The air shifts.
A low, deep rumble rolls across the battlefield, vibrating through the stone platforms and fractured terrain.
De-Reece doesn't hesitate. Something is changing.
The Jin Spear Sect disciple, still catching his breath from their fight while retreating, looks up sharply—his spear instinctively snapping into a defensive grip. Others around the battlefield pause mid-fight, sensing the same unnatural disturbance.
Then—
The ground starts breaking apart.
The battlefield, already fractured into floating platforms, begins to crumble.
Sections of stone plummet into the abyss below, swallowed by an unseen force.
At the same time, golden runes flare to life across a few stable platforms scattered across the battlefield.
The meaning is clear.
Safe zones.
Those who reach them will survive.
Those who don't… will fall.
And there aren't enough safe zones for everyone.
The announcement comes, though no words are needed.
The battlefield itself has declared the new test.
The weak hesitate. They don't know where to go, what to do.
The strong move immediately.
Competitors launch themselves toward the nearest stable platforms—some leaping across collapsing terrain, others fighting their way toward the closest safe zone.
Those who had secured good positions have an advantage.
Those who were reckless in earlier fights are already doomed.
Survive.
That is the only rule now.
Unlike the panicked movements of others, De-Reece does not rush.
He watches.
Where others react blindly, he observes.
The safe zones are scattered. Some are closer. Some are more contested.
Some are already claimed by competitors who will not give up their spots easily.
De-Reece takes a slow breath, mentally mapping out the shifting terrain.
Then—he moves.
The battlefield collapses at an accelerating pace. The once-vast terrain shrinks with every passing second, leaving only the scattered golden-rune-marked safe zones as salvation.
Competitors fight, scramble, or fall.
Some secure their places.
Others are eliminated before they can reach safety.
De-Reece moves with purpose, not panic.
His eyes scan the battlefield, tracking shifting terrain, desperate combatants, and—most importantly—Kalia.
She has already begun moving toward a safe zone.
But she is not alone.
She has always been fast, adaptive, ruthless when necessary.
Her sabre has already drawn blood, having cut down a competitor who made the mistake of challenging her mid-run.
But her safe zone?
side, sharp and steady as ever.
She doesn't need to ask.
She already knows.
De-Reece has chosen her battle.
The golden glow of the safe zone pulses steadily, a promise of survival in a battlefield that no longer welcomes hesitation.
But survival must be claimed.
Kalia slows her approach, her sharp gaze locked onto the two figures already standing within the safe zone's boundary.
They are not ordinary competitors.
Their robes bear the mark of Mount Heng, but they do not carry the aura of full-fledged disciples. They are not yet sect members.
Sect hopefuls.
Cultivators who have been **promised a future within Mount Heng—**but only if they perform well in the Sect Selection.
And to them, survival is already guaranteed.
One of them, a young man with a measured stance and a hand resting lightly on his sword, watches Kalia and De-Reece's approach with a smirk.
"Go find another spot."
His companion, a stocky rogue cultivator wearing an iron gauntlet, cracks his knuckles."Unless you want to lose your chance entirely."
Kalia doesn't respond immediately. Instead, she glances at De-Reece.
His stance is as relaxed as ever. Unbothered.
Unmoved.
Then, he steps forward.
And the ground cracks slightly beneath his foot.
Not a show of force.
Just a reminder.
They are not leaving.
The two sect hopefuls stand firm within the golden glow of the safe zone, confident in their advantage.
They have been promised a future within Mount Heng—as long as they place well in the competition.
And to them?
Surviving the first trial is already assured.
But De-Reece and Kalia do not see the world the same way.
Nothing is guaranteed.
Everything must be earned.
The moment stretches between them—a pause before the inevitable.
Then, De-Reece moves first.
De-Reece does not rush forward blindly.
He doesn't need to.
Instead, his body shifts slightly, his stance loose, his expression unreadable. A subtle weight adjustment.
A bait.
The sword-wielding sect hopeful takes it.
He flicks his blade from its sheath, thinking he can control the fight early.
But De-Reece is not attacking him directly.
He is attacking his control.
The moment the blade comes forward—
Sky Shattering Demon Palm.
De-Reece strikes the ground, not the opponent.
The sudden shockwave forces the terrain beneath them to shift violently, disrupting both opponents' balance.
For just an instant, they are vulnerable.
And that's all the time Kalia needs.
Kalia doesn't hesitate.
While De-Reece controls the battlefield, she capitalizes.
Her saber flashes forward, a sharp arc of steel cutting through the shifting air.
The rogue cultivator with the gauntlet—**already thrown off-balance—**raises his arm too late.
Her blade finds its mark.
Not fatal.
But deep enough to force a reaction.
The stocky cultivator stumbles back instinctively, blood darkening his sleeve.
For the first time, the two sect hopefuls realize they are not in control.