“Oh? So, according to Fairy Xiao, this Han Lie is not an evil cultivator?”

Zhao Batian’s voice was thin and sharp, dripping with sarcasm.

The crowd buzzed with uneasy murmurs. Logic was on the Sun Moon Sect’s side. You could claim to support Han Lie personally, but to deny his nature? He was a disciple of the Heavenly Void Sect. He was a killer. That was a fact etched in blood.

However, Xiao Yuruo did not falter.

“He is from the Heavenly Void Sect,” she admitted, her voice calm and absolute. “But so what? In my eyes, he is not an evil cultivator.”

Before the murmurs could grow into an uproar, Han Lie stepped forward. He smirked, the expression radiating a predator’s confidence.

“Hehe. Holy Son Zhao, you seem very anxious about this alliance. Are you truly trying to lecture me on righteousness and evil? Save those fairy tales for the Qi Condensation children.”

Han Lie swept his gaze over the gathered elites, his tone turning cynical and cutting.

“At our level, who doesn’t know the truth? In the world of sects, there are no permanent enemies, only permanent interests.”

It was a brutal truth that silenced the moralists. The war between ‘Good’ and ‘Evil’ was often just a convenient narrative for resource allocation. If the benefits were high enough, even mortal enemies would share a cup of tea.

“Good. Very good,” Zhao Batian said, his voice flat. “Interests above all. I will remember that.”

He was checkmated. He couldn’t argue with raw pragmatism.

“Enough nonsense,” Han Lie said, rolling his shoulders. “If you want to fight, draw your sword. Don’t stand there dawdling like a frightened maiden.”

The insult was a slap in the face. Frightened maiden.

Li Qingyu looked at her Holy Son. The situation was dire. With Xiao Yuruo and her Nascent Soul elder backing Han Lie, a fight now would be suicidal.

Zhao Batian’s face twitched. He was being humiliated, publicly and thoroughly, by a man he considered beneath him. But he was not a fool.

“I hope,” Zhao Batian hissed, “that you can maintain this alliance inside the ruins.”

He turned on his heel, signaling a retreat.

A wise man submits to circumstances. Zhao Batian chose survival over pride.

“You want to oppose, but you don’t dare to fight,” Han Lie called after him, his voice laced with mockery. “Holy Son Zhao, have you lost your nerve along with your dignity?”

Zhao Batian stiffened but kept walking. If he turned back now, he would lose control.

With the Sun Moon Sect backing down, the two spots for Han Lie and Bai Ling were secured. As for Xiao Zi, she simply curled up, a small fox once more, and tucked herself into Han Lie’s robes.

“Brother Lie,” Bai Ling whispered, moving to his side. Her face was flushed with shame. “I’m sorry. I’m just dead weight.”

“It doesn’t matter if you’re dead weight,” Han Lie said, his tone blunt but not unkind. “Just don’t be mud that can’t stick to the wall.”

He knew the risks when he accepted Ye Qingxuan’s order. Bai Ling was an investment, not a bodyguard.

“I will try my best!” Bai Ling promised, her eyes burning with determination.

Hours later, the roster was set.

Han Lie, Bai Ling. Xiao Yuruo, Elder Huang Hai. Zhao Batian, Li Qingyu. Dongfang Xuehong. And three lucky—or unlucky—Golden Core Perfection cultivators who had scrambled for the scraps.

The spatial vortices roared to life. A terrifying suction force gripped the ten chosen ones.

Hum!

Space folded. In an instant, the ten figures vanished. The vortices snapped shut immediately after, sealing the entrance. There would be no fishing in troubled waters today; the door was closed.

The hopefuls left behind could only curse their luck and disperse.

Han Lie opened his eyes.

The blinding white light of teleportation faded, replaced by the gloom of a massive, ancient hall. The air was stale, heavy with the dust of centuries.

He was alone.

“Separated?” Han Lie frowned. Bai Ling was gone.

It was standard procedure for many trials—divide and conquer.

“Meow!”

A hiss came from his chest. Xiao Zi leaped out, her body expanding in a burst of purple light. She assumed her spine-dragon combat form, scales bristling, growling at the darkness ahead.

“What is it?”

Han Lie followed her gaze.

At the far end of the hall, guarding a towering bronze gate, stood a massive block of ice.

Inside the ice was a nightmare.

It was a chimera—the head of a tiger, the body of a bear. Its muscles were like coiled steel cables, frozen in a roar of primal fury. Even through the ice, the pressure of its physical power was palpable.

Han Lie’s hand went to the hilt of Crimson Oath.

“Brother Lie,” Xiao Zi warned, her voice telepathically sharp. “That is an adult Raging War Bear-Tiger. Be careful.”

“Raging War Bear-Tiger?” Han Lie raised an eyebrow. “Subtle.”

Suddenly, a voice echoed from the vaulted ceiling. It was ancient, mechanical, and devoid of emotion.

[Descendants of the future. Entering this realm is fate.] [To inherit my legacy, you must pass three trials.] [First Trial: Qualification.]

Han Lie nodded. Simple enough. A test of strength to weed out the weak. The trial likely scaled to the intruder’s level—a mirror match of sorts.

Crack.

The sound was sharp, like a gunshot in the silence.

A fissure appeared on the surface of the ice block. Then another.

Crack! Crack!

The web of fractures spread instantly. The eyes of the frozen beast seemed to ignite with a ghostly blue fire.

Roar!

The ice shattered. Shards of profound frost exploded outward like shrapnel.

The Raging War Bear-Tiger hit the ground with a force that shook the entire hall. It shook its massive head, sending ice crystals flying, and locked its predatory gaze on Han Lie.

It didn’t hesitate. With a roar that rattled Han Lie’s teeth, the beast charged. It was a mountain of muscle moving with the speed of a landslide.

Han Lie didn’t retreat. He grinned, the blood in his veins singing with the thrill of the hunt.

“Let’s see if you bleed.”

He drew his saber. The trial had begun.