The First Trial
Wu Changkong stood at the center of the arena, a figure of calm intensity in white robes that seemed untouched by the surrounding energy fluctuations. His gaze swept over Yao Xuan's team, assessing each member with the analytical precision that had made him one of Shrek's most formidable instructors.
A hundred meters separated teacher from students—a distance that felt both vast and insufficient. The metallic floor hummed with contained power, the soul guidance arrays along its perimeter glowing with soft blue light. Around the arena's edge, their classmates watched with rapt attention, the earlier excitement over the rankings tempered by the gravity of actual combat.
"Ready, five, four..."
Shen Yi's countdown echoed through the protective barrier, her voice carrying the weight of imminent confrontation.
Yao Xuan positioned himself at the vanguard, feet shoulder-width apart, knees slightly bent—the stable foundation from which all movement would flow. To his left and slightly behind, Gu Yue stood with that particular stillness that preceded elemental storms, her silver hair pulled back tightly, eyes already shimmering with gathering energy. Tang Wulin took the right flank, Blue Silver Grass tendrils emerging from his palms to weave a defensive lattice before Xu Xiaoyan. Xie Xie vanished into the periphery of vision, not truly invisible yet but already leveraging shadows with practiced ease.
"Three, two, one. Begin."
The word hadn't fully faded when Yao Xuan moved.
Not a reckless charge, but a controlled advance that covered ground with shocking efficiency. His body remembered the rhythm of their previous spars—Wu Changkong's preference for defensive counterattacks, the precise angles of his sword's reach, the subtle weight shifts that betrayed his intentions moments before action.
'Close the distance without overcommitting,' Yao Xuan thought, bloodline energy circulating through his limbs, enhancing strength and perception. 'Force him to address me first.'
As if reading his intention—or perhaps simply following their pre-battle plan—Gu Yue's hands rose. No grand gestures, just fingers splaying as the air between Yao Xuan and Wu Changkong thickened, distorted, became a lens focusing invisible pressure. Her Elemental Staff hadn't materialized yet, but its influence was already present in the precise manipulation of atmospheric density.
Wu Changkong's eyebrow lifted fractionally. He didn't draw his sword, didn't assume a combat stance. He simply watched as Yao Xuan closed to fifty meters, forty, thirty—
A flicker of movement from the arena's edge. Xie Xie materialized behind Wu Changkong, twin daggers flashing toward what should have been an undefended back. Except Wu Changkong wasn't there anymore. A half-step to the left, a torso pivot, and his elbow met Xie Xie's forearm in a crisp deflection that sent the younger boy stumbling past, momentum betrayed.
"Too direct," Wu Changkong commented, his voice carrying easily across the arena. "Your approach lacked misdirection."
Xie Xie vanished again, chastened but not defeated.
Twenty meters now. Tang Wulin's Blue Silver Grass surged across the floor, not aiming to bind but to entangle, to limit footwork options. Simultaneously, Xu Xiaoyan's Star Wheel Ice Staff materialized, its daytime glow subdued but still casting patterns of frost that crawled along the metallic surface.
Wu Changkong finally moved. A single step backward, timed so precisely that Tang Wulin's vines found only empty floor. His right hand rose, palm facing Yao Xuan, and the air compressed into a visible shockwave.
Yao Xuan didn't dodge. He couldn't—not without abandoning the pressure he was maintaining. Instead, he crossed his arms before him, ancestral dragon scales shimmering into existence along his forearms. The impact shuddered through his bones, but his feet held firm, carving twin furrows in the reinforced metal.
'He's testing our foundation,' Yao Xuan realized. 'Not our tricks, but our fundamentals.'
Gu Yue's attack chose that moment to manifest. Not the expected elemental barrage, but something subtler: the oxygen around Wu Changkong's head thinned, just enough to cause momentary disorientation. Combined with Xu Xiaoyan's frost patterns now reaching his feet, it created the opening Yao Xuan needed.
He exploded forward, covering the remaining distance in a burst of acceleration that left afterimages. His right fist, wrapped in golden-tinged energy, aimed not at Wu Changkong's body but at the space just beside him—a feint that became a true strike as his weight shifted mid-swing.
Wu Changkong's parry was a masterpiece of economy. His forearm met Yao Xuan's wrist, redirecting rather than blocking, using the younger boy's momentum against him. But Yao Xuan had anticipated this. His left hand was already moving, fingers forming a dragon claw strike aimed low.
For the first time, Wu Changkong retreated—a single graceful step that placed him just outside the effective range of both attacks. His sword remained sheathed.
"Better," he acknowledged. "You're learning to chain intentions."
The compliment was delivered even as he countered. A sweep of his leg aimed not at Yao Xuan but at the floor, sending a ripple through the metal that disrupted Tang Wulin's creeping vines. His left hand flicked outward, and a blade of condensed air sliced toward Gu Yue, forcing her to divert attention from her atmospheric manipulation to a hasty elemental shield.
The battle settled into rhythm: Yao Xuan pressing the direct assault, Gu Yue layering control and disruption, Tang Wulin and Xu Xiaoyan creating environmental hazards, Xie Xie seeking openings that never quite materialized. Wu Changkong moved among them like a white ghost, never hurried, never overextended, his responses always precisely calibrated to neutralize without overwhelming.
The system's silent notification registered in Yao Xuan's consciousness even as he ducked under a palm strike that would have ended the fight. Five minutes had passed according to the arena's chronometer, but it felt both longer and shorter—an eternity of split-second decisions compressed into moments.
He risked a glance at Gu Yue. She met his eyes, gave a slight nod. They'd practiced this.
Yao Xuan's next charge was different—slower, deliberately telegraphing a high kick. As Wu Changkong shifted to intercept, Gu Yue's hands clenched. The space around the teacher distorted, gravity intensifying in a localized field that dragged at his movements for barely half a second. But half a second was enough.
Xie Xie chose that moment to strike from above, having used the arena's structural beams for elevation. Tang Wulin's vines surged not at Wu Changkong but at the floor around him, creating a tangled mat to inhibit footwork. Xu Xiaoyan's frost patterns flared, trying to anchor his feet.
For the first time, Wu Changkong drew his sword. Not the full blade, but enough to sweep in a circle that shattered the ice, severed the vines, and forced Xie Xie to abort his descent. The motion was fluid, effortless, and it left his left side momentarily open.
Yao Xuan was already there, not with a punch but with a grapple, attempting to close distance and limit the sword's effectiveness. His arms wrapped around Wu Changkong's torso from the side, bloodline strength flaring.
The teacher's response was a lesson in leverage. Rather than resisting, he dropped his center, turning the grapple into a throw that sent Yao Xuan tumbling across the arena. But in doing so, he'd committed to motion, and Gu Yue's attack finally arrived in earnest: a sphere of compressed wind and fire that howled toward his now-exposed back.
Wu Changkong didn't turn. His sword, still only partially drawn, reversed in his grip and pointed backward. The sphere split around the blade, dissipating harmlessly to either side.
"Eight minutes," Shen Yi's voice announced from outside the barrier.
Yao Xuan rose, breathing heavily but grinning. They hadn't landed a telling blow, hadn't truly threatened their teacher. But they'd forced him to draw his sword. For first-year students against a Soul Sage, that was victory enough.
The remaining two minutes passed in a blur of exchanged techniques, each team member pushing their limits. When Shen Yi called time, the barrier flickered and fell, revealing five exhausted students and one unruffled teacher.
"Assessment," Wu Changkong said, sheathing his sword fully. "Coordinated B-plus, individual execution B-minus, tactical adaptation A-minus. You prioritized controlling the battle's tempo over seeking finishing blows—wise against a superior opponent. Yao Xuan, your reads improved as the match progressed. Gu Yue, your environmental manipulation shows refined precision. The rest of you..." His gaze swept over Tang Wulin, Xie Xie, and Xu Xiaoyan. "You supported without overreaching. A solid first effort."
He stepped off the arena platform, white robes still pristine. "Next group."
As Yao Xuan's team moved to the sidelines, Gu Yue's shoulder brushed his. "Your timing on that grapple was perfect," she murmured, just for him.
"Your gravity field made it possible," he replied, their hands briefly finding each other's in the space between them before separating.
Around them, their classmates watched with new respect. The rankings had been abstract numbers. This—this coordinated effort against an instructor who had fought in the Great Beast Tide—this was tangible proof of why Yao Xuan and Gu Yue stood at the top.
And in the crowd, Luo Guixing's team observed with focused intensity, already analyzing, already planning for their own turn on the arena floor.
The practical training had begun in earnest. And for Yao Xuan, each match was another step toward mastering not just his own power, but how to wield it alongside those who walked with him.