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.

The air was heavy, metallic, every breath sharp enough to cut his lungs. Tian Lei's fingers tightened on his spear as the plain itself trembled.

Then—

KRAAANG!

One spear tore free from the metallic earth, rising high, its edge blinding beneath the golden sun. It hovered above him, its aura vast and merciless, like the decree of heaven itself. When it fell, it was not like a weapon—it was like an entire world of spears collapsing onto him.

The pressure slammed into his body. His bones groaned, his blood churned. But Tian Lei stood firm. His stance was steady, his breathing unbroken.

He lifted his spear and thrust.

Not with brute force, not with desperation—but with clarity. His movement was simple, unadorned. Yet within that thrust was his entire conviction: the spear was not a weapon to brandish; it was the extension of truth itself.

The two spears collided.

BOOOOM!

The golden plain split. Waves of molten light surged in every direction, tearing at his flesh, burning at his soul. His body shook violently, blood spraying from his lips, but his eyes—sharp, unwavering—cut through the storm.

The great golden spear trembled. Its brilliance dimmed, cracks racing across its surface before it shattered into motes of light.

Those motes swirled, spiraling around Tian Lei before sinking into his body.

The spears rooted in the earth trembled as one, their resonance no longer oppressive. Instead, it was reverence—recognition.

The molten sun above blazed brighter, then melted into him, fusing with the golden star in his sea of consciousness. The star expanded, swelling with radiance until it merged seamlessly with his spear dao.

When Tian Lei opened his eyes, he was back in his hut. Golden light still shimmered faintly across his skin, fading slowly into stillness. His spear vibrated softly in his hands, as though sharing his breath.

He exhaled.

"The path of Gold… acknowledged."

For the first time, a faint smile touched his lips.

But his gaze soon shifted inward again—toward the remaining stars. Death and Soul. Cold silence and endless mystery. If Gold had tested his edge, then those would test his essence itself.

He closed his eyes once more, steadying his breath.

"The trial has only just begun."

The golden light had only just faded when the world around him rippled again.

The hut dissolved like smoke.

In its place stretched a boundless plain of twilight, where neither sun nor moon reigned. The sky was an eternal dusk, and the air hung still—too still. A silence so deep it pressed into his chest like the weight of a tomb.

Tian Lei's eyes narrowed. He knew this feeling.

Death.

The second star.

The earth beneath his feet was no longer soil but ash, and from that ash rose countless silhouettes—warriors, beasts, kings, beggars. Their forms were hazy, hollow, but their eyes burned with the last fragments of unwillingness, of regret, of hatred.

The dead.

They surged toward him without sound, their movements unnatural, each step like the snapping of invisible strings. No roars, no clashing steel—only silence that gnawed at his mind.

Tian Lei's grip tightened on his spear. The golden resonance still hummed faintly through him, but here it felt smothered, as if every shimmer of light was swallowed by an abyss without end.

A cold wind brushed past his cheek, carrying with it a whisper—not words, but intent.

"Lay down your spear. All things return to silence."

For the first time, Tian Lei felt the trial aiming not at his body, but at his soul. His conviction itself was being weighed.

The phantoms pressed closer.

He inhaled slowly, his spear rising, its point steady despite the suffocating chill.

"My path… is not silence."

He thrust.

The golden edge blazed in the twilight, carving through the first wave of phantoms. They dissolved into smoke, but the silence deepened, thickening, wrapping tighter around his mind. With every phantom slain, their essence seeped into him, dragging at his spirit like chains trying to pull him into oblivion.

His vision blurred. His breathing slowed. He could feel the lure—if he let go, if he surrendered, there would be peace.

But peace was not his destiny.

His stance rooted deeper, his spirit surging. Within his sea of consciousness, the star of Gold flared, its light shielding his mind. And in that radiance, Tian Lei's spear trembled—not in fear, but in defiance.

"Death may claim all things," he whispered, voice steady, "but while I stand, my spear lives."

He moved again.

Each thrust now was no longer against the phantoms, but against the silence itself. Every strike carved sound into the void, every sweep left behind the echo of a will refusing to vanish.

The dead wailed soundlessly, shattering as his conviction rang out.

And then, from the horizon, something stirred.

A colossal shadow rose—skeletal, crowned with black fire, holding a spear of its own. The embodiment of the Death star's will.

Its hollow sockets locked onto him. The silence shattered with a single sound, cold and absolute:

"Prove yourself."

The towering wraith stepped forward. Each motion rippled the twilight plain, as if the world itself recoiled from its presence. Its skeletal frame moved with terrible precision, the black-fire spear gripped not like a weapon—but like a verdict.

Tian Lei inhaled slowly, anchoring himself. His spear hummed, golden light flickering stubbornly against the encroaching dark.

The wraith struck first.

SHHHNK!

Its spear cut across the void in a simple horizontal slash. There was no flourish, no wasted motion—only inevitability, as though the world itself must split before its edge.

Tian Lei's arms moved before thought. His spear rose, intercepting.

KRAAAANG!

The impact rattled through his bones. The golden resonance of his weapon screamed as the black fire chewed at it, trying to consume it whole. For an instant, he felt his own heartbeat falter—as if death itself had reached into his chest.

But he held. His legs drove into the ashen ground, cracks spiderwebbing beneath him. His voice was low, but unwavering.

"My spear does not bow."

The wraith's sockets flared. It stepped again, its strikes flowing now—downward chop, twisting thrust, sweeping arc. Each carried not only force, but the essence of endings. Every clash leeched warmth from his body, numbed his blood, tugged at his spirit like unseen hands.

Tian Lei answered with rhythm. His spear moved plain, unembellished—block, parry, thrust. But each strike was layered with will, every deflection a denial, every counter an affirmation: I exist. I fight. I endure.

Their duel carved storms into the twilight plain. The air trembled with echoes of steel and silence, ash swirling around them like an endless funeral shroud.

At last, the wraith shifted. Its spear rose high, black flames surging until it seemed to blot out even the dim twilight. The air grew so cold his breath froze midair.

Then it descended.

A strike not meant to wound, but to erase.

The moment it fell, Tian Lei's mind split. He saw himself—spear broken, body dissolved into dust. He felt the cold lure of finality, the peace of surrender.

But deep within, the golden star pulsed. Not bright, not dazzling—but steady.

His grip tightened. His stance sank lower. His spear thrust upward—straight, unshaken.

The two spears collided.

BOOOOOOM!

The plain convulsed, light and shadow warring in a maelstrom. Tian Lei roared, blood streaming from his lips, every vein burning ice-cold. Yet his eyes, unwavering, locked onto the wraith.

The black fire cracked. The skeletal frame shuddered.

The wraith leaned close, its voice whispering in the ruins of silence:

"Then live… if you dare."

Its body splintered, collapsing into countless motes of black flame. They spiraled around Tian Lei, sinking into his chest. His sea of consciousness trembled as a second star blazed to life beside Gold—cold, dark, merciless. Death.

Tian Lei staggered, gasping. His spear vibrated, low and heavy, as if it too carried the weight of endings now.

He straightened slowly, breath steadying.

"The path of Death… acknowledged."

But his gaze sharpened at once, turning inward.

One star remained—Soul.

If Death tested his will to endure, then Soul would test something deeper. The very core of who Tian Lei was.

The plain quivered, already shifting again. The twilight dimmed, collapsing inward until only silence remained—vast, infinite, crushing.

Then, from that silence, a single light appeared.

It was not golden like the sun, nor black like death. It was translucent, shimmering, elusive—like the echo of a dream. A soul's light.

It floated before Tian Lei, quiet, weightless. No spear rose, no phantom formed. There was no battlefield, no trial.

Instead, the light pulsed once. Then again. Each beat resonated with his chest, matching the rhythm of his heart.

Tian Lei narrowed his eyes, lowering his guard—but his instincts screamed nothing. No danger. No killing intent. Only recognition.

And then—

The light dimmed. Slowly, reverently.

It did not test him, did not strike him, did not demand proof. It bowed.

As if to say: already acknowledged.

Tian Lei froze. His breath caught, his spear arm stiff.

"…No trial?"

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