Monthly Competition

The vast training grounds of Blustering Wind Martial Hall were filled with an unusually grim atmosphere today.

All the newly admitted apprentices were neatly lined up according to their room numbers, A, B, C, and D, in complete silence. On the high platform, the Hall Master, Shi Lie Feng, stood with his hands behind his back, his expression calm. Several instructors stood on either side, their gazes sharp as lightning, scanning the crowd below. Instructor Chen, who had registered them yesterday, stood at the front of the platform holding a roster.

In the center of the training grounds, dozens of black wooden stakes, half a person's height and requiring two people to embrace their circumference, were neatly arranged. These were the "Ironwood Stakes" used for testing. Their wood was as hard as iron, difficult to damage with ordinary swords and sabers, and they were the best tools for examining the strength of the dermis and overall power.

The rules were simple and brutal: strike the Ironwood Stakes with all your might! The instructors would judge the progress of dermis tempering based on the depth of the marks left behind.

The air was filled with tension, excitement, and unconcealed anxiety. This Half-monthly Exam concerned their continued stay, and no one dared to be negligent.

Instructor Chen's cold voice broke the silence: "The half-month period has arrived, time to test your cultivation results! In order of room number, step forward for testing! Class C, you're up first!"

A commotion immediately arose among the Class C apprentices, many of their faces turning pale. They were the lowest tier in the martial hall, with the fewest resources and the greatest pressure.

The first to step up was a youth of average build from Class C. He took a deep breath, gathered his strength, and punched the Ironwood Stake.

"Bang!" A muffled sound.

The youth grimaced as he withdrew his fist, the back of his hand turning red. Looking at the Ironwood Stake, only an almost invisible shallow mark was left.

"Mark too shallow, unqualified! Next!" Instructor Chen announced, Expressionless.

The youth's face immediately turned ashen, and he collapsed to the ground, quickly dragged away by the handyman disciples.

The atmosphere grew even more somber.

Several people in succession had unsatisfactory results, most leaving only blurry imprints, barely qualifying. This continued until Zhao Hu stepped up.

Zhao Hu took a deep breath, a confident expression on his face. He felt he had made great progress over the past half-month. With a low growl, his stout body lunged forward, the muscles in his thick right arm bulging as he fiercely punched the Ironwood Stake!

"Dong!"

The sound was significantly louder than for the previous few people. The Ironwood Stake trembled slightly.

Zhao Hu withdrew his fist, looking proudly at the location of the punch mark. On the black wooden stake, a clear fist print about half an inch deep was clearly visible! Although the edges were somewhat blurry, the depth was rare for Class C!

"Hiss--"

A low murmur of surprise arose from the crowd. The Class C apprentices looked at Zhao Hu with envy.

"Zhao Hu, fist print half an inch deep, qualified, upper-middle!" Instructor Chen nodded slightly, his tone softening a bit.

Zhao Hu, full of pride, walked off the stage with his head held high. As he passed Li Yuan, he deliberately cast a provocative and contemptuous look, lowering his voice and saying, "See, Trash? This is Strength! Prepare to die!"

Li Yuan's eyelids drooped, as if he hadn't heard.

Next was Li Gou Er. He stepped forward tremblingly and delivered a full-power strike, leaving only a shallow pit less than two fen deep on the wooden stake, barely qualifying. He broke out in a cold sweat, terrified.

When Shi Feng stepped up, it attracted a little attention. His face was stern and cold, and without a word, he simply threw an ordinary punch.

"Bang!"

The sound was dull and solid. On the ironwood stake, an imprint was left that was as deep as Zhao Hu's, but with clearer, neater edges!

"Shi Feng, the fist imprint is half an inch deeper, qualified, upper-middle!" Instructor Chen glanced at Shi Feng again.

Shi Feng silently stepped off the stage and returned to his original position, as if he had done something insignificant.

Zhao Hu looked at Shi Feng's back, curled his lips, feeling somewhat unconvinced, but said nothing.

The test continued, and Class C Room was soon at the end.

"Next, Class C Number Seven, Li Yuan!" Instructor Chen's tone was unwavering as he read out the name.

In an instant, almost everyone's gaze focused on the youth standing at the end of the Class C Room queue, wearing a washed-out coarse cloth shirt, whose build didn't seem particularly sturdy.

For the past half month, Li Yuan's reputation as "trash" had spread throughout the new apprentices' circle, thanks to Zhao Hu's relentless efforts. At this moment, everyone wanted to see what kind of result this youth, who had repeatedly been provoked yet remained silent and enduring, would deliver.

Would he be publicly humiliated and kicked out? Or could he create a miracle?

The vast majority leaned towards the former.

Zhao Hu even crossed his arms, a undisguised sneer on his face, waiting to watch the show. Even the instructors on the high platform looked on casually, clearly not expecting much from this seemingly ordinary youth.

Under everyone's gaze, Li Yuan slowly walked out of the queue.

His steps were steady, unhurried, and his face showed no signs of nervousness or excitement, eerily calm.

He walked to an empty ironwood stake and stopped.

He didn't build up momentum like others, didn't let out a roar, and didn't even strike any flashy pose.

He simply took a shallow breath, then raised his right arm, which didn't look particularly thick, even somewhat lean.

His five fingers slowly clenched into a fist.

The muscles on his arm instantly tensed, flowing and full of a sense of power.

Then, under the expectant, mocking, or indifferent gazes of everyone, he threw a punch, ordinary and simple.

The movement was simple, direct, even with a hint of casualness.

It was as if he wasn't undergoing an assessment that would determine his fate, but merely brushing dust off his shoulder.

His fist cut through the air, not stirring up a sharp whistling sound, but carrying a strange steadiness and solemnity.

The next moment.

"BAM!!!!!!"

A dull, heavy roar, utterly different from all previous impacts, yet containing the might of wind and thunder, suddenly exploded across the training ground!

It was like a thunderclap, striking everyone's eardrums and hearts!