The plaza fell into a hush so sudden it felt like the world had been paused by a careful hand. Principal Gu Qingheng stepped forward onto the raised dais, the edge of his robe catching the light like a ribbon of ink. Age had sculpted his face into a map of time and duty; his eyes, however, burned with the same sharpness they had when he first took the academy's oath. He raised his hand once, the gesture precise enough that no one dared speak.
"Students," he said, and his voice carried over stone and banner alike. "The Trial Realm is about to begin."
He let the words sink in before continuing. "This year's Trial Realm is an experience-farming domain. It has no boss chamber and no single clearing condition. Your progress will be measured by what you take from it—by your kills, your survival, and your choices. You will be given three days. Seventy-two hours inside the realm. When the time ends, the gates close and your performance will be judged. This result will decide your future."
Eyes turned, silent and hungry, across the audience at his words. Beyond the plaza, across the city and the provinces, the name of this trial would ripple like flame. Students whispered; parents leaned forward in the stands; the heirs of the Great Families straightened as if to draw a little taller.
"There are more than twenty colleges represented at this Trial," the principal continued. "Among them the top academies: Tianxuan (天玄学院), Qingyun (青云学府), and Linghai (灵海书院) are present as usual. Other notable institutions include Xuanyin (玄阴学院), Zhaotian (昭天学院), Yunlei (云雷学宫), Longmen (龙门学院), Heishan (黑山学府), Baihua (白华学院), and Shendu (神都学馆). Perform well and you will be admitted to a better school; perform worse and you will be left chasing scraps."
He paused then, and the plaza hummed with a tense energy—the kind that tightened lungs and sharpened the edges of thoughts.
"Now the rules," Gu Qingheng said. "There are no rules inside the realm. You are responsible for your life. If you cannot survive Level Ten to Level Twenty in there, you will not survive as an awakener in the world. We will provide you each with a bracelet. It transmits your location and your vitals back to the academy. It carries an emergency call that will attempt a rescue response—an ejection if you are still alive. But use the emergency call and you will be disqualified. Your kills will be recorded by the bracelet; your beast points will be tallied and ranked at the trial's conclusion."
He held up a slim, rune-etched device and the students leaned forward as one.
"Point distribution," he continued. "A Level Eleven beast yields ten points. Level Twelve yields twenty points. Every level after that increases the point reward by ten. Level Thirteen is thirty points; Level Fourteen, forty points; and so on, up to Level Twenty, which gives one hundred points. You will be scattered randomly when you enter. If you have formed a team, open your bracelet now, create the team, and you will be teleported together."
A murmur ran through the crowd—anxious and electric. Some already fingered their bracelets; others swallowed hard. The Six Great Families' heirs barely hid their confidence with cruel smiles. This trial would be a grand stage. Reputation was currency here, and each member of those families expected to walk out richer in both coin and prestige.
Gu Qingheng's waved his hands and a portal appeared, how can he create portal becaus he is 4th turn space mage, every 30 level we undergo job upgrade after upgrade we specify it as turn if you reached level 30 you will become 2nd turn job changer, 60 level 3rd turn job changer, 90 level 4th turn job changer the current strongest job changer present in china is gup ghunshu 112 level 4th turn elemental warrior ss-rank he can use both magic and warrior skills which is rare.
The name Guo Gushi was like thunder to some; the numbers settled into the minds of students like a challenge. The principal's job, his level, the turn-system—these were not mere facts but a map of ambition. Everyone knew how rare it was to reach a new turn. Even the heirs' smirks did not hide the small, respectful sounds that escaped them when the principal spoke of levels.
"Now," Gu Qingheng said, and his voice returned to the present, "enter when you are ready."
A portal flickered into existence at the far end of the plaza: a ring of black stone threaded with runes and light, breathing like a heart. The first wave of students moved forward, forming lines and groups, some clutching charms, others mentally rehearsing strategies. Guards checked bracelets one last time. Parents sent off thin prayers. Black-robed proctors rose to the sky on floating platforms, their faces flat and unreadable as they watched the first participants step through.
Ye Fang watched everything with a smile that never reached his eyes. The smile was not warmth but precision—the small curl of a blade being sharpened. He had been held down, mocked, and fended off by the heirs, insulted in words meant to slice, told that his Dragon Tamer talent was a joke. There were no rules here, he thought, and that meant there were no limits either.
For a long breath he let that image blossom in his mind: the heirs begging, kneeling, the very notion of those smiles crumpling as the bracelets rendered them powerless. He pictured their faces when the portal swallowed their cries. The image was delicious and terrible.
The call came—clear and directed.
"Ye Fang!"
He turned. One of the instructors, a thin woman with a stern bun, waited near the entrance of the teleportation array. Her voice was casual but formal; she was the one assigned to register solo entrants. "You are going alone?"
He met her gaze with calm that had nothing to do with the swagger of youth. "Yes," he said. The word was simple, flat—no bravado. It carried the small weight of a man who had decided the day's business.
She nodded, accepting the paperwork on her tablet with one gloved finger. The clerk stamped his bracelet. The registration light blinked green. Around them the hubbub rose and fell; students moved like tides. Many faces glanced at him, some with pity, many with disdain. Ye Fang let it wash off like rain on stone. He was not here for their applause.
He stepped into the ring of runes.
The portal breathed. Light licked at his skin, and the world bent. For a moment the plaza was a smear of sound: the rustle of cloth, the exhale of an anxious mother, the faint click of the principal's cane. Then nothing. He was gone.
He landed with a breath on another ground—a floor of blackened stone warmed beneath his feet. The sky above him was a bruise of molten clouds. Ember-lit trees bowed and cracked in the distance. The Ember Rift was a realm built from coiled heat and jagged rock, designed to test those who dared to call themselves awakeners.
Around him other students tumbled in from the portal: teams in small clusters and singles blinking against the sharp light. Some cursed, others laughed, more than a few spat and wiped their armor. The bracelet on his wrist hummed and confirmed his coordinates. A small holographic counter ticked: Time remaining—72:00:00.
Ye Fang's lips quirked once. The bracelet flicked the tally of nearby beasts, nearby energies. His eyes swept the horizon, cataloguing threats with a predator's calm. The first targets were already visible—embers twisting and low growls scattering across the near ridge. It would not take long to begin harvesting points.
But first he took a moment to feel the edge of the place: the heat against his skin, the way spirit flared like incense through the heavy air. Rules had been stripped away. Tools were neutral. Only appetite, skill, and nerve mattered now.
He had a plan. He would not be reckless. He had learned to wait, to measure distance, to keep the kill clean and efficient. He would harvest and hide, rise in the ranking, and when the time came he would present the heirs with a spectacle that would not only shame them but erase their smugness.
Footsteps approached behind him. A team of four—two from Yunlei, one from Xuanyin, and a candidate from Zhaotian—clustered together, their faces still flushed with the last-minute bravado of those who believe the world is theirs. One of them threw a glance over at Ye Fang and snorted.
"You're alone?" the loud one asked, more curiosity than scorn now. "You sure you want to go solo? There's strength in numbers."
Ye Fang looked at him, expression unchanged. "Yes."
The man scowled and jabbed a finger at the nearest ridge where creatures stirred. "Fine. We'll see who collects more points. Don't blame us when you fall behind."
Ye Fang didn't reply. He watched the first group move forward, calling out to each other, their voices bright and thin in the heated wind. Then, as they disappeared into the near brush, he drew a breath and stepped toward the first cluster of ember-laced shrubs.
The first beast was small, but point-rich for the moment: a scouting creature whose flank yellowed with fiery scales. The bracelet ticked when he moved in range: Level Eleven. Ten points. Easy work for a man who had been fed on hunger.
His movements were small and precise—no waste, no flourish. A strike, a twist, a fatal finish. The beast fell, its ember scent evaporating into a soft ash. Points flickered into his bracelet display. Ten. The counter at the top of his interface hummed the total.
Behind him the realm breathed—hungry, receptive, brutal. The Rift did not stop to judge bravery. It cataloged success and swallowed the rest.
Ye Fang set his jaw. Three days. Twenty levels of beasts. Hundreds of targets. The heirs, the principals, the smug faces burned into his memory—they would see differently when the bronze of victory cooled.
He took another step. The trail had begun.