The month leading up to the Tri-Clan Trial was a whirlwind of fervent activity for the Azure Dragon Clan's youth. The training grounds thundered from dawn until dusk. Disciples sharpened their heirloom weapons, practiced their most powerful killing techniques, and formed strategic alliances, all under the proud watch of the clan elders. Jian Liwei and his close-knit group of elites were the center of this storm, their every spar drawing crowds of admirers.
Amidst this martial fervor, Jian Feng became a ghost.
He was never seen in the training grounds. He didn't request a single spirit sword or set of battle armor from the clan's armory. To the other disciples, who were wholly focused on honing their combat power, the Young Lord's apparent apathy was the final confirmation of his status as a fallen talent. They whispered that he had likely given up, accepting his role as mere baggage on the expedition.
They were, of course, catastrophically wrong. Jian Feng's preparations were simply happening in places they never thought to look. He spent the first week in the deepest, most restricted section of the Great Library—the Hall of Forbidden Geography. He memorized every map of the Myriad Beast Mountains, every recorded account of past trials, and every text on the region's unique flora and fauna. His mind, powered by the Star-Chart, didn't just read the information; it assimilated it, building a three-dimensional, multi-layered model of the entire mountain range. He knew where the treacherous ravines were, where the life-saving herbs grew, and the likely nesting grounds of the most dangerous spiritual beasts.
He spent the next two weeks in the clan's often-overlooked alchemy and formation workshops. The masters there were shocked when the reclusive Young Lord appeared and, with polite deference, requisitioned a private chamber. He didn't craft explosive talismans or powerful offensive artifacts. His creations were subtle, designed for utility and control.
He forged two dozen small, jade-like disks, each inscribed with a miniaturized, high-density formation of his own design. Some were designed to silently detect life forms within a fifty-meter radius. Others could project a localized illusion, perfectly mimicking a rock or a patch of foliage. He crafted a new set of robes for himself, weaving microscopic runes into the fabric that would passively absorb and neutralize low-level poisons and miasmas. Finally, he concocted a single batch of pills. They held no healing power, but a single one could instantly replenish the entirety of his vast, compressed Spiritual Sense—a resource he valued far more than Qi in a contest of wits.
While his peers were sharpening their claws, Jian Feng was meticulously crafting an invisible web of advantages. They were preparing for a battle; he was preparing for a campaign.
The day of departure arrived, cool and crisp. Thirty-six of the clan's finest young disciples assembled before the main gate, their faces alight with a mixture of pride, arrogance, and nervous energy. At their head stood Jian Liwei, clad in magnificent light battle armor, a long saber strapped to his back. He was the undisputed sun around which the others orbited.
Jian Feng arrived last, just before the gates were set to open. He wore his new, deceptively simple azure robes and carried no weapon, his hands empty. He quietly took a place at the very back of the formation, his presence so unassuming that several disciples didn't even notice him. Liwei saw him, however, and shot him a look of pure contempt before turning his attention back to the lead elder.
The Third Elder stood before them on a raised platform. "Disciples! Today, you represent the pride of the Azure Dragon Clan! In the Myriad Beast Mountains, you will face not only savage beasts but the disciples of the Raging Tiger and Black Tortoise Clans. Do not falter! Seize every opportunity, claim every resource, and demonstrate the absolute superiority of our Azure Dragon bloodline! Bring honor to the clan!"
"For the honor of the clan!" the disciples roared, their voices shaking the very air.
With a great groan, the main gates opened to reveal the clan's transport: a magnificent Sky-Ark, a hundred meters long, crafted from the wood of a Spirit-King tree and held aloft by powerful levitation formations. It resembled a graceful, winged serpent, its deck large enough to hold a small army.
Once aboard, the social hierarchy reasserted itself. Jian Liwei and his coterie claimed the elevated foredeck, loudly boasting of the legendary beasts they would slay. Other groups huddled together, finalizing strategies.
Jian Feng found a quiet corner at the vessel's stern. He leaned against the railing, seemingly observing the clouds, but in reality, he was studying his fellow disciples. He noted the over-eager disciple whose Qi fluctuated with nervousness. He noted the quiet, watchful girl in the corner, her breathing steady, her power greater than she let on. He logged every interaction, every alliance, and every boast.
A young girl with a nervous but kind face approached him hesitantly. "Young… Young Lord," she stammered. She was Jian Qiao, a disciple from a distant branch family, known for her gentle nature. "Are you feeling alright? The miasma of the Myriad Beast Mountains can be difficult if your foundation isn't stable." She offered him a small, fragrant pouch. "This herb can help ward off sickness."
Her pity was genuine, a stark contrast to Liwei's scorn. "Thank you for your kindness, Disciple Qiao," Jian Feng said, accepting the pouch with a small nod. "I will be fine." He offered no further conversation, and she, feeling the invisible wall around him, gave a small bow and scurried back to her friends.
Hours passed. As the sun began to dip towards the horizon, a new sight appeared. A vast, jagged line of dark green and black tore across the landscape—a primordial mountain range that seemed to claw at the sky. It was shrouded in a perpetual mist, and even from this distance, Jian Feng could feel the wild, untamed aura radiating from it. The air grew tense. The boastful laughter on the deck died down, replaced by a heavy, anticipatory silence.
The Sky-Ark began its slow, graceful descent towards a large, cleared plateau on one of the outer mountains. Below, two other vessels were already docked—a fierce, tiger-headed warship of black iron and a massive, turtle-shelled fortress that floated low to the ground. The Raging Tiger and Black Tortoise clans had arrived.
The trial was about to begin.