The third floor was dark.
No floating scrolls. No glowing runes. No Remnant Soul waiting with a smug face.
Just silence.
Then—
CRACK!
The world split apart.
Bai Zihan’s body convulsed as he felt something rip through him.
A sickening pull, like his very soul was being yanked out of the body.
And then—
Light!
He blinked.
A different sky stretched above him now. Dusty. Red.
The sun dimmed behind clouds of smoke.
Around him stood stone walls—ruined stone walls—half-shattered and scorched.
A city?
Shouts and screams echoed from beyond.
His head spun. He felt… heavy.
No Qi.
No Sword Intent.
It looked like he had become an ordinary person.
Silent!
Bai Zihan staggered, looking down at himself.
His robes were different—standard-issue armor, like what a low-ranking soldier might wear.
A rusted sword was sheathed at his waist, and a badge pinned to his chest:
[City Guard Captain – Bai Zihan]
“Excuse me?”
He muttered, barely keeping the disgust off his face.
(Just where am I?)
Just then, a young soldier burst through the broken gates.
“Captain! You’re awake! Thank the heavens!”
Bai Zihan didn’t respond.
His gaze drifted to the horizon—dark figures gathered like a tide just beyond the hills.
Demonic Beasts!
Dozens of them or perhaps hundreds.
He rubbed his temple.
“What the hell kind of trial is this?”
If it were his usual self, those Demonic Beasts—whose rank was no higher than Rank-2—would’ve all fallen in a matter of seconds against his sword.
But with his cultivation restricted, it seemed difficult to kill even one.
The soldier continued, panic rising.
“Captain Bai Zihan! All the other superiors have run away. We can only rely on you!”
“Fantastic!”
Bai Zihan muttered sarcastically.
“Captain?”
He waved him off.
“Nothing. Let’s go!”
The soldier blinked.
“Yes, Captain!”
Bai Zihan narrowed his eyes at the young soldier as they moved briskly through the rubble-strewn streets.
“…What’s your name again?”
He asked casually, brushing dust off his armor and trying not to grimace at how cheap the material felt.
The young man blinked in confusion.
“Uh, it’s Hong Tao, Captain. You don’t remember?”
“Feels like I hit my head or something,”
Bai Zihan said, tossing out an excuse.
“So what the hell happened here, Hong Tao?”
He asked, trying to figure out what kind of setting this was.
Hong Tao’s face darkened.
“The beasts attacked three days ago. No warning. No buildup. Just… roars and fire and death. Half the outer wall’s gone. Most of high ranking soldiers ran off to the Inner City when things got bad. Said they’d regroup! Those bastards!”
“Regroup, huh?”
Bai Zihan snorted.
“Let me guess—they didn’t come back and are abandoning the outer part of the city?”
“Yes, Captain!”
Hong Tao said bitterly.
Bai Zihan understood. There was no reinforcement coming.
“Regroup” was just an excuse—they had abandoned everyone left behind.
They were either waiting for the Demonic Beasts to leave after slaughtering the rest… or preparing to fight them behind the protection of the inner walls.
All around them, people scurried through alleys—bloody, coughing, broken.
Mothers held children close. The wounded screamed for medicine. And in every shadow, eyes glinted with fear.
Only a handful of guards were left. Their armor dented, their weapons chipped. Some barely looked older than fifteen.
Just as Bai Zihan was about to ask who the strongest one left behind was, a deafening roar split the air.
From a crumbled house ahead, a massive boar-like Demonic Beast burst out, tusks dripping with gore, its eyes red with hunger.
“Damn it!”
Hong Tao shouted, drawing his blade.
“Captain, run away! That one’s a Spine-Tusk Devourer—it’s already killed three squads! We can’t take it down with just one person!”
He grit his teeth, eyes filled with panic and determination.
“You need to find the others! The west checkpoint still has some guards left—we might be able to mount a counterattack!”
Then he stepped forward.
“I’ll stall it with my life!”
Bai Zihan glanced at him like he’d grown two heads.
“Are you fucking stupid?”
Hong Tao blinked.
“You think throwing your half-dead body at it’s gonna buy time? What, you planning to get eaten dramatically and give a inspiring speech?”
“But—”
“Shut up!”
Bai Zihan said flatly.
“I’m not gonna let some idiot play martyr in front of me.”
He kept his eyes locked on the Spine-Tusk Devourer as it scraped the ground with its hooves, snorting and growling, tusks twitching with bloodlust.
“I used to kill these things in my sleep,” Bai Zihan muttered under his breath.
“Now stay behind me and stop trying to act like a hero.”
Bai Zihan cracked his neck and stepped forward, dragging the rusted blade along the stone until sparks danced behind him.
“Come on, you overgrown pig!”
The beast roared and charged again.
Bai Zihan didn’t run. He smiled.
His body felt heavy. Sluggish. His limbs didn’t respond with the same precision he was used to.
No Qi! No Sword Intent!
Only knowledge about these Demonic Beast and Martial Arts.
But that was enough.
He slid under the beast’s first charge, sparks flying as his blade scraped against one tusk.
He rolled, kicked off a shattered pillar, and brought his sword down—hard—on the beast’s flank.
CLANG!
The edge barely sank in.
The monster roared, bucking violently and throwing him back into the dirt.
Bai Zihan gritted his teeth. He wasn’t used to this—having to try. To bleed. To fight like this.
But his stance never wavered.
The beast charged again.
This time, he didn’t dodge.
He sidestepped at the last moment, twisted with the momentum, and jammed his rusted sword into its armpit—the one soft spot he could see.
GRRRR!
It shrieked in pain.
Then he twisted the blade and yanked.
Blood sprayed.
The beast stumbled.
Another two slashes—crude, inefficient, but deadly—and it finally collapsed with a thud.
Silence fell!
Then—
“…That was amazing,” Hong Tao whispered, eyes wide.
“I-I’ve never seen someone move like that. Captain, you were like… like those legendary cultivators!”
Bai Zihan exhaled slowly. His arm ached. His sword was half-bent. His chest heaved with each breath.
But his mind was sharp.
He glanced at the beast’s corpse.
So this place has cultivators too?
He thought it was a world like Earth—devoid of cultivation—but it looked like this was still a cultivation world.
Just one where this city had no cultivators.
Only mortals. Fragile. Perishable.
But what’s the real objective of the Third Trial?
Was it to protect the city? Kill the demonic beast? Or something else entirely?
Bai Zihan stared down at the beast’s twitching corpse. Blood pooled under its belly, soaking into the cracked stone.
He wiped his blade on its fur with a grimace.
Hong Tao rushed up beside him, panting, still awestruck.
“Captain, are you alright?! That was insane—I didn’t even see how you moved!”
Bai Zihan rolled his shoulder.
“I’m fine. Sword’s not, though.”
He glanced at the bent hunk of metal in his hand.
With a click of his tongue, he tossed it aside and picked up one of the beast’s tusks—sharpened, thick, and still dripping blood.
“Captain, what do we do now?”
Hong Tao asked, breathless.
Bai Zihan didn’t answer immediately. He looked down the smoke-clogged streets—eyes narrowed, mind racing.
The city was broken. Chaos reigned.
And he was supposed to fix this?
He scoffed.
“What’s the objective here?”
Hong Tao blinked.
“Objective?”
“Nothing. Talking to myself.”
He turned.
“We’re going hunting. And gathering whoever we can.”
Hong Tao straightened.
“Yes, Captain!”
They moved quickly, cutting through side streets and debris-choked alleys.
The city was a graveyard waiting to collapse, but here and there, survivors still clung to life.
Wounded guards.
Civilians crying for help.
Children huddled in corners.
Bai Zihan didn’t even look twice.
This was a trial. An illusion. These people weren’t real.
Not worth the time.
But Hong Tao—
He stopped.
Again and again.
He handed out bandages. Pulled survivors from rubble. Reunited children with their mothers.
“Keep moving,” Bai Zihan said flatly each time—but he never truly stopped him.
What if the test isn’t about killing? What if it’s about saving?
But he wouldn’t gamble on sentimentality. That wasn’t who he was.
So he focused on what he could control: the beasts.
And he was efficient.
Ruthless.
Each encounter was a brutal, calculated skirmish. He struck weak points, used terrain, smashed skulls with debris when weapons failed.
He kicked one beast off a rooftop. Impaled another with a shattered spear shaft.
No Qi. No Sword Intent.
But skill? That, he had in abundance.
And with every beast that fell, guards came out of hiding.
Drawn by noise. By hope.
“Captain Zihan’s alive!”
“He killed that thing?! Alone?!”
“Is that a boar tusk he’s using?!”
They followed.
They rallied.
A dozen turned into thirty.
Thirty into nearly fifty.
Battered, injured, and terrified—but still clinging to survival.
Bai Zihan stood at the center, bruised and sweating, gripping a bloodied poleaxe he’d stolen off a corpse.
He didn’t give speeches.
He didn’t inspire.
He just killed.
