Noctyss was not a stupid woman. She might be impatient, reckless even, but only a fool would mistake her impulsiveness for ignorance. Her rise to power—her survival through countless tribulations—stood as a testant to her intelligence. Her instincts had been forged in fire, her mind sharpened like a blade honed endlessly against the whetstone of life and death.
So when Ricky’s gaze darkened and his expression turned pensive, she quickly caught the thread of his thoughts. Her sharp mind unraveled his intention, understanding what he was truly after. Sothing shifted in her eyes—gone was the usual curiosity and defiance. What replaced it was a sliver of wariness, followed by a hint of admiration.
The atmosphere in the hall shifted like a sudden chill descending from the heavens. Silence, unnatural and suffocating, fell upon the crowd. It wasn’t a calm quiet—it was the stillness of an impending storm. Every man in the vast, dimly lit hall had turned toward Noctyss, their attention stolen, willingly or not. Her presence radiated like wildfire in a dry forest—inescapable, dangerous, and hypnotic.
The erald green Vine hat clung to her chest shimred under the spiritual torches, accentuating the lethal curve of her figure. Each movent, each breath she took, seed amplified. Her athyst eyes, once playful, now brimd with fierce intensity that made it hard to look away.
Noctyss felt the heat of their stares and rolled her eyes in disdain.
"Hmph," she snorted under her breath, folding her arms.
n, no matter the era, no matter the realm—so things never changed.
Her scornful thoughts were interrupted by sothing sharp—like a dagger made of ice sliding across her skin. A gaze, piercing and cold, fell upon her with the weight of judgnt. It wasn’t lust, nor admiration. It was sothing far older, far more dangerous.
Then she heard the voice—not aloud, but inside her mind.
"Tell what happened once you entered the crevice?"
Ricky’s voice was emotionless, distant, yet it cut through her resistance like a hot knife through wax. Noctyss wanted to fight it, wanted to remain silent, but her body betrayed her. Her lips parted, and before she could muster the will to stop herself, words spilled out.
In a detached, almost dreamlike tone, she began recounting every mont, every step she took inside the crevice.
The mont she finished, Ricky’s eyes shut, a brief flicker of clarity washing over his face.
As expected.
Her account had aligned perfectly with his suspicions. For Noctyss, it felt like only a second had passed since she entered that spatial tear. Her mories, vivid but disconnected from ti, mirrored the strange dilation that afflicted this mysterious place.
While the two of them exchanged that silent conversation, a different kind of storm churned within Prince Darius Eldros. He had finally torn his eyes away from Noctyss, but his thoughts were anything but calm.
The mont she had stepped foot into the hall, sothing ancient stirred in him.
"What... is happening?" he muttered, clutching at his chest.
Badum. Badum.
His heartbeat pounded louder with every second, thundering against his ribs like a war drum. He felt like he was standing on the edge of a battlefield, adrenaline flooding his veins, his blood surging with primal intensity.
But why?
He didn’t know her. He had never seen her before. And yet—
He wasn’t alone.
Kael Dorn, young master of the Iron Fang Legion, stood a short distance away, trembling. His fingers curled into fists, knuckles white from the strain. His shoulders quaked, as if his body had recognized sothing his mind refused to acknowledge.
They were warriors—proud, tempered by war and lineage—but Noctyss awakened sothing far deeper. Their blood, their ancestry, had reacted to her presence like dry wood eting fla.
Suddenly, high above them, the Guardian Spirit began to rise into the air. Her movents were ethereal, untouched by gravity, and yet carried imnse weight. Her ascension brought the attention of every soul in the chamber back to her.
"The trial is finally about to begin," Darius muttered, shaking himself free from the strange fog. He exhaled deeply, steadying his breath.
"Finally," Gorath, the flaming giant, rumbled. His volcanic eyes locked onto Ricky’s figure far in the distance.
All around the room, anticipation crackled like lightning.
...
"One, two, three... and sixteen."
The Guardian Spirit’s voice echoed like a bell through the stillness.
"We have all the participants."
"Sixteen?"
Ricky furrowed his brow and scanned the room. He turned his head slowly, thodically counting.
One... two... fifteen.
Fifteen.
No matter how many tis he counted, he could only spot fifteen participants.
Then he looked at Noctyss, just to make sure he hadn’t mistaken her for soone else. But she seed just as surprised, brows drawn tight as she glanced around.
And then the Guardian Spirit began to speak again, unbothered by the confusion.
"You are all geniuses among geniuses, chosen by the inheritance ground. To have reached this point, you’ve survived countless trials—so brutal, others cunning. But none of them... none... compare to what lies ahead."
Her voice carried weight. Not emotion, but gravitas. Truth.
"The trials of Divine Researcher Saint Selene Veylor are unlike any other. She was not a warrior. She disdained violence. Her heart belonged to the pursuit of knowledge—unraveling the laws that bind our reality."
"She sought truth... even when the truth defied the will of the world itself."
A chill ran down Ricky’s spine.
"As such, her legacy is not for the strong, but for the wise. The courageous. Those who dare to question everything."
"I give you a final warning: death is not rare in this trial. It is expected. Once you take the first step, there is no return."
A deep rumble followed her words as the massive altar began to tremble. Stone groaned. From its base, sixteen ladders erged—one in front of each participant. They stretched high, vanishing into golden mist.
The unspoken ssage was clear.
Climb... or leave.
But no one moved away.
Cowards did not stand in this room. These were the kind who clawed their way up from the depths of cultivation hell, who stood tall with blood on their hands and fire in their hearts.
One by one, they stepped forward.
Black Fang, the panther man, sprinted up his ladder without hesitation, his form a blur.
Ricky launched into the air with a casual grace, gliding toward his own path. Noctyss followed close behind, her expression unreadable.
As they reached the platform atop the altar, the ground shuddered again. Sixteen golden pillars erged like silent titans from the stone.
Ricky eyed them with a hint of relief.
At least they didn’t have to fight over these.
That, in itself, was proof enough. The Divine Researcher truly detested combat.
If it had been him designing this trial... well, he would have made them fight for every inch.
The Guardian Spirit pointed to the pillars. Her voice rang out once more.
"The first stage is deceptively simple. If you pass it, you advance. If not, you leave... or die."
"On each pillar is carved the legacy of Divine Researcher Saint Selene Veylor. Her greatest work."
"Comprehend it... and you shall be deed worthy."
The air thickened. Silence fell again, but this one was different—reverent, expectant.
The surface of each pillar shimred. Strange symbols began to writhe and rearrange, like thousands of ants crawling into formation. Lines etched themselves in spirals, flowing like starlight across stone.
Though the script was alien, incomprehensible to logic, every participant found themselves understanding the words without knowing how.
"Infinite Origin: Constellation Root!!!"
Soone scread the na aloud.
A stunned silence followed.
"Impossible..."
Darius Eldros’s mouth fell open, his eyes wide with disbelief. He rubbed his eyes, blinked again. No mistake.
Ricky’s eyes narrowed. Even he felt the quake of shock.
This technique... if the text could be believed... allowed one to open multiple Spiritual Spaces. Not sequentially. Not by tearing the body apart and forcing it. Simultaneously.
Such a feat was forbidden by the world’s natural laws.
Impossible... and yet here it was.
Across the altar, breaths quickened. Faces twisted. Hope... and greed... spread like wildfire.
The Guardian Spirit smiled faintly, her expression smug.
Yes, witness her brilliance.
Then the greed blossod.
Eyes turned sharp. Jaws clenched. Hearts pounded.
Power. That’s what this was. Power beyond comprehension.
Then ca a low growl.
"What if... all the participants suddenly died..."
The words rumbled from Gorath’s throat like molten rock, slow and dangerous.
His eyes glowed with killing intent.
He couldn’t understand the technique. He knew it. Comprehension was beyond him.
So what then?
If everyone else died, wouldn’t the technique fall to him by default?
That logic was simple. Brutal. Effective.
But before the thought could spread further, the Guardian Spirit’s voice slamd into the air like a cold hamr.
"Fighting during the first trial is absolutely prohibited."
A sharp tension cracked through the altar.
Every participant paused. Gorath’s rage froze mid-breath.
Because while the flaming giant had dared speak his thoughts aloud—most of the others had been thinking the sa.
Now, those dangerous thoughts had been buried... but not erased.
Not yet.
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