A pale veil of dawn mist covered the Outer Hall examination grounds.
Before sunrise, the summoning bell had tolled three times—slow, deliberate, impossible to ignore.
By the time the first golden light touched the stone arena, nearly a thousand Outer Hall disciples stood assembled.
The arena was vast.
Dozens of circular stone platforms were embedded across the field, each carved with ancient formation arrays. Faint light pulsed along their edges like restrained power waiting to awaken.
No one spoke loudly.
This was not routine sparring.
This was selection.
High above, carved into the cliffside, the Observation Terrace overlooked everything.
Outer Hall instructors stood in disciplined lines.
And at the center—an Inner Hall Elder.
White robes moved gently in the wind. His hands were clasped behind his back. His face held no emotion.
But his presence pressed upon the arena like invisible gravity.
The whispers died on their own.
A scroll was unfurled.
An instructor stepped forward, Qi amplifying his voice across the grounds.
"From one thousand disciples—only five hundred will advance."
A ripple of tension spread.
"Those selected will enter the Illusion Realm."
The name alone stirred the crowd.
"The first stage is Elimination Combat."
"One platform. One opponent."
"If your token shatters—you are eliminated."
He paused.
"Inside the Illusion Realm, death is not real."
A breath of relief—
"But pain is."
Silence returned. Heavier than before.
"Your body will recover. Your mind may not."
"This is not merely a test of cultivation. It is a test of will."
"Within the Illusion Realm lie opportunities."
"Those who endure may gain more than victory."
Eyes sharpened. Postures straightened.
The scroll shifted.
Names began to be called.
Already, several matches had begun.
Some disciples had fallen within moments.
"Platform Seventeen."
Heads turned instinctively.
"Devyan Luo."
Recognition spread.
"He's nearly Mid-Level."
"That match is decided."
Devyan stepped forward calmly, blade resting against his shoulder. His expression held quiet confidence—not arrogance. He had trained for years for this moment.
This was his step upward.
Then—
"Fang Nilan."
The reaction shifted.
"Level Two?"
"Unfortunate."
"Seventeen won't last long."
Nilan walked forward without hurry.
No visible tension.
But inside, his pulse was steady—focused.
Above, the Inner Hall Elder's gaze lingered on him for a fraction longer than expected.
Then moved away.
The formation barrier around Platform Seventeen rose.
The signal was given.
The Fight
Devyan moved first.
His blade descended in clean arcs, Fire Qi reinforcing each strike. Nothing flashy—only disciplined, suffocating pressure.
Steel clashed. Qi flared. Each impact rang across the arena.
Devyan advanced steadily, forcing Nilan backward step by step.
From the outside—it looked one-sided.
But Nilan felt something different.
The force that once would have numbed his arms now only shook him briefly. His footing remained precise. His body reacted before conscious thought fully formed.
The refinement from his beasts had reshaped him.
He was still Level Two.
But he was no longer ordinary.
Devyan's eyes narrowed.
"Why isn't he breaking?"
He increased the output of Fire Qi. The blade grew hotter with each strike.
"End."
A reinforced downward slash crashed toward Nilan.
The impact exploded against his guard.
Pain shot through Nilan's arms. His knees nearly buckled.
Almost—
But not fully.
Instead of retreating—he stepped forward.
Devyan's momentum had carried just slightly too far.
That small imbalance.
That single breath.
Was enough.
Nilan inhaled deeply.
Balance. Reflex. Control. Stability.
Every refined strand of strength aligned.
He did not use a grand technique.
He used the Basic Fist Technique.
But this time—he released everything.
His waist rotated fully. His shoulder aligned. His Qi condensed into a single focused point.
The punch struck Devyan squarely in the chest.
The sound was dull. Heavy.
Devyan's Fire Qi scattered instantly. His breath collapsed.
Shock flashed across his eyes.
Not anger.
Not humiliation.
Disbelief.
He had trained for years. Endured exhaustion. Watched others surpass him.
Today was supposed to be his ascent.
He tried to stabilize. Tried to gather Qi.
But the rhythm was broken.
Nilan stepped in again.
A compact strike hit Devyan's shoulder joint.
A sharp crack echoed.
Devyan staggered backward. His token flickered violently before his chest.
He tried to take one more step—
Just one.
His legs failed him.
The token shattered.
The barrier dissolved.
Silence spread across the arena.
Devyan Luo had fallen.
For a moment, he remained standing, stunned.
Then he slowly lowered his blade and looked at Nilan.
There was no hatred in his eyes.
Only quiet acceptance.
"You improved," he said under his breath.
Then he stepped down.
Above, the Inner Hall Elder finally spoke.
"Platform Seventeen. Victory—Fang Nilan."
The words echoed like a seal being stamped.
Whispers erupted.
A Level Two had defeated someone nearing Mid-Level.
Not through reckless luck.
Not through a hidden advanced technique.
But through abnormal refinement—
and perfect timing.
The Elder's gaze sharpened slightly.
He remembered the name.
Fang Nilan.
Below, Nilan did not celebrate.
He simply exhaled.
Across the arena, the so-called Top Ten moved like storms.
On several platforms, a single strike decided the outcome.
By mid-afternoon, most eliminations were complete.
Some fights ended instantly.
Others dragged on between evenly matched opponents.
From morning until evening, battle followed battle.
When the final platform fell silent, five hundred disciples remained.
This was only the beginning.
Soon—they would enter the Illusion Realm.
A world where death was false—
but pain was real.
And within that fabricated world, true potential would be forced to surface.
Among those entering—
Fang Nilan was one of them.
The Illusion Realm would not merely test him.
It would decide what kind of cultivator he would become.