The chamber was silent.
The crystal orb on the altar pulsed gently, its light washing the room in a pale blue hue. The second scroll lay beside it—untouched, unread, waiting.
Luo Yun reached for the orb.
The moment his fingers brushed the surface, everything shattered.
The stone beneath his feet vanished.
The walls dissolved like mist.
The world around him turned to black.
Then—light.
He opened his eyes and found himself standing in the middle of Gu Peak Village.
But it was… wrong.
Too quiet.
Too clean.
Too perfect.
He walked past familiar huts. He saw villagers—faces he knew—but none looked at him. None spoke. They moved slowly, repeating the same motions: chopping wood, stirring pots, carrying baskets, all without expression.
Like puppets.
Then he saw himself.
A younger Luo Yun, carrying a bundle of sticks, eyes downcast, shoulders hunched. Behind him, the usual group of bullies laughed and jeered, shoving him into the dirt.
Just like before.
But now, he was watching it from the outside.
"An illusion," he thought.
"It's testing me."
He tried to move away—but the scene shifted.
Now he was inside the old shack, holding the broken knife he'd once used to fight the Shadow Wolf. His hands were trembling. Blood ran down his arm.
And a voice whispered in the darkness:
"Why did you come this far?"
"You could've stayed quiet. Obedient. Alive."
"You don't belong in the world of cultivators."
He turned—and saw himself again.
This time, older.
Harder.
Eyes colder.
A version of himself that radiated power—but no emotion.
"This is what you'll become," the voice said.
"A blade. Nothing more."
Luo Yun clenched his fists.
"I choose who I become," he said aloud.
The illusion wavered—but didn't break.
Instead, it shifted again.
He now stood in a grand hall, high above clouds. Dozens of cultivators knelt before him. Mountains bowed in the distance.
At the center was a throne.
His throne.
He wore black robes of power. Spirit energy crackled around him.
A man approached—Old Wei.
"Congratulations," he said. "You've surpassed everyone. Your power is unmatched."
"Everyone who stood in your way is gone."
Behind him… corpses.
The woman with the curved blade.
The dying cultivator from the market.
Even the young version of himself.
"Isn't this what you wanted?" the voice whispered again.
"Strength. Fear. Control.
No more suffering.
No more weakness.
No more loss."
"All it costs… is everything else."
Luo Yun stood in silence.
He looked down at his hands.
They were soaked in blood.
He looked at the throne.
At the corpses.
At the power.
Then he turned away.
"No," he whispered.
"I didn't come here to rule.
I didn't fight to become a monster.
I fight… because I refuse to stay broken.
I fight… because I want to live without crawling."
"If I lose myself, then all this… is meaningless."
The throne cracked.
The corpses vanished.
The light returned.
Luo Yun opened his eyes.
He was back in the chamber.
His clothes were drenched in sweat. His heart pounded.
But the orb was glowing warmly now—its trial complete.
Beside it, the second scroll had unfurled on its own.
Words flowed across the ancient paper like ink blooming in water.
Moonshadow Step – Illusionary Movement Art
A high-tier technique that allows the user to blur their form between moments, stepping like a shadow between strikes. Born from a cultivator who survived a hundred ambushes… and never left a trace.
Luo Yun touched the scroll.
Power hummed beneath his fingertips—not brute force, but precision, timing, and perception.
"Not all strength lies in the fist," he thought. "Some lies in when you move—and when you don't."
But the silence didn't last.
A distant rumble echoed through the walls.
The first chamber… had been breached.
They were coming.
Cultivators who wanted what he had.
Who hadn't earned it.
Who didn't care what it cost.
The woman appeared again, eyes narrowed.
"They broke the seal. We're out of time."
Luo Yun stood, scroll in hand, breath steady.
"Then we go to the next gate," he said.
"Before they reach us."
She looked at him for a moment, then nodded.
They disappeared into the shadows—two among many—but different from all the rest.
Because they had passed more than a test of strength.
They had faced themselves.
And chosen who they wanted to be.