29th- Dream Domain
Sulla
Sulla wakes up from his sleep and walks out of his room.
He, without paying attention to anyone, walks to the back of the tribe toward a hidden location. Inside there, he looks toward a stone pedestal with markings in red colour.
As he steps forward, he feels a hammer hitting his brain continuously.
The awakening of the mind method of the Bloodspirit race is crude and painful, but it is effective against any race. Sulla sits on the grass and feels the pain.
He noticed other people of the crystal tribe who are practising the Witch way came and sat down to temper their mind energy. They had awakened their mind energy before him and sat on the ground closer to the stone column than Sulla.
Sulla clears his distracting thoughts and feels the imaginary hammer hitting his mind continuously. Every hammer blow made him want to scream in pain, but he gritted his teeth and held on.
It continues for some time, then he feels he is losing consciousness. He quickly stands up and walks out of the hidden location.
Outside, he takes a deep breath as the pain in his head starts to fade and while he is resting, recovering. He sees a female tribe member of the crystal walking toward him.
The tribe member spoke to him using both words and hand signals made him understand that the head witch, who is the old man, is calling him to his home.
He nods, and he and the woman walk toward the tribe and enter the tribe. The woman leaves, and he walks toward the old man's home.
He knocks and enters to find the old man making paste of some herbs. Sulla takes a seat in the room, and after a few minutes later both of their food is served, and after eat their food.
The old man starts teaching the language.
He now has some grasp of their language that he can communicate simple words with hand signals with the tribe members of the crystal tribe.
After the language class, the old man says," Tomorrow, you will refine your first beast soul and become a shaman."
Sulla says," Isn't to soon?"
The old man replies," Your mind is strong enough to refine a beast soul."
Sulla nods.
The cultivation of a shaman is highly similar to the hunter cultivation of the Naga race. As Talun use the blood essense of a demon beast to break through realms and become extraordinary, and he will use the soul of a demon beast to enter the rank of extraordinary, like the rest of the five.
He asks," What demon beast's soul am I going to refine?"
The old man says," In the tribe for you there are three beast souls- Phantom Cat, Steel Bird and Brute Boar."
Sulla asks," You choose for me."
Not knowing anything about any of the three demon beasts, Sulla decides to let the old man choose what is best for him.
The Old man thinks momentarily and says," Phantom Cat."
Sulla asks curiously," Why? Is it the strongest among them?"
The old man says, "The Brute Boar is the strongest among the three."
Sulla frowns. "Then why not choose that?"
The old man stirs the paste slowly, his tone calm. "Because you are from the Light Spirit Race. The Phantom Cat is a demon beast of light magic. It conjures illusions and phantoms by bending light. Your bloodline will resonate with it."
Sulla nods, understanding dawning. The three extraordinary paths of his people all draw from light. Even the very name of their race holds the word light. It's not just a connection—it's the core of their being.
"So it's compatible with me," he says.
"Yes," the old man replies. "And because of that, the refinement process will be easier. The soul will resist less."
Sulla gives a firm nod, standing after a quiet moment. Without further words, he leaves the house and walks back toward the hidden location. The moon has risen higher now, casting pale silver over the trees. The pain in his head has dulled but not faded.
Even if tomorrow he becomes an extraordinary by refining the Phantom Cat's soul, this place—this crucible of pain and endurance—will remain part of his path. The first three realms of the mortal stage require the forging of a powerful mind. And only through the hammer-blows of that crude but effective method will he be able to walk farther than others.
He steps back into the clearing. The stone pedestal waits. The blows begin again.
30th- Dream Domain
Sulla opens his eyes and finds himself once again inside the familiar hall of the dream domain. Talun and the Serpent are already there. He nods to them silently and sits down, waiting for the next to arrive, expecting Omar.
But like the last two days, it isn't Omar who appears. Instead, Song Qi materialises.
He glances around at the three already present and says, "No Omar?"
The others shake their heads.
"He hasn't slept for the past three days," Song Qi mutters.
"Maybe something important is keeping him awake," Sulla offers. "When he sleeps next, we'll know what happened."
A few minutes pass, and Ivy arrives. They wait a little longer in silence, giving Omar a chance to appear. But he doesn't.
Finally, Talun speaks. "I don't have anything new. I'm fighting in the arena. I stopped after six straight wins."
The Serpent says, "Same as yesterday. No changes."
Sulla says calmly, "Tomorrow, I'll become an extraordinary. I'll step into the first realm of the mortal realm."
Song Qi says, "I'm still preparing for the competition. Practising nonstop."
"I've started researching the Ironback Ape's spell," Ivy adds. "Trying to understand how it works."
Song Qi looks surprised. "You already engraved two spells. How can you engrave a third one?"
Sulla interjects, "Maybe she's preparing for when she becomes an intermediate mage apprentice?"
Ivy shakes her head. "No, it's not about the future. It's about now."
She explains, "We engrave spells because that lets us cast them before we fully understand them. But if I learn how the Ironback Ape's magic works, I won't need to engrave the spell model at all. I'll already know how to cast it. Only if I want to improve it later would I need to engrave it."
The Serpent nods slowly. "If everyone's finished reporting, then let's return to practice."
But before anyone can leave, the familiar, gentle voice of the spirit echoes through the hall.
"There are two new rewards available for exchange."
All five immediately send out a thought. A glowing scroll appears in front of each of them, listing the new rewards along with their required exchange points.
The two new rewards:
Memory of mastery of the Blood Bull Boxing Technique
A new spell: Magic Energy Control Spell
Song Qi's and Ivy's eyes widen as they read the new rewards.
Song Qi feels a rush of hope. If he acquires the memory of mastering the Blood Bull Boxing Technique, he won't master it immediately, but with one or two days of practice, as the memory synchronises with his own body and understanding, he will. That would give him a powerful edge in the upcoming trial.
For Ivy, it is the Magic Control Spell. According to its description, it combines the functionality of both the magic missile and magic shield spells into a single spell.
That means she can merge the two spell models in her mind space and free up a slot to engrave a new spell. If she also manages to understand the Ironback Ape's spell through research, she could cast three spells while still in the lower mage apprentice realm—an enormous advantage in survival and battle.
They both look at the cost: 1000 points each.
Song Qi has zero. Ivy only has fifty.
Realising what this means, and that they must now begin completing tasks assigned by the great being to earn these points, they quietly disperse, returning to their respective practices, more determined than ever.
----
Ivy
Ivy steps toward the corpse of the Ironback Ape, its muscular body stiff and pale under the research room's harsh lights. The steel table beneath it is stained slightly from prior examinations. The others shift slightly to give her space. The whiteboard beside them, marked with "Energy Circuit" in bold, looms like a silent reminder of their goal.
Madelyn finishes noting something down and moves aside. Rhine's voice takes on a firm tone as she says, "We'll rotate after an hour. Ivy, take the right arm."
Ivy nods and walks around the table, placing her hands on the thick, furred limb. The arm is heavy with layered muscle, and the ape's skin feels unnaturally cold. She closes her eyes briefly and releases a pulse of mental energy through her fingers. A faint shimmer glows inside her perception, and she begins slowly tracing through the muscle fibres with delicate precision.
The room grows quiet except for the scribble of notes and occasional murmurs.
Ivy focuses. Normal muscle tissue responds with a consistent dull resistance to her mental energy, but now she feels a current, a shift, something hidden deeper. A faint line beneath the primary muscle cluster glimmers faintly in her mind's eye—subtle but irregular, weaving in a spiral pattern unlike the rest of the fibres.
"...I think I've found something," Ivy says, not raising her voice too much but loud enough.
Rhine looks up from the leg, eyebrows arching. "Where?"
"Upper right bicep. There's a strand of fibres resisting my mental energy differently. It coils and links down toward the elbow."
Cathy hurries over with a sketchpad. "Mark the position. Try tracing it with more energy, see if it connects to a major node."
Ivy does as told, pushing slightly more mental force into the strange coil. As she traces the line downward, it splits—one direction toward the shoulder joint, the other deep into the forearm. Both lines pulse faintly, showing they carry energy rather than blood.
"I think this is part of the circuit," Ivy says, breath catching. "It's not just a channel. It's like a relay—it loops back."
"Good," Rhine says, her voice taut with focus. "Then this is likely part of the casting structure. We'll check if we can find the full circuit pattern across the limbs."
Ivy nods again, her mind sharpening. If they succeed—and she presents the full energy circuit and casting structure of an extraordinary being—her chances of earning those 950 points increase significantly.
This could be her breakthrough.
-----
Song Qi
After waking and finishing his morning duties, he doesn't step outside to practice the Blood Bull Boxing technique. Instead, he returns to his room, closes the door, and sits cross-legged on the floor. He takes a deep breath and begins to meditate, focusing entirely on awakening his mental energy.
He visualises a rune again—its lines, curves, and structure etched deep in his mind. But as always, just when he feels he's succeeded, the rune fades. Each failure leaves behind a faint sting of frustration. To truly awaken his mental energy, the rune must remain fixed permanently in his mind's space. Its vanishing means one of two things: either his mental energy is still too unrefined to hold the rune, or his visualisation lacks precision.
The rune he's trying to manifest comes from the meditation technique given to him at the woodworking workshop where he once worked. He also possesses another meditation technique—one issued by the Thousand Crane Sect upon his initiation—but the rune it uses is different. Both techniques are basic, and he originally chose the one from the workshop because it was familiar. Besides, it's said to assist in crafting Spiritual Wood Instruments.
That alone aligns with his ambition. Even after entering the sect, his goal hasn't changed. He still dreams of becoming a Spiritual Carpenter. Cultivation is important, but crafting spiritual instruments—especially from wood—might offer not only a livelihood but also a means of supporting his own path. Selling instruments could earn him cultivation resources. Creating them could deepen his understanding of spiritual flow.
Thinking of this, an idea strikes him. If the workshop meditation technique is designed to help Spiritual Carpenters, maybe he's using it the wrong way. Rather than forcing a perfect rune from pure will, maybe he should treat the visualisation like a craft.
He shifts focus. In his mind, he envisions a solid piece of wood—grainy, fibrous, full of texture. Not a floating symbol, but a block of material.
Then, carefully, patiently, he imagines his hands shaping it. A chisel slices along the grain. A knife cuts the excess. Bit by bit, the rune begins to take form—not drawn into existence, but carved. Every stroke is intentional. Every detail aligned with the texture of the imagined wood.
He doesn't rush. The mental carving feels different. Grounded. Real. And as the rune takes shape, it doesn't vanish. It remains embedded in the wooden surface of his mind like a completed sculpture. His mental energy stirs faintly in response, stabilising around the finished image.
He holds the visualisation, breath steady, body still.
This time, it might just be the beginning.
Then, as always, the rune vanishes. But unlike before, it doesn't disappear in the next breath. It lingers, holding for several seconds before fading. He isn't sad or disappointed. He feels a quiet satisfaction. The change is clear. The new visualisation method works. Now that he's found the right approach, it's only a matter of time before he completes the rune and awakens his mental energy.
But for now, he can't continue. The partial success leaves him drained. Tiredness sweeps over him like a wave, and a dull headache pulses behind his eyes. He closes them and begins simple meditation to recover.
After some time, he tries again—a second attempt, but still fails. The rune vanishes faster this time, but he isn't shaken. He rests briefly and attempts a third time. Still no success.
Then, as he's rubbing his temples to ease the growing pain, a knock sounds at his door. It's Qin Bo and the others, here for their scheduled lesson. He tells them through the door that he can't make it today and asks for their understanding.
He stays in his room all day, not even stepping out for meals. A food pill keeps him from hunger. On his fourth try, the rune still doesn't hold—but again, it lasts longer. That progress is enough to keep his spirit steady.
Finally, on his fifth attempt, he looks at the rune with calm anticipation. He starts counting seconds under his breath.
One... five... twenty... thirty... forty-five...
At sixty, the rune flashes. A brilliant light bursts from its lines, illuminating his visualisation space. Then, he feels it. A connection to something beyond. The rune trembles as energy surges through it, expanding the space around it. Like an egg cracking from the inside, the visualisation space shatters.
The rune does not vanish.
Instead, it reappears, now embedded deep within his mind space. A breath later, his mental energy stirs and rises from his mind, but cannot yet exit his body. Still, this is the moment—he has awakened his mental energy.
Now he can begin researching the material structure of metals, earn points, and move closer to his goal.
But not now. The mental strain is immense. His mind feels heavy, as if weighed by the rune itself. He exhales slowly, lies down, and lets sleep take him.
----
Talun
Talun steps into the arena. Today marks the tribe's final day in Ink Town. At dawn tomorrow, they will begin their journey home.
As he enters the ring, a wave of cheers erupts—his name shouted from every direction. After six consecutive victories, he has become a rising star. The crowd believes he will soon reach ten straight wins and claim the title of champion. And why not? Each day, his strength visibly grows, his movements sharper, his instincts more refined.
The announcer calls his opponent's name. A tall figure climbs into the ring. They nod at each other, acknowledging strength, not friendship. Then the voice calls: "Begin!"
They clash without hesitation. Spears flash, and the sound of metal striking metal echoes. Talun quickly gauges his opponent's strength, roughly equal to yesterday's fourth challenger. If the difficulty keeps rising like this, then by the fourth match today, he might face someone as strong as yesterday's seventh opponent—the one who defeated him.
But this time, he feels different. Stronger. Sharper. He believes he can win against that level now.
He doesn't rush. Injuries now will hurt his chances later. He draws the opponent in, lures him into overreaching. The moment he sees an opening, he strikes. His spear slaps the opponent's fingers. The weapon clatters to the ground. Before the man can react, Talun's tail lashes forward, hitting the belly with a heavy thud and flinging him out of the ring.
The crowd explodes with cheers.
Talun bows slightly and picks up the fallen spear, tossing it back to his opponent with quiet respect.
The second match begins. Another clean victory.
Then the third. During this fight, Talun slows down, paying close attention. Something feels familiar—an opening in the opponent's guard, a predictable rhythm. He prolongs the battle, confirming a pattern.
When the fourth opponent steps into the ring, Talun is ready. The same pattern appears again—identical spear technique, familiar movements, predictable flow. From the first to the fourth opponent, the spear style hasn't changed. Only their cultivation realm and raw strength differ.
Even knowing the weakness in the technique, Talun doesn't end the fight quickly. This opponent is stronger than him, and he needs to be careful. He uses the opportunity to observe, to grow more familiar with the spear technique. If the fifth opponent also uses the same style, even if slightly stronger than the fourth, Talun believes he can still win.
He fights cautiously, forcing exchanges that reveal more of the technique. Slowly, his body adjusts to the rhythm, and his instincts sharpen. After enough time, he exploits the same flaw, stripping the weapon from his opponent and forcing a defeat.
The fifth opponent steps in. Same style. Slightly more power. Talun's movements are smoother now, his counters quicker. Victory comes faster.
Then the sixth. Again, the same spear art. Talun now flows with ease, matching strength with precision and timing. Another win.
The seventh enters. A powerful opponent, but still within the first realm like the rest. Talun's eyes are calm. His body remembers every clash, every flaw. He absorbs the opponent's technique like water flowing into a riverbed—and when the moment comes, he strikes.
Seven victories. The crowd roars louder than ever.
In a private room overlooking the arena, the chief of Talun's tribe stands with his head bowed before a naga adorned in golden scales. The naga, regal and calm, watches Talun with narrowed eyes. After a moment of silence, he says, "You were right. He's a talent. He quickly saw through the pattern—all his opponents are using the same spear technique."
The chief lifts his head slightly. "Then, Sir?"
The naga nods. "Alright. I'll take your tribe under my protection. But I want one thing."
"Anything you want from the tribe—it's yours," the chief says without hesitation.
"I want him," the naga says, pointing at Talun, "to come with me to East Reef City."
The chief falters for a moment. His eyes waver, torn between duty and ambition. But then a look of determination sets in. "Very well. He will go with you."
The naga turns his eerie purple eyes onto the chief. "Aren't you reluctant? With him, your tribe could become a great one—perhaps even establish a town of your own."
The chief answers steadily, "But if he follows you, his future will shine far brighter than if he stays with me."
The naga smiles faintly, pleased. "Good. I will send a witch to your tribe. He'll help research the next blood essence. Your people will have their reward."
The chief bows low. "Thank you."
While they speak, Talun wins his eighth fight—and then his ninth. The arena trembles with excitement. The tenth match begins with high hopes from the crowd.
But this time, the opponent is too strong. The fight ends with Talun's defeat.
Even so, he walks out of the arena taller than ever, unaware that his path is about to change forever.
Talun, unaware of the chief's decision, returns to the tribe's members waiting for him outside the arena. The cheers of the crowd still echo in his ears. Seven victories in a row, then two more—he had reached the edge of becoming a champion. Even though he lost the tenth fight, no one looked at him with disappointment. Only awe.
His tribe members gather around him with food, drinks, and laughter.
Talun laughs, eats, and drinks with them. For this one night, he lets himself enjoy it. He doesn't know what the chief has planned for him, but he knows one thing—his strength is real, and the fame it brought is earned.
When the time comes, he returns to his room in the inn, and Talun lies down on the bed.
He knows this is only the beginning. His strength is what gave him recognition, and only in the dream domain can he push that strength to greater heights quickly.
He closes his eyes. A moment later, his mind sinks into the dream domain.
---
Omar
As soon as dawn breaks and light filters through his tent, Omar opens his eyes from meditation and crawls outside. The camp slowly stirs to life under the rising sun. Warriors yawn, fires are rekindled, and the scent of smoke begins to mix with the morning air.
Omar stretches beside his tent, breathes in the crisp air, and walks toward the nearby river. He crouches, splashing the cold water onto his face, then finds a secluded spot a little ways off the path. There, he sits on the ground and closes his eyes briefly.
Today, there's no need to hunt. They've already crossed Red Hill and made it through the forest. Ahead lies the Borsai grassland. Tonight, they'll sleep in Borsai City, a place that falls along the river's bend. Thinking of that comforts Omar. After days in the wild, a night behind stone walls, under a roof, feels like a luxury.
He exhales slowly and begins running the Fierce Fire Technique through his body. The energy stirs in his core, warming him. Gradually, the warmth turns to heat, then to searing fire. After ten minutes, his body trembles under the pressure, and he ends the cycle, sweat clinging to his back.
He doesn't push into the sword movements yet. His body can only handle ten minutes of the Fierce Fire energy. Any more, and he risks serious injury.
A pill from their limited supply eases his fatigue, and the Evergreen Pine Technique begins its slow work of healing. Every cycle strengthens him, reinforcing muscle, bone, and nerves. With every healing, his tolerance improves by seconds, but it's progress.
His goal is clear: endure the fierce fire for a full hour. Only then will he attempt to wield a sword under its power.
As the call for morning food echoes through the camp, Omar stands, brushing dirt from his clothes, and walks back. He joins the others in the centre, sitting cross-legged to eat the simple but warm meal. Afterwards, the group gathers to receive their assignments for the day.
Today, Omar is placed at the rear of the convoy. It's a calm position—less danger, but also more responsibility if anything goes them. He nods, mounts his beast, and the group begins its slow journey along the river, the morning sun climbing steadily behind them.
The day passes in a quiet rhythm of hooves, splashing water, and shifting winds. Occasionally, someone points out a beast or a glint in the grass, but no threat emerges.
As the sun dips below the horizon, the distant silhouette of Borsai City rises against the fading sky. Stone walls and wooden gates welcome them. They pass through the gates without trouble and soon settle into a local inn.
After stabling his mount and cleaning himself, Omar eats a hearty meal in the common hall. The warmth of cooked meat and spices makes his eyelids heavy. He climbs the stairs to his assigned room, closes the door behind him, and without wasting a breath, falls asleep.
---
Sulla
Sulla grits his teeth as the battle rages within his mind space. The phantom cat's consciousness lashes out with cunning ferocity, shadows twisting and splitting into perfect replicas of its form. To advance to the Shaman realm, Sulla must subdue this beast's will and merge their minds into one.
If not for his rigorous training during the guard competition, he would've lost already. Even so, the fight is gruelling—not because the cat overpowers him, but because of its elusive nature. Each time he strikes, the target dissolves into light, a phantom. Before he can react, the true cat emerges from another direction, claws slashing, and his soul quakes with every hit.
Understanding the pattern, Sulla stops attacking. He shifts into a defensive stance, guarding himself with mental energy and enduring each blow. This isn't a test of aggression—it's a test of will.
The fight is within his own mind space. Here, his endurance is greater than the phantom's. All he needs to do is last. To outlast the storm of illusions until the phantom cat exhausts its strength and exposes itself.
And so he waits, unshaken, his defences steady, eyes fixed on the blur of illusions. The phantom cat grows impatient. Its strength, once limitless, begins to wane. With each passing moment, the illusions flicker faster, less stable, their edges fraying as it's mental energy drains.
In desperation, it attacks with greater ferocity—claws blurring, illusions bursting in waves—but Sulla remains calm in the storm. His focus is unwavering, his mind shielded by layers of discipline. He doesn't fight back. He endures.
The phantom cat slows. Its breath grows ragged. The illusions sputter out one by one until only the true body remains, trembling, its sleek form slumping to the ground. Weak and defenceless.
Sulla doesn't hesitate. His soul surges forward like a crashing wave, colliding into the phantom cat's weakened consciousness. There is a moment of resistance—a last flicker of pride and defiance—but it's crushed beneath his unyielding will.
The mind space trembles. The phantom cat's soul cracks and then dissolves into his, becoming one.
In the real world, Sulla's eyes snap open. A flash of silver slits his pupils—narrow and sharp—the mark of the phantom cat now etched into his soul. He lifts his hand. His fingertip glows with a faint silver light—mind energy made manifest. His body hums with a strange new presence. He is now extraordinary.
His first instinct is to tell his five friends in the dream domain, but it's still day. They won't be there. He'll have to wait until nightfall when sleep draws them in.
He rises, steps to the door of the hut, and pulls it open—and finds the old man standing right there.
"I succeeded," Sulla says, speaking in the language of the Blood Spirit Race. Somehow, with the awakening of his mind energy, he has grasped the language completely.
"I know," the old man replies, voice calm. "So, do you want to hear how to reach the next realm now, or tomorrow?"
"Now," Sulla answers without hesitation.
"For the next realm," the old man begins, "you already know—you must refine another soul. This time, an intermediate-level demon beast."
Sulla nods. The path of the shaman mirrors the path of the hunter—step by step, soul by soul.
"But," Sulla asks, "does my next soul need to match the phantom cat's?"
"No," the old man says. "You can choose any demon beast. But for now, you can't refine a new soul at all. The phantom cat's consciousness hasn't fully disappeared. There are still traces of it in your soul. Until you finish refining them until the phantom cat's magic becomes entirely your own, you can't move forward."
"I understand," Sulla replies, already aware of the residue clinging inside his soul.
The old man turns and walks away without another word. Sulla returns to the hidden location. This time, he sits a step closer to the ancient stone column.
The moment he closes his eyes, it begins.
The hammer falls.
Again and again.
Invisible, ceaseless.
Each strike lands in his mind space, sharpening, tempering, shaping.
He grits his teeth, but he does not retreat. His mind energy is being refined. The pain is immense—but so is the clarity. Every strike of the invisible hammer tempers his soul, polishing the edges of his consciousness.
He doesn't linger for long. As the sun begins to dip beyond the horizon, he steps out from the hidden cavern and walks some distance away from the tribe, settling beneath a quiet tree. He leans back, eyes closed, letting the sounds of nature settle his thoughts—the wind brushing through leaves, the soft rustle of distant grass, the chirping of insects.
As his mind energy recovers, a fresh sharpness returns to his senses. He opens his eyes and whispers, "Now."
The pupils of the phantom cat flash within his own, and beside him, a ghostly figure appears—an exact phantom of himself. The illusion lasts only moments before fading into the air like mist.
He exhales slowly. Not enough.
He's not yet familiar with the phantom magic—the techniques that let the phantom cat confuse and strike. But he can feel it. It's there. With time with practice, he will control it. Use it in battle.
And so he trains. Again and again, summoning the phantom, watching it shimmer and vanish. The more he tries, the longer it stays. Still weak. Still fleeting. But progress, all the same.
Time passes unnoticed. The cavern hides the sun, but a dull weight settles in his body—sleepiness. His time is up.
He stops.
Returning to the tribe, he walks into the kitchen, where a warm bowl of food is still waiting. He eats quietly, says little, then steps back into his room. The moment his body touches the mat, sleep pulls him under.
----
31 – Dream Domain
While absorbing dream energy, Merin shifts his focus to the grand hall within his domain. Everyone from the group has arrived. He listens quietly to their chatter, picking out key details. Song Qi and Sulla have both awakened their mind energy, a progress that makes Merin pause with interest.
Omar, meanwhile, explains that he couldn't enter the Dream Domain for a few days. He had been travelling through a forest, unable to sleep deeply, but now that he's reached a city, his connection has returned.
Aside from the intrigue of Sulla's phantom magic, nothing else draws Merin's immediate concern. But he notes it all. The phantom magic is promising, but with all his energy drained by the black energy, he has no room to explore it. Quietly, he turns back and continues absorbing the dream energy.
---
32 – Dream Domain
Later, Merin shifts his awareness to the hall again. This time, Song Qi steps forward, offering material structure details for a low-level spiritual tree—the Golden Leaf Tree. Merin accepts the data, and a glow pulses from the centre of the domain. He grants Song Qi 100 points without hesitation.
In their ongoing conversation, he picks up something new. Talun has been sent by his tribe to serve a noble naga and is now travelling to East Reef City. Merin raises an eyebrow, storing the information. A noble naga—interesting. That could affect Talun's future more than the others realise.
He retreats again into the energy currents of the Dream Domain.
---
33 – Dream Domain
This time, Ivy steps forward with something valuable. She provides material structure data along with the energy circuit of the Ironback Ape.
Merin studies it closely.
The nodes within the energy circuit resemble runes—complex but elegant. If he can comprehend the circuit fully, he might be able to recreate the Iron Shield spell used by the ape. It's not just muscle but magic.
He rewards Ivy with 500 points.
---
34 – Dream Domain
The group chatters idly, but nothing new rises to the surface tonight.
Only one note: tomorrow, Song Qi's competition begins.
----
Ivy
Morning of the Trial
Ivy sits with the other low-level wizard apprentices in the mess hall, their bowls warm in their hands as they eat. Around her, voices buzz with casual talk about another hunting trip.
Medalyn sets her spoon down and says, "I can't go today. I'm starting to refine my own magic wand."
Envy stirs in Ivy's chest. If only I had arrived six months ago, she thinks. Then she might've learned to craft magical instruments, scrolls, and other deeper magical disciplines. But she's only been here two months—barely time to grasp the basics before the trial. Still, she's read everything she could in the library, especially after researching the Ironback Ape. That sparked her interest in biology. She decides, once the trial is over, she'll continue in that field. For now, she'll research the ordinary beasts on the island.
Rhine leans back and asks, "What about tomorrow?"
Everyone nods and agrees, "No problem." A hunting trip, then.
But just as they finish eating, the door creaks open and Mage Olivia enters the hall, her eyes sharp.
"Outside in fifteen minutes," she says. "The trial starts today."
Everyone freezes. Then chaos.
Eyes go wide. Spoons clatter. Ivy and the others bolt from their seats and rush to their rooms to prepare.
Fifteen minutes later, they gather outside. The senior apprentices are already assembled. Mage Olivia finishes addressing them, then turns to Ivy's group.
"This is your last chance," she says, voice firm. "If anyone doesn't want to participate, speak now. Later, it won't matter."
Silence. No one moves.
"Good," she says. "Follow me."
They trail behind her to the docks, where a wooden boat waits. They board. As soon as they're settled, the boat lifts into the air, floating high above the island. Ivy clutches the railing and looks around in awe. Other boats are rising too—dozens of them, heading to the same destination.
A voice rings out from above. "Everyone's here."
Mage Olivia answers, "Yes."
Six figures drift into view, suspended at the centre of the island's sky. Robes billow. Power radiates.
One of them speaks, voice deep and clear. "The trial has changed. It will be held inside a newly discovered mortal realm."
A murmur ripples through the boats.
"Your task inside is to build a Mage Tower," the figure continues. "Others will enter after you. The foundation must be laid by your hands."
Another figure adds, "In that realm, native cultivators and outsiders are your enemies, not each other. You must cooperate to survive. The seal in your mind will help locate your companions nearby."
A stream of light flows from one of the figures, spreading like a web across the sky. It touches every participant. Ivy flinches as a warm pulse enters her body and embeds itself deep within her consciousness. She probes it with her mind energy. A pattern unfolds in her mind space—detailed instructions on constructing a Mage Tower, including materials, runes, energy circuits, and structural layers.
The six figures raise their hands and move into a circle, facing inward. Magic pours from their bodies, weaving into an immense sky-spanning array. At its heart, a swirling door appears. The air trembles.
The door opens.
Before Ivy can react, her body lifts. Wind rushes past her. Light wraps around her.
And then she is flying—faster than thought—into the glowing doorway.
----
Song Qi wakes up as usual a few minutes before dawn. Just as he sits up on his bed, a voice echoes in his mind, calm but firm: "In fifteen minutes, come to the menial disciples' training ground. The competition will start."
His eyes widen in surprise. The day has come.
Without hesitation, he throws off his covers and begins to prepare. He washes quickly, ties his belt, and slips on his gloves—the ones he's trained with for months. Tightening the straps with a sharp tug, he steps outside.
Cool morning air greets him. Around him, other disciples are already moving—some stretching, others jogging, all tense with anticipation. Without pause, Song Qi starts running too, falling into rhythm with the others, his heart steady, his focus sharp. The day of the trial has begun.