Ultimate Magus in Cultivation World

The golden square buzzed with a suffocating silence. Every youth felt the weight of those words press into their bones. One by one, they tightened their grips, shoulders straining as they sought to mimic what they had witnessed.

The first disciple—a broad-shouldered youth with a scar down his jaw—thrust forward. His spear whistled, the tip trembling, unstable. The air rippled faintly, but the echo of power quickly broke apart, scattering like loose dust.

"Too shallow," the elder's voice cut, cold and merciless. "You understand the shape but not the heart."

Another stepped forward, her movements elegant, flowing like water. Her spear spun in arcs, graceful as a dancer's ribbon. For a heartbeat the air stirred with promise—then faltered, the current collapsing in on itself.

"Too soft. A dragon's tail cannot strike like a reed."

The critiques fell like hammer-blows, breaking the pride of even the most confident. Sweat streamed, knees bent, but still they tried, each attempt weighed and judged.

And then the elder's eyes turned to Tian Lei.

He stepped forward without hesitation, calm as still water. His hands tightened on the spear shaft—not with strain, but with quiet familiarity, as if the weapon had been his companion for years instead of hours.

He lowered his stance, breath steady.

The thrust… lightning. His consciousness replayed the elder's motion, dissecting it frame by frame. He saw the tension in the shoulders, the coiled twist of the waist, the precise flare of qi at the moment of release.

His spear shot out—sharp, clean, absolute.

The air cracked.

A faint shudder rippled across the golden square, not as fierce as the elder's—but far beyond any of the other prodigies. Gasps erupted as several stumbled back, wide-eyed.

The elder's brows lifted faintly. "Not bad."

Without pause, Tian Lei shifted. The wide sweep—the mountain's steadiness. His arc tore through the air, its weight anchoring every inch of the motion. Dust lifted from the ground in a spiraling gust.

Then the spiral strike—falling rain, inevitable. The spear-tip whirled upward, drawing trails of golden light as if the heavens themselves had been pulled into the motion.

Again and again, Tian Lei flowed through the elder's sequence. Where others struggled to mimic, he understood. His soul sense carved the techniques into his marrow, his body adjusting in real time, refining, polishing, sharpening.

By the time his spear lowered, the golden square was utterly silent.

The elder's eyes narrowed, unreadable. For a long breath, he simply stared, the weight of his gaze heavier than mountains. Then, slowly, he spoke:

"…So. Among seedlings, a dragon lurks."

The words struck the other prodigies like thunder, their faces twisting between awe and envy.

The elder straightened, planting his spear into the golden stone with a resounding CLANG. "You have seen the art. You have moved the art. Now—" his voice swelled, booming across the square, "—you will fight with the art!"

The runes on the ground ignited, flaring upward. From the edges of the golden square, armored figures began to rise—phantom warriors, each bearing a spear, their forms forged of light and killing intent.

Ten of them.

They leveled their spears in unison, points gleaming like a storm of stars.

"Show me," the elder said, his voice echoing like a decree. "Not how you copied—but how you make it yours."

The phantoms surged forward as one, spears screaming through the air.

And Tian Lei… smiled.

The square exploded into motion.

Ten spears thrust at once, a storm of light and steel converging on Tian Lei. To the untrained eye, it was chaos—an inescapable tide. But to him, every ripple of intent gleamed like threads in a tapestry. He could see the gaps, the rhythm, the flaw hidden within perfection.

His body shifted, sliding low, his spear flashing out in a clean thrust.

Dragon Awakens!

The tip met the first phantom's chest with a resounding crack. Golden light burst apart, the figure shattering like glass into motes that dissolved into the air.

But the other nine were already upon him.

He pivoted, waist twisting, arms sweeping wide.

Coiling Tail!

His spear whirled, dragging a gale in its wake. Shafts of light screeched as they were battered aside, several phantoms staggering back. Sparks rained across the square where steel met force.

A laugh—low, sharp—escaped Tian Lei's lips. So this is it? Then let's see how far the dragon's roar can reach.

He stamped forward, spear spiraling upward.

Ascending Roar!

The strike tore into the air, a pillar of force surging skyward. One phantom was launched clear off its feet, bursting apart before it struck the ground. The residual shockwave swept two others back, their forms flickering, unstable.

The other cultivators who shared the trial could only gape. Where they had barely survived a single exchange, Tian Lei flowed through the motions like water—turning form into weapon, comprehension into dominance.

But the phantoms did not relent. Their movements grew faster, sharper, as if adapting to his rhythm. Two lunged from either side, spears stabbing with surgical precision. Another swept low, aiming for his legs.

Tian Lei's eyes glinted.

His grip shifted. He drew the spear tight to his chest, then burst outward in a sudden thrust—not the exact motion taught, but one that carried the core of it.

Dragon Awakens—Transformed!

The thrust split in midair, qi flaring from the spear-tip into a twin strike. Both phantoms froze, their chests pierced at once, before shattering into shards of light.

"Impossible… he's altering the form?" one youth gasped.

The elder's eyes narrowed, but the corners of his mouth curved ever so slightly.

The remaining phantoms regrouped, circling him in a deadly formation. Their spears raised in unison, tips glowing with golden fire. In the next instant, they struck together, a rain of light descending from every direction.

And Tian Lei's spear rose like a dragon from the depths.

The golden square blazed with fury, qi thundering as steel met steel.

But within the storm, Tian Lei's smile never wavered.

The clash thundered through the square. Phantom after phantom hurled its spear, golden arcs crisscrossing the battlefield like a cage of lightning. Each impact screamed against Tian Lei's weapon, sparks scattering like falling stars.

But he did not yield.

His movements sharpened, growing freer, bolder. What began as mimicry of the elder's art now evolved, each strike infused with his will. His spear swept, coiled, and thrust with dragon-like ferocity—adapted, transformed, reborn.

One phantom lunged for his heart. Tian Lei shifted a half-step, twisting his spear into a spiraling parry. The phantom's chest opened, and Tian Lei struck through with ruthless precision.

Another phantom came from behind, but without even turning, he reversed his grip and stabbed backward—clean, decisive. The figure shattered like broken glass.

One by one, the remaining warriors fell. Each collapse echoed with a ringing boom, until at last only fragments of golden light drifted across the square.

Tian Lei exhaled slowly, lowering his spear. His robes were torn, a thin line of blood trailing down his arm, but his eyes remained calm—bright, unshaken.

The silence stretched.

Then the elder struck his spear against the stone—CLANG! The sound rolled across the square like thunder.

"You pass the first phase." His voice carried weight, not just sound, as though the heavens themselves affirmed the decree.

A hush fell among the cultivators. Some were pale with awe, others burned with envy, but none could deny what they had witnessed.

Tian Lei, however, only dipped his head slightly. First phase? That means there are more… he thought, his gaze steady as the elder continued.

"Young one, you are now eligible to set foot upon the Soaring Dragon Peak," the elder declared. A ripple of golden light surged from his palm, coalescing into a medallion that floated before Tian Lei. "This token marks your qualification. You may enter the closed halls of the outer court disciples of Soaring Dragon Peak."

As the medallion settled into his grasp, the elder turned, his spear striking the ground with thunderous finality. The path behind him shimmered, revealing a long stairway of light that spiraled upward into the unseen heavens.

"As for the rest of you," his voice boomed, echoing through the square like the toll of a great bell, "you have twenty-four hours. Within that time, you must comprehend at least a single move of the Dragon Coiling Spear Art. Should you fail to do so… you are unworthy to even step into my Soaring Dragon Peak."

The elder's figure dissolved into brilliance, vanishing into the depths of the spear path, leaving only his decree lingering in the air.

At once, chaos broke out. Some disciples panicked, faces ashen as they dropped into desperate meditation, their spears trembling in their hands. Others raged, convinced the trial was a false image meant to crush their spirits. A few glared at Tian Lei with naked jealousy, their eyes promising grudges yet to come.

And there were those who had come from distant sects, carrying secret ambitions, now gnashing their teeth at the realization that the legacy of this place might truly slip beyond their grasp.