NOVPUBChapter 805: Disciple Selection [Bonus]
The town square of Zhaokun was a wide, sun-scorched expanse of dark red stone, lined by flag-bearing pavilions and gilded banners snapping in the wind. Incense curled from brazier stands placed between wooden stages, where sect elders sat on thrones cushioned in silks and adorned with their sect emblems: flames, swords, serpents, and rising suns.
Crowds had gathered like moths to light. Young hopefuls stood nervously with their hands behind their backs or clasped in front, dressed in their best robes, eyes flicking between the watching elders with a mix of desperation and excitement. Behind the thrones upon which the elders were seated, rows of junior disciples stood rigid in ceremonial formation, each representing their sect's honor and strength.
The sect elders themselves—ten in total—watched with scrutinizing gazes. Some were ancient, eyes milky with age but filled with clarity. Others looked only slightly older than the disciples behind them, with fire-forged gazes and spiritual pressure that made the very air ripple around them. Even without activating their powerful combat arts, the weight of their cultivation was enough to silence most.
Quinlan and Feng moved through the crowd toward the central reception area, where all entrants were being sorted. Before they could get far, a pair of guards in fire-colored lamellar armor stepped in their path with spears crossed.
The taller of the two gave a polite but indifferent nod to Feng. "Miss, are you here to enter the competition?"
Feng blinked once, then tilted her head toward Quinlan and gave them a polite smile.
"I'm not the one entering. I'm just a humble follower, a loyal servant girl. My great master is the one who will be participating."
"…Eh?" the shorter guard grunted with surprise.
Even Quinlan raised a brow at her. He hadn't expected that answer—and by the slight flicker in her eyes, neither had she. But she didn't retract it.
'She's already figured it out,' Quinlan realized as he looked at her sidelong. 'The elders won't look twice at someone like her. Her affinity is for water, and this is the Flame Nation. Even if she performed decently, they'd see her as a mismatch. So instead of chasing a doomed path, she'd rather give me a chance to shine.'
It was clever of her.
The guards glanced back at Quinlan now, their gazes turning sharp and critical. One of them reached out with a finger and tapped lightly against his chest with a faint glimmer of spiritual sense.
"Qi Gathering stage…?" The taller one made a face like he'd just tasted spoiled vinegar. "As a grown man? Is this supposed to be a joke?"
The other shook his head. "You're too old. This trial is for cultivating youth, not washed-up wanderers."
Quinlan didn't bother entertaining their nonsense. He just asked, "Is there an age limit?"
"…No," the taller one admitted reluctantly.
"Then I'll enter."
The guards exchanged a look, then stepped aside with a dismissive shrug of their shoulders.
"Your waste of time," one muttered under his breath. "Just don't embarrass yourself too badly in front of the elders."
Feng stuck her tongue out at their backs as they passed.
Quinlan said nothing, but his smile had turned a degree sharper.
…
The sun hung heavy in the sky, casting a strong gleam of light over the ring at the center of Zhaokun's town square, where a large number of people gathered.
The event had a rhythm to it. Every round began the same: a middle-aged organizer, robed in the fiery colors of the city, made his way to each of the ten elders seated on their raised thrones. They whispered into his ears, but their mouths were veiled behind folding fans and raised hands so that their words couldn't be lipread. Once the selections were made, ten names were called out—ten hopefuls chosen from the sea of candidates.
The chosen ten ascended the stone stage and bowed to the elders. Then, one by one, they stepped forward to showcase a technique of their choosing. Flaming palms, sword strikes, body enhancement arts—all were performed with dramatic flair. Some elders nodded in mild interest, others shook their heads, or even openly yawned.
And then came the free-for-all.
No rules. No mercy. Only survival.
Real weapons. Real deaths.
Quinlan watched as the ring descended into brutal, frenzied chaos each round. Teenagers barely out of childhood gutted one another for a fleeting chance at a better future. Corpses were dragged off by silent, expressionless attendants, leaving streaks of crimson on the polished red stone. The crowd cheered, wept, jeered, or watched in grim silence, depending on who lived and who died.
Hours passed like this.
Round after round, group after group.
Yet Quinlan was never called.
He stood straight with his arms crossed, his gaze calm but growing colder by the hour. Despite his towering height, his solid build, his quiet aura of restrained power, none of the elders gave him a glance.
'Too old,' he realized. 'Doesn't matter if I'm stronger. They've already decided I'm not worth even a moment of their time.'
By his side, Feng Jiai clicked her tongue for what must've been the hundredth time.
"Tch. What a joke." She crossed her arms and leaned into him slightly. "If only they gave you one chance. Just one! You already beat that Meridian Opening stage bastard before even stepping into the Qi Gathering stage!"
"Feng-" Quinlan grunted.
"No, really!" she huffed. "You're stronger than all those brats combined! These geezers just want pretty little blank slates they can mold. They don't want talent, they want obedience!"
"Calm down," he said, but his voice was strained. He wasn't unaffected.
She was right. He'd watched boys and girls with trembling legs and unsteady hands get picked. Weak cultivators. Average techniques. The only difference was their age. Potential. Moldability. Not power.
By dusk, the town square had thinned. Fewer names were called. The crowd had grown weary, many leaving after their children failed to be chosen. Even the elders looked bored, sipping from cups or lazily waving off candidates.
Then came the final announcement. 𝘯𝑜𝘷𝘱𝘶𝘣.𝘤𝘰𝑚
"This concludes today's open selection for the Zhaokun Sect Summit," the announcer called. "Those who were not chosen may return next year. May fortune guide your cultivation."
Just like that, it ended.
