Stephen slowly opened his eyes.
The faint light of dawn seeped through the edges of the blinds, painting thin golden lines across the floor. The night had passed without incident. He had spent the entire time cultivating, circulating qi steadily through his meridians, allowing the spiritual energy inside the dormitory to settle into his soul sea little by little.
He glanced toward the opposite bed.
It looked exactly the same as it had when he first entered the room.
Untouched.
So his roommate still hadn't arrived.
Stephen didn't dwell on it. If anything, having the room to himself for now was a good thing. Fewer disturbances meant more time to cultivate.
He stood up, walked to the window, and pulled the blinds aside.
Outside, the sky was just beginning to brighten. A pale glow spread over the distant mountain peaks, and a thin layer of mist drifted between the buildings of the dormitory district. The entire place felt quiet, almost solemn, as if the sect itself had not fully awakened yet.
After washing up and getting dressed, Stephen left the room and headed downstairs.
The cafeteria was located on the first floor of the building. Inside, several disciples were already eating in silence. The food was simple but filling, and the spiritual energy contained within the ingredients was noticeably richer than anything he had eaten outside the sect.
He finished his meal quickly and didn't linger.
Morning drills were mandatory.
Soon, he left the building and followed the flow of students toward the training grounds.
Though it was called a training ground, the place looked more like a massive open field.
When Stephen stepped through the entrance, his footsteps slowed without him realizing it.
The sheer size of the place was overwhelming.
The field stretched so far that the opposite end seemed slightly blurred in the morning haze. Even a few thousand people could stand here without feeling crowded, let alone the few hundred probationary disciples currently entering.
His eyes widened slightly.
"How is this even possible…" he muttered under his breath.
"You really are a country bumpkin, aren't you?"
The voice came from behind him, filled with open contempt.
Stephen turned his head slightly.
Wilson Thorn.
The son of the City Lord of Earth Mountain City walked past him with a faint sneer on his face.
"This place has been expanded with rune formations," Wilson said casually. "Space-folding arrays. They're used everywhere in the world. Don't tell me you've never seen one before."
As he spoke, he shoved past Stephen's shoulder rather roughly and continued forward as if nothing had happened.
Stephen frowned faintly but didn't react.
He already understood this type of person.
Arrogant, conceited, convinced that anyone outside their circle was beneath them. Arguing with such people would only create unnecessary trouble, and he had no interest in wasting energy on something meaningless.
He simply walked deeper into the field and found a spot to stand.
More and more disciples continued to arrive.
Time passed slowly.
After about an hour, nearly a thousand people had gathered, yet no one gave any instructions. No mentor, no instructor, no elder appeared.
The crowd remained standing in loose formation, waiting.
One hour became two.
Two became three.
By the time five hours had passed, the quiet discipline from earlier had completely faded.
Low murmurs spread through the field.
Some people sat down on the grass. Others complained openly. A few even started small conversations to pass the time.
Stephen remained where he was, his expression calm, but his eyes occasionally scanned the surroundings.
That was when a voice nearby caught his attention.
"…I'm telling you, my big sister said it herself," a young man was saying proudly. "She's already become a personal disciple of one of the high-ranking elders. What I know comes directly from her."
Several people around him immediately leaned closer.
Before he could continue, another voice cut in.
"If she really has such a high status, then why didn't you enter the inner sect directly?"
The tone was full of mockery.
Everyone turned.
Wilson Thorn stood there with his arms crossed, a faint smile on his face.
The valiant-looking young man sighed, clearly annoyed. He turned slightly away from the crowd and said lightly,
"If no one believes me, then what's the point of saying anything?"
At once, the expressions of the surrounding disciples changed.
They had been eager to hear information about the sect, and now their gazes toward Wilson turned hostile.
"If you don't want to listen, then leave," someone said coldly.
"Don't ruin it for everyone else."
Wilson's face darkened.
Rage and humiliation flashed across his eyes.
"Do you even know who I am? My father is a Half-step Emperor—"
"So what?"
The voice that interrupted him was calm, but it carried a pressure that made the surrounding air feel heavier.
A tall young man stepped forward.
He wore a simple white T-shirt and blue jeans, his appearance plain, but his posture straight and steady like a drawn sword.
"Where do you think this is?" he said evenly.
"A Half-step Emperor might be a powerhouse in your city, but here… pick anyone at random, and there's a good chance they're the descendant of a Saint or a Demigod."
The field grew quiet.
The young man continued,
"Do you think their clans can't train them themselves? Of course they can. But if they stay sheltered, they'll become trees that snap in the first strong wind. What the world needs are experts, not weaklings."
His eyes met Wilson's directly.
"So if you think you're too high and mighty to stand with the rest of us, then leave. Otherwise, know your place and keep quiet."
A faint pause.
"And if you want revenge… remember the name, Jason Cromwell."
A ripple went through the crowd.
"You can come for me anytime," he said calmly. "If I lose, my life is yours. I swear on my family name. No one will interfere."
Wilson, who had been gathering power a moment ago, suddenly froze.
His face turned pale.
"You… you're Jason…? That Jason? The heir of the Cromwell Ancient Clan… the grandson of Mason Cromwell… the Blood Tiger God…?"
A collective gasp spread through the crowd.
The title alone was enough.
The Blood Tiger God was a legend from the first Rift War, one of the warriors who fought against the earliest beast armies. It was said that the number of monsters he killed had been so great that rivers of blood had flowed across the battlefield, earning him that terrifying name.
And the Cromwell family… was known for producing nothing but warriors.
Wilson's legs trembled, and he nearly collapsed to the ground, all arrogance gone.
Jason didn't even look at him anymore.
He simply turned toward the young man from earlier and gave a small nod.
"You may continue."
Then he sat down cross-legged on the ground as if nothing had happened.
His calm attitude made several others in the crowd exchange faint nods. Clearly, there were quite a few people here who disliked relying on their family names to bully others.
Encouraged, the young man cleared his throat and continued.
"Within the sect, instructors mainly teach cultural subjects and foundational knowledge. Those who train disciples in combat are called mentors."
"The sect's goal is to raise elites for the Federation and Parliament. Because of that, besides martial training, we also study history, military strategy, national policy, diplomacy… even rituals and music."
Murmurs spread again, but this time with interest instead of impatience.
"Alchemy, forging, medicine, beast taming, and cultivation theory are also taught. But for probationary disciples, the main focus is sword cultivation and body refinement. Only after entering the inner sect do the other paths open fully."
He paused before finishing.
"And during the final promotion assessment… martial strength is still the most important."
Not long after, the scattered crowd gradually formed proper lines across the vast field.
Nearly a thousand probationary disciples stood in disciplined formation, facing forward in silence.
The morning mist had completely faded.
The empty training ground felt even larger now.
Everyone waited.
Holding their breath.
Awaiting the arrival of the mentors.