Fang Lin rested longer after the eighth trial than he had after the seventh.
It was not because his wounds were unbearable. The cuts left by the four saber spirit were painful, but pain had never been enough to stop him. What mattered was appearance. If a cultivator returned from a hidden trial chamber with blood across half his robe and immediately entered another door, the fools would call him reckless, the clever would call him strong, and the dangerous would begin counting how much strength he was hiding.
So Fang Lin sat quietly among the Green Bamboo Alliance disciples and let time pass.
He swallowed an ordinary recovery pill in front of them. Its medicinal strength spread through his body slowly, far weaker than the recovery his own foundation could bring out if he allowed it, but it was suitable for the eyes around him. His breathing steadied. The bleeding at his waist slowed. The wound on his cheek dried into a dark line.
Feng Jiu'er stood a short distance away, guarding without seeming to guard. Her gaze did not stay on him too long, but whenever anyone's attention lingered on his injuries, her eyes moved first.
Gu Man noticed this and pretended not to notice it. For a rough-looking man, he had the rare talent of knowing when silence was safer than laughter.
Mo Qingchuan sat nearby, gently wiping blood from the edge of his fan. He had also come out of a trial not long ago. His robes were still neat, but one sleeve hung slightly lower than the other, hiding a hand that trembled every few breaths.
No one asked what level anyone had attempted.
After the formation voice stopped announcing results, questions had become more dangerous than answers. A person who asked too much might expose greed. A person who answered too honestly might expose weakness.
Across the plaza, several cultivators entered doors one after another. Some returned after a short time with ugly expressions. Some came back with wounds that made their companions rush forward. One young man from a medium sect staggered out, opened his mouth as if to speak, and fainted before a single word left him.
No one laughed at him.
In Myriad Halls Plaza, fainting meant he had survived.
Fang Lin opened his eyes.
Feng Jiu'er immediately looked over. "Again?"
"Yes."
"Your wounds have not closed."
"They do not need to close before I walk."
Her brows drew together slightly. "That is the kind of answer people give before making others worry."
Fang Lin looked at her for a moment, then smiled faintly. "Then I will try to come back before you worry too much."
Feng Jiu'er's expression stayed calm, but the tips of her fingers tightened around her sword hilt. "Come back first. I will decide the rest."
Gu Man let out a low chuckle. "Brother Shen, she is giving orders now. If you survive the door, surviving outside may still be difficult."
Fang Lin stood and picked up Night Burial Sword. "One danger at a time."
He walked toward the trial doors.
This time, more people watched him.
Not openly. Cultivators who had reached this place were not so crude. They watched from the corners of their eyes, through lowered lashes, through polished cups, through the reflection on blades. Xu Hanjiang's gaze followed him. Jian Wuchen looked once and then turned away, but the sword intent around him grew slightly colder. Kong Mingyuan's prayer beads slowed for half a breath before moving again.
Fang Lin ignored them all.
A door opened.
Ancient light swallowed him.
The world changed.
He landed in a valley of black stone.
There was no ceiling above him, only a dark sky filled with red cracks like wounds torn across night. Broken pillars stood on both sides of the valley, each carved with figures kneeling beneath enormous beasts. A hot metallic scent filled the air. The ground beneath his feet was not smooth. It was layered with old impact marks, shattered stone, and black dust that shifted like ash.
At the end of the valley, something breathed.
Fang Lin looked forward.
A giant figure crouched there.
It had the shape of a man, but only barely. Its body was nearly twice Fang Lin's height, covered in dark iron armor that looked fused into its flesh. Two curved horns rose from its forehead. Its arms were thick enough to crush stone pillars, and in one hand it held a heavy crescent axe with a handle longer than an ordinary spear. Dark red veins pulsed beneath its skin, moving like buried fire.
This was not a mindless puppet.
Its eyes opened.
They were blood-gold.
The giant rose slowly, and the valley seemed to sink beneath its weight. It rolled its neck once. The sound was like stones grinding together.
Then it smiled.
"Human," it said, its voice rough and low.
Fang Lin's eyes narrowed slightly.
The trial opponent could speak.
That alone made this chamber different.
The giant lifted the crescent axe and rested it on its shoulder. "You smell of death, darkness, and living flesh. Good. The weak ones before you screamed too early."
Fang Lin was astonished! Someone else had passed the trials?
Fang Lin did not answer.
The giant's smile widened. "Quiet. Better."
The axe vanished.
Fang Lin's pupils constricted.
It had not truly vanished. It had moved so fast that the air failed to carry the warning.
Nine Nether Phantom Body activated within Fang Lin, strengthening flesh, bone, meridians, and breath in the same instant. Nine Abyss Shadow Scripture circulated after it, turning his movement colder and stranger as darkness folded tight against his body instead of spreading outward.
The crescent axe struck down.
Fang Lin moved.
The blade missed his shoulder by less than a finger's width and smashed into the ground. Black stone exploded upward. The force threw broken fragments across the valley like hidden arrows. Fang Lin raised Night Burial Sword and cut three pieces apart, but the fourth struck his forearm and tore flesh open.
The giant was already in front of him.
Its knee crashed forward.
Fang Lin blocked with his left arm.
The impact drove him back twenty feet. His feet carved two lines through the ground before he steadied himself. Pain spread through his arm, deep and heavy. This thing's raw body force was terrifying. If an ordinary Peak Spirit Foundation cultivator took that knee directly, their arm would not ache.
It would be mangled.
The giant laughed once and charged.
The crescent axe swept horizontally, cutting through three broken pillars before reaching Fang Lin. Stone collapsed in a wave behind the blade. Fang Lin used Flowing Wind Steps and slipped under the arc, but the giant's free hand slammed down at the same time.
Fang Lin had no room to avoid it cleanly.
He employed Black Mountain Suppression Art, sinking heavy pressure into his stance. His feet rooted into the broken ground. His left palm rose.
Black Mountain Guard held his frame.
The palm struck him.
The ground beneath Fang Lin cracked in a circle. His knees bent slightly, and blood rose in his throat. He swallowed it back. The giant's strength pressed down like a falling hill, but Fang Lin's eyes remained clear.
The giant leaned closer, blood-gold eyes filled with savage interest. "You did not break."
Fang Lin's right hand moved.
Night Burial Sword cut upward.
The blade scraped across the giant's wrist and opened a shallow wound, but did not sever the hand. Dark red blood spilled out, thick and hot. The wound closed slower than expected, but it still closed.
Fang Lin stepped away before the axe returned.
The giant looked at the cut, then laughed louder. "Again."
This time, it attacked with both weapon and body.
The axe fell like a mountain collapse. Its shoulder came after the axe. Its elbow followed the shoulder. Each movement chained into the next, not refined like the four saber spirit, but brutal enough to destroy refinement. Fang Lin dodged one strike and blocked another. The third smashed into Night Burial Sword and forced the black blade against his chest.
His ribs shook.
His breath nearly scattered.
Fang Lin's expression turned colder.
The giant's style was simple, but simplicity at this level was not weakness. It used strength, speed, weight, and pressure so directly that tricks had little space to survive. Against this kind of opponent, a hesitation would become a crushed skull. A mistake would become a broken spine.
Fang Lin stepped forward.
The giant's eyes brightened.
The axe chopped down.
Fang Lin did not retreat. Black Mountain Descent was executed beneath his step, crushing his pressure into the ground and forcing the shattered stones around him to jump. At the same time, he drew upon the Dark Bud formed through Dew of Ten Thousand Shadows. A thin reserve of condensed darkness stirred inside him, not spreading into the valley, only deepening the weight behind his movement.
His body blurred.
The axe struck empty ground.
Fang Lin appeared near the giant's left side and slashed at the back of its knee. Night Burial Sword bit through armor and flesh, but the cut stopped halfway. The giant roared, not in pain, but in excitement. Its leg twisted with impossible force, and its heel slammed backward.
Fang Lin crossed his arms.
The kick struck him.
He flew through a broken pillar and crashed into the ground beyond it. Stone fragments scattered across his robe. Blood spilled from the corner of his mouth. His left arm throbbed as if the bones inside had been struck by a hammer.
The giant did not give him time.
It leaped.
The crescent axe came down with its full weight behind it.
Fang Lin rolled aside, and the blade split the ground where his head had been. A crack opened across the valley floor, stretching more than thirty feet. Before the giant could pull the axe back, Fang Lin's palm struck the axe handle.
Black Mountain Breaking Palm was executed.
The force drove inward.
The axe handle trembled violently. The giant's grip loosened for a fraction of a breath. Fang Lin seized that moment, stepped onto the axe handle itself, and ran along it toward the giant's arm.
The giant's other hand grabbed at him.
Fang Lin lowered his body. The fingers passed over his back, tearing cloth and opening shallow lines across his skin. Night Burial Sword stabbed into the giant's forearm. Fang Lin used the sword as a pivot, swung around the arm, and drove his knee into the side of the giant's neck.
A dull boom rang out.
The giant staggered one step.
Only one.
Its head turned slowly. Its smile had vanished.
"Good," it said.
Its aura changed.
The dark red veins beneath its skin brightened. Heat poured out from its body, and the black dust across the valley began to rise. Its wounds stopped closing. Instead, the blood leaking from them burned, covering its armor in a red-black sheen.
The pressure doubled.
Fang Lin's breathing became heavier.
The ninth trial had finally shown its true teeth.
The giant moved.
This time there was no laughter, no speech, no rough amusement. It attacked like a war beast that had remembered an old battlefield. The axe came from above, then below, then from the side in a reverse sweep that nearly cut Fang Lin in half. Fang Lin avoided the killing edge, but the wind from the blade tore open the wound at his waist again.
Blood soaked his robe.
He did not slow.
Nine Nether Phantom Body bore the damage and kept his body from collapsing. Nine Abyss Shadow Scripture made each shift harder to predict, but the giant's attacks covered too much space. Fang Lin could avoid death. He could not avoid injury.
A punch struck his shoulder.
His body spun half a circle before he stabilized.
The axe came for his head.
Fang Lin ducked, stepped inside, and struck the giant's chest with his elbow. The armor cracked. The giant answered with a headbutt. Fang Lin turned his face at the last instant, but the horn still tore across his temple.
For a moment, his vision reddened.
The giant raised its axe.
Fang Lin's gaze sharpened through the blood.
He moved first.
No warning. No grand posture.
His foot crushed the ground, and his body shot forward at an angle the giant had not expected. Night Burial Sword cut across the giant's wounded knee again. This time, Fang Lin did not try to cut through with the blade alone. He poured body force into the strike, and the pressure of Black Mountain Suppression Art followed the edge like a hidden weight.
The knee split.
The giant dropped lower.
Its axe still descended.
Fang Lin released Night Burial Sword with one hand and slammed his palm against the flat of the axe blade. The impact tore open his palm, but shifted the blade enough for it to crash beside him instead of through him.
Then his other hand closed around Night Burial Sword.
He stepped in close enough to smell burning blood.
The giant's eyes widened.
Fang Lin's sword thrust forward.
Not at the heart.
At the throat.
The giant tried to bite down on the blade.
Fang Lin twisted his wrist.
Night Burial Sword cut through the side of the neck and came out beneath the jaw. Dark red blood erupted. The giant roared and smashed its fist toward Fang Lin's head.
Fang Lin did not dodge fully.
He lowered his shoulder and took the blow across his back.
The force drove him to one knee. Pain burst through his spine, but his hand did not leave the sword. His eyes were cold enough to make the giant's roar falter.
Black Mountain Descent was executed again, this time through his knee, his spine, his arm, and the sword buried in the giant's throat.
The ground sank.
The giant's body sank with it.
Fang Lin rose from one knee.
Night Burial Sword tore upward.
The giant's head flew into the dark sky.
Its body remained standing for a breath, axe still raised, blood burning across its armor. Then the red veins dimmed. The huge corpse collapsed backward, shaking the valley when it struck the ground.
The crescent axe fell beside it.
Fang Lin looked at the weapon.
For one breath, it remained solid.
Then cracks spread across the axe, and the whole weapon dissolved into red-black dust. No spoil remained.
Fang Lin exhaled slowly.
The valley became quiet.
Blood ran down his temple, dripped from his palm, soaked his waist, and darkened the back of his robe. His left arm hung lower than before. His shoulder had taken too much force. His spine ached with each breath.
This injury was no longer only performance.
Ancient light descended.
A stone box appeared in the air before him. It was black, heavy, and sealed with a faint red mark. When Fang Lin opened it, a small crystal vial lay inside. The liquid within was not like medicine. It looked like melted iron mixed with blood, yet no heat came from it.
A line of ancient meaning entered his mind.
Ancient Iron-Blood Marrow.
Fang Lin closed the box and stored it away.
Only after that did he allow a thread of Nether Life Spirit Qi to move through the worst damage. He did not heal everything. He only steadied what would affect his walk and sealed what might kill him slowly if ignored. The rest he left visible.
When the trial door appeared, Fang Lin stood for a moment longer.
Then he stepped through.
Myriad Halls Plaza returned.
The noise of hundreds of cultivators pressed in from every side, but Fang Lin heard it as if from far away. He walked out with blood down one side of his face and his left arm hanging unnaturally still. His robe was torn across the back. Each step remained steady, but anyone with eyes could tell the chamber had not been gentle.
Feng Jiu'er moved first.
She did not rush. Rushing would draw too much attention. She simply appeared beside him before most people realized she had moved.
"Sit," she said.
Fang Lin looked at her. "That sounds less like advice."
"It is not advice."
Gu Man stood up, his expression no longer carrying any laughter. Mo Qingchuan's fan closed softly. Around them, the Green Bamboo Alliance disciples shifted, forming a loose screen without needing to be told.
Fang Lin sat down.
Feng Jiu'er took out a healing pill and held it toward him. "Use this."
"I have pills."
"Use this one."
Fang Lin glanced at the pill, then at her face. After a breath, he accepted it.
A faint warmth passed through Feng Jiu'er's eyes and vanished almost immediately. "Good."
Fang Lin swallowed the pill and leaned back slightly. His breath remained uneven, his wounds ugly, and his aura rough enough for the watching eyes to draw their own conclusions.
Across the plaza, Xu Hanjiang looked away first.
Jian Wuchen's face showed no expression, but his fingers rested on his sword hilt for a long time.
Kong Mingyuan lowered his eyes and continued moving his prayer beads.
No one knew what level Fang Lin had entered.
No one knew what he had killed.
Fang Lin closed his eyes.
The ninth trial had fallen.
And this time, even his bones remembered it.
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