaring and defiance as the remaining participants fought tooth and nail to stay upright. The pressure had claimed many, their bodies hitting the ground with sickening thuds that suggested more than a few broken bones. The air was thick with the acrid scent of sweat and the metallic tang of blood. Hope’s focus narrowed as he pushed through, his mind a fortress of resolve.

He refused to falter.

When the invisible weight finally lifted, Hope exhaled a long breath, his shoulders relaxing slightly. He glanced around, taking stock of his surroundings. Out of tens of thousands, only 107 individuals remained standing.

Some looked as though they could barely stay on their feet, their faces pale and bodies trembling. Others seemed better off, though none appeared unscathed. They all shared one thing in common: their eyes burned with determination as they scanned the room, sizing up their competition. Each of them knew that the ones who stood alongside them now were their greatest obstacles. The fight for supremacy had only just begun.

Cedric observed the remaining trialists with a calm, calculating gaze. His expression betrayed neither satisfaction nor disappointment as his eyes swept over the room. He nodded once, as though the result had met his expectations. Finally, he spoke, his voice carrying effortlessly over the silence that had descended upon the hall.

“Congratulations on passing the first trial,” he said, his tone devoid of warmth or encouragement. The words hung in the air like a blade poised to strike.

None of the candidates cheered or showed any sign of joy. They knew better. This was only the beginning. Their silence spoke volumes, a collective acknowledgment of the grim reality they faced.

Cedric let the weight of his words sink in, his piercing gaze scanning the room. Then, a grin crept across his face, a wolfish expression that sent a shiver down the spines of those who were still standing.

“Let the second trial begin” he announced, his voice tinged with dark amusement. “I hope you can give me a good show.”