It had been over two months now since Raja left the Flare State, his steps driven by a single purpose: to grow strong enough to earn his father's approval. The road behind him stretched endlessly, a ribbon of dust and memory. Rivers shimmered with latent qi, their currents whispering of hidden power. Mountains loomed in silence, their peaks like judges watching the boy's journey with cold indifference.
His path led him to the Averna Continent and finally to the Vena State Flaming Spirit Gorge—a place whispered about in hushed tones across sect halls and taverns. It is said to be no mere canyon, but a crucible where flame itself judged intruders. Some spoke of trials that bent body and soul; others of a beast born from magma, guarding an inheritance older than dynasties. Yet the gorge does not open to all. Only cultivators of the Moon Realm or Imperial Realm may step within its bounds—the weak are rejected outright, and even the strong rarely return unscarred.
The gorge stretched wide, its walls jagged and scorched black, as though carved by the claws of ancient titans. Molten veins pulsed faintly within the stone, glowing blue in the shadows, casting eerie light across the labyrinthine paths. The air itself was heavy, thick with the scent of ash and the taste of fire. Every breath carried heat that threatened to ignite the lungs.
Raja felt his qi stir the moment he stepped inside, as if the gorge recognized him, as if it sought to test the boy who dared trespass.
He was not alone. The gorge was crowded with cultivators from across the continent, ranging from the peak Moon Realm to the late-stage Imperial Realm. Their robes shimmered with sect insignias, and their weapons gleamed with spirit light. They eyed one another warily, measuring strengths, calculating rivalries. Yet many eyes lingered on Raja.
A fourteen‑year‑old at the Moon Realm? The numbers did not add up. Many assumed he must have accelerated his cultivation within a time realm. Yet in the Origin World, achieving such a realm required four to five centuries of relentless effort. Even with temporal exchange, his age should have been at least fifty or older to stand at this level. Unless he carried some unfathomable treasure—or he was an anomaly beyond reason.
Whispers rippled through the crowd, sharp as sparks in dry grass. To some, he was nothing more than a child destined to be broken by the gorge's trials. Others studied him with unease, sensing the strange duality of flame and shadow woven into his aura. Yet there were those—particularly female cultivators whose hearts had not yet hardened—who found themselves captivated by his snow‑white hair and piercing blue eyes, a presence that seemed to burn and freeze at once.
As the cultivators pressed forward, the air shimmered, and suddenly blades of blue flame erupted from the walls. They slashed in unpredictable arcs, cutting across paths with lethal precision.
The formation was merciless—an endless storm of flaming blades designed to test reflex and resilience. Each strike carried the weight of a cultivator's death.
Cries rang out as cultivators scrambled to evade or block. Shields of qi shattered under the force of impact. Fire techniques faltered, and fire defenses were consumed by the blue flames. Some barely slipped past, suffering burns and cuts from near misses. Others were struck directly, their bodies torn apart in bursts of fire, leaving only ash behind.
Raja used the Shadow Art (#1) Eclipse Motion along with the (#11) Shadow path to avoid the attacks he could. He blocked when necessary, his flame and shadow strikes precise, but even he felt the blowback—his arms numbed, his qi cloak flickering under the relentless assault. Yet his eyes never wavered. Each blade was a lesson, each evasion a refinement of his path.
The deeper they went, the faster and more violent the attacks became. The labyrinth claimed many lives. Screams echoed through the gorge, cultivators collapsing under wounds too severe to heal. The walls themselves seemed to pulse with hunger, feeding on the blood spilled upon the stone.
Still, Raja pressed forward, his aura burning brighter with each step. His snow‑white hair whipped in the heat, his blue eyes locked on the path ahead. He was not untouched—his arms bore cuts, his cloak was scorched—but he endured.
At last, the survivors staggered beyond the flaming blade maze, their numbers reduced, their spirits shaken. The gorge had claimed its due.
The labyrinth opened into a vast chamber. The ground glowed with molten cracks, and a suffocating pressure descended upon them. Flames rose from the earth, not ordinary fire but suppression fire—blue in color, heavy with gravity that threatened to crush flesh and bone.
The deeper they advanced, the more intense the flames became. Qi shields faltered, robes ignited, and bodies burned to crisp husks. Some cultivators screamed as they were consumed entirely, their existence erased in a flash of blue fire. Others collapsed under the crushing weight, bones snapping, unable to rise again. Many turned back, unwilling to risk annihilation.
The chamber became a battlefield of endurance. Every step forward was agony. Flames licked at skin, gravity pressed down like the hand of God. The air itself seemed to conspire against them, each breath a struggle, each heartbeat a defiance.
Raja endured. Black fire qi flared around him, holding back the suppression flames even as sweat streamed down his face and his meridians groaned beneath the crushing gravity. His snow‑white hair was singed, his robes reduced to charred tatters, his body trembling from strain. Still, he advanced, eyes burning with defiance. Retreat was not in him. Yielding was not an option.
When at last the survivors staggered beyond the suppression field, their numbers had dwindled to a fraction of what had entered. Bloodied, scorched, and trembling, they gathered at the edge of the gorge's deepest chamber. The air was thick with tension, every cultivator aware that the true trial had yet to reveal itself.
Raja stood among them, his aura flickering but unbroken. After a day of recovery, the survivors pressed on. They had scarcely advanced when the silence shattered—a roar split the air.
From the depths rose a beast of molten stone, its body dripping blue magma, its eyes burning like twin furnaces. It was at the peak of the imperial realm. The ground trembled beneath its weight. Raja's heart raced, but he did not falter. His fists clenched, black fire qi blazed outward in a torrent of heat to shield him from the beast's aura.