STEEL LOTUS

The Culling

The iron gate loomed before him like a mouth waiting to swallow.

Kaito pressed his back against the rain-slicked wall of the alley, watching the Imperial Academy's entrance from the shadows. Two guards flanked the massive doors, their armor gleaming with cultivation-enhanced steel. Each pulse of their cores sent faint ripples through the air—visible even to Kaito's broken senses.

They were cultivators. Real ones.

And he had nothing but a rusted knife and a dead man's name.

"Ryu Kenzaki," he whispered, tasting the false identity. "War orphan. Northern Province. No clan. No family. No history."

The scroll in his pocket felt heavier than the sky above him.

He'd read his father's message a hundred times during the journey to the capital. The words hadn't changed. They still burned.

*"The Sword Emperor's Testament lives in your blood. Claim it, my son. Burn them all."*

Kaito's core pulsed weakly beneath his ribs—a dull throb that reminded him of everything he'd lost. The generals who'd murdered his family had sealed his cultivation, not shattered it. That meant there was a way to break the seal.

The Academy held the answers. It had to.

He pushed off the wall and walked toward the gate. The guards' eyes locked onto him immediately.

"State your business," the taller one barked. His hand moved to his sword.

Kaito kept his hands visible, his face neutral. "Entrance examination. I'm here to enroll."

The guards exchanged a glance. Then they laughed.

"You?" The shorter guard snorted. "Look at you. You're skin and bones. You probably couldn't lift a training blade."

"Let him through," a voice called from behind the gate. "The culling begins soon. Every piece of meat makes the others work harder."

The gates groaned open. Kaito stepped inside.

The courtyard beyond was vast—a killing ground of black stone surrounded by tiered observation platforms. Dozens of young men stood in nervous clusters, their clothes marking them as aspiring students. Some carried family blades. Others wore the crests of minor clans. All of them looked stronger than Kaito.

At the center of the courtyard stood a man in pristine white robes. His hair was silver, his eyes cold, and his cultivation core radiated so much power that Kaito's broken senses screamed in protest.

"I am Commander Haruki Morita," the man announced, his voice cutting through the rain. "I will be your examiner. The rules are simple. There are one hundred of you. I will choose twenty. The rest will be culled."

Kaito felt the weight of that word. Culled. Like livestock.

Morita raised a hand. A line of wooden posts rose from the ground, each one bearing a small stone orb.

"These orbs measure your cultivation potential," Morita continued. "Place your hand on one. It will glow based on your core's strength. The top twenty will proceed. The rest will be removed from the Academy grounds."

Kaito's stomach dropped. He couldn't cultivate. His core was sealed. If he touched that orb, it would show nothing.

He'd be exposed. Captured. Killed.

The candidates began moving forward, one by one. Orbs flared with varying intensities—some dim, some blinding. Each successful test drew murmurs of approval from the observers.

Kaito's turn came too quickly.

He stepped toward the nearest post, his palms slick with sweat. The orb sat on its pedestal, smooth and dark, waiting to reveal his worth.

Or his death.

Behind him, Morita's voice rang out. "Next."

Kaito reached out. His fingers hovered over the orb's surface. He could already see the vision—the orb staying dark, the guards seizing him, the questions that would follow. His identity would crumble.

Then he remembered his father's words.

*"The Sword Emperor's Testament lives in your blood."*

Kaito closed his eyes. He pictured the enforcer's death. The moment his blade had found the gap between ribs. The surge of power that had followed.

That was the Testament. The forbidden technique. The path of cultivation through killing.

He had killed. He had taken a life.

And the power from that kill still lingered somewhere inside him.

Kaito pressed his palm to the orb.

The world exploded into light.

Brilliant, crimson light shot from the orb like a beacon, painting the courtyard in shades of blood. The stone beneath Kaito's feet cracked from the pressure. The observers gasped. One of the guards stumbled backward, his hand flying to his weapon.

Morita's cold eyes widened.

But Kaito felt something else. The light wasn't just revealing his power—it was *unlocking* it. The seal that had held his core for five years began to fracture. Pain lanced through his chest. He wanted to scream, to pull his hand away.

He couldn't.

The orb's light intensified. Cracks spider-webbed across its surface. Kaito's vision blurred. He saw his father's face. His mother's hands. The flames of the massacre.

Then, just as suddenly as it had started, the light died.

The orb shattered into dust.

Kaito collapsed to his knees, gasping. His core throbbed with a power he hadn't felt since childhood. It was weak—pathetic compared to the cultivators around him. But it was *there*.

And it was growing.

Morita descended from the observation platform, his footsteps echoing in the stunned silence. He stopped in front of Kaito, studying him like a specimen.

"Name," he demanded.

Kaito forced himself to his feet. He met the commander's gaze.

"Ryu Kenzaki," he said. "War orphan. Northern Province. No clan. No family."

Morita's eyes narrowed. "Your core is unstable. Damaged. You shouldn't be able to generate that much energy."

"Then I guess I'm full of surprises."

Silence stretched between them. Kaito could feel the eyes of every candidate boring into his back. The guards' hands stayed on their weapons. The tension was a physical weight.

Finally, Morita smiled. It wasn't a kind expression.

"The culling continues," he announced, turning away. "But I'll be watching you, Kenzaki. Very closely."

Kaito's chest tightened. He'd drawn attention. Exactly what he'd wanted to avoid.

But the power in his core hummed with promise.

The Testament was real. His father's words were real. And with every kill, every enemy he crushed, that power would grow.

Twenty would survive the culling.

Kaito intended to be one of them.

No matter what it cost.