Ji Ren wiped blood from his mouth, panting as he steadied his sword. His chest heaved, muscles screaming, but the battlefield gave him no mercy. The air smelled of rust and decay, the ground beneath him slick with crimson stains that weren't his own.
Across from him, another figure emerged from the fog, an ancient swordmaster, clad in tattered armor and radiating an oppressive killing intent. This one was taller, his sword longer, the aura around him so sharp it almost cut the skin.
Ji Ren tightened his grip on his blade, his fingers raw and blistered from endless hours of combat.
"How many has it been?" he muttered under his breath, voice rough like gravel.
"No less than fifty," SIS answered in his mind, its tone stripped of its usual analytical detachment. "Each opponent increases in strength and skill. You are approaching critical exhaustion."
Ji Ren snorted, spitting blood onto the ground. "Critical exhaustion? No kidding."
The swordmaster lunged without warning. Ji Ren barely had time to react, raising his sword to block the incoming strike. The impact rattled through his bones, driving him back several steps. He twisted his body, redirecting the force, and retaliated with a downward slash — but the master sidestepped with impossible precision, countering with a cut that tore through Ji Ren's shoulder.
Pain flared, hot and sharp, but he bit down on it, retaliating with a brutal kick to the master's chest. The ancient figure barely flinched, bringing his sword down again, and Ji Ren only narrowly rolled out of the way.
His body was breaking down. He knew it. His limbs were sluggish, and his mind was clouding with fatigue. But the trial wouldn't let him stop.
He had to win.
Or he would die.
As he dragged himself to his feet, blood dripping from his fingers, Ji Ren felt a pang of frustration stab deeper than the wound in his shoulder. No matter how hard he swung, no matter how fast he moved, every opponent eventually overwhelmed him. It didn't matter how strong he was.
Strength wasn't enough.
He thought of Xiao Lian.
Her careful, calculating movements. The way she would study an opponent, breaking them apart mentally before even lifting her blade. She would have seen the patterns — she would have found the weaknesses.
If she were here, she'd already have beaten this trial.
The realization burned through Ji Ren's chest like acid, not because he resented her, but because he hated the truth in it. For all his brute force and raw power, he lacked something crucial — something she had always carried like a second weapon.
He lacked control.
The swordmaster attacked again, and Ji Ren reacted on instinct, dodging the first strike but catching the second across his ribs. He staggered, his legs nearly giving out beneath him, but something clicked in his mind as he watched the master's movements.
The strikes were repetitive. Not identical, but cyclical, a series of techniques passed down through generations.
A pattern.
Ji Ren's heart thundered in his chest as he adjusted his stance, lifting his blade with trembling arms.
"Again," he whispered.
The swordmaster obliged, rushing him with another vicious flurry of strikes. But this time, Ji Ren didn't just react, he studied. His eyes tracked every muscle shift, every subtle twitch, piecing together the master's technique like assembling a shattered mirror.
His body still burned. His lungs still screamed.
But he saw it now.
The opening.
When the master raised his sword for the final downward slash, Ji Ren didn't block it…he stepped into it. The blade grazed his cheek, drawing another thin line of blood, but Ji Ren was already inside the master's guard.
He drove his sword through the master's chest with a guttural roar, the blade piercing through armor, flesh, and bone. The master staggered, golden light spilling from the wound like liquid flame, before collapsing into a shower of embers.
Ji Ren fell to his knees, gasping for air, sweat and blood dripping from his face.
The battlefield was silent.
For a moment, he thought he'd finally won.
But then another figure stepped from the fog, this one faster, stronger, and wielding twin blades.
Ji Ren gritted his teeth, dragging himself back to his feet. His entire body protested, muscles locking, joints stiff, but he raised his sword anyway.
Because Xiao Lian wouldn't give up.
And neither would he.