Top Freshman

Two days later, the final assessments began.

The written exam was in the morning, covering Soul Beast knowledge, Wuhun theory, continental geography, and the like.

An Chen finished quickly. Most of the material was something he had read in the original work before his transmigration or in Elder Chen's collection. For what he had not read, he could still infer the answers through common sense.

When Qian Yiming handed in his paper, he deliberately glanced at An Chen, his eyes carrying a hint of, My written score will definitely be higher than yours.

An Chen smiled helplessly.

The combat assessment was in the afternoon.

There were over a hundred freshmen this year. Most had not yet reached level ten and had not even absorbed their First Soul Ring.

Without Soul Rings, they had no Soul Skills, so they could only rely on the traits of their Wuhuns and basic fighting ability. Their levels varied wildly.

Fewer than twenty had Soul Rings, including An Chen, Shitou, and Qian Yiming.

The Sparring Ground was packed with spectators from morning to evening.

The instructors stood at the edge of the field as referees. Zhao Qinian was in charge of the freshmen, holding a roster and calling them up one by one.

Several of An Chen's matches were scheduled for the afternoon of the second day.

In the first match, his opponent was a level-nine student with a Tool Wuhun—a Long Hammer. He did not even have a Soul Ring.

The student raised his Long Hammer, let out a roar, and charged forward, smashing downward.

An Chen remained where he was. Only when the hammer was about to fall onto his head did he step left and drive his elbow into the student's ribs.

The student doubled over, staggered, and dropped to his knees.

"I concede!"

An Chen withdrew his hand and stepped aside.

Someone in the stands whispered, "He didn't even use his Wuhun?"

"Looks like he didn't..."

The second match was against a level-ten student with a Beast Wuhun, who had not yet had the chance to hunt a Soul Beast.

After the opponent possessed the Wild Boar, his strength surged. He lowered his head and rammed straight at An Chen.

An Chen sidestepped three times. On the fourth, however, he did not dodge. He placed a hand on the student's shoulder, borrowed the force to turn, and redirected the charging momentum. The student tripped and crashed onto the floor.

An Chen lightly pressed his toe against the student's waist.

"I concede!"

The discussions in the stands grew louder. "Does he even have a Wuhun?"

"He does. An Iron Pot. We saw it at the start of school."

"Then why isn't he using it?"

"Who knows..."

His third opponent was a level-twelve student with a Tool Wuhun—a Short Saber.

This student had a Soul Ring. As soon as the battle began, a layer of Yellow Light spread over the Short Saber as it darted back and forth through the air like a snake hunting prey.

Only then did An Chen raise his right hand. With a flip of his palm, a Big Iron Pot appeared out of thin air.

Clang—

The Short Saber struck the bottom of the pot and was immediately deflected.

Holding the Iron Pot, An Chen crossed to the center of the field in three strides. The pot struck his opponent's wrist, knocking the Short Saber from his hand. Then An Chen inverted the pot over his opponent's head and gave it a light pat.

"I concede!"

An Chen recalled the Iron Pot and stepped aside.

Someone in the stands whispered, "He used his Wuhun. What about his Soul Skill?"

"It doesn't look like he used a Soul Skill."

An Chen handled the next several matches in the same way.

He was neither rushed nor impatient. He did not pursue or press his opponents, merely waiting for them to reveal an opening before winning in a single strike.

Against weak opponents, he did not even need to use his Wuhun. Against slightly stronger ones, he used the Iron Pot, but he never once used a Soul Skill.

Shitou and Qian Yiming were also fighting intensely in their respective matches.

Shitou fought fiercely. His Wooden Stick swept and chopped, and when he activated his Soul Skill, its tip became as hard as iron. But against agile opponents, he was easily run circles around.

He lost three matches in total but won many more, ultimately ranking twelfth among the freshmen.

Qian Yiming fought more steadily. His Kitchen Knife Wuhun was naturally suited for close-range entanglement, and after following An Chen in body training for half a year, his strength and endurance had improved.

Once he used his Soul Skill, the Kitchen Knife flew directly from his hand, moving so fast it was nearly impossible to follow with the naked eye. He fought his way to sixth place among the freshmen.

By the afternoon of the third day, the top ten freshmen had been decided.

An Chen was first!

A Working Student with a Big Iron Pot Wuhun had taken first place among the freshmen.

Shitou ran over, his face full of excitement. "Brother Pot! First among the freshmen! That's incredible!"

Qian Yiming said nothing, but the corner of his mouth twitched slightly as well.

An Chen patted Shitou's shoulder. "You two did well too. Cultivate properly. You'll have another chance next semester."

Shitou chuckled twice, while Qian Yiming nodded.

First among the freshmen was only the beginning.

The next morning, An Chen went to the back mountain for his morning training.

With weighted iron blocks on his back, he walked up along the mountain path.

The morning mist had yet to disperse. The woods were damp, dew hanging from the leaves and rustling beneath his feet.

When he reached an open space halfway up the mountain, he saw someone ahead.

The person stood with his back to An Chen in the middle of the clearing, practicing swordsmanship.

Every thrust was fast and precise. The sword tip tore through the morning mist, producing a sharp whistle.

An Chen halted.

Hearing the movement, the person sheathed his sword and turned around.

He was a youth of fourteen or fifteen, dressed in a dark blue brocade robe with a short sword hanging at his waist.

His face looked as though it had been carved with a knife, his gaze calm. An iron hammer emblem was embroidered on his collar.

He was from the Wu Family.

An Chen had heard at the academy that Wu Lei had a cousin named Wu Ming, the most outstanding member of the Wu Family's younger generation, already over level twenty.

He had not been at the academy before. It was said that his family had sent him out to gain experience.

It seemed that this was most likely him.

The youth swept his gaze over An Chen, then walked toward him.

"You're An Chen?"

"Yes. You're... Wu Ming?"

The other party nodded. He stopped three steps away, examined An Chen for a moment, then suddenly said, "Wu Lei's loss was not undeserved."

An Chen's eyelid twitched slightly.

Wu Ming continued, "After I returned, I asked him about it. He was the one who started the trouble last time."

His tone was calm, as though he were discussing something that had nothing to do with him.

"Then what are you here for?" An Chen asked.

Wu Ming glanced at him, the corner of his mouth shifting slightly. "Nothing much. I saw your performance in the assessment and heard Wu Lei's description. I want to fight you."

"You're the top freshman. I was the top freshman back then too. Next year, I'm going to Spirit Hall Academy. Before I leave, I want to see what you're really capable of."

An Chen looked at him without replying.

Wu Ming continued, "I won't use my Second Soul Ring. How about it?"

An Chen considered it, then nodded. "All right."

The corner of Wu Ming's mouth lifted slightly. "Tomorrow morning. The duel arena next door."

With that, he turned and headed down the mountain.

An Chen remained where he was, watching his back vanish into the morning mist.

He was a little disappointed. He had originally thought he had run into the sort of situation where, after defeating the younger one, the elder one came along.

That way, he could use Elder Chen to pressure them, then thoroughly humiliate them.

An Chen shook his head and habitually activated Spirit Vision, giving Wu Ming a glance.

Wu Ming's aura was completely different from Wu Lei's.

His emotional layer was suppressed deeply, like a bottomless pool of stagnant water.

The blood and energy in his limbs were solid and dense, while the dark color around his shoulders and back was heavy. It was probably the result of years of martial training.

An Chen withdrew Spirit Vision and stood amid the morning mist.

He could tell that Wu Ming and the arrogant, overbearing Wu Lei were entirely different kinds of people.

This man was reserved, composed, and steady of heart, without the slightest youthful impetuosity. Yet he hid an intense competitive spirit and pride within him.

This was probably not an attempt to cause trouble, but a test and contest between peers.

"Looks like this match won't be easy," An Chen muttered softly.