Long Aotian… here?

The realization struck the gathered disciples like thunder. For most, his name was only a rumor carried on whispers of awe and dread—his spear was said to roar like a dragon, his foundation as firm as a mountain, his talent eclipsing entire generations. Among the outher disciples, he was a monster born for the spear, one who had already shaken sects across the land.

"The Golden Heaven Divine Land sent him into this secret realm trial?" one voice quivered. "Why would someone of his level bother with us?"

Another swallowed hard. "No… it makes sense. The legacy that lies at the heart of this trial… it's tied to spear dao itself. For someone like Long Aotian, this isn't a test—it's his rightful stage."

A ripple of unease swept through the crowd. Some muttered in despair that the path forward had just become a wall impossible to climb. Others, eyes wide, looked between Long Aotian and Tian Lei with the heat of morbid curiosity.

"If Long Aotian's here… then this trial just became impossible."

"Not impossible," another countered, voice hushed but trembling with anticipation. "There's Tian Lei. Didn't you see the Spirit Stone? Death, Soul, and Gold… Two Ten-Stars and a Nine-Star. If anyone can stand against a monster like Long Aotian… it might be him."

Long Aotian's steps rang out like rolling thunder, each one pressing on the disciples' chests until it felt as if the air itself had grown heavy. His presence was suffocating, a storm bearing down on the courtyard.

He stopped before Tian Lei, lips curving into a smile devoid of warmth—only razor-edged challenge.

"So you're the one who stole the Spirit Stone's light. Death, Soul, and Gold… hm. Interesting. Let's see if those stars make you a dragon… or just another frog at the bottom of a well."

He lifted his spear, the shaft gleaming as though hungry for blood.

The disciples froze, breath locked in their throats. They understood. This wasn't posturing—Long Aotian was declaring Tian Lei his prey.

For the first time since the trial began, Tian Lei halted his calm stride. His gaze rose, clear and steady, locking with Long Aotian's storm-like eyes. The silence stretched, as if even the realm itself were holding its breath.

His fingers tightened slightly around his spear.

"Come," Tian Lei said, voice flat but carrying to every corner of the courtyard.

The air exploded with murmurs—half in fear, half in raw anticipation.

"Ha… an ant like you dares to tell me 'come'?" Long Aotian sneered, his voice a blade of disdain.

His spear moved. To the crowd, it looked like nothing more than a casual flick of the wrist, a lazy gesture meant to mock. But to Tian Lei's eyes, the strike was honed, precise—its edge angled straight for his throat, hidden beneath that feigned carelessness.

The wind howled.

Tian Lei's hand rose, fingers tightening on his own spear. Metal rang as their weapons clashed.

CRACK!

Gasps erupted as the impact shook the courtyard. But when the disciples blinked, their eyes widened further—not Tian Lei's arm, not his body had trembled, but Long Aotian's shaft. Tiny cracks ran along its surface, spiderwebbing from the point of collision.

Long Aotian's expression darkened.

"If that was my treasured spear, not this training spear" he said coldly, "you would already be dead."

His killing intent surged, but Tian Lei's eyes remained steady, calm as still water. He shifted slightly, his spear lowering, his words carrying across the courtyard like quiet thunder.

"Dull swordsmen say their blades fail to cut because the steel is weak. But the truth is simpler—they were never true swordsmen." He tapped the ground lightly with his spear, the sound sharp in the silence.

"The same is true for the spear. A shallow spearman will blame his weapon when he cannot pierce even grass. But even a blunt stick, in the hands of one who understands the spear's dao, can split heaven and earth."

His voice did not rise. Yet it echoed in every disciple's chest, leaving them dumbfounded, struck silent by the weight of his conviction.

Long Aotian's face flushed, fury searing through the cracks in his composure. His aura boiled like thunderclouds, his killing intent spilling over as though it would drown the courtyard. His grip on his spear whitened, veins bulging along his forearms.

"Just you wait," he growled, voice low and dangerous, eyes locked on Tian Lei with murderous heat.

He spun on his heel, storming away, but the air he left behind still burned with promise.

Tian Lei exhaled softly, letting the echo of Long Aotian's killing intent dissipate from his chest. He turned without a word and left the courtyard, his footsteps calm, steady—yet every disciple who watched felt the weight of an unshaken mountain in his back.

Only when both figures had vanished from sight did the crowd erupt.

"Did you see? Tian Lei didn't just block him—he cracked Long Aotian's strike!"

"Impossible… no one in the Divine Land has ever made Long Aotian lose even a shred of face."

"That wasn't a crack on his spear, it was a crack on his pride. And Tian Lei did it with one move."

Voices tangled, some trembling with awe, others with disbelief.

One disciple muttered, still pale, "But Long Aotian didn't even use his true spear arts. That was just a flick… and yet Tian Lei stood against it. Which of them is stronger?"

Another clenched his fists, torn between despair and excitement. "The legacy within this realm… it belongs to the spear dao itself. We all thought it would be Long Aotian's stage, but now… now I wonder. If anyone can compete, it's Tian Lei."

The mood shifted—half in resignation, half in feverish anticipation. What had seemed like an unattainable contest had become something more—a storm of two dragons circling the same sky.

"Still…" an older disciple whispered, voice shaking, "didn't you see how easily Long Aotian dismissed it? For all Tian Lei's talent, it was Long Aotian who chose to end the exchange. That tells us everything."

"No," another shot back sharply. "What it tells us is that Long Aotian—who never spares anyone a glance—was forced to retreat with fury. And Tian Lei… stood untouched."

The courtyard buzzed with speculation, awe, and dread, but one truth burned in every heart:

The Spear Dao legacy would not fall quietly.

Not with two monsters like Long Aotian and Tian Lei within the trial.

Tian Lei's hut stood at the far edge of the disciple quarters, quiet and unassuming compared to the storm he had just walked through. He slid the door shut behind him, the murmurs of the courtyard fading into silence. Only the steady rhythm of his breath remained.

He sat cross-legged, his spear laid across his knees like an old companion. His eyes drifted inward, past the walls of wood and clay, into the brilliance of the Spirit Stone that lingered within his sea of consciousness. Three stars shimmered there—Death, Soul, and Gold—each burning with its own unfathomable weight.

For a long time he simply stared, as if waiting for them to speak.

Death—cold and absolute, the silence after every storm.Soul—mysterious and vast, a river that stretched beyond mortal understanding.Gold—sharp, radiant, unyielding. The essence of edge and brilliance itself.

His hand rose unconsciously, brushing the shaft of his spear.

"Gold," he murmured. His voice was calm, but his eyes gleamed. "The spear's edge. The light that cleaves darkness."

He closed his eyes and began to breathe deeper, pulling his awareness toward that single golden star. At once it pulsed, flooding his mind with heat and brilliance. Images and sensations poured through him—metal striking metal, the ringing of countless clashes, the way a single point could split mountains if it carried true intent.

It was not gentle. It was not forgiving. The Gold affinity demanded precision, demanded sharpness, demanded that he strip away everything unnecessary until only the true spear remained.

His body trembled faintly as he sank deeper into the resonance. The world outside faded—Long Aotian's fury, the disciples' whispers, the weight of the trial itself. All that remained was him, his spear, and the radiant, cutting truth of Gold.

He began to merge his affinity into the Spear Art to create the second phase of the trial.

The golden star within his consciousness flared, and his spear vibrated faintly in his lap, resonating with his will. Threads of light seeped from his meridians, weaving themselves around the weapon. Each breath he took drew more of that brilliance into form, as if the spear itself were awakening.

A hum filled the hut. No, not just the hut—the very space around him. The spear was no longer just iron and wood; it became a vessel, a bridge between his body and the dao of Gold.

Suddenly, Tian Lei's vision shifted. His hut dissolved, and he stood upon a vast plain of shimmering metal. Endless spears rose from the ground like a forest of blades, their edges glinting beneath a sun of molten gold.

Each spear pulsed with a rhythm, a heartbeat. And with every beat, fragments of spear dao whispered into him—stances, thrusts, sweeps, the sharp edge of victory and the crushing weight of failure.

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