Chapter: Trial Two – Blade Upon the Lake
The Mirror Lake Arena had changed.
Where once floated a dozen pristine ice platforms, now only five remained. The rest had shattered—some violently, others silently. The failed contenders were gone, either expelled by the mirror or lost in the depths of their own pasts.
Lin Feng stood on one knee, his breath slow but steady. Frost clung to his robes. His eyes were sharp.
He had survived.
But there was no time for rest.
Above, the Eternal Frost Elders conferred with one another in hushed tones that echoed like thunder across the lake. The High Elder, a gaunt man with skin like weathered porcelain, raised his hand.
The sky dimmed.
The lake below began to stir.
> "The Trial of Spirit has culled the unworthy," the High Elder declared. "Now comes the Trial of Blade. Victory shall not be won through memory... but power."
The platforms began to drift toward the lake's center—drawn by unseen force.
Lan Xue, watching from the high tower balcony, pressed her hand to the railing. A breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding escaped her lips.
> This is where they'll try to break him.
---
The Lake
The Mirror Lake had no bottom—or so the legends said.
It reflected not the sky, but the soul of the palace itself. It could freeze armies in moments, yet it never fully hardened. Its waters were made of frost qi so dense it could burn like acid. Cultivators who fell in were seldom seen again.
And now, the five remaining Champions stood at its mercy.
Each was placed on a different floating platform, spaced evenly in a wide circle. The rules were simple.
Five enter. One remains.
The High Elder's voice echoed again.
> "Draw your blades."
Lin Feng had no sword.
Instead, he drew his fists up into the first form of the Heaven-Crushing Path, his qi already beginning to swirl.
A murmur swept through the crowd.
> "He's going to fight bare-handed?"
> "He mocks the trial!"
> "No. He dares it."
Then the horn sounded.
---
The First Clash
Motion exploded across the arena.
A twin-saber wielder from the Ice Fang Valley shot toward Lin Feng, his blades carving arcs of pale blue frost. He didn't waste time—his body blurred with the Phantom Wolf Steps, appearing behind Lin Feng in a flash.
Too slow.
Lin Feng ducked low, his body like coiled steel. His fist shot up in a reverse arc—Iron Sky Tiger's Palm—and shattered the boy's ribs in a single blow.
The force launched the saber-wielder clean off the platform.
He didn't scream as he fell.
The lake swallowed him whole.
> "One down."
But Lin Feng didn't relax.
From his left, a spear tip glimmered—drenched in frost poison. Its wielder, a silent girl from the Thousand Veil Sect, moved with terrifying precision. Her spear struck like a viper, not once but twelve times in a breath.
Lin Feng let her come close.
Then he stepped inside the final strike—too close for her weapon to matter—and unleashed a shoulder strike amplified by qi.
She staggered.
He followed with a spinning backfist—Crushing Heaven's Reversal—and sent her crashing into her own platform's edge.
She tried to rise.
The platform split beneath her from the force of the impact.
She fell without a sound.
---
The Final Three
Only Lin Feng, a masked disciple from the Inner Court, and Jun Bai remained.
The masked one—clad in flowing white, dual-wielding ice fans—had yet to move. His aura was strange, shifting. Muffled. He was no ordinary disciple.
Jun Bai, on the other hand, stood casually on his platform, arms behind his back. He hadn't moved since the trial began.
> "Tired already?" he called across the water.
Lin Feng didn't answer.
He turned to the masked one.
The moment he did, the disciple blurred forward.
Ice exploded around him—shards forming dragons, snakes, birds of prey. It wasn't just frost qi. It was constructed will—a form of dao-imprint spellcasting that only the top-tier sects used.
Lin Feng smiled grimly.
> "Finally."
He stepped forward—and off the edge of his platform.
Gasps erupted from the audience.
But Lin Feng didn't fall.
His qi condensed under his feet, forming temporary steps of hardened air and frost. His body moved like lightning across the open space—between flying ice serpents and bladed frost birds—dodging with inches to spare.
> "He's walking on qi steps?! That's Nascent-level technique!"
> "Impossible at his age!"
It wasn't impossible.
It was earned.
Lin Feng reached the masked one mid-air, catching his opponent mid-cast. He drove a knee upward into the man's ribs, shattering the air around them. Ice exploded everywhere.
The masked disciple reeled, losing balance.
Lin Feng reached up—
And tore the mask off.
What he saw made his blood run cold.
> "...You?"
It was no man.
It was a puppet—an ice-forged avatar driven by will. The real caster was above, floating in the air, hidden in the clouds, channeling through the puppet.
A violation of trial law.
> "This match was fixed," Lin Feng muttered.
The puppet's body began to detonate—core overloading.
> Shit.
Lin Feng dove backward, creating a dome of mixed frost and gold-black qi to shield himself. The explosion tore through the arena. One platform shattered. His dome cracked—but held.
He landed, rolling across his own ice.
Only one remained now.
Jun Bai.
---
Blade Upon the Lake
The arena began to shift.
The final trial stage formed: a wide, circular battlefield of crystalline frost that hovered just above the lake's surface. Both Lin Feng and Jun Bai stood at opposite sides.
All around, the crowd fell silent.
Lan Xue leaned forward.
> "Let him show them," she whispered.
Jun Bai smiled.
> "Well then, Champion," he said. "Let's make them remember this."
He drew his blade.
It wasn't steel.
It wasn't ice.
It was frozen lightning—a blade of condensed storm qi, forged from ten thousand storms and tempered by divine frost. Its name: Winterfang.
Jun Bai moved.
The moment he did, the air cracked.
He blurred across the battlefield with terrifying grace, his blade slashing down at an angle meant to cripple, not kill.
Lin Feng caught the blade on his forearm—blocking with flesh—and countered with an upward punch into Jun Bai's elbow.
Bones cracked.
But Jun Bai laughed.
> "Not bad…"
Then the lake answered.
From below, spikes of ice shot upward—Jun Bai's trap had activated, a formation hidden beneath the arena.
Lin Feng barely jumped in time—one spike grazed his side, tearing through his outer robe.
> "You don't win by strength alone," Jun Bai said.
> "You don't win by cheating, either," Lin Feng growled.
---
The End of the Trial
Their battle raged across the arena.
Blade against fist. Trick against instinct. Frost against fire.
Jun Bai was faster. Smarter. Richer in technique.
But Lin Feng was relentless.
He refused to fall.
Even when his ribs cracked.
Even when his blood painted the ice.
He kept going.
Because behind him stood Lan Xue, and ahead of him stood a world that had tried to kill him too many times to count.
He didn't fight to win.
He fought to prove.
In the final moment, as Jun Bai prepared to unleash his trump card—an aerial bladefall technique that called down ten thousand shards of frost from the sky—Lin Feng took one step forward.
And spoke a single word.
> "Kneel."
His fist glowed with gold-black light, laced now with threads of Lan Xue's frost.
The Heaven-Crushing Fist – Fifth Gate opened.
He struck upward into the falling blades.
The explosion cracked the entire arena.
The shockwave launched Jun Bai backward. His blade shattered.
He fell—his body limp—just before the edge of the arena.
Unconscious.
Lin Feng stood in the center, bloodied, breathing hard—but upright.
And alone.
---
Aftermath
The Elders stared in silence.
Lan Xue closed her eyes.
> "He won."