Ultimate Magus in Cultivation World

The last rune beast split apart under Haiyun's blade, dissolving into sparks that drifted upward like embers from a pyre. The battlefield behind them was still roaring with chaos—screams, clashing qi, shattering talismans—but here, at the heart of the gate, it was suddenly quiet.

They stepped through a ripple of unstable light, and the storm vanished.

What lay beyond was not more chaos but a vast stone hall, dimly lit by floating runes that burned like pale lanterns. The air was thick, almost solid, humming with restrained power. Along the walls, ten enormous doors stood in a perfect circle, each carved from different material—jade, obsidian, bronze, and stranger things that seemed alive, pulsing faintly as though breathing. Upon each door glowed a sigil.

Haiyun exhaled, leaning his sword against his shoulder as he slumped against a wall. His face was flushed with effort, but his grin remained sharp. "Tch… looks like we made it. But this is where the road splits."

He jabbed his thumb at the doors. "Each one is a trial. You pick one, you enter, and you face whatever it throws at you. Pass, and you'll earn a reward tied to that path. Fail…" He shrugged. "…the gate keeps your corpse as part of its seal."

Elder Lin nodded, voice low. "The Myriad Sect's philosophy—power must be earned, never granted. Each disciple who sought inheritance here was forced to face the trials alone." His eyes swept across the doors, noting the different insignias. "Swords, flames, stars, chains… Each represents a different legacy."

Haiyun tilted his head toward Tian Lei, smirking faintly. "Brat, this is as far as we go with you. From here on, it's your own road. No one else can fight your trial."

He pointed his sword toward one of the doors. A glowing blade insignia was etched deep into the stone. "That one's the Trial of the Sword. Pass it, and you'll gain some recognition of the sword dao—techniques, insight, maybe even an inheritance. Every door here hides something similar. But be warned: every reward comes with a cost. The deeper the trial, the sharper the blade it cuts with."

The air in the hall shifted as though listening, the faint hum of runes deepening into a pulse that matched Tian Lei's heartbeat. Each door seemed to lean closer, waiting for his choice.

Haiyun's grin widened. "So, brat… which path do you dare step into?"

Elder Lin added softly, his gaze steady, "Remember—this place tests more than your strength. It will reach into your will, your understanding, and even your flaws. Choose carefully."

Ten doors. Ten trials. Each one waiting with silence sharper than any sword.

"Also," Elder Lin continued, "though it is not yet verified, most believe that if one completes all ten trials, they will inherit the true legacy of the Myriad Heaven Sect."

Tian Lei frowned slightly. "Then why has no one ever done it?"

"It is not that simple," Elder Lin explained. "The ten paths of the Myriad Sect cover everything—sword, spear, alchemy, forging, body cultivation, Soul Cultivation, chain arts, elemental arts, formation arts, and finally, archery. To pass each trial, one must reach the appropriate level of mastery in that discipline. With each trial completed, the next grows harder—twice as difficult, and sometimes deadlier. Most cultivators perish before even the fourth or fifth trial. Hence, no one has ever completed them all."

Haiyun chuckled, leaning against his sword. "Though, brat, the ruins rise once every hundred years, so you'll have plenty of time to try again if you dare."

Elder Lin's voice stayed firm. "Only a fool would waste a century of cultivation chasing something uncertain. It's better to perfect one path than gamble everything on all ten."

Haiyun smirked. "I wasn't warning him off, just letting him know what lies ahead."

Tian Lei's gaze lingered on the circle of doors, his eyes calm and unreadable. "So with each step, the trials become twice as hard…" He paused, then murmured, "My strengths right now are sword and archery. Those I'll leave for last—let the foundations be set before the pillars are tested."

Tian Lei sat down cross-legged on the cold stone floor. To the outside world, he looked as though he were simply steadying his breath, preparing his mind for the trial ahead. His aura calmed, his face impassive, the picture of focus before battle.

But in truth, his spirit had already slipped deep within his fortune realm. The familiar vastness of the Infinite Library rose around him, shelves stretching beyond sight, each aisle glowing faintly with knowledge from countless paths.

With deliberate steps, Tian Lei moved along the endless shelves, his hand brushing lightly over the bindings until he drew forth the basic manuals of the eight remaining disciplines: spear, alchemy, forging, body cultivation, chain arts, elemental arts, formation arts, and soul cultivation. One by one, the books opened in his hands, threads of insight flowing into his consciousness like streams feeding a great ocean.

He studied them not to master them immediately, but to measure—to feel which path resonated with his talent, and which resisted him the most. For the trial demanded more than ambition; it demanded choice.

As knowledge settled into him, Tian Lei's expression within the realm grew sharper. The weakest path… that is where I must begin. If I conquer what I lack first, then every step after will only grow steadier.

His plan was set. The first trial would be of his weakest discipline, and the next would follow the path most opposed to him, until he had walked through each gate not as chance dictated, but as he chose.

Outside, Elder Lin and Haiyun only saw him sitting in silence, aura rippling faintly like a flame drawing in air.

Haiyun smirked. "Hah. He's taking his time. Maybe he really is thinking of all the paths at once."

"Don't jest, Elder Haiyun," Elder Lin said. But as his eyes lingered on Tian Lei, a strange feeling struck him—that perhaps the boy really was attempting just that.

I hope he focuses only on the trials where his talent lies, Elder Lin thought as he sat down at the side, his gaze drifting toward the other gathered prodigies. Hmm… there is also that youth from another sect… Jin Suichang, the prodigy with the Nine Suns Immortal Physique.

Even at a distance, Elder Lin could sense the power radiating from him. Just looking at the youth made one feel as though their skin might burn under the heat of a rising sun.

Elder Lin's gaze moved from Jin Suichang to the others, his expression unreadable, but his mind quietly weighing each youth.

There was Han Qinglan of the Frostjade Pavilion—her aura calm, crystalline, and cold enough to silence a crowd. Rumor said she had awakened the Glacial Bone Veins, a constitution that could freeze even a raging flood dragon from within. She sat with her back straight, eyes half-lidded, as though nothing in the world could shake her composure.

Not far from her stood Zhao Ren of the Thunderclap Sect. Sparks of purple lightning flickered faintly across his skin, vanishing the moment one tried to look directly. His presence was sharp, oppressive—like the crack before a storm that promised devastation. A youth whose arrogance matched his strength, yet no one dared speak against it.

At the edges was Xie Yulan, quiet, unassuming. Her cultivation was masked, her figure almost delicate compared to the rest. But Elder Lin's eyes narrowed slightly. That one hides her fangs… dangerous, very dangerous.

And then there was Xu Baizhi, the Holy Flame Temple's jewel. Golden fire coiled faintly around her wrists as she prayed with closed eyes, her breath steady, sacred. She was said to be the reincarnation of a phoenix that once burned across the Nine Heavens.

Further along stood Shen Tai, the stone-bodied prodigy from Ironpeak Sect. His skin shimmered with traces of ore, every muscle like carved granite. Even in stillness, he gave off the crushing weight of a mountain that could never be moved.

Beside him sat Cai Cael, draped in green silks of the Verdant Cloud Sect. Vines seemed to breathe with him, twining around his ankles and wrists. His bloodline was rumored to stem from an ancient wood spirit, his very pulse echoing with nature's will.

Near the back was Leng Meilin, silver-haired and silent. A cold moonlight seemed to follow her wherever she went, casting long shadows in her wake. Her eyes were pale, reflecting no warmth at all—yet it was said her sword never missed its target.

Finally, leaning against a pillar, almost as though bored, was Luo Feng, the Ghost Valley's favored son. Shadows clung to his form unnaturally, and though he smiled faintly, none could tell whether it was friendliness—or the grin of a wolf who already scented blood.

Elder Lin exhaled softly, folding his hands behind his back.

"So many seedlings," he murmured under his breath. "But how many will bloom, and how many will be cut down before their time?"