Under the blood-red sunset, the air inside the secret realm grew heavy with the copper tang of slaughter.

“Young Master, this is for you!”

Behind the cover of a weathered rock wall, Wang Yu dragged his battered body forward. With both hands, he respectfully presented a rare spiritual treasure to Shen Xian.

Ever since witnessing Shen Xian cleave a mountain peak with a single casual sword strike, Wang Yu’s demeanor had shifted. His usual carefree, thug-like attitude had been reined in, replaced by an unconcealable awe.

“If it’s your spoils of battle, keep it,” Shen Xian said, his gaze fixed on the churning clouds in the distance. His tone was flat, brooking no argument.

He had harvested enough from the major targets; he wasn’t desperate enough to covet a subordinate’s hard-earned loot.

Wang Yu opened his mouth to protest, but upon meeting Shen Xian’s indifferent gaze, he swallowed his words. He pressed the treasure against his jade token. A flash of spiritual light absorbed the item, and his score jumped.

Suddenly, Wang Yu’s expression sharpened.

“Isn’t this Senior Brother Wang? You look terrible.”

Five figures emerged from the shadows of the rock formation. The leader, a cultivator in yellow robes named Liu Zhou, eyed them with undisguised greed.

They recognized Wang Yu—a half-step Golden Core disciple from the Artifact Refining Hall. But right now, his aura was feeble, his spiritual energy chaotic. He was a wounded tiger.

“Liu Zhou, what do you want?” Wang Yu forced himself to straighten, channeling what little spiritual power he had left. The exertion made him grunt in pain.

“Don’t be nervous, Senior Brother Wang,” Liu Zhou said with a hypocritical smile, his eyes locked on the jade token at Wang Yu’s waist. “We’re just short on quota. In your current state, preserving your life should be your priority, don’t you think?”

The deadline was approaching, and their harvest was poor. Stumbling upon a severely injured fat sheep was a gift from the heavens.

The four disciples behind Liu Zhou fanned out, silently forming an encirclement.

To them, the equation was simple: Wang Yu was crippled, and the Shen Family scion beside him was a fresh Foundation Establishment rookie. Free points.

“You’re seeking death!” Wang Yu roared, ready to burn his blood essence to fight.

Swish.

A flash of sword light appeared and vanished in the blink of an eye.

“Ah!”

Liu Zhou stumbled back, clutching at empty air.

He stared in horror at his right shoulder. His arm was gone. The cut was so clean that blood only began to spray a second later.

“This… this is impossible…”

Liu Zhou’s face turned the color of ash. His trembling gaze shifted to the figure who hadn’t moved a single step.

Shen Xian stood there, a longsword gleaming in his hand. A single drop of blood slid slowly down the blade’s tip before dripping onto the dry earth.

His eyes were indifferent, as if he had merely swatted a fly.

Liu Zhou’s mind screamed. Iron plate! We kicked an iron plate!

He couldn’t comprehend how an early Foundation Establishment cultivator could move faster than his eyes could follow, but the reality was screaming from his severed shoulder. That single strike had shattered his courage.

“Junior Brother Shen… no, Senior Brother Shen, spare me!”

Liu Zhou’s legs gave way. He collapsed to his knees, frantically ripping the jade token from his waist.

“I was blind! I didn’t recognize Mount Tai! Please, take everything as an apology!”

Regret flooded his gut. He should have tested the waters. Now, he wasn’t just losing points; he was about to lose his head.

The four disciples behind him were terrified out of their wits. They dropped to their knees in unison, offering up their tokens with shaking hands.

This is no soft persimmon, one thought, his heart hammering against his ribs. He’s a tiger in sheep’s clothing!

Shen Xian didn’t even look at them. He flicked the blood from his blade.

“Scram.”

The word was a pardon from the emperor.

Liu Zhou and his companions didn’t hesitate. They abandoned their tokens and scrambled away, crawling and stumbling in their haste to put distance between themselves and the monster in the dark robes.

Liu Zhou didn’t even dare to retrieve his severed arm.

Shen Xian sheathed his sword. He waved a hand, collecting the abandoned jade tokens.

“Let’s go,” he said, his voice bored.

Boom! Rumble—

Just as the remaining disciples in the realm were making their final desperate pushes, a brilliant light gate tore open the sky. The melodious toll of a bell resonated through the dimension.

“The Qualification Battle has ended!”

The authoritative voice of a sect elder rang in everyone’s ears.

Shen Xian glanced up at the light gate. A faint, almost imperceptible smile curled his lips.

“A bit earlier than expected.”

Wang Yu looked down at his own token. The points were enough. He had qualified. He knew perfectly well that without his young master, he would have been eliminated—or killed—long ago.

Shen Xian was already walking toward the exit, his back relaxed and unguarded. Wang Yu took a deep breath and quickly followed.

Passing through the light gate, the familiar scenery of Sword Peak filled their vision.

Hundreds of disciples who had been eliminated early, along with the sect elders, were craning their necks, eager to see the final survivors.

Not far away, Wei Zhaoli stood gracefully in her moon-white battle dress. Her cool, detached aura created a natural barrier around her. Her beautiful eyes scanned the emerging crowd anxiously until they landed on Shen Xian.

Her shoulders visibly relaxed.

At the center of the plaza, the purple-robed elder responsible for the trial held a jade slip. His expression was grim.

Over a hundred disciples had perished inside. Several were half-step Golden Core seeds.

The Sect Leader had declared that life and death were fate, but this loss was staggering. Given the average strength of the disciples, such a massacre shouldn’t have been possible.

What exactly happened in there?

The elder’s gaze involuntarily drifted toward Shen Xian in the crowd. A strange glint flashed in his eyes.

He cleared his throat and began to announce the results.

“First place: Shen Xian!”

“Second place: Wang Yu!”

The announcement hit Sword Peak like a silencing spell.

For a moment, the plaza was dead quiet. Then, it exploded.

“What? Shen Xian is first?”

“Isn’t he just early Foundation Establishment?”

“How is that possible?!”

Countless gazes filled with shock, doubt, and jealousy locked onto Shen Xian.

“He must have cheated!”

“The Shen Family probably gave him a mountain of artifacts to farm points!”

“I don’t accept this!”

Several inner sect disciples who had been aiming for the top ten stepped forward, their faces twisted with indignation.

“Silence!”

The purple-robed elder’s shout was infused with Nascent Soul pressure, sweeping across the plaza and crushing the dissent.

But the most telling reaction didn’t come from the spectators. It came from the survivors.

When the angry mob shouted about cheating, the disciples who had just emerged from the secret realm—especially Liu Zhou and his group—flinched.

Upon seeing Shen Xian, Liu Zhou’s face turned deathly pale. He began to tremble uncontrollably. He would never forget that sword light.

“Elder…”

One ignorant spectator tried to speak up again, but was abruptly yanked back by a survivor.

“Shut up!” the survivor hissed, his eyes wide with fear. “Do you want to die? Look at him!”

The plaza gradually quieted down as the crowd noticed the anomaly.

The survivors—regardless of their cultivation level—were looking at Shen Xian not with jealousy, but with deep, primal reverence. Even the proud late-stage Foundation Establishment elites unconsciously lowered their heads when Shen Xian’s gaze swept over them.

This silent submission was more terrifying than any verbal threat.

Wei Zhaoli watched from the sidelines, a flicker of surprise in her eyes. She keenly sensed the atmosphere. The fear these disciples held for her fiancé was not feigned.

It seems, she thought, a small, proud smile touching her lips, my husband is hiding quite a few secrets.

No wonder he had refused to take the back door.

The purple-robed elder scanned the surroundings, his gaze lingering on Shen Xian one last time before continuing the list.

Through it all, Shen Xian remained standing with his hands behind his back. His expression was placid, his eyes distant, as if the clamor of the world had nothing to do with him.

He stood there, lazy and relaxed, yet in the eyes of those who knew, he looked like a king looking down from the clouds.