Chapter 7: The Unexpected Test
The gong echoed through the Outer Sect like thunder.
"Outer Disciples!" Instructor Feng's voice rang out across the courtyard. "By order of the Elders, a sudden assessment shall be held today at noon! Those who fail will be removed from the training grounds. Prepare yourselves!"
Groans, gasps, and hurried footsteps filled the air.
Clinton blinked, still half-asleep on his mat. "Wait, what? An assessment? Already?"
> "This is a localized purge," Narvek said calmly. "Common in sect structures to remove dead weight. You are… slightly above average now. But if tested improperly, you may still fail."
"Thanks, that's really helpful."
> "I can offer combat suggestions."
"You better."
Clinton rushed to the field, joining the sea of white-robed disciples. The scar-nosed teen from before gave him a sneer but said nothing.
Instructor Feng stood atop the platform, arms folded, face unreadable.
"Today, you will each demonstrate the Wind-Cleaving Slash. Those who fail to form a visible Qi edge—expelled. Those who show poor control—punished."
Clinton's stomach flipped.
He could do it. He had the slash down now. He'd even cut through grass and air back in the forest…
But if he did it too well—they'd know something was off.
He bit his lip.
"Form a line!" Feng commanded.
One by one, disciples stepped forward, slashing at a reinforced training dummy. The Qi of stronger disciples carved deep grooves; others barely scratched the wood.
Scar-Face stepped forward. His silver eyes flared with effort as he swung.
THWACK!
A clean, deep cut formed across the dummy's chest.
"Acceptable," Feng said flatly.
Next.
Next.
Next.
Then… Clinton.
He stepped up, heart racing. He tightened his grip on the wooden sword.
> "Reduce output to 12%," Narvek instructed. "Too weak, and you'll seem incompetent. Too strong, and you'll be interrogated."
"12%. Got it."
He inhaled. Slowed his heartbeat.
Then he swung.
SHHHH—THWACK!
The dummy's chest split just a little. A faint line appeared—visible, but not too deep. Just like the others.
Feng stared for a moment, then gave a curt nod. "Passable."
Clinton exhaled, relief flooding his limbs.
He turned and walked away quickly.
> "You performed adequately. No anomalies detected by the observers."
"Good. Because I've had enough attention for now."
> "You'll get more soon. The next test will not be a slash—it will be survival."
Clinton's brow furrowed. "What does that mean?"
> "A list of names is being compiled. Selected Outer Sect disciples will be sent into the Howling Caves for practical combat training. You're on the list."
"…Of course I am."
> "You should be pleased. The caves house rare Qi beasts. One of them may provide you with a chance to form a proper core."
Clinton glanced up at the sky.
He had survived a new world.
He had gained a sword technique.
He had fooled a crowd of warriors.
Now… it was time to face monsters.
---
Later that evening, a bell tolled twice across the mountain—signaling the final list.
Instructor Feng posted it near the courtyard gate. Disciples crowded around, jostling for a look.
Clinton stayed back, arms folded.
He didn't need to check. Narvek already told him.
> "Position 17 on the list. Group Three. Departure: dawn."
"So I'm monster bait. Awesome."
> "More like monster hunter, if you listen well."
At dawn, the chosen Outer Sect disciples gathered, most visibly nervous. Group Three had eight members. Clinton recognized a few—Scar-Face was there, of course, glaring at him like always.
They were given basic provisions: a low-grade spirit talisman, a bamboo flask, and a map. No one got a real weapon. This was a test of survival, not skill with tools.
Instructor Feng stood before them. "You will enter the Howling Caves. Remain for three days. Kill at least one Qi beast—or collect a beast core—and return alive. Fail, and you are expelled… or dead."
No one asked questions.
The entrance to the caves gaped like the mouth of some ancient titan. Cold mist spilled out of it, curling around their ankles like ghost fingers.
Clinton swallowed hard and stepped inside.
The air turned damp immediately. The walls glistened with moss. The sound of dripping water echoed endlessly.
The group moved cautiously through the tunnels, keeping formation.
After an hour, the first beast attacked.
It was fast—some kind of mutated, long-legged lizard with bone spikes and glowing red eyes. It leapt from a side tunnel with a screech.
One disciple screamed. Another tried to run.
Clinton didn't think.
> "Scan initiated. Weakness: underbelly. Jump timing: now."
He rolled, landed behind the beast, and jabbed his wooden sword upward with precision.
The blade struck true.
The beast shrieked, convulsed, and collapsed.
Everyone stared at him.
"…Lucky stab," he said quickly, stepping back.
Scar-Face narrowed his eyes. Clinton could feel the suspicion forming.
> "Do not overperform," Narvek warned. "Maintain mid-tier reactions."
"I'm trying, okay?"
They moved on.
By nightfall, the group made camp in a hollow alcove. The cave ceiling above them glittered faintly with bioluminescent moss.
Clinton sat near the edge, quietly meditating.
> "Your Qi flow is stabilizing. With minor injection, your meridians could support second-stage cultivation."
"Can't you just inject it already?"
> "No. A catalyst is required. Something that resonates with your internal core."
Clinton frowned.
"Like what?"
> "Unknown. But I sensed something deeper in the caves. A… hum. Resonating with your spiritual thread. Perhaps a relic. Or a creature."
Clinton glanced back at the sleeping disciples.
"If I leave now, no one will notice…"
> "Correct."
He stood up silently, grabbing his sword.
And without a word, slipped deeper into the caves alone.
The darkness welcomed him.
And something… began to stir in the deep.
---