Trial

Shen Fei rested at the Rocky Slope for an entire night.

Early the next morning, just as he finished packing and prepared to venture deeper into the forest, a chorus of beast roars suddenly rose in the distance. From the sound of it, at least seven or eight silver demon beasts were traveling together.

He had only just broken through his bottleneck and was not at his peak. There was no need to clash head-on with a large Beast Horde, so he immediately turned toward a valley to the side, intending to avoid them before deciding his next move.

The valley lay hidden between two cliffs, its entrance concealed by dense vines and shrubs. Had he not stumbled upon it in his haste, anyone passing by would have missed it.

The valley was quiet, with no signs of demon beast activity. Dark green vines covered the rock walls. As the wind stirred them, a corner of smooth stone peeked through.

Shen Fei stopped and slowly approached, sword in hand.

He reached out and parted the layers of vines, gradually revealing an entire stone door. Roughly twenty feet tall, it was built from massive, pitch-black stones, its surface covered in intricate, twisting inscriptions. Thick dust filled the grooves, as though it had lain sealed here for centuries.

An exceedingly fine seam ran down the center of the door, almost invisible without a close look. This was clearly no natural rock face.

He brushed his fingers over the inscriptions, coating his fingertips in a thin layer of dust. These patterns were completely different from the inscriptions commonly seen in Glory City. Their lines were ancient and obscure, exuding an icy chill. They were certainly not the work of any modern inscription master.

Something stirred in Shen Fei's heart.

In his previous life, he had spent a year in the City Guard and heard plenty of rumors about ancient ruins hidden deep within the Dark Forest. Most were tales passed from one mercenary to another, growing distorted along the way. Few took them seriously.

He had never expected to stumble upon some fortuitous opportunity. He had only wanted somewhere to avoid the Beast Horde, yet by sheer chance, he had found the entrance to a hidden underground palace.

He pressed his ear against the stone door and listened. There was no movement inside, only deathly silence.

Turn back?

The thought barely flashed through his mind before he crushed it. He had risked his life entering the depths of the Dark Forest precisely to seek a chance to break through. Now that an opportunity lay before him, he had no reason to retreat.

Even if danger lurked within, that was better than sitting helplessly and waiting for the Demon Beast Tide to breach the city.

Shen Fei drew a deep breath, hooked both hands into the seam, and gathered all his soul force before heaving with all his might.

The heavy stone door let out a deep, muffled creak, slowly parting to either side.

A damp, cold breath surged from within, carrying the scent of dust and ore. There was no smell of blood or demonic aura. For the moment, he detected no hint of danger.

Tightening his grip on his sword, he slipped sideways through the stone doorway.

Beyond the door lay a long, narrow passage. Fine inscriptions covered its walls as well, glowing faintly. Sword in hand, Shen Fei advanced step by step, keeping his footfalls light and watching for traps on either side.

The passage was short. After a few dozen steps, he reached its end, where the space opened into the underground palace's modest main hall.

The vaulted ceiling was high, embedded with numerous unfamiliar ores that emitted a faint, ghostly blue glow, just enough to illuminate the hall. The chamber was empty, without any extraneous furnishings. Only a stone stele as tall as a man stood at its center.

The floor was made of polished black stone, engraved with ring upon ring of inscription arrays. Their patterns shared the same origin as those on the stone door.

Shen Fei did not advance immediately. He first surveyed the hall from its entrance, then slowly approached the stele only after confirming there were no hidden traps or dangers.

The stele's surface was smooth and covered in ancient writing. He studied it for quite some time before gradually deciphering its meaning.

The inscription recorded why Old Man Black Prison had left behind his legacy. He had not originally belonged to the Tiny World, but had come from a region deeper within the Holy Spirit Continent. Pursued by enemies and gravely wounded, he had ended up here.

Knowing he had little life left, he had sought out this secluded valley and built an underground palace. Here, he had sealed his cultivation art, the Dark Prison Reincarnation Art, together with his life-bound demon spirit, the Shadow Mantis, awaiting a worthy successor.

The legacy had only one trial, called the Trial of Shadows.

The final lines set out its rules. Defeat your shadow and prove yourself worthy of commanding darkness. The shadow would replicate every one of your combat techniques, but not your will.

After reading it, Shen Fei fell silent for a moment.

Replicating all his combat techniques meant his opponent would be another version of himself, familiar with his every move and aware of all his habits and weaknesses. Such an opponent was the hardest to fight, because every trick in his arsenal was laid bare.

But he did not retreat.

Having come this far, he had no reason to turn back.

He took a deep breath and stepped into the inscription array on the floor.

The moment he settled into place, the array beneath his feet activated. A ring of pale black light illuminated its grooves, circulating slowly. The ghostly blue light in the hall dimmed, and thick shadows rose from the floor, gradually taking shape opposite him.

Within a few breaths, a figure identical to him stood at the other end of the Trial Platform.

It had the same build, the same dark gray fighting clothes, and the same Fine Iron Sword in its hand. Even the strands of hair hanging over its forehead fell at exactly the same angle. Its cultivation was also at the freshly attained Silver Mid-Rank, its aura perfectly steady.

Shen Fei tightened his grip on his sword.

Rather than rushing into an attack, he first made a probing thrust.

The shadow opposite him moved almost simultaneously. The same thrust, the same angle-even the turn of its wrist matched his exactly. The two swords collided in midair with a crisp clang, and each fighter recoiled half a step.

Even their strength was identical.

Shen Fei's heart sank.

He changed moves, sweeping his blade horizontally. The shadow changed with him, meeting the slash with a horizontal block. He stepped forward and turned into a sideways cut. The shadow turned in sync, raising its sword to stop him.

For the first ten strikes, they traded blows evenly. Every move collided with uncanny precision, as though he were fighting his own reflection.

Shen Fei exhausted all his usual moves, from orthodox academy sword techniques to the rough tricks he had developed on the city walls in his previous life. Even his dirty moves meant to catch an opponent unawares were perfectly replicated and countered by the shadow.

The shadow never tired, never hurt, and never hesitated. Every strike was frighteningly steady, without a single wasted movement.

On the eleventh strike, Shen Fei's previous burst of strength had ebbed before the next could build, exposing a tiny opening.

An ordinary opponent might not have seized that instant. But the shadow did not hesitate. With a turn of its wrist, it thrust through the gap, its blade striking his chest with perfect accuracy.

A moderate force struck him, driving Shen Fei three steps back and out of the array's central area.

The shadow stopped moving, dissolved back into a mass of darkness, and slowly sank into the floor.

His first exchange, his eleventh strike-he had lost.

Shen Fei stood at the edge of the platform and looked down at his chest. His clothes bore no tear. The trial's attacks did not truly injure anyone; they merely determined victory or defeat. But he knew very well that, in a real battle, that strike would have pierced his heart.

He did not immediately step onto the platform for a second attempt.

Leaning against a nearby stone pillar, he closed his eyes and replayed the fight.

The shadow had copied all his techniques, matching every move in sync. If he fought normally, he would never win. Humans grew tired, lost focus, and made errors in judgment. The shadow did not.

To win, he had to throw convention aside.

After resting for fifteen minutes and letting his breathing settle, Shen Fei entered the array a second time.

The shadow formed again.

This time, Shen Fei did not use his usual moves. He deliberately disrupted his rhythm, alternating between swift attacks and slow defense, and employed many obscure sword moves he would not ordinarily use.

The shadow still copied him perfectly. No matter how strange his moves became, it performed them in sync, without the slightest deviation.

At the twentieth strike, the shadow forced Shen Fei back once more.

He had still lost. But this time, he had lasted longer. More importantly, he had discovered a pattern.

Twice during the fight, he had deliberately left himself open from two angles, offering two possible avenues of attack. Both times, the shadow had chosen the same direction.

Not the more devious one, but the safer one.

The shadow never chose an angle that offered greater rewards at greater risk. It always selected the optimal solution: reliable gains with the least exposure of its own weaknesses.

That was the weakness of its programmed approach. The shadow had no creativity, only optimal solutions. It followed the safest course, never taking risks, much less trading a wound for a life.

Shen Fei's eyes lit up.

He had found a way to break the deadlock.

During the battles on the city walls in his previous life, trading wounds for lives had been his most common tactic. Demon beasts had thick hides and tough flesh; he could not beat them in a direct clash. Instead, he deliberately exposed an opening and took a hit while driving his sword into a beast's vital point. It hurt, but he survived.

The shadow would never do that. It always chose the optimal solution and would never allow itself to be injured.

That was the key to victory.

He rested for another hour, running his plan through his mind several times and working through several possible variations. Once he confirmed it was feasible, he stepped onto the Trial Platform for the third time.

The array lit up, and the shadow took shape a third time. It wore the same expressionless face, its sword stance so textbook-perfect that no fault could be found.

This time, Shen Fei launched a swift assault from the outset.

Sword shadows crowded the air, each move faster than the last, every strike pressing the attack. The shadow countered in sync. Their blades clashed so tightly that not even wind could slip between them, and the ringing of steel filled the underground palace.

After more than a dozen rapid strikes, Shen Fei's breathing gradually quickened. Such an assault consumed the most stamina and exposed openings most easily. The shadow's defense remained steady as a rock, every block perfectly placed.

At that moment, Shen Fei deliberately offered an opening.

His thrust missed, exhausting his momentum. His left arm drew back half a beat too slowly, leaving his left ribs wide open.

The opening was obvious, even deliberate. But by the logic of the optimal solution, it was an excellent opportunity to attack. A thrust at his left ribs had a high chance of landing and posed almost no danger to the attacker.

Sure enough, the shadow moved.

Without hesitation, it turned its blade and thrust straight at Shen Fei's left ribs. The angle was precise and the speed blinding, entirely consistent with its optimal judgment.

This was the moment Shen Fei had been waiting for.

He did not dodge. He even deliberately advanced half a step, letting the opposing sword sink a little deeper.

The blade pierced half an inch into his left ribs, sending a sharp pain through him. At the same time, rather than drawing his sword back to defend, Shen Fei used his forward momentum to carry it around the opposing blade and thrust straight at the shadow's throat.

A wound for a life.

The shadow reacted quickly, instinctively trying to defend. But its optimal-solution logic had never anticipated this kind of mutually destructive tactic.

Every response it made rested on the premise of preserving itself. By the time it realized its opponent intended to take them both down, it was already too late.

A soft thud sounded.

Shen Fei's sword pierced the shadow's throat.

The shadow instantly froze. Its body began to turn insubstantial, dissolving bit by bit into black mist from the point where it had been pierced. The sword in its hand vanished as well, scattering into motes of black light.

Shen Fei stepped back and pressed a hand to his left ribs. The wound was shallow, merely cutting through skin and flesh and drawing some blood. Compared with winning the trial, this injury was nothing.

The black mist slowly sank into the floor, and the array's light gradually faded.

In the third exchange, he had won.

Once explained, his winning method was worth little: he had simply traded his own injury for his opponent's life. He had done it countless times on the city walls in his previous life. Whenever he faced a demon beast stronger than himself, only this reckless, life-on-the-line fighting style had kept him alive.

An optimal solution cultivated in a greenhouse could never match the ruthlessness honed amid mountains of corpses and seas of blood.

The shadow felt neither pain nor fatigue, but it did not fear death either. It simply did not understand what it meant to stake its life.

Shen Fei leaned against the stone pillar and recovered for quite a while before lowering his head to tend the wound on his left ribs. He sprinkled on some Golden Wound Medicine and bound it tightly with strips of cloth. His movements were heartbreakingly practiced, skills honed on the battlefields of his previous life.

After treating the wound, he raised his head and looked behind the stele.

He had passed the trial. The legacy should be back there.

The underground palace's ghostly blue glow remained dim. In the shadows behind the stele, he could just make out a stone dais. That should be where the cultivation art and demon spirit were kept.