Chapter 553: prehension petition (3)
The elder spoke again, his voice cutting through the silence like a blade.
“The first ten movements of this technique will be the first trial.” He raised a finger, emphasizing his words.
“You will have half an hour. Those who can execute them perfectly will qualify for the second phase. The rest will be eliminated.”
As soon as he finished speaking, countless sighs echoed throughout the hall, a wave of discouragement sweeping through the crowd.
“Too difficult…” a young cultivator murmured, his expression falling.
“Only half an hour?” another voice added, filled with disbelief.
“It doesn’t seem like a plicated technique…” a third remarked, his eyes fixed on the glowing figures.
“But executing it perfectly…”
Even though it was only an elimination round, no one dared underestimate it. In a prehension petition, memorization was only part of the process. One had to prehend it, understand the purpose behind every movement, the balance of the body, the distribution of strength, and the correct direction of each step. Any small mistake, any slight deviation, would prevent perfect execution.
Almost immediately, thousands of participants turned their full attention to the technique suspended in the air. It was as if a switch had been flipped, concentrating the entire energy of the hall upon those glowing figures.
Some desperately began memorizing, their lips moving silently as they repeated the names of the movements. Others closed their eyes, trying to visualize the steps in their minds, creating internal maps of the technique. There were also those who immediately began practicing, their bodies moving in hesitant attempts to replicate what they saw.
Before long, the enormous hall had transformed into a vast sea of people attempting to reproduce the technique. Arms moved, legs shifted, and bodies spun in a chaotic choreography.
Unfortunately, the majority produced rather poor results. Some moved their arms at the wrong moment, their gestures pletely disconnected from the rhythm of their feet. Others pletely lost their balance during the footwork, staggering like drunkards. Some reversed the order of the steps, confusing the third with the seventh, and the second with the fifth. Many performed the movements stiffly, without the slightest grace, their bodies resembling wood rather than flesh and bone.
The technique was called the Ten Steps of the Gale precisely because every movement was supposed to feel as natural as a gust of wind, flowing effortlessly and changing direction without warning. But what could be seen was pletely different. They looked like puppets trying to imitate a dance they did not understand, their movements mechanical and forced.
However, among more than two thousand participants, there were naturally true geniuses. Like stars in the night sky, a few figures stood out from the crowd, their abilities shining brilliantly.
Shortly before the five-minute mark, a select few had already reached a remarkable level. Their movements were smooth, precise, and elegant. They executed every step exactly as demonstrated by the golden images, without hesitation or error. The wind itself seemed to respond to their movements, as though nature acknowledged their understanding.
And among them was Kyrian.
From the very instant his violet eyes fell upon the glowing words and figures, everything had been engraved into his mind instantly. It was not mere memorization, but plete absorption. Every character, every note, every detail, every subtle shift in posture. Nothing escaped his eyes, nothing was lost.
Less than a minute later, Kyrian had already pletely understood the sequence. Not merely the superficial movements, but the essence behind them, the philosophy that made the technique more than just a series of steps.
Without the slightest hurry, he took the first step.
His body moved naturally, as though it had always known the motion. There was no stiffness, no hesitation, none of the uncertainty that dominated the vast majority of the participants. His second step seemed to follow an invisible current of air, his feet gliding across the floor as though it were ice. The third flowed seamlessly into the fourth, with a fluidity that was almost hypnotic to watch.
His entire body followed exactly the rhythm described by the images above the stage, every muscle, every joint, every breath synchronized with the demonstration. It was like watching someone who had practiced the technique for years, his familiarity with every movement so plete that it appeared instinctive.
While the majority were still trying to memorize the movements, stumbling between the third and fourth steps, Kyrian was simply executing them. To him, this trial was incredibly simple, almost elementary.
There was no circulation of Qi, no plex spiritual transformations, nor any profound cultivation principles. It was simply a matter of correctly reproducing the described movements, and his eyes had memorized everything while his bodily control handled the rest.
First step. Second. Third…
Tenth.
When he pleted the final movement, his body slowly came to a stop, like a dancer bowing at the end of a performance. His final posture was absolutely identical to the golden figure suspended above the stage, every angle, every muscular tension, every line of his body perfectly aligned with the model.
At that very moment, one of the judges approached, his footsteps silent against the stone floor. He was a middle-aged man, his dark blue robe contrasting with the golden light filling the hall.
He observed Kyrian for several seconds, his sharp eyes examining every detail of his posture. There was a faint trace of approval in his gaze, though his expression remained neutral.
“Participant,” he said, his voice firm.
“Present your registration token.”
Kyrian calmly took out the white jade medal and handed it to the judge. The man accepted it, quickly examined the engraved number with an experienced glance, and made a small mark using spiritual energy, a streak of light that merged into the surface of the jade. Then he gave a subtle nod.
“Approved.” The word was simple, yet it carried great significance.
“Return tomorrow at this same time. The second phase will take place here.”
Kyrian received his token back, his fingers brushing against its newly marked surface.
“Understood.”
Around him, a few other participants were also being approved at that very moment, their expressions ranging from relief to quiet satisfaction. There were only a few dozen among more than two thousand petitors, less than one percent of the original participants. The difference was obvious, almost brutal in its clarity.
While Kyrian and those few qualified participants had already finished the trial, the overwhelming majority were still stumbling between the third and fourth movements, their bodies struggling against themselves in a hopeless battle. Many looked at them with obvious surprise, their eyes wide as they realized how quickly those few had pleted the challenge.
Some showed admiration, others disbelief, unable to prehend how someone could master a technique so quickly. There were even those who silently shook their heads, realizing the enormous gulf separating those regarded as true geniuses from ordinary cultivators.
Kyrian, however, paid no attention to their gazes. There was no need. He was not there to impress anyone, to receive recognition, or to prove anything to anyone but himself.
He calmly put away his medal, feeling the weight of the jade in his hand. Then he turned around and left the enormous hall without any intention of remaining there, his steps swift and decisive.
The first phase had already ended for him.
Now, his next destination was Sun Luguo’s forge. There was still much to learn, many techniques to refine, and many lessons to absorb before night finally arrived.
Forging was an art that demanded as much understanding as the very petition he had just pleted, and he could not afford to neglect his growth in that regard.
As he walked through the bustling streets of the Sky Caravan, his thoughts turned toward what would e next. Night was approaching quickly, the sun beginning its slow descent toward the horizon. And when night finally arrived, his meeting with Gao Ziyue would finally take place.
The Luckiest One Beyond the Heavens
Reviews
All reviews (0)