The next morning, before the sun had even risen past the mountain ridges, Zhen Wuji was dragged from his quarters.
Two iron-robed law enforcers of the Three-Scars Sect flanked him, their grip like iron vices on his arms. One of them sneered as they walked.
"Bold enough to cripple a Red Fang enforcer? You must be tired of breathing."
They didn't beat him—not yet. Formal punishment was handled by the sect's Punishment Hall, and while cruelty was common, protocol mattered. Especially with so many inner disciples beginning to take interest in him.
Wuji remained silent as they led him through the twisting paths of the sect, past towering cliffs, stone staircases, and blood-red banners waving in the mountain wind.
Eventually, they reached the Punishment Grounds—a sunken ring of black rock behind the main hall, where elders watched from above and pain was dealt below.
Disciples gathered in the stands.
Outer disciples hungry for gossip. Inner disciples coldly curious. And standing near the center platform, arms crossed and robes fluttering in the wind, was Lu Qing himself.
His gaze sharpened when he saw Wuji, and the corners of his mouth twitched upward.
"So this is the rat who broke Ma Hong's arm," he said.
He stepped forward. His Qi was thick, steady. A mid-stage Qi Condensation realm, one step from Core Vein Opening.
"Do you know what the rules say about crippling fellow disciples?" he asked.
"I didn't cripple them. I defended myself," Wuji replied.
Lu Qing smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes.
"They were collecting tribute. That's how the sect works. You don't like it? Then get stronger. Or shut up and pay."
A horn blew once. A tall, thin elder descended from the spectator stands and landed silently on the platform. His gray beard brushed his chest, and his eyes were devoid of warmth.
Elder Bai, a law enforcer known for his ruthlessness.
"Zhen Wuji," he said, voice carrying through the arena. "You assaulted three fellow disciples and disrespected the sect's structure. Do you have anything to say before punishment is passed?"
Wuji looked up at him.
"I only follow the sect rules. The Red Fang are not law. If I am to be punished for defending myself, so be it. But I will not kneel."
A low murmur swept the spectators.
Elder Bai's eyes narrowed. "Arrogant. You think courage can replace obedience?"
He raised a hand.
"Zhen Wuji is sentenced to three days at the Pillar of Thorns."
Gasps echoed across the stands.
Even Lu Qing's eyes flickered.
The Pillar of Thorns was no ordinary punishment—it was reserved for disciples who needed to be broken.
A stone pillar, surrounded by a formation of sharp, spirit-infused barbs. It drained Qi, pierced flesh, and left even hardened cultivators whimpering by the first night.
The message was clear: Break, or crawl away forgotten.
Two law enforcers dragged Wuji toward the pillar.
They chained his arms behind his back and hoisted him onto the circular platform.
From the ground, hundreds of steel thorns rose, twisting like serpents. Each point gleamed with spirit light.
The formation activated.
With a flash of red light, Wuji's body was suspended mid-air and then violently slammed down onto the bed of thorns.
His body struck the spikes with a wet crunch.
Pain flared. Dozens of points pierced into his arms, legs, back, and shoulders. Blood spilled down the black stone. But Wuji didn't scream.
The crowd held its breath.
The elder gave a nod and turned to leave.
The first hour passed.
Every breath was agony. Every shift pressed his flesh deeper into the barbs.
He grit his teeth.
He welcomed the pain.
This... was training.
The [Heaven-Crushing Titan Body Scripture] was clear. Only under immense pressure—only when the body was at the edge of collapse—could the next engraving awaken.
And here, in this bed of thorns, with pain searing through every nerve—
The Third Engraving began to form.
He focused inward.
He felt the pressure squeezing his bones, the pain grinding against his marrow. His internal organs pulsed slowly, resisting collapse. Veins flowed like lava.
Steel Bone Echo Pulse.
The engraving emerged from the second—Stone-Skin Pulse—and refined it further. Not only could he resist spiritual attacks; now, even physical force became muted. His bones began to echo energy, dispersing shockwaves outward.
The pain became a catalyst.
He breathed slowly.
In.
Out.
Blood streamed down.
But his body evolved.
By nightfall, the onlookers had left.
Only a few disciples remained—among them a quiet girl in plain robes, standing at the edge of the formation. She held a small pouch of herbs in her hands but made no move to speak.
Her name was Ling Xue, a low-ranked outer disciple assigned to the herb garden.
She had seen him weeks ago, lifting boulders near the freezing river when everyone else trained with spirit arrays. He hadn't spoken to her—but something about his defiance had rooted itself in her heart.
Now, she watched silently, heart aching.
Wuji's lips were pale. His eyes burned with silent fury.
But he had not screamed. Not once.
She placed the herbs near the edge of the formation and slipped away into the night.
By the dawn of the third day, Wuji's body was nearly at its limit.
He had lost too much blood.
The thorns had begun to gnaw deeper, now pulsing with spiritual backlash meant to break the mind.
But his mind did not break.
The Titan does not bow.
A mantra burned through his consciousness.
He remembered the cold nights in Dustfall Village.
The hunger.
The despair.
The way others looked down on him, discarded him like ash in the wind.
No.
He would not break.
Suddenly, deep within his core, something shifted.
A new pulse.
Not Qi. Not soul.
Will.
It was faint—just a flicker.
But it existed.
Even before he truly cultivated Will, even before the [Unyielding Heaven-Slaying Will Sutra] awakened, this was the seed.
Born from pain. Tempered in silence.
A voice echoed within him—not spoken, not conscious.
You are not meant to follow.
You are meant to stand.
When the third day ended, Elder Bai returned with several disciples.
He looked up at the pillar and narrowed his eyes.
Wuji was still conscious.
Still breathing.
And smiling.
The elder's gaze darkened.
"Release him."
The formation deactivated. Wuji's body dropped from the thorns, falling to the stone floor in a heap.
The disciples stepped back, expecting him to groan, to collapse.
Instead, Wuji stood.
Unsteady, but upright.
Blood covered him, but his spine was straight. His eyes were burning coals.
"I've served my punishment," he said hoarsely. "Am I dismissed, elder?"
Bai said nothing for a long time. Then he nodded.
"You may go."
Word spread like wildfire.
Zhen Wuji survived the Pillar of Thorns.
No Qi techniques. No pills. No talismans.
Just raw flesh, bone, and will.
He became a legend overnight.
Some feared him.
Some admired him.
And others… began to plot