The elder in red robes coughed lightly.
The sound was soft, yet it shattered the suffocating silence that blanketed the arena.
"Let the ceremony begin," he said calmly. "The seniors present have other matters to attend to afterwards ."
He gestured for his companion to stop when the latter opened his mouth, then turned his attention back to the gathered students.
"The ceremony consists of two trials," he continued. "The first will test the firmness of your resolve."
His gaze hardened.
"Those with weak hearts will not walk far. At best, they will be useless. At worst, they will become liabilities."
He raised his hand and pointed toward the staircase formed entirely of runes, now stretching upward until it vanished into the clouds.
"You will climb the steps together."
With a casual wave, the wooden box held by the other elder floated upward and disappeared. It reappeared high above the staircase, its lid flipping open.
Instantly, a fingernail-sized scale, black as night, manifested before every participant.
Crimson mist began to seep out.
It spread across the staircase, thin and nearly transparent at the lowest steps, but growing steadily thicker the higher it rose. Near the top, it churned like a sea of blood.
The elder spoke again.
"This is a scale from a Black Dragon slain by one of the academy's ancestors. It tests the heart."
His voice carried no warmth.
"The weak will be expelled by the array. The strong may advance."
He paused.
"But heed this warning. Do not force yourselves blindly. Push too far, and your dao heart may shatter. You will become a cripple, forever unable to cultivate."
A flicker of menace entered his eyes.
"Worse still, the murderous intent within the crimson mist may demonize you."
Then, almost as an afterthought, he added, "You are still young. Even if you are not chosen today, do not despair."
He waved his hand.
"Begin."
The ceremony officially started.
Each step was wide enough for ten people to ascend side by side. The moment the signal was given, the disciples surged forward.
The first step felt normal.
The second brought pressure.
At first, it was like carrying a stone on one's back. By the eleventh step, it became a heavy rock. By the twenty-second, a small boulder.
The weight increased relentlessly.
Illusions began to form. Whispers crept into their minds. Shadows danced at the edges of vision.
Yet their eyes burned with determination.
This was only the first trial.
The second still awaited.
Half an hour passed.
By then, nearly a hundred participants had been eliminated. Those unable to continue were thrown from the staircase by the array itself, caught midair by overseeing elders, and immediately given healing medicine.
This trial served two purposes.
To temper the heart.
And to test the foundation.
Just as a towering structure required a firm base, so too did cultivation demand stability. Without it, ascension was meaningless.
Then disaster struck.
A participant stalled at the thirtieth step.
He strained, muscles trembling, veins bulging as he forced himself upward.
His eyes turned red.
Blood began seeping from his pores.
A qi imbalance.
The elders shook their heads.
One sighed softly. "His dao heart has shattered. He's finished."
Physical injuries could be healed. Limbs regrown. But a broken dao heart was incurable.
The overseeing elder raised a finger.
A silver bolt of lightning shot forth and pierced the young man's forehead.
He died instantly.
No one protested.
After a brief moment of silence, the trial continued.
By the time the first phase neared its end, only a few dozen participants remained on the staircase out of several hundred.
Lyra was among them.
She stood on the seventieth step, her body trembling slightly, but her eyes were clear and unwavering. Each step she took was steady, deliberate.
The elders watching nodded in approval.
The minimum requirement to pass the first stage was seventy-five steps.
Those who surpassed it would have a far higher chance of being accepted as direct disciples, rather than merely assigned to departments by delegated selectors.
The hour allotted for the test was nearly over.
Ten minutes remained.
By the end, nearly half of the original five hundred had been eliminated.
When the time expired, the remaining participants were instructed to move to the side of the arena and rest for half an hour before the second trial began.
The elder in red robes lifted his hand once more.
The Black Dragon scale descended into the wooden box. The lid closed with a soft click.
The rune-formed staircase dissolved, its energy sinking back into the arena floor.
Lyra had reached the ninety-first step.
William stood at the ninetieth, half a step behind her when the time ran out.
Most of the remaining participants averaged around the eightieth step.
The elders exchanged low murmurs, nodding in clear satisfaction.
"This year's batch is exceptional," one remarked quietly.
Indeed, though this ceremony was framed as a disciple selection, its true purpose was far deeper.
It was to identify future powerhouses.
Resources alone could not forge one.
Only an unyielding heart and an unshakable foundation could.
That was why the Federation forbade pill consumption before the Grandmaster Realm.
Strength built too quickly always collapsed in the end.
As the candidates rested beneath the rising sun, the second trial loomed.
And with it, the true dividing line between talent and destiny.