Chapter 10: The First Trial Begins

The morning of the fourth day arrived with a weight that pressed down on Wei Chen’s shoulders like a physical force. He stood in the Celestial Audience Hall, watching the golden light pulse along the walls, and tried to convince himself he was ready.

He wasn’t.

The illusion formations were in place. Guardian One stood at attention in the corner, its blank face somehow managing to look determined. The meditation room hummed with refined qi, and the main hall itself had been transformed into a maze of spiritual traps and hidden passages. It wasn’t much. It was barely anything. But it was all he had.

“They’ll come at noon,” he muttered, checking his formation notes for the hundredth time. “Three Qi Condensation cultivators. Maybe four.”

The core pulsed. *You are afraid.*

“Terrified,” Wei Chen admitted. “But that doesn’t change what needs to be done.”

*Good. Fear without paralysis is wisdom.*

He snorted. “Did you learn that from the Jade Emperor himself?”

*No. I learned it from watching him fall.*

The words hit harder than they should have. Wei Chen fell silent, staring at the core’s glow. Ten thousand years ago, the most powerful being in existence had stood where he was standing now. And he had fallen. What chance did a tomb raider have?

The ground trembled.

Wei Chen’s head snapped up. “They’re early.”

He felt them before he saw them—three presences, sharp and aggressive, pushing through the dungeon’s outer barrier like knives through silk. They weren’t subtle. They weren’t respectful. They were exactly the kind of cultivators he’d been warned about.

“Showtime,” he whispered.

He touched the core, and the audience hall shifted around him. The golden light dimmed to a soft amber, the mist thickened, and the formations hummed to life. From the outside, the hall would appear empty. Abandoned. A ruin waiting to be looted.

That was the bait.

The first cultivator stepped through the entrance.

He was a big man, broad-shouldered and scarred, with a cultivation base that radiated brute force rather than refined skill. Qi Condensation third layer, Wei Chen guessed—strong enough to be dangerous, weak enough to be arrogant. Behind him came two more: a woman in flowing white robes, her face sharp and calculating, and a thin man with quick eyes and quicker hands.

The big man laughed. “Would you look at this place? The old man wasn’t lying. There really is a dungeon here.”

The woman’s eyes swept the hall. “It’s smaller than I expected. And emptier.”

“Empty means easy pickings,” the thin man said. His fingers twitched. “I can feel the qi. It’s weak, but it’s here. The core must be nearby.”

Wei Chen watched from the shadows, his heart pounding. The illusions were working. They couldn’t see him. They couldn’t see the formations. They saw only what he wanted them to see.

*First step complete,* the core whispered. *Now show them why the Heavenly Court does not suffer thieves.*

Wei Chen activated the first formation.

The floor beneath the big man’s feet dissolved into golden mist. He dropped like a stone, crashing through the illusion into the pit below—a pit that Wei Chen had spent half the night digging, lined with broken jade and sharp-edged stones. The big man landed hard, his leg twisting at an unnatural angle. He screamed.

“Ambush!” the woman shouted, her robes flaring as she leaped backward. Her hand went to her sword. “Formation master! There’s a formation master here!”

The thin man was already moving, his hands tracing patterns in the air. “I’ll break it. Give me time.”

Wei Chen’s blood ran cold. A formation breaker. Of course. Of course they’d brought one.

He didn’t wait. He activated the second formation, and the walls began to close in.

The woman’s eyes widened. She drew her sword and slashed at the golden light, her qi flaring bright enough to hurt Wei Chen’s eyes. The blade cut through the illusion like paper, but the real wall was right behind it, and her strike left a dent in the jade instead of shattering it.

“It’s layered!” she snarled. “The illusion is layered over the real structure. We can’t just cut our way through.”

The thin man was sweating now, his hands moving faster. “I see it. I almost have it. Just—hold them off.”

Wei Chen didn’t give him the chance.

He sent Guardian One forward.

The construct moved with surprising speed, its spear aimed at the thin man’s chest. The formation breaker yelped and threw himself sideways, his concentration shattering. The formations flickered.

“No!” Wei Chen hissed. He poured more qi into the core, trying to stabilize them, but the damage was done. The woman saw the weakness. She drove her sword into the flickering point, and the entire illusion collapsed like a house of cards.

The audience hall returned to normal.

Wei Chen stood revealed, one hand on the core, his face pale.

The woman’s eyes locked onto him. “You.”

“Me,” he said weakly.

She smiled. It was not a friendly smile. “I was wondering what kind of fool would claim a dungeon for himself. A Qi Condensation first layer? Barely? You’re not even a proper cultivator.”

“I’m learning.”

“You’ll die learning.”

She moved like water, her sword a blur of silver light. Wei Chen threw himself backward, but he was too slow. The blade caught him across the chest, tearing through his robes and leaving a shallow but bloody gash. He hit the ground hard, pain exploding through his ribs.

*Get up,* the core urged. *Get up now.*

He scrambled to his feet, blood soaking his shirt. The woman advanced, her sword dripping. Behind her, the thin man was recovering, his hands already tracing new patterns. The big man was still in the pit, cursing and trying to climb out.

Three against one. And he was bleeding.

“You should have run when you had the chance,” the woman said. “This dungeon was never meant for the likes of you.”

Wei Chen wiped blood from his mouth. “Maybe not. But it’s mine now.”

He slammed his hand against the core.

The core blazed.

Golden light erupted from the floor, the walls, the ceiling—every surface of the dungeon suddenly alive with power. The woman staggered, shielding her eyes. The thin man screamed as the light burned through his defensive qi. Even the big man fell silent.

And then the light faded.

When Wei Chen could see again, the cultivators were gone.

No—not gone. They were still there. But the dungeon had changed.

They stood in a vast hall, far larger than the Celestial Audience Hall had been. Pillars of jade and gold stretched up into an impossibly high ceiling, where clouds swirled and thunder rumbled. The floor was made of polished starstone, reflecting the light of a thousand floating lanterns. And at the far end of the hall, on a throne that seemed to be carved from pure light itself, sat a figure.

The figure was Wei Chen.

But not the Wei Chen of now. This was a Wei Chen transformed—robed in celestial silk, crowned with a circlet of stars, his eyes burning with the authority of a god. He looked down at the three cultivators with an expression of cold amusement.

“Welcome,” the throne-Wei Chen said, his voice echoing through the hall, “to the first trial of the Heavenly Dungeon.”

The real Wei Chen stared, his mouth hanging open. *What—*

*The memory technique,* the core said, its voice strained but triumphant. *I adapted it. Made it real. For a few minutes, this hall will be what it once was. And you will be what you must become.*

“I don’t—I can’t—”

*You can. You are the core’s master. Act like it.*

Wei Chen took a breath. He looked at the cultivators—the woman, her sword trembling; the thin man, his confidence shattered; the big man, still in his pit, staring up at the throne with naked fear.

He didn’t know what he was doing. He didn’t know if this would work.

But he knew one thing: he would not let the Heavenly Court fall again.

“You came here seeking treasure,” the throne-Wei Chen said, his voice resonating with ancient power. “You found something far greater. You found a trial.”

The woman’s jaw tightened. “What kind of trial?”

“The kind that kills you if you fail.”

The hall rumbled. The lanterns flickered. And the throne-Wei Chen raised his hand.

“First trial: face the guardian of the eastern gate.”

From the shadows at the edge of the hall, something stepped forward.

It was massive—twice the height of a man, built of golden light and jade armor, its face a roaring lion’s mask. In its hands, it held a spear that crackled with lightning.

The cultivators paled.

The real Wei Chen felt the core shudder. *This will drain everything I have. The illusion will last only as long as I can sustain it. Use the time wisely.*

“How long?” he whispered.

*Three minutes. Maybe four.*

Wei Chen looked at the guardian, at the cultivators, at the throne he was somehow both sitting on and watching from afar.

Three minutes.

He could work with that.

The guardian roared, and the battle began.