"I passed the eighth gate but failed at the ninth."
Fang Han said, holding nothing back.
After he spoke, a brief silence fell over the forest.
Only the soft rustle of their footsteps on the decaying leaves and the occasional chirp of a distant bird could be heard.
Yun Muyao's steps faltered for a moment.
She glanced sideways at Fang Han, a flicker of disbelief in her cool, clear eyes.
"The eighth gate?"
Her voice was still cool, but it held a hint of a tremor now.
"Yes."
Fang Han nodded, his expression calm.
Yun Muyao fell silent.
She gazed at Fang Han's tranquil face, her cool, clear eyes glinting.
'The eighth gate.'
She had given her all just to pass the third gate, only to fail at the fourth and be ejected from the Ancient Ruins by a golden barrier.
And yet, Fang Han had passed the eighth.
The fourth gate had five Early Third Grade puppets.
Following the pattern—one more puppet and an increase of one Minor Realm in strength with each gate—she calculated:
