The morning of the Inter-Sect Tournament preliminaries arrived with a palpable tension that coated the entire tower. The Grand Arena, a massive coliseum carved from the mountain's heart, was already teeming with life. Banners representing the various sects and divisions fluttered in the phantom drafts: the stark, silver crane of the Golden Veins; the swirling mist of the Illusion Division; the crossed blades of the Sword Hall; and, tucked away in a corner, a single, humble banner bearing the bubbling beaker and retort of the Alchemy Division.
Bu He stood with his team near their banner, a silent island in a sea of nervous energy. In the weeks since the revelation of his Dark Ascension, their isolation had only deepened. He could feel the stares—a mixture of fear, contempt, and a disturbing amount of clinical curiosity. He was the Heretic, the monster forged in the Mad Alchemist's lab.
Elder Bao, for once, was uncharacteristically serene. He adjusted his spectacles, which were miraculously clean for a change. "Forget the noise," he advised, his voice low. "Forget the stares. Today, your body will do the talking. Let it scream."
The Head Instructor appeared on the central dais, and a hush fell over the arena. "The preliminaries begin!" he announced. "Your journey to represent the tower in the pocket dimension begins with three trials. The Trial of Foundation! The Trial of Endurance! And the Trial of Combat! Only those who pass all three will proceed. Let the Trial of Foundation commence!"
The first trial was a measure of raw potential. Each participant was to present the purest, most potent alchemical or spiritual material they had gathered. It was a show of resources and diligence. One by one, disciples stepped forward. A Golden Vein youth, brimming with confidence, presented a flawless, fist-sized Qi Crystal that shone with a light so pure it was hard to look at, earning thunderous applause. Ci Ying presented a "Flame-Heart" ember that burned with a steady, orange glow, earning appreciative nods from the Fire Path masters.
When Bu He's turn came, the arena grew quiet. He walked to the dais and from a simple cloth pouch, he produced the crystal he had found in the deepest part of the mines—the one he had almost consumed. It wasn't large, nor did it shine with a pure light. Instead, the Blood-Heart Crystal pulsed with a deep, unsettling crimson glow, like a living, beating heart. The air around it grew heavy, and those closest felt a primal thrum in their own veins. The elders on the dais leaned forward, their faces a mixture of shock and unease.
"Such… such a primal Leyna signature," one whispered. "It feels ancient… and hungry."
Bu He passed the first trial, leaving a wake of confusion and apprehension.
"Let the Trial of Endurance begin!" the Head Instructor commanded.
This was the infamous "Gauntlet of Judgment." Participants had to withstand one hundred consecutive blows from a row of heavy, alchemically-powered puppets. It was a brutal test of defensive Qi and physical resilience.
The first few disciples who tried were thrown from the platform after a dozen blows, their Qi shields shattering. Xue Feng, the Golden Vein leader, managed to endure seventy strikes before his golden aura flickered and he was forced to yield, his pride stung.
Then, it was Bu He's turn. He took his place at the start of the gauntlet, the row of menacing puppets waiting. He took a slow, deep breath, not of air, but of the familiar agony in his core.
The first puppet struck. WHAM! The impact was like being hit by a battering ram. The pain was blinding, white-hot. But beneath the pain, Bu He felt the tell-tale flicker of his Dark Ascension. He channeled the shockwave of the blow, feeding it to the crimson core in his chest.
The second blow. The third. He stopped trying to brace himself. He began to welcome it. His Leyna Breath became a steady rhythm, inhaling the agony, exhaling the weakness. A faint, crimson vapor began to steam from his skin. The crowd, which had been expecting him to be pulverized, fell silent.
By the fiftieth blow, something had changed. His skin, at the point of each impact, now glowed with a brief, defiant red light. The sound of the blows changed from a wet, meaty thud to a hard, resonant clang, as if the puppets were striking iron. He wasn't just enduring; he was tempering.
By the ninetieth blow, he was grinning, a terrifying, bloody smile on his face. The pain was still there, but it was a distant storm. In its place was a feeling of pure, unadulterated power. When the one-hundredth blow struck, he didn't even flinch. He stood tall, his body thrumming with absorbed energy, the crimson vapor around him swirling like a cloak.
The arena was utterly silent. Even Elder Bao's manic grin had been replaced by a look of profound awe.
"Proceed to the Trial of Combat," the Head Instructor said, his voice strained.
Bu He's final opponent in the preliminaries was one of Xue Feng's closest allies, a Silver Vein disciple known for his lightning-fast sword style. The disciple, seeing the monstrous resilience of his opponent, knew a battle of attrition was useless. He had to end it quickly.
He attacked, his sword a blur of silver, aiming for Bu He's joints and vital points. Bu He, his senses sharpened by the ordeal, moved with a grounded, brutal grace. His body was now a shield, and he parried the sword strikes not with a weapon, but with his forearms, sparks flying as if steel were striking steel.
Frustrated, the disciple leaped back and gathered his energy. "Taste the fury of my Qi! Sky-Piercing Blade!" he screamed, thrusting his sword forward. A brilliant beam of Qi energy shot towards Bu He.
Bao tensed. Ci Ying cried out. But Bu He did not move. He met the beam head-on. The energy washed over him, tearing at his skin, but as it did, his Blood Core roared to life. He felt the familiar, ecstatic surge of the Dark Ascension. The energy wasn't just hurting him; he was metabolizing it. His eyes flashed a brilliant, predatory red.
Before the disciple could comprehend what had happened, Bu He closed the distance. The fight ended with a single, devastating punch that shattered the disciple's Qi-infused sword and the protective aura around him, sending him hurtling from the arena to land in a heap at the feet of a horrified Xue Feng.
Bu He stood alone in the center of the platform, his fists clenched, the crimson vapor slowly receding. He had won. He had passed the trials. But as he looked out at the sea of silent, fearful faces, he knew he hadn't earned their admiration. He had earned their fear. And in the world of the tower, fear was just another word for a target.