Chapter Twenty: The First Kill

After a while, Yang Fan suddenly spoke up, “What do you think is the purpose of this trial? Is it just to temper our courage?”

Zhou Yiyi was somewhat surprised by the question; she hadn’t expected Yang Fan to ask her that. After thinking for a moment, she replied, “To be honest, I’m not entirely sure myself. I did ask my sister about it once. She told me that this initiation ceremony for the new students has existed since the academy was founded. The academy’s intention is to teach us how to remain calm in emergencies, to think about how to survive. The academy trains cultivators—not to pamper us, but so that we’ll be able to fight the enemy at crucial moments. This entry trial is just the first step. And fighting ordinary mutated beasts is already considered the lowest level of danger. Personally, I think it’s not just to forge our courage, but also to let us experience combat in advance, to give us a glimpse of what our future days might look like.”

Yang Fan mulled over Zhou Yiyi’s words. Indeed, no one had ever told him that the path of cultivation would be smooth and easy. In fact, he even knew the details about the ruins—those were battlefields between two worlds. How could things possibly be as calm as the distant, tranquil sea? Seeing that Yang Fan fell silent, Zhou Yiyi said no more.

...

They sailed for a long time. Yang Fan stood on the deck, gazing into the distance, while Zhou Yiyi stood quietly behind him.

“All students, gather!” called one of the accompanying instructors.

Yang Fan and Zhou Yiyi withdrew their gazes and walked toward the instructor.

“In about an hour, we’ll reach the island. I’ll now explain the specifics of your task. After landing, students who haven’t begun cultivation may form teams—there’s no limit to the number. Those who have begun cultivation but are not yet First-tier Martial Apprentices may form teams of up to three. First-tier Martial Apprentices must act alone—no teaming allowed. Ordinary students only need to kill one beast and bring back any part of it within the allotted time to pass. Those not yet First-tier must each kill two, and First-tier Martial Apprentices must kill three. Also, don’t try to take multiple parts from the same beast—this is monitored. If discovered, each offense will be counted and all involved will be expelled. Now, form teams or make your preparations.”

With that, the instructor turned and headed toward the cabin.

“No teaming for First-tier? Yang Fan, I was hoping to go with you,” Zhou Yiyi protested, her face full of indignation.

“Forget it. Just be careful—even alone, you should be fine. Just look after yourself,” Yang Fan replied, a bit awkward himself. He had indeed wanted to team up with Zhou Yiyi; with the two of them together, there would have been virtually no danger. But now, that option was cut off.

...

Three hours later, on a vast island within the territory of East Xia, one that was almost invisible on maps yet enormous in reality, Yang Fan was sprinting at full speed—with a pride of eight lions hot on his heels.

“Damn it, why is there a pride of lions? Who put lions on this island? The environment isn’t even suited for them! I could accept a tiger, but this many lions—what a joke!” Yang Fan cursed as he ran. The lions had been chasing him for half an hour; he was already exhausted, but they were still full of energy. It made no sense.

But ever since the revival of spiritual energy, many things had ceased to make scientific sense—just like cultivation itself, which would have been considered pure mysticism in the past.

Scenes like this played out all over the island—people swearing, beasts that had no business surviving in this environment appearing everywhere.

As he ran, Yang Fan kept observing his surroundings. Even though he was now at the peak of First-tier, his ingrained instincts still made him fear the pride. He gripped his blade, but dared not stop to fight.

After another twenty minutes, Yang Fan felt his stamina draining rapidly, while the lions were drawing closer. It was as if the forest posed no obstacle at all to their movement.

“Climb a tree, you idiot! Stop running, climb a tree!” A voice suddenly shouted in Yang Fan’s ear just as he felt he could run no further.

Of course—why keep running? Climb a tree!

Realization dawning, Yang Fan quickly scanned around, spotted the largest tree nearby, and dashed toward it.

He crouched, then leapt up, grasping the trunk and scrambling upward.

The lions leapt after him, but their massive bodies made climbing impossible—they slipped down almost immediately.

Yang Fan shimmied higher, and when he finally felt he was high enough, he looked down. The sight made his heart tremble.

“My god, this must be fifteen meters up. That’s terrifying.” He glanced at the lions again. Hm, the pride was even scarier.

Half an hour later, the lions moved off. Only then did Yang Fan’s heart settle. It had been nearly an hour of being chased—his fear had yet to subside.

“You really are an idiot,” said a voice from nearby.

Yang Fan turned toward the sound and saw a young man sitting on a tree not far away, his clothes tattered. Yang Fan recognized him—another student on the trial, also a First-tier Martial Apprentice.

“Thanks for the reminder back there—I panicked and lost my head. What’s your name?” Yang Fan asked.

“Jiang Chao. No need for thanks, but it’s pretty shameful to be chased by a few lions like that,” Jiang Chao replied with open disdain.

Yang Fan’s mood collapsed at the words—he had just narrowly escaped a lion’s maw, and though Jiang Chao had helped, was there any need to be so cutting?

“Oh? And how did you end up in that tree, Jiang Chao? And what happened to your clothes—self-harm?” Yang Fan shot back.

Jiang Chao nearly coughed up blood. Self-harm? Where did this kid’s imagination come from? He’d just saved him, and now was being roasted in return.

“You don’t know anything. I was chased by dozens of wolves, that’s why I look like this. If I were being chased by a few lions like you, I’d have killed them all by now.” Jiang Chao was indignant.

“Sure, sure. If we’d switched places, I’d have slaughtered all those wolves chasing you too.” Yang Fan refused to back down—if you want to spar with words, I’ll give as good as I get. As the ancients said, courtesy must be returned in kind.

“Keep talking.” With that, Jiang Chao ignored him. There was no reasoning with this guy.

“You said it best—keep talking,” Yang Fan muttered, watching Jiang Chao’s face flush red as he turned away. Yang Fan figured Jiang Chao was probably regretting having helped him, but what could he do? Jiang Chao had started it—couldn’t he have spoken nicely?

After a while, Jiang Chao climbed down and slipped off into the woods without another word.

Yang Fan remained on his perch, unmoving.

“So this is what the instructors called ‘minimal risk’? If it were ordinary people, they wouldn’t even be able to outrun these things,” he muttered to himself.

The island was enormous, teeming with all sorts of beasts, many living in groups. If ordinary students ran into them, there’d be casualties for sure.

Indeed, all over the island, scenes of pursuit and flight unfolded again and again. Some were injured, though so far, no one had died.

...

Being hunted was an excruciating, terrifying experience. Yang Fan felt that if he went through this a few more times, his heart would be forged before he ever reached the level of tempering his organs in the Fourth Tier. The rush of adrenaline was almost overwhelming.

After a while, Yang Fan realized he couldn’t wait any longer. If he delayed until nightfall, it would be even more difficult. He had to kill at least one or two beasts while it was still daylight.

Carefully, he climbed down from the tree—there was no way he’d jump straight down from fifteen meters. That wasn’t one and a half meters—he’d probably break his ankle.

Once on the ground, he found he had no sense of direction—east, west, south, north, what were those? He had no idea.

He picked a direction at random and moved cautiously forward.

Half an hour later, about two kilometers from where he’d climbed up the tree, Yang Fan was perched in another tree, watching as a spotted tiger, limping, made its way nearby.

Yang Fan’s eyes lit up. He saw a bloody hole in the tiger’s left hind leg, apparently an old wound already scabbed over—not a fresh injury, so it couldn’t have been caused by another student. That was fortunate—he’d only meant to rest here, yet fate had sent him a wounded tiger.

Yang Fan focused intently on the tiger’s every move, his heart pounding. This was a tiger—the king of the forest. In eighteen years, he’d never imagined he’d one day play the part of a tiger-slaying hero.

Though the tiger was wounded, Yang Fan dared not underestimate it. Since the animal hadn’t yet noticed him, his chance for a surprise attack was high—he had to make it count.

Patience is the hunter’s virtue. At this moment, Yang Fan was the hunter—the tiger-slayer.

When the tiger was almost directly beneath his tree, it suddenly halted, sniffing the air and glancing around warily.

Yang Fan realized with alarm that the beast had caught his scent.

Now or never. No more hesitation. Though it wasn’t the perfect moment, if he waited any longer, the tables might turn.

He drew his long blade, raised it high, and leapt from the tree toward the tiger.

The tiger noticed him mid-air, but Yang Fan’s descent was too quick, and the tiger’s injured hind leg hampered its reaction. It tried to dodge, but was a second too late.

Yang Fan brought his blade down hard on the tiger’s rump, the edge biting deep into flesh.

With a furious roar, the tiger whipped around, aiming a bite at him.

These forest predators were fierce to the core. Even injured, flight never crossed their minds; their instinct was to attack, to destroy whatever had hurt them.

Yang Fan yanked his blade free and quickly retreated. The tiger spun but missed.

He stepped forward again, planting his feet, and drew his sabre from the waist—a draw-cut, fast and direct.

The blade met the tiger’s outstretched paw with a sharp crack.

The edge sank into flesh, but was stopped by the tiger’s bone—tiger bone was incredibly tough, stronger even than muscle. The saying "a tiger does not fall even in death" was no exaggeration.

His sabre lodged in the bone, Yang Fan gripped the hilt with both hands, summoning all his strength—five hundred pounds—to wrench it free.

The tiger, now enraged, threw itself at him once more, as if it hadn’t just been injured.

Yang Fan was startled by the beast’s ferocity. Even hurt, it kept attacking? Caught off guard, he felt the tiger’s good forepaw rake his arm, sending him sprawling.

Fresh blood welled from several gashes on his left upper arm.

“Damn it!” Yang Fan shouted in pain. But the tiger paid no heed, pouncing again. Yang Fan now knew it was a fight to the death. As the tiger’s gaping jaws neared his face, he could smell its rank breath.

Desperation flared. He thrust his blade upward with his right hand, while kicking hard with both legs.

The sabre pierced the tiger’s exposed belly, and, with all his strength, Yang Fan kicked the beast upward, ripping the blade through its abdomen—disemboweling it.

Blood and viscera spilled all over him. The tiger was dead—utterly, irreversibly dead.