The disciples swallowed hard as Elder Chu Baishan's words sank in. Their breaths came in uneven bursts, hearts hammering against their chests. The spiritual sword hovering above the runic platform pulsed faintly, as if sensing their fear and determination alike.
One by one, names began to echo through the hall.
"Liang Yun!"
A young disciple from the Lin family stepped forward, his legs trembling but resolve burning in his eyes. With a deep inhale, he advanced toward the glowing center. The sword-runic formation beneath him shivered as if alive, and a faint blue light wrapped around his body. The moment he stepped fully into the formation, the energy surged, testing his inner sword dao.
A low hum filled the hall, vibrating through every stone, every bone. The pressure of the spiritual sword intensified, separating the wheat from the chaff, revealing the true potential of each youth. Liang Yun gritted his teeth and focused, letting his entire being flow into the sword energy, feeling it resonate with the very core of his being.
Some disciples stepped forward with hesitation, faltering under the weight of expectation and sword intent. Others advanced with lightning precision, already moving in harmony with the rhythm of the formation. Each step toward the center was a trial—a reflection of their spirit, determination, and sword comprehension.
Elder Chu Baishan observed silently, his eyes sharp as ever, measuring each movement, each breath. He knew the Awakening Ceremony was more than just a rite—it was a crucible. Only those who could align their inner sword dao with the ancient intent of the Immortal Founder would emerge stronger, earning the rank and attribute that would define their future.
Liang Yun slowly made his way toward the center of the formation.
The massive circle on the ground was divided into five segments based on its diameter.
The further he went,
the more pressure increased with each segment he crossed—
as if an invisible mountain were pressing down on him.
When Liang Yun reached the third segment,
his legs gave out—as though some unseen force had rooted them to the ground.
He poured all his strength into moving forward,
but the mounting pressure pressed against him like it wanted to crush his very bones…
and finally, he collapsed to his knees.
At that moment—
a red light erupted from his body,
forming a swirling aura that spun around him,
as though calling forth a primordial force from deep within.
Gradually, the red energy took the shape of a sphere in front of him—
fist-sized, concentrated, like a seed of energy had been gathered.
The sphere trembled,
and it floated directly toward Liang Yun's dantian.
At that instant,
the creation of his Primal Essence began—
forming a small, living orb in the very center of his dantian.
At that same moment, a hint of disappointment flickered across the faces of the Lin family head and the elders.
After all, Liang Yun was the son of the family head, and expectations had been high.
Inside Liang Yun's dantian, a green Primal Essence sphere was forming.
Its shield was completely transparent, allowing every detail to be seen.
Within the sphere, more than fifty percent of the essence glowed with pale green light,
rippling and undulating like waves of liquid energy, surging and crashing within the orb.
Even through the transparent shield,
the vitality and intensity of Liang Yun's Primal Essence was clearly visible,
a testament to his innate talent despite the elders' fleeting disappointment.
Whispers spread quickly among the young cultivators gathered for their trials.
"Did you see that?" one of them muttered, eyes wide.
"The son of the Lin family head… a red aura came out of his body!
Seems like the Lin family isn't as strong as before.
Back then, every youngster in their family could reach B aptitude easily."
Hearing this, the other children began murmuring to each other, curiosity sparking in their voices.
"B, C aptitude… what exactly does that mean?"
"And that red aura… does everyone have one? Or can it come in different colors?"
The murmurs grew louder as more children joined in, their excitement mingled with anxiety,
each wondering how their own trials would measure up against such power.
At the edge of the formation, a young sword master stepped forward.
He wore a grey-blue robe, embroidered with intricate sword-like patterns in white that shimmered faintly as he moved.
His skin was fair, and his long black hair reached down to his waist, flowing like a dark river.
At his waist, a sword hung from a sky-blue cord, its elegance matched only by his posture.
His face was gentle and handsome, radiating a noble and pure aura that drew the eyes of everyone present.
In his hands, he held a grey-white fan, which he raised to cover half of his face, leaving only his sharp, observant eyes visible.
He spoke slowly, his voice calm yet commanding:
"Looks like many of you still don't understand the power system of the Mortal Martial World…
During the Awakening Ceremony,
the color that emerges from your body decides your aptitude and what rank of cultivator you can reach in the future.
Let me explain:
• Green light — E aptitude
Those who awaken this can only cultivate up to Rank 1 at best.
• White light — D aptitude
Your future potential is limited to around Rank 2 or Rank 3.
• Red light — C aptitude
A future potential of Rank 4.
• Blue light — B aptitude
With this, you can reach the peak of Rank 5.
Though very few with B aptitude ever step into the Immortal Realm.
• And finally… Yellow light — A aptitude
Their full potential reaches the Immortal Realm."
He paused, tapping the fan lightly against his chin before continuing:
"And don't assume you will all reach the levels I just mentioned.
Each step of cultivation requires immense resources.
Without them, even the highest talent can be wasted."
Every word seemed measured, as though it carried the weight of experience far beyond his age.
Hearing the young sword master's words, the children's expressions shifted instantly.
Some faces lit up with joy, others filled with sadness, some tightened with anxiety,
while a few wore expressions of pride or even fear.
One of the children finally gathered the courage to ask,
"Senior… what exactly does aptitude mean?"
The senior's eyes curved with amusement, a light smile playing on his lips.
"Aptitude?" he repeated with a hint of joy in his tone.
"You'll understand it very soon.
Let's just say… aptitude affects your battle strength the most."
Before the children could digest that, another boy—confused and frowning—asked,
"So if colors represent ranks,
then why did Brother Liang Yun form a green Primal Essence in his dantian?"
The senior chuckled softly, his smile widening.
"That green Primal Essence?
That doesn't show his aptitude…
It shows his current cultivation rank.
Green essence represents Rank 1,
White represents Rank 2,
Red represents Rank 3,
Blue represents Rank 4,
and Yellow represents Rank 5."
He folded his fan with a light snap.
"Now do you understand?"
Without waiting for their reaction,
the mysterious senior turned away,
his long robe swaying behind him as he slowly walked toward the far side of the plaza,
disappearing into the crowd like a drifting shadow.
Liang Yun, who had been inside the formation moments earlier, slowly walked back toward his family.
His steps were unsteady, but his eyes held a quiet determination.
He stopped beside his family elder—
a stern-looking man dressed in a deep green robe, its fabric swaying slightly in the morning breeze.
As Liang Yun stood there, chest still rising and falling from the pressure of the trial,
a single thought passed through the elder's mind:
"Perhaps… he is the one tied to our family's fate."
After Liang Yun's awakening settled, Elder Baishan lifted his scroll once more, his voice echoing across the silent plaza.
"Next—Tian Clan… Tian Xueya."
A soft stir passed through the crowd as a young girl stepped forward.
Tian Xueya moved with a calm grace, her snow-pale skin contrasting beautifully against the gray-blue Tian Clan robe she wore.
Her deep, tranquil eyes reflected neither fear nor pride—only quiet confidence.
Even before she entered the formation, several youngsters whispered among themselves, captivated by her poise.
Elder Baishan continued.
"Fang Family—Fang Qing."
At once, murmurs rippled across the circle.
Fang Qing, the elder brother of Fang Lin, walked forward in his pure white Fang family robe, each step steady and unhurried.
His presence alone carried the mature aura of someone who had trained diligently for years.
Many elders nodded faintly—Fang Qing had always been considered the Fang family's next great hope.
Then came the Que family.
"Que Family—Que Lianhua."
A young female cultivator stepped out, dressed in a soft golden-dawn robe.
A faint silver sheen shimmered through her hair, swaying gently with each movement.
The air around her held a mild, soothing glow—an unmistakable sign of the Que bloodline.
Finally, Elder Baishan raised his head and announced the last name.
"Yan Family—Yan Ruochen."
A boy emerged from the crowd wearing a light-red robe, the signature attire of the Yan clan.
His eyes were sharp and confident, almost predatory, and the faint smirk tugging at his lips made several younger children instinctively take half a step back.
The Yan family's fierce nature was clear in every line of his posture.
Among all the participants, Tian Xueya, Fang Qing, Que Lianhua, and Yan Ruochen each received a B-grade aptitude.
This immediately drew murmurs of approval from the elders—B-grade cultivators were rare assets in any generation.
The ceremony continued with dozens more names.
Elder Baishan tested not only the children of the Five Great Families, but also youngsters who had traveled from distant branches of the Tianjian Clan.
Some were from prestigious households, others from humble families barely recognized by the clan.
In total, nearly fifteen hundred youths stood to be tested.
Yet by the time the ceremony neared its end, the truth became painfully clear:
Only one-third succeeded in awakening their primal essence.
The rest could not even withstand the pressure of the formation—
many were forced to withdraw trembling,
and a few suffered a severe backlash, collapsing before the elders rushed to help.
Disappointment and regret hung thick in the air.
---
At last, Elder Baishan lowered his scroll.
Only one name remained.
He inhaled slowly and announced it with deliberate clarity:
"Fang Lin!"
The name echoed through the grand hall like a struck bell.
For a heartbeat, absolute silence.
Then whispers surged like a rising tide.
"Fang Lin still isn't here?"
"Why would he miss his own awakening?"
"Is something wrong…?"
Even the elders of the great families turned their heads, unable to hide their curiosity.
Everyone wanted to know why the most awaited youth of the Fang family had yet to appear.