The Academy square reeked of ozone, sweat, and arrogance. Hundreds of students stood in rigid formation, silk robes gleaming under the morning sun like polished lies. Spirit blades hummed. Talismans glowed. Confidence spilled from them like perfume—thick, choking, unearned. At the front, the so-called geniuses preened openly. “Check this edge,” one laughed, running a thumb along a spirit blade. “I sharpened it with beast marrow.” “You’ll dull it on the first strike,” another scoffed. “Try not to embarrass your master.” I stood at the very back. Refuse ranks. Gray hemp robes. No emblem. No spirit aura. Zhaoyang’s black dagger rested against my hip, hidden but heavy. A reminder. An invitation I intended to answer in blood. “Listen up!” the Grand Elder’s voice boomed from the balcony above. “The Heavenly Hunt is not a game. You are being sent into the Forbidden Forest to harvest spirit cores. The top ten will receive direct entry into the Inner Sanctum!” Cheers erupted. Fists