The Heavenly Sword Sect was a place of legend. It was one of the top ten sects of Autumn Domain. The sect was well known far and wide for its unmatched sword techniques and rigorous training and was abuzz with activity. Its towering gates stood as a symbol of strength and prestige.

Today, the sect was more lively than ever, with cultivators from across the land gathering to test their fate. The sun had barely rose, yet the path leading to the sect’s entrance was already crowded with figures clad in robes of varying colors, each bearing the mark of their home regions and sects. The air was thick with anticipation, excitement, and a touch of anxiety.

The gate of the sect was massive, adorned with ancient symbols that seemed to pulse with a faint, mystical energy. Beyond the gate, the grand architecture of the Heavenly Sword Sect could be seen—imposing halls, towering pagodas, and vast courtyards filled with disciples honing their skills.

At the gate, a long line of eager cultivators formed, each waiting their turn to register. Several senior disciples were busy with the registration process, their calm demeanor completely opposite to the eager faces before them. The large wooden desk they sat behind was covered with parchment scrolls, brushes, and inkstones. Each time a name was inscribed, a small pile of spiritual stones would fall into the sect’s coffer, a necessary fee for entry within the sect.

The line moved steadily, though not without impatience from those waiting. Conversations buzzed through the crowd, mixing with the occasional flare of spiritual energy as some cultivators displayed their strength. Others kept to themselves, silently meditating to calm their nerves or perhaps to sharpen their focus for what lay ahead.

Once the last cultivator had been registered, the sect disciples began leading the newcomers through the massive gates. They passed under an archway inscribed with the words "Heavenly Sword Sect," the characters glowing faintly with a power that sent shivers down their spines. Beyond the gate, they were guided through the main courtyard, where seasoned disciples practiced in silence, their swords moving with deadly precision.

Finally, the group was brought to a large training ground at the heart of the sect. The ground was spacious, with various training dummies, sparring rings, and weapon racks lining the area. The atmosphere was heavy with the aura of countless battles fought and won.

A tall man in deep blue robes, his aura calm but commanding, stepped forward. His gaze swept over the group, and the chatter among the cultivators died down, replaced by an expectant silence. This was their instructor, an elder of the Heavenly Sword Sect, tasked with assessing their abilities.

“Welcome,” the instructor began, his voice steady and carrying the weight of authority. “You have passed the first step, but the true test begins now. Strength alone does not determine your worth in the Heavenly Sword Sect—endurance, skill, and the ability to adapt under pressure are equally important.”

He paused, letting his words sink in before continuing, “Your task is simple. You will face me in combat. I will match your cultivation realm, whether you are at the Foundation Establishment, Qi Condensation, or whatever level you have achieved. Your goal is to resist for fifteen minutes. If you can endure, you will pass. If you cannot, you will be dismissed from the sect.”

A ripple of murmurs spread through the crowd, but the instructor’s expression remained unchanged. “Do not take this lightly. Many have come before you, and many have failed. Prove that you are worthy of the Heavenly Sword Sect.”

The first few cultivators stepped forward, their faces set in determination. The instructor nodded at the first challenger, a young woman in the Foundation Establishment realm. She bowed respectfully before assuming a defensive stance. Without a word, the instructor’s aura shifted, suppressing his cultivation down to match hers. The fight began with the young woman launching herself at the instructor, her sword gleaming with a faint blue light.

She moved with agility, her strikes precise, but the instructor deflected them with ease, his movements fluid and controlled. For several minutes, she managed to keep up, blocking his attacks and countering with her own, but it was clear she was being slowly pushed back. The instructor’s experience showed in every parry and strike. Finally, with a swift movement, he disarmed her and sent her sprawling to the ground, ending the bout.

“Failed,” the instructor said, his tone final but not unkind. The young woman rose, her expression crestfallen, and retreated to the sidelines.

One by one, the cultivators faced the instructor. Some lasted only a few moments before they were overwhelmed, while others managed to hold their ground for nearly the full fifteen minutes. The training ground became a battleground of flashing swords and grunts of exertion.

As the tests continued, a young man in the crowd watched intently. His sharp eyes took in every movement of the instructor and every subtle shift in his technique. This young man was Wang Tian. As he observed the fights, he discerned that the instructor was in the Golden Core realm, a realization that brought a faint smile to his lips.

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“If we were of the same cultivation realm, I could defeat him easily,” Wang Tian thought to himself, his confidence unwavering. But he had no interest in merely matching the instructor’s strength. His second phase of the plan was crucial: to participate in the Sword Ceremony, where true resources and opportunities lay. To do that, he needed to stand out, but not too much. Attracting too much attention could be just as dangerous as failing entirely.

“I’ll challenge him at a higher level,” Wang Tian decided, his mind already calculating the benefits. “If I perform well, I’ll secure more resources, but I must not reveal everything. Just enough to make an impression.”

As Wang Tian continued to plot his strategy, a new participant stepped forward to face the instructor. His name was Xu Ming. As he took his place before the instructor, the crowd’s attention shifted, all eyes on him. He was not as tall or imposing as some of the others, but there was an air of quiet confidence about him. The faintest trace of a scar ran down his left cheek.

Xu Ming was a young man from a small village nestled in the mountains far from the bustling cities of the cultivation world. His journey to the Heavenly Sword Sect had been arduous. Born into a family of humble farmers, Xu Ming had shown an unusual affinity for cultivating spiritual energy from a young age.

His village, lacking any formal training or resources, had little to offer him. But despite the odds, Xu Ming’s determination had driven him to train tirelessly, using whatever scraps of knowledge he could glean from wandering cultivators and ancient texts he managed to find.

When he was just thirteen, bandits had descended upon his village, seeking to plunder what little they had. Xu Ming had been the only one to stand against them, armed with nothing more than a rusty blade and the rudimentary techniques he had taught himself. Though his skills were raw and unrefined, he had fought with the ferocity of a cornered beast. By the end of the battle, the bandits lay defeated, but not without cost—his parents had perished, and the scar on his face was a permanent reminder of that day.

With nothing left to keep him in the village, Xu Ming had set out on a journey to improve his skills and seek out a path in the world of cultivation. His goal was not just survival; he sought strength, the kind that could protect others and ensure that what had happened to his family would never happen again. This journey had finally led him to the gates of the Heavenly Sword Sect, a place where he hoped to sharpen his skills and rise above his humble origins.

Now, as he stood before the instructor, Xu Ming felt the weight of all that had brought him here, but he did not waver. The instructor, having seen many young cultivators come and go, noticed the determination in Xu Ming’s eyes. This one was different—a quiet resolve that spoke of experiences far beyond his years.

“Begin,” the instructor commanded, his voice cutting through the stillness. With that single word, Xu Ming’s world narrowed to the figure before him. He had trained for this moment; every movement and technique had been honed through countless hours of practice and battle.

Xu Ming drew his sword, a simple but well-crafted blade that had seen him through many trials. His aura flared, his spiritual energy aligning with his intent. The instructor responded in kind, suppressing his own cultivation to match Xu Ming’s, yet even at this level, his presence was overwhelming.

Xu Ming’s first strike was swift, his blade slicing through the air with precision. He aimed for the instructor’s shoulder, testing his defenses. The instructor met his attack head-on, their swords clashing with a resounding clang that echoed across the training ground. Sparks flew as swords clashed, illuminating the intense focus on both their faces.

Xu Ming did not retreat after his initial strike; instead, he pressed forward, his movements fluid and deliberate. He danced around the instructor, searching for openings in his defenses. His blade seemed to move with a life of its own, guided by his sharp instincts and the many battles he had fought before. Each strike was calculated, meant to probe and test rather than simply overwhelm.

The instructor parried each attack with ease, his experience evident in the effortless way he handled his sword. Yet he could not help but notice the refinement in Xu Ming’s techniques. The young man was not simply attacking blindly; he was thinking, analyzing each move and adapting as the fight progressed.

The battle waged on, each passing moment more intense than the last. Xu Ming’s movements were quick and relentless, but the instructor remained a wall of unshakable defense. Xu Ming’s strikes became more creative, feints leading into unexpected angles, but each time, the instructor met him with an impenetrable guard.

Sweat began to bead on Xu Ming’s forehead, but he did not falter. Instead, he shifted his strategy, pulling back slightly as if to catch his breath. The instructor’s eyes narrowed, sensing a change.

Xu Ming suddenly charged forward again, his sword glowing with a faint but potent aura as he unleashed a technique he had developed on his own—a swift, arcing slash aimed at the instructor’s waist, followed by an immediate thrust toward his chest. It was a technique that combined offense and defense, forcing the opponent to either block both strikes or risk being struck by one.

For the first time, the instructor had to exert more effort, his sword moving in a blur to block both strikes. The force behind Xu Ming’s attacks pushed him back a step, a proof of the young man’s strength.

But the instructor was far from finished. Seeing that Xu Ming was truly a formidable opponent, he decided to test him further. With a burst of speed, the instructor closed the distance between them, his sword moving with such speed that it seemed to vanish for a moment. Xu Ming barely had time to react, his sword rising just in time to deflect a blow aimed at his shoulder. The force of the impact sent a shockwave through his arm, nearly making him lose his grip on his weapon.

The instructor pressed his advantage, launching a series of rapid strikes that tested Xu Ming’s defenses to their limits. Each strike was powerful, precise, and perfectly timed, forcing Xu Ming to use every ounce of his skill just to keep up. The young cultivator grated his teeth, refusing to yield. His footwork became more intricate, his movements more desperate yet still controlled.

As the fifteen minutes neared, Xu Ming found himself on the defensive, his back nearly against the edge of the training ground. The instructor’s relentless assault showed no signs of stopping, and Xu Ming knew that one wrong move could end the fight. But he also knew that if he could hold on just a bit longer, he would pass the test.

Summoning the last reserves of his strength, Xu Ming unleashed a desperate counterattack. He executed a series of rapid slashes with his sword, aiming to push the instructor back. The ground beneath them cracked under the pressure of their clashing energies, dust rising into the air.

The instructor’s eyes flashed with approval as he met Xu Ming’s assault head-on. With a final, powerful strike, he parried Xu Ming’s blade and sent him stumbling back. Xu Ming managed to keep his footing, but his exhaustion was evident; his breathing labored.

“Enough,” the instructor said, his voice carrying a note of admiration. Xu Ming froze, his sword still raised but trembling slightly in his grip.

“You have passed,” the instructor announced, lowering his sword and offering a rare nod of approval. Xu Ming, though exhausted, managed a small smile and bowed deeply, his chest heaving with exertion.