Chương 9: The Patriarch's Test

Ch 9: The Patriarch's Test Five days. That was all that stood between me and the duel with Kalio. Fate, as usual, wasn't inclined to make it easy. The moment I stepped into the academy courtyard, the same handful of voices found me before I'd gone ten steps.

"Did you hear? Young Master Kalio broke through again!"

"They say he reached the fifth Leaf of the Mortal Realm this morning!"

"As expected of the Nightsky Sect's genius."

"I almost feel sorry for Len Fan." Laughter rippled through the group. Some of them meant it as mockery, some as pity it didn't much matter which. I kept walking until I found a quiet corner of the training grounds, leaned against a wooden post, and let the numbers settle in my head. Cultivation: Mortal Realm — Third Leaf. Avatar: Mortal Realm — First Leaf. Synchronization: 13%.

Against Kalio's Sixth Leaf, the gap wasn't measured in one realm or two it was enormous, and no amount of superior swordsmanship changed the fact that one real clash, one mistake, would end the fight instantly.

"No," I said under my breath.

"There has to be another way." I drew my sword. If cultivation couldn't close the distance fast enough, then everything else about me would have to sharpen instead. The morning wore on in relentless repetition every strike a little cleaner than the last, every step a little lighter, sweat soaking through my robes as Qi circulated endlessly through my meridians. Again. Again. Again. Then the world skipped a heartbeat. Thump. I went still.

It wasn't an earthquake, and it wasn't an explosion the air itself simply became unbearably heavy for one impossible second, as if reality had briefly forgotten how to hold its own shape. Somewhere across the grounds, students looked up at the sky, murmuring about whose pressure could possibly be doing that, and more than one instructor rose from their seat with a suddenly grave expression. In the Headmaster's office, the old man opened his eyes and allowed himself a faint smile.

"So," he murmured, "that old monster decided to come in person." Back on the training grounds, I stood frozen as something descended from the open sky a human shape wrapped in silver mist, its face blurred, every movement it made distorting the Qi around it. An Avatar. Every cultivator on Domantia carried one, but until reaching the Divine Realm, an Avatar could never fully take physical form it existed as a spiritual projection, obedient, without will of its own.

This one radiated enough pressure to smother an entire battlefield on its own. A rough, ancient voice rolled out of the mist before I could react.

"How did you do that?" I stared, my mind briefly blank. The silence stretched a beat too long before the voice exploded.

"Boy! Have you gone deaf? Or are you deliberately ignoring me?" The roar shook the air around us. I caught myself and cupped my fists.

"My apologies, Senior. I was merely surprised." Silence answered me, so I continued, carefully.

"However if your intentions were hostile, I imagine Baskerville's protective formations would have already dealt with you." Unauthorized content usage: if you discover this narrative on Amazon, report the violation. BOOM. Pressure slammed down on me from nowhere, driving my knees straight into the ground. The stone underneath cracked with a sharp report.

"Ghk—" It felt like a mountain had been dropped directly onto my shoulders. My bones creaked with every breath.

"So," the old voice chuckled, "the son of the fallen Sword Sect still dares to answer back." I gritted my teeth and refused to lower my head, no matter how much it cost me. After several long seconds, the pressure lifted, and air rushed back into my lungs all at once.

"Hahaha! Good. Very good. I dislike spineless children." The Avatar stepped closer.

"I am the Patriarch of the Vortexian Family." My pupils contracted. The Vortexian Patriarch —> one of the strongest swordsmen in the kingdom. Why would someone like him come looking for me?

"I came because of my daughter," he said. Ellia.

"She's practiced our family's sword art for over seven years. Not once has anyone found a flaw in her breathing technique." His gaze settled on me, unmoving.

"And yet you corrected it after watching her train for less than a minute." I said nothing.

"The breathing method you suggested," he went on, "even I found it superior." Words like that alone could shake the cultivation world for the Patriarch himself to admit another method surpassed his own family's was almost unthinkable.

"Tell me, child. Who taught you?" My pulse skipped. The System. There was no possibility of revealing that, not until I understood what it actually was myself.

"... I cannot answer that," I said carefully. He studied me for several seconds before laughing.

"Hahaha! I expected as much. Every genius keeps secrets. I won't force it out of you." Relief washed through me before he raised a single finger.

"I only came to confirm one thing. And now I have." He nodded slowly.

"Draw your sword." I blinked.

"Senior?"

"You heard me. Attack. Everything you've got." I hesitated only a moment before I drew my blade. If this was a test, there was no point holding anything back. My Qi surged, and I vanished, the blade flashing toward the Avatar's neck in a single silver arc. The Patriarch didn't move. He simply raised one finger. Clink. My sword stopped dead against his fingertip. No explosion. No resistance worth the name. Cold sweat ran down my back.

"So that's your sword," he said, smiling faintly.

"Excellent foundation. Your body's simply too weak to support it yet." A flick of his finger sent an invisible force through me, and I slid backward dozens of meters across the stone gentle, by his standards, and still enough that I doubted I'd have survived it if he'd meant otherwise. He nodded, satisfied.

"You have talent. What you lack is time." A streak of light shot toward me, and I caught it on instinct. A map.

"Indeed," the Patriarch said, folding his arms.

"I heard you're set to fight a rather arrogant child soon. I dislike arrogant children." A faint smile crossed the mist of his face.

"So I'll give you a chance." He gestured toward the parchment.

"It leads to a hidden treasure. Reach it within five days, and I'll personally reward you with twelve hundred Mortal Cultivation Pills." I nearly dropped the map. Twelve hundred. Every advancement within the Mortal Realm demanded exponentially more pills than the last a hundred for the Second Leaf, two hundred for the Third, four hundred for the Fourth, eight hundred for the Fifth. Most cultivators spent years scraping together enough resources for a single breakthrough.

This man was offering twelve hundred as casually as handing over candy.

"And that's not all," he added, eyes gleaming.

"Whatever's inside the treasure belongs to you as well. Do you accept?" There was only one answer to give.

"I do. I'll do everything I can."

"Hahaha! Excellent. I hope you don't disappoint me." The Avatar dissolved into scattered light and vanished, and silence returned to the training ground. I looked down at the map and let myself smile.

"Looks like fate hasn't abandoned me after all." I unfolded it, and the smile disappeared. The destination was marked in crimson ink, plain enough to leave no room for hoping I'd misread it. Baskerville Academy — Magic Tower — Third Floor. A chill ran down my spine. The Magic Tower held thirty-one floors, each one exponentially worse than the last. Even elite third-years struggled to survive the first, and the third floor was considered forbidden ground for ordinary students entirely. I swallowed.

"And I only have five days." For the first time since my reincarnation, I genuinely couldn't tell whether the Vortexian Patriarch intended to reward me — or bury me.