The outer courtyard of the Azure Dragon Sect buzzed with barely restrained tension.
Dozens of youths—most no older than sixteen—stood in orderly rows. They came from distant villages, minor sects, and cultivation families, dressed in a patchwork of colors and emblems. Their breath steamed in the morning air as the first rays of sunlight cut across the mountain.
In front of them stood a circular stone platform, etched with faintly glowing lines and ancient characters that pulsed with soft spiritual light.
The Heavenly Pulse Array.
Though far simpler than the divine instruments used by Supreme Sects, this array had endured for over two hundred years. It was built to do one thing: evaluate the two core pillars of a cultivator's path—
Potential and Willpower.
A grey-robed outer disciple raised his hand and spoke clearly. "Each of you will step forward and place your palm on the central pillar. The array will respond in two ways."
He pointed to the ring-like grooves around the pillar. "Each ring that lights up is a pulse, representing the strength of your natural potential. Three pulses is average. Four or five is promising. Six and above… are rare."
Then he gestured to the stone's glow. "The color of the light reflects your willpower. White for calm and neutral. Blue for strong and focused. Red for fierce and determined. Violet for unshakable, unyielding will."
He paused. "Gray, however, means your will is lacking. Anyone who triggers it, regardless of pulse count, will be disqualified."
The crowd tensed. Many had never encountered this sort of assessment. For villagers, this was their first time seeing such a formation.
One by one, the candidates stepped forward.
The first boy trembled slightly as he pressed his palm to the stone.
Pulse. Pulse. Pulse.
Three waves of white light spread from the array—soft, unfocused.
"Three pulses. Will: White. Pass."
A girl followed.
Pulse. Pulse. Pulse. Pulse.
The light was tinged faint blue—calm, but focused.
"Four pulses. Will: Blue. Pass."
A disciple from a mid-sized clan stepped up. His face confident.
Pulse. Pulse. Pulse. Pulse. Pulse.
The fifth pulse hit, and the light glowed red, intense and burning.
"Five pulses. Will: Red. Good."
Small cheers came from his peers. But for every success, there were disappointments.
A boy stepped up and only triggered two pulses—and worse, the color was gray.
"Disqualified," the outer disciple said without emotion. "Step aside."
And then—Dawn stepped forward.
He wore no sect robes. No clan badge. His clothing was simple, but neat. He didn't carry himself like a young genius. He didn't look left or right. He simply walked, silent and alone, to the pillar.
As his palm touched the stone, the lines on the array trembled slightly.
Pulse…
One ripple. Steady.
Pulse…
A second, tighter and clearer.
Pulse…
A third, light sharpening.
Pulse…
A fourth.
The crowd grew quieter.
Pulse…
A fifth.
Pulse…
A sixth—not chaotic or wild, but controlled. Refined.
And then the light began to deepen. Not red. Not blue. But a faint violet.
It shone through the air like a blade of still moonlight—neither harsh nor soft, but resolute.
"Six pulses…" the outer disciple said slowly. "Will: Violet."
A few heads turned.
"What's his background?" someone whispered.
"Never seen him before…"
"Six pulses and violet? How is that possible?"
But Dawn had already stepped back to the line. His expression remained unchanged, as though the test had meant nothing. His eyes were calm, but in their depths lay something ancient. Unshakeable.
He wasn't surprised by the result.
He already knew.
This wasn't his first beginning. This was merely the next step.
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End of Chapter Two