Hunter's gut knotted with tension, yet he couldn't help getting caught up in the festive air. The closer he came to the citadel's arena, the more pronounced it became.

Red and gold banners hung like drunken revelers high above, twisting along the streets that led to the arena. The aroma of sizzling meats and exotic spices mingled with the dusty air of the crowded streets. His belly growled thanks to the sight of the food stalls and mouth watering scents.

Up ahead, he spotted an official scanning the last of the crowds streaming in to watch the Trial of Worth. He picked up his pace. If he wanted to gain entry, he'd have to sneak in among them.

An easy task for Hunter, master of slipping through cracks unseen. He wove into the crowd of gamblers, flashing a smile as bright as a freshly polished blade. "Fine day for the Trial of Worth," he said, his voice as smooth as butter.

The gamblers bobbed their heads, allowing him to pass as if he was one of them.

"You didn't hear it from me, but there are great odds on Pheres ranking top in the trial," a portly man with sweat-stained clothes declared, puffing on a pipe that billowed smoke like a miniature dragon.

"Eh, you need your head examined, mate. My coin's on Charis for top rank," countered a wiry man with a crooked grin, his eyes glinting with the thrill of the gamble.

"Yeah, her old man's been telling anyone who listens that she'll be the first in her family to go to Stallion Martial Academy to continue her cultivation training," said a young lad, barely out of his teens, his eyes wide with the excitement of being part of their adult world.

Smoke rose from the portly man’s pipe. "That pompous ass loves to boast, doesn't mean there's any weight behind his claims. My source is much better informed, trust me."

Hunter had heard enough of the gossip circus. With an agreeable smile, he pushed deeper into the crowd, leaving the chatter behind.

The stone arch cast him in deep shadows until he emerged on the other side, where the vibrant colors of the arena assaulted his senses. Officials in bright orange sashes, bearing the mark of the emperor, directed them to the lower stalls overlooking the sandy arena.

Hunter's eyes locked onto a small group of young cultivators gathered in clusters up ahead, keeping to the shade of a stone pillar. They faced a small stage with a wooden podium decorated with fancy banners, like a peacock showing off its feathers.

Hunter paused for a moment, playing up his confusion about where to sit. A ruckus erupted from the group of gamblers behind him, still arguing over who was a sure bet.

"Look at you with your fancy pipe, mate. Who are you trying to impress, the betting gods?" one of the gamblers teased.

The sweat-soaked gambler puffed out a cloud of smoke and retorted, "You wouldn't know what success was if it slapped you in the face."

The wiry guy laughed. "Really, mate? I've seen more success in a squirrel's attempt to hide its nuts than in your gambling."

"Yeah!” The clank of the glass pipe echoed as it dropped on the seat. “You're about to see success in me knocking that smart mouth of yours shut!"

The taunts escalated into a flurry of insults, flying punches, and curses.

Swift as a hunting snake, Hunter seized the opportunity. He made a dash towards the young cultivators and slipped into their ranks unnoticed.

The timing was perfect.

Just as he settled among them, a large man on stage rose and strode to the podium, his presence commanding the attention of the entire arena. "Honored guests, please take your seats," the man announced, waving his arm in sweeping arcs to guide his flock.

Hunter watched with amusement as the officials on stage shuffled around like obedient ducks, following their leader's every command.

"Contenders of the Trial of Worth, please approach the stage and await further instruction," the man bellowed, his voice echoing through the arena like a battle cry.

Hunter chuckled in satisfaction at his success. He joined the slow march forward, the sun casting long shadows as he moved. At the front of the line, he could hear Pheres' ear-grating voice cutting through the air.

"For anyone with delusions of grandeur who thinks they will perform well enough in the trials to beat me, think again," he said in challenge.

"I'll knock the wind out of your sails," said a dark-haired boy matching his pace up front. His bravado masked his insecurities like a poorly stitched bandage.

Whispers in the group told Hunter that many thought Pheres was a cocky bastard. Hunter agreed. His head filled with thoughts of not only passing the trial but beating Pheres. He'd love to wipe that smug grin off his face.

Hunter’s focus snapped back to the arena as the commanding official’s voice cut through the buzz of the crowd. "Young cultivators, form a line and announce your name and school affiliation."

A man in priest's robes joined him, whispering in his ear.

"Have your cultivation medallion ready for inspection," the official continued. "We need to assess your cultivation level and elemental affinity without wasting valuable time scanning your aura."

Hunter's heart skipped a beat; despite having mentally prepared for this moment, his mind betrayed him, going blank. Amidst the chaos and jostling, he found himself second in line, right beside the insufferable Pheres.

The arrogant thug regarded Hunter with a disdainful look as if he was dirt beneath his polished boot. There was no recognition in Pheres' eyes, but Hunter knew that ignorance wouldn't last long.

Confirming Hunter's fears, Magistrate Dimus caught sight of him. The man's beady eyes narrowed, his face twisted in disgust. Dimus dashed over to the imposing figure at the podium, whispering hurriedly, "Master Vassilus, please—"

But Vassilus, captivated by Pheres, waved Dimus away with a dismissive hand.

Pheres, his chest puffed out like a peacock in mating season, declared his lineage with grandiosity. "I am Pheres Andeno, son of Port Manager Xuthos Andeno, here to represent Grand Cultivation Academy," he announced, his medallion glowing with an arrogant brilliance.

Hunter couldn't help but squint; the center of the medallion seemed encrusted with ice crystals, blinding in its splendor.

"Most impressive," Vassilus rumbled, his gaze fixed on Pheres. "You're already a Peak Star Refiner. No doubt you'll break through to the Founder stage soon like your father. He served our province well in the Great War and earned his dues."

Dimus, persistent as a buzzing fly, interjected once more, "Master, I—"

"What now?" Vassilus snapped, his eyes aflame like coals in a blacksmith's forge.

The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.

Dimus quivered like a leaf in a storm, bowing deeply. "This—this lowly maggot begs your forgiveness, oh great benevolent one.” Slowly, he raised his head and pointed at Hunter. “He should not be here."

On the island Dimus wore his arrogant disdain for Hunter like a crown. Yet here in Vassilus’ presence he was a simpering weed. His large, quivering nostrils flared like a spooked stallion.

Pheres sneered at Hunter. "Look at you, no medallion around your scrawny neck. You're a disgrace. Give yourself over to the guards, urchin."

Dimus nodded in agreement. “Young master Pheres is right. This wretch is bound in servitude to the cemetery groundsman Nicander on Death Island.”

Wearing a sharp smile, Vassilus turned on Dimus like a whip. "Shut up, man. If that is the case, it reflects badly on all of us that he made it this far."

"Shame, shame on this worthless piece of pond scum. Oh, most benevolent one, please grant this one permission to end his miserable existence before it taints your resplendent magnificence!" Dimus began to drop to his knees, ready to grovel.

Vassilus yanked Dimus upright. "You dare publicly grovel to me, and you'll be dead before you hit the ground. There will be no honorable sacrifice for you, you wretched scum. Do your duty here and speak only when spoken to."

Dimus bowed his head. “You are too kind.”

Vassilus turned his furious gaze onto Hunter. "A fraudster sneaking into our arena. Unbelievable."

Hunter, his defiance as sharp as a dagger, squared his shoulders. "I have every right to be here. I received my elemental affinity just like every other cultivator here during my childhood ceremony."

Vassilus shook his head, his sneer cutting through the air like a razor-sharp blade. "You're a poor liar. No medallion means you weren't at the ceremony."

"My cultivation medallion was sabotaged," Hunter retorted, his voice steady despite the rising tension. "The death cultists interrupted before I—"

The murmurs from the crowd grew louder, the spectators drawn into the unfolding drama. Vassilus raised a hand, commanding silence. "Patience, please. It seems we have an unexpected guest among us, a cultivator without a medallion."

From the stage, the priest approached Vassilus. Hunter's heart raced as he recognized him, Priest Helios. He was the same priest who had presided over his childhood ceremony. Priest Helios and Vassilus exchanged hushed words before both turned their eyes on Hunter.

Priest Helios regarded him with piercing eyes. "You mentioned a childhood ceremony sabotage. I remember it well; it became known as the Death Cult Incident." His eyes drifted up, as if searching for someone. "If it wasn't for General Eratos, many more would have died. I do recall his nephew being caught up in the chaos, resulting in his beast core medallion being corrupted. Are you claiming to be him?"

Hunter gave a sharp nod.

Priest Helios turned to Vassilus. "If he is who he claims, he had an Earth affinity awakened. Unfortunately, the fate of the Divine was against him."

"Oh, it had nothing to do with fate!" Hunter’s chest burned with rage as he followed Priest Helios' gaze to his uncle straight across the arena. He scowled. It's easy to play the hero when you're the one responsible for setting the villains in motion.

"I will check my knowledge scroll; it contains records of all ceremonies," Priest Helios said, raising an eyebrow. "He is of the right age, and there is a record of him being found in servitude to Death Island. His uncle approaches; I'm sure he will confirm his identity."

Hunter turned his attention back to Vassilus and the priest.

"So sad!" Vassilus said, clasping his hands in front, resting them on his prosperous belly. "It's a cruel world for those not destined for greatness." His eyes seemed set to devour Hunter, like a hungry snake.

Hunter fixed him with a defiant glare. "It's in your hands, not the gods, fate, or destiny. I awakened my elemental affinity just like everyone else here, wishing to compete in the Trial of Worth. I might be the only one who hasn't broken through to the Refiner stage or have access to my status and cultivation scroll. That just makes me an underdog in the trial, not unworthy to compete."

Vassilus sneered, raising his chin. "I'm afraid it's not up to us. There are rules, my dear boy. If we make allowances for you, we must do the same for every unfortunate wretch who thinks they deserve a chance to impress the three gods who preside over the trials."

Hunter gritted his teeth at Vassilus. Then relaxed as he noticed a familiar figure holding a cane approach from his right. She marched along the line of young cultivators awaiting their chance in the trial. She came to a stop, flicking her long silver braid behind her as she took a stance opposite the head Magistratus.

Vassilus gave her a patronizing smile. "Are you lost? I'm sure I could help you find your way home after the ceremony."

She stomped her cane on the ground. "I'm not lost, but I heard you mention this boy doesn't have a cultivation medallion. If it's misplaced, there is another way for him to participate."

"And who might you be to lecture me on the rules?" Vassilus’ fist tightened by his side at the challenge.

"I am Mistress Arista, personal tutor to the Filo family that rules this city."

"How is it that I've never heard of you?" Vassilus asked, rubbing his jaw.

"I have been traveling for many years, offering my services where needed." She shot a disdainful look at Eratos as he pushed past Dimus to tower over Vassilus.

"Eratos, you haven't changed a bit," Mistress Arista said, inclining her head.

"And you have, Arista. Time hasn't been kind. Just like the mediocre cultivators in this city, you seem bottlenecked at the Founder stage. Not surprising, considering how much of your time is given to others."

She laughed, her braid jostling behind her. "You'll have to do better than that to insult me. It's been a long time since someone has chided me for my charity work. Enough about me; let's talk about this family reunion we're witnessing." She smiled warmly at Hunter. "Leocedes, how you've grown. I think not even your uncle recognizes you. He's been so busy with his affairs that he hasn't checked in on you, it would seem."

Eratos maintained a friendly smile, but his murderous aura churned just beneath the surface, barely held back. If they weren't in a public arena...

Hunter shuddered.

"You're right. I was so proud of my nephew, accepting his fate all these years. Now I'm surprised he would dare dishonor his family by turning up here without a medallion," Eratos said.

Arista tutted at him and wagged a finger as if he were an ignorant schoolboy who needed a lesson in manners. "You all judge him harshly without checking all the facts. Leocedes is correct; he is allowed to participate if he was given a family member's cultivation medallion after their passing."

Hunter recalled his childhood lesson. "I go by the name Hunter, and I claim the right through a second-chance advancement."

Vassilus' neck veins pulsed, and his jowls swelled and reddened like an overripe tomato. Hunter thought he would explode; the head magistratus was struggling to contain his rage at Hunter and Arista.

Regaining his composure, Vassilus spat out, “I still see no evidence of a cultivation medallion, be it yours or your parents…”

Hunter stood his ground, his finger raised. "One moment." With a swift movement, he produced the thin chain and medallion from his storage ring, its metal cool as it slid against his skin.

Dimus and Vassilus gasped in disbelief.

The priest stepped forward, examining it closely. He nodded and cleared his throat. "It is true. This is the cultivation medallion belonging to House Filo. We are in the presence of General Auberon and Magistratus Katina’s first-born son."

“I refuse to believe it." Vassilus snorted, his skepticism heavy in the air. "He looks no more trustworthy than a street urchin; he must have stolen it from his parent’s treasury."

Eratos shot a begrudging look at Hunter. “He did not steal it, but it does not belong to him. It should be returned to me, as I am the caretaker of his parent’s estate until Hunter reaches twenty-one years of age.”

Hunter's knuckles turned white as he clenched his fists.

You thought you could keep me down, but I’m going to prove you wrong.

Hunter’s voice was steel. “I only took what is rightfully mine,” he said, locking eyes with his uncle.

Priest Helios turned to Vassilus. “The medallion is authentic and displays Wind affinity. I checked my system records to verify that it belonged to a cultivator who has passed on to the great hall of their ancestors.” He turned to Hunter. “Condolences on the death of your loved one.”

Hunter bowed in thanks.

His uncle crossed his thick arms, eyes blazing with anger, fixated on Hunter. “While I believe it is a fool's errand that will probably get him killed, he may proceed with the Trial of Worth.” His words dripped with venom.

Priest Helios' gaze swept the crowd before he spoke again, his words measured and final. "It is confirmed. Hunter Filo is eligible to proceed in the Trial of Worth as he holds a cultivation medallion that will grant him a second-chance advancement."

The announcement rang out, echoing through the arena.

Vassilus growled at Hunter, his eyes promising doom. “Go stand with the other competitors and prepare yourself for the Trial of Worth, not that you’ll last long.”

Hunter stood tall, ignoring the mocking tone, ready to prove them all wrong.