Kalzara
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Chapter 41: The Trial Of Will
🕑 Added 2023-11-07 01:53:30 +0000 UTC“The trial will now begin!”
With that, the formations on the ground came to life, releasing a blue hue. The participants felt a wave of exhaustion sweep over them, causing their limbs to feel like jelly and their eyelids to droop as they slowly succumbed to unconsciousness.
Within the illusionary realm, a lone mountain rose from the ground, its peak, covered in mist, reached the heavens. As the mist cleared, figures began appearing at the foot of the mountain, each disoriented and surveying their surroundings.
William blinked rapidly, adjusting to the sudden change. He looked down at himself, flexing his fingers and moving his limbs. "It feels so... real. Almost like my very body has been transported here," he murmured. Lifting his gaze, he assessed the mountain ahead and the participants materializing next to him. Not wanting to lag behind, and seeing a few already starting, he took a step forward.
With every step, an increasing weight pressed down on him. Observing those around him, William noticed some participants collapsing, unable to withstand the pressure. He sneered, "Weaklings."
As Dusty appeared in the illusionary realm, he took one glance at the towering mountain and felt his knees buckle. "They can't expect us to scale that monstrosity," he stuttered, his hand self-consciously patting the rolls of fat on his belly. "Look at me! I'll drop dead before I even get halfway."
Nomed, who appeared beside him, laughed, clapping Dusty on the back. "My friend, you could weigh as much as ten oxen, but that won't affect your climb," he said, grinning. "Remember, it's not the flesh that's tested here—it's the spirit, the willpower."
Dusty grumbled, "Well, if they wanted to test my willpower, they should have just checked how many pies I could eat in one sitting. Sounds a lot safer to me. I mean, a pie never hurt anyone."
Meanwhile, in the void realm, Slifer, ever vigilant for lurking void beasts, sneezed unexpectedly. He instantly froze, his senses alert for any movement. When none came, he relaxed slightly but couldn't help but think, Why would I sneeze? It's not like cultivators catch colds.
Back in the illusionary realm, Nomed shook his head. "Get moving, or you'll have to explain yourself to Grandma Sully if you're sent back." Dusty visibly paled; Grandma Sully's idea of punishment was a strict regimen of fasting, which to him was crueler than any physical torment.
Nomed took a step forward, immediately feeling a whisper of pressure, like the touch of a feather. He would have missed it if he hadn't been braced for some form of resistance.
Dusty, however, instantly turned red as his breaths came in short bursts. "It… feels like… I'm lugging Grandma… Sully on my… back again!"
He cast a sideways glance at Nomed and the other slender participants who moved with ease, catching his breath, he continued. "I tell ya, this is unfair. Clearly, this blasted mountain has something against us... us heavyweights!" Dusty huffed.
***
Back in the pagoda, Grand Elder Wyatt causally waved his hand causing water to coalesce out of thin air, swirling until it formed into a thousand distinct screens that hovered in the air before them. Each one captured the image of a different participant as they faced the mountain's challenge.
As a cultivator's power grew, so too does their ability to multitask. For those in the Core Formation realm, watching over thousands of such screens with their spiritual sense was a trivial matter. But for these Grand Elders, who had entered the Origin Realm, such a feat was not even worth mentioning.
"The clans have indeed sent their finest," Wyatt commented. His eyes paused on one particular screen, where a young man progressed steadily. "Raze of the Rizarian Clan—not only defeated the heirs of both Quorvex and Zion in a single battle but crippled them."
Elder Tenzin, standing beside him, watched the screen with interest. "He has certainly earned his place as the prime seed."
When recruiting disciples, the sect relied on a seed system that ranked potential disciples based on talent and background. Though the brief screening was not infallible, years of refinement had honed the system to a point where its estimations were not too far off the mark.
Grand Elder Darius watched the images before him, a glint of approval in his eyes. "This Rizarian boy would serve well within my Disciplinary Hall," he remarked with a confident nod, eyeing his fellow elders for any sign of contest but seeing none, a smug smile appeared on his face.
"The next three seeds hail from the Jexlarin Clan," Grand Elder Wyatt's voice cut through the silence, drawing attention once again to the screens. "Bryce, Caelin, and Dara.”
Grand Elder Lydia's expression tightened slightly. "And what of the other clans within Kaizer city?" she asked.
"It's the Jexlarin Clan," Grand Elder Tenzin interjected smoothly. "They've been expanding, pouring resources into their youth. They have ambition, the other clans have not been able to keep up."
Wyatt gave a nod of acknowledgment. “In a few generations, we may well speak of Jexlarin City, not Kaizer."
Lydia's frown deepened at this. The Wizeron Clan's talents in healing was unmatched. It is unsettling that we see no new talents from them of late.
As they discussed, Grand Elder Wyatt's gaze drifted to another screen. The image of a topless muscular young man appeared on it, his eyes sparked with occasional flashes of bright yellow. "Ivor of the Zyrklon Clan," he muttered.
Grand Elder Darius leaned forward, interest piqued. "Is he the one descended from the Thunder Eagle?"
"Indeed," Wyatt confirmed. The Zyrklon Clan's bloodline usually runs thin, but this... "Every few centuries, a Zyrklon with a decent bloodline emerges. Ivor's soul shows signs of the Thunder Eagle—signs that are far stronger than any we've seen in a millennium."
Grand Elder Darius eyed the image of Ivor keenly. "Hmm, this scion of Zyrklon also seems a worthy candidate for my Disciplinary Hall," he declared. The other Grand Elders said nothing, their silence an accustomed response to Darius's assertive nature.
With a deliberate cough, Grand Elder Wyatt shifted the attention to another screen. A young man appeared, radiating arrogance as he walked up the mountain, the youth frequently glanced back with a smirk plastered across his face, as if to mock those behind him. "This is the young master of the Wick Clan, William," Wyatt announced in a neutral tone.
The gathered elders remained unimpressed, having seen too many like him—proud due to their lineage, yet insignificant without it. Young masters like him often crumble without the support of their clans, they thought collectively, their eyes scanning past William's image indifferently.
"It appears the trial has truly begun," Grand Elder Tenzin observed, gesturing towards the screens. The images now showed several participants brought to their knees, others sprawled on the ground, their wills broken by the mountain's base. As their souls flickered back to the physical realm, a scornful scoff escaped Darius.
"What weaklings," he sneered with a dismissive wave of his hand. "What has our Demonic Sect become? Afraid of a few casualties?" He shook his head in disdain at the use of an illusionary realm. In my days, hundreds such as these would be crushed by the trial—boulders would smash them, falls would claim them. They wouldn't return, at least not whole.
Grand Elder Wyatt shook his head slightly, his beliefs aligning more with the Sect Master's progressive vision. "A sect without rules, even a demonic one, is doomed to implode," he muttered quietly to himself.
***
William was already halfway up the mountain, he was breathing heavily, more from the exertion than he would care to admit. This is more challenging than I expected, he acknowledged internally, wiping sweat from his brow. It was crucial that he not only avoid falling behind but also that he do so with the grace expected of a Wick.
He sneered as he glanced back and saw the bulky figure who had stumbled into him at the start of the trial. The overweight man was panting, his hands on his knees in a pitiful attempt to catch his breath. Struggling so soon? Pathetic, William thought in contempt.
His gaze then shifted to the other villager, the companion of the stout man. To his surprise, the villager was making decent progress, closer to the middle than the base of the mountain. Impressive for a commoner, I suppose, William mused, but still laughable compared to a noble like myself.
William then scanned the path ahead, as expected, the young master of the Rizarian Clan, Raze, was at the forefront with the three prodigies of the Jexlarin Clan at his heels. Yet, William's expression turned to one of disbelief as he witnessed a white-robed youth overtake them like he was taking a stroll in the park. T-this can’t be, is he somehow cheating? William pondered with a scowl. How could an unknown possibly surpass the young masters?
The white-robed male known as Kalin had no interest in the Black Rose Sect under normal circumstances; he was not a demonic cultivator, and the sect offered nothing he could not obtain from his own clan. His sole motivation for infiltrating this event was the chance to observe a sword cultivator rumored to have reached the Sword Will stage—an achievement exceedingly rare in the mortal world. Even immortals struggle to grasp such a state, he thought, his curiosity piqued. Perhaps there is something I can learn from a mortal realm cultivator.
As Kalin continued walking, he overheard the grumblings of a participant behind him but paid them no mind.
"That white-robed guy... He just overtook Raze. Who is he?" the puzzled voice questioned.
"He's not even sweating," another murmured to a fellow participant nearby. "You don't think he's..."
The other shook his head, "Who can say? But if he's cheating, the elders will surely catch him."
Every now and then, Kalin's hand occasionally brushed against the hilt of his sword and his eyes narrowed. Let's see if this Sword Will stage cultivator is worth my time.
***
"Who is that boy?" Grand Elder Lydia's voice cut through the silence, her finger pointing to a screen showcasing a white-robed youth overtaking the supposed first seed.
Wyatt's brow creased as he extended his spiritual sense to sift through countless jade slips, murmuring, "I do not know him." His eyes narrowed—somehow, the young man had bypassed their meticulous screening.
"How dare this boy infiltrate our sect!" Grand Elder Darius boomed, his face flushing with anger as he rose from his seat, his hands clenched.
"No, let him be," Wyatt interjected firmly, gesturing for Darius to sit. "Let's watch how this unfolds."
An imposter would be revealed by the formations, he reasoned. Unless this boy is an immortal, he cannot hide his true soul from us.
Though displeased, Darius resumed his seat, acknowledging Wyatt's crafty mind with a begrudging nod. Discipline and punishment are my realms, Wyatt knows the subtler arts of control.
Tenzin's gaze, meanwhile, narrowed on the young man's weapon. "A sword cultivator," he whispered. In the illusionary realm, personal weapons did not manifest, but a sword cultivator's blade in the higher realms was an extension of their very soul, inseparable even in illusion.
Grand Elder Darius's frown deepened at the sight of the sword. Sword cultivators... too stern, too inflexible, he thought distastefully. And demonic sword cultivators were even worse in his eyes—often they would lose their minds to the very blades they wielded. Both types did little more than sour his mood.
While the attention of the Grand Elders was split between the young masters and the white-robed male, a humble-looking figure and his pudgy companion were largely ignored. Among the sea of participants that were struggling up the mountain, they were just two more faces.
***
Nomed slowly trudged up the mountain, a sigh escaping him. The trial before him was laughably simple; he could hardly believe it was designed to test one's willpower. Is there a flaw in the formation? He wondered, his gaze sweeping over his fellow participants. They were drenched in sweat, their breaths coming in ragged gasps, while he felt as if he were out for a leisurely stroll.
Stand out too much, and you invite trouble. Fade too much into the background, and you become prey. He reminded himself, feigning a pained expression as he pretended to labor over the next step.
Being average is an art in itself. Nomed found this performance—the act of pretending to be an ordinary cultivator amidst the sea of struggling bodies—far more taxing than the trial itself.
His gaze swept the mountain path, taking note of those who were ahead and those who trailed behind, calculating his pace to fall squarely in the middle. The idea of catching an elder's attention was the last thing he wanted. Keep it average, keep it safe, he thought.
Glancing back, he caught sight of Dusty, his friend's legs wobbling, his resolve clearly faltering as he paused for another break. Come on, Dusty. You can't stop now. He couldn't help but want Dusty to succeed.
"Oi, Dusty!" Nomed called out. "If you linger any longer, the mountain might mistake you for a new peak!"
A ripple of laughter spread through the nearby climbers, and Dusty's face broke into a weary grin. With a renewed spark, he pushed off his knees and resumed his climb, Nomed giving him the nudge he needed.
"Huh, don’t underestimate me, I'll race you to the top, and the last one there owes the other a meal!" Dusty hollered back.
Of course, it’d be a meal, Nomed let out a genuine smile, even as he continued his charade. Just make sure you're not last, my friend.
***
Grand Elder Wyatt's fingers ran through his long goatee, his gaze fixed on the white-robed youth on the screen. Impressive... to enter undetected is no small feat, he thought, his curiosity piqued more by the boy's cunning than his leading position.
Next to him, Grand Elder Darius had his eyes shut, a picture of disinterest. He only occasionally sent out his spiritual sense, sweeping the mountain for a certain presence. Where is Slifer hiding? he pondered, itching for the moment he could overshadow the so-called Supreme Elder.
On another side, Grand Elder Tenzin's eyes moved meticulously, tracking the three talents from the Jexlarin Clan. He nodded slightly, acknowledging their prowess. The clan patriarch's 'donation' might have been unnecessary after all, he mused.
Grand Elder Lydia, on the other hand, barely concealed her lack of interest. Healers... only they are the true jewels in this mundane lot. Her mind was already leaping ahead to the Trial of Comprehension, eager to find those that were worthy of her guidance.
Their silent assessments were abruptly disturbed by the unexpected arrival of Morvran and his entourage. The cultivators on their swords landed with an inelegant thud on the pagoda.
Morvran lowered his head. "Esteemed Grand Elders," he greeted respectfully, followed by the nods of Amelia, Fenlock, and Hughie. Even little Val tried mimicking the gesture.
Seeing Slifer’s disciples arrive without their master, Darius' features contorted into a scowl, his aura flaring like a storm cloud on the horizon. The pressure it exerted was palpable, heavy as the weight of the very earth.
"Where. Is. Your. Master?" he growled.
Author's Note
Who is Slifer's next disciple, comment down below!
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Comments
Francisco Javier Ortega Tejada
Nomed seems like the typical MC, so is the obvious option, but knowing Sly, probably too much trouble, he will try to get one with good luck, maybe the fatty.
