The last toll of the bell echoed through the ancient stones, mingling with the whispers of thousands of spectators frozen in anticipation. The air was thick with tension, as if the arena itself had drawn it into its lungs and was in no hurry to exhale. The participants stood in the center, fists clenched, glancing around — something was about to happen. It had to.
But nothing happened.
Silence.
And then...
BOOM!
Something enormous crashed onto the arena from the sky, as if hurled by an enraged deity. The impact was so powerful that the stone slabs cracked, and plumes of dust billowed into the air, shrouding the battlefield in a thick veil. The participants instinctively shielded their faces, staggering back as the ground trembled beneath them.
— What the hell?! — someone shouted.
The dust slowly settled, and through it emerged a silhouette. Short, hunched, holding something long in its hands...
And then, at last, everyone saw him.
Kappa.
He stood in the middle of the arena, casually munching on a cucumber as if he hadn't just fallen from the sky but had strolled out of a nearby tavern. His eyes—round, gleaming like an owl's—slowly scanned the participants, assessing, mocking.
One last crunch.
Kappa swallowed the last bite, licked his fingers, and spread his arms wide as if he meant to embrace the entire Colosseum.
— I am Jun Le! — he roared, his voice rolling across the stands like thunder. — Your favorite judge and commentator! And now... — He paused, leaned forward, his smirk widening. — ...we're gonna weed out all the weaklings!
Silence.
And then—
A rumble.
The arena floor shook, the stone slabs parted like giant jaws, and from the darkness below, a staircase began to rise. Enormous, endless, stretching upward beyond sight. Its steps were uneven, as if carved by wind and time, and ancient lanterns hung on either side, flickering with an eerie green flame.
Jun Le hopped onto the first step, spun around, and bowed with exaggerated theatricality.
— Welcome to the first trial, ladies and gentlemen! — His voice rang with madness. — Those who don't reach the top... well, you get the idea, right?
He laughed high-pitched, hysterical, like a man unhinged.
And the staircase waited.
The trial had begun.
Silence hung over the Colosseum, broken only by the crackling of the greenish lanterns illuminating the endless stairs. The participants exchanged glances, fists clenched, hearts pounding in their chests. Someone had to take the first step.
And then — he did.
A young warrior in armor, a sword strapped to his back, confidently raised his foot and stepped onto the first stair.
CRUNCH.
Not bones. Not stone.
The crunch of space itself.
In the next instant, his body exploded — as if an invisible hammer had struck from above, flattening him into a bloody puddle in a fraction of a second. Bones turned to dust, flesh to a crimson mist sprayed across the steps. Even his armor didn't survive — only a mangled metal pancake remained where the man had stood.
Silence.
And then — laughter.
— Oopsie-doopsy~ — Jun Le, now sitting on the staircase railing, swung his legs like a child on a swing. — Seems like I forgot to warn you!
He hopped down, flipped in midair, and landed right in the pool of blood, splashing it around. His eyes sparkled with madness.
— Each step... increases gravity by ten thousand times! — He spread his arms as if offering to embrace the impossible. — So all you weaklings better step aside~
One participant, pale as chalk, spun around and bolted for the exit.
A snap of Jun Le's fingers.
The deserter's body detonated midair, showering the stands with a rain of bones and gore.
— Ah yes... there's no way back~ — He rubbed his chin as if deep in thought. — But don't worry! To pass, you only need to climb a hundred steps! Though, in total...
He jumped, waved his hand, and suddenly the staircase came alive — the steps glowed crimson, and high above, somewhere in the clouds, a giant number appeared:
1000.
— ...There are a thousand! — Jun Le cackled, spinning in place. — First who will be brave enough to climb them all... gets a special prize!
He leaned forward, his grin stretching unnervingly wide.
— Well then, heroes? Who's next?
The staircase waited.
The trial had truly begun.
Everyone froze, staring at the bloody mess that had been the first challenger. Even the wind seemed to die down, as if nature itself was holding its breath, waiting for the next victim.
And then — he stepped forward.
Natsuki Kengo.
One of the tournament's favorites. A man whose name made rivals clench their fists and spectators freeze in awe. His long black coat billowed behind him, and in his hand, he gripped a sword.
Not just any blade.
A cursed sword.
Ancient, its guard cracked, its surface scarred as if it had endured hundreds of battles. Strange patterns ran along the blade — not runes, not inscriptions, but faces. The faces of those he had defeated. The souls forever trapped in the cold steel. They whispered, moaned, laughed—invisible to all but Kengo himself.
He raised his foot.
And stepped onto the first stair.
Gravity slammed into him.
The air groaned, space warped, and everyone saw Kengo's body jerk — as if an invisible giant had punched him from above.
But he didn't splatter.
Didn't explode.
Didn't turn into a puddle of gore.
He stood.
And his sword...
Cracked.
A thin fissure ran along the blade, as if an invisible hand had dragged a knife across it.
— Hah... — Kengo smirked, lifting his head. His eyes burned with cold fire. — Is that all you've got?
Jun Le, perched on the railing, froze. His manic grin faltered for a second.
— Ooooh~ — he drawled, flipping upside down, his back bending unnaturally. — Someone's a tough nut to crack!
Kengo didn't reply. He took a second step.
The sword cracked again.
But he kept climbing.
Third step. Fourth. Fifth...
With each step, the pressure grew, but Kengo didn't stop. His sword webbed with fractures, yet he remained unharmed.
— Interesting... — Jun Le tilted his head like a curious child. — What kind of toy is that you've got there?
Kengo didn't answer. He was already on the tenth step, and behind him, others — shaken but emboldened — began to move.
The trial was only beginning.
After Kengo, many dared to follow his example.
Some climbed slowly, teeth gritted, feeling their bones creak under the monstrous weight. Others rushed forward, relying on speed, luck, or the strength of their abilities.
A few were lucky.
They made it five, ten, twenty steps—their bodies bent but didn't break, their will burning brighter than pain.
But many... were not so lucky.
The snap of bones. Explosions of flesh. Bloody smears staining the ancient stones. The staircase, once gray and lifeless, now gleamed crimson, like the tongue of some demonic beast. Each new victim added another shade—deep scarlet, almost black in the shadows.
And then...
He stepped forward.
Luo Zhien.
A man whose name was whispered even by the proudest warriors.
He didn't prepare. Didn't tense his muscles. Didn't summon magic or weapons.
He simply... walked.
As if climbing ordinary stairs in his own home.
As if nothing had changed.
First step. Pressure ten thousand times stronger than normal.
Luo Zhi'en didn't even slow down.
Fifth. Tenth. Twentieth.
He moved smoothly, calmly, his steps light, almost careless. His long black hair swayed with each stride, and his eyes held no strain, no fear—only a cold, almost mathematical focus.
— Well, well~ — Jun Le whistled, flipping in midair and landing on the railing beside Luo. — What kind of beast are you?
Luo Zhi'en didn't even glance at him.
He just kept climbing.
Because he saw.
What no one else could.
Imperfections.
Cracks in reality. Microscopic flaws in the gravitational field left by Jun Le. Weak points, where the pressure was slightly less, where space bent not quite fully.
Luo Zhi'en stepped precisely there.
Each of his steps was perfectly calculated—not too hard, not too soft. He didn't fight gravity.
He sidestepped it.
Like water flowing around a stone.
Like light slipping through a crack.
Jun Le cocked his head, his insane grin widening.
— Ha-ha-ha! Well, well! — He clapped his hands. — So there's more than just boneheads among you!
Luo Zhi'en was already on the fiftieth step, leaving no trail of blood behind.
And behind him, teeth clenched, came Kengo, his sword cracking louder.
The staircase waited.
And somewhere above, in the clouds, flickered that special prize...
499th step.
Luo Zhi'en froze.
His flawless ascent, so effortless until now, halted abruptly. He stood, head slightly tilted, as if listening to something only he could hear. His eyes, usually cold and calculating, reflected doubt for the first time.
— Could it be...? — he whispered, barely audible.
Beside him, on the 498th step, Natsuki Kengo also stopped. His sword was nearly shattered—cracks spiderwebbed across it, and through them, faint glimmers of trapped spirits struggling to break free.
Luo gave the slightest nod.
Something was wrong.
Something beyond their understanding.
500th step.
It was... different.
The crowd in the Colosseum fell silent, holding its breath. No one understood why the two strongest had stopped just short of the halfway point.
And then—
— Well, well! Time for the most magnificent being to conquer this trial!
A voice thundered, shattering the tense silence.
Everyone turned.
Shao Xiaotian.
Half-tiger. A creature whose name was known even to children in the farthest corners of the Empire. His golden stripes shimmered in the sunlight, his eyes blazing with defiance. He stretched lazily, as if preparing not for a deadly trial but for a performance.
— You're all so tense! — He laughed, glancing at the frozen Luo and Kengo. — Can't you see? It's just a staircase
And he stepped forward.
CRACK.
His knees buckled under the monstrous weight, his body shuddered — but didn't burst.
— Oho! — Shao grinned, slowly rising. — Now that's a kick... almost got me! Almost!
And then, the stripes on his body came alive.
They darkened, grew denser, harder, as if transforming into armor. The stripes vibrated, rearranging themselves, wrapping around his muscles, bones, joints—reinforcing them.
— Exo-skeleton? — Jun Le, watching from above, raised an eyebrow. — How cute!
Shao ignored him. He began to climb.
Slowly.
Step by step.
But relentlessly.
— You're all staring at me like I'm insane! — He laughed, though each step clearly cost him immense effort. — But who else but me should show you that even gravity is nothing before the magnificence of Shao Xiaotian?!
His stripes creaked, holding under the strain, but he didn't stop.
10 steps. 20. 30...
Luo and Kengo watched in silence. They knew what awaited him at the 500th step.
But Shao seemed to fear nothing.
— I'll go where you surrendered! — he shouted, climbing higher. — Because I—am perfection!
And then...
500th step.
Shao Did what other can't.
650th step.
Shao Xiaotian froze, his muscles trembling from the strain, his golden stripes—once gleaming like liquid metal — now dull under the crushing gravity. He could keep going—his body, reinforced by the exo-skeletal stripes, still held. But even his boundless arrogance had met its limit: exhaustion.
— Damn... — he hissed, clenching his fists. — Is this really all I've got?
The crowd below held its breath. No one dared to breathe, watching to see if the half-tiger would take another step—one that might tear him apart.
And in that moment...
She appeared.
Light as a feather, swift as a lightning strike.
Feilin Yue.
Her long silver hair streamed behind her like weightless silk, her eyes glowing with a cold, almost inhuman calm. She didn't climb the stairs like the others.
She flew.
Others had tried to cheat the staircase—jumping, flying, teleporting. All had ended the same: bloody smears on the stone.
But Feilin...
She didn't fall.
She hovered, as if gravity was nothing but a bad dream she could brush aside.
— Ooooh~ — Jun Le, who had been lazily observing until now, suddenly perked up, his eyes gleaming with genuine interest. — Who do we have here?
Feilin didn't grace him with a reply. She ascended higher, her movements fluid, as if she were gliding through air rather than fighting gravity strong enough to crush mountains.
700 steps.
And then...
She stopped.
Not because she couldn't go further.
Not because she was tired.
But because she couldn't rewrite reality around her anymore.
Her magic—the ability to bend the world's laws—had met another magic. Ancient. Monstrous. Woven into the very fabric of the staircase.
Morgael's magic.
For the first time since the trial began, Feilin frowned. Her fingers clenched into fists, and for a moment, the space around her shuddered, as if trying to obey her will... but the staircase held firm.
— Interesting... — she whispered, gazing upward at the remaining steps.
Somewhere beyond, past the thousandth step, awaited the prize.
And someone who could create a staircase even her magic couldn't overcome.
Everyone froze, watching those who had reached their limits:
Shao Xiaotian—650th step, his stripes creaking, but he refused to yield.
Feilin Yue—800th step, her magic clashing with ancient enchantments, barring her path.
Luo Zhi'en and Natsuki Kengo—499th and 498th steps, both sensing something beyond the 500th.
And only two had yet to begin their ascent.
Riannel.
Kun Lian.
They stood at the bottom, like opposites:
She—calm, her eyes flickering with all possible outcomes.
He—clutching an amulet, his face tense but determined.
And then...
Riannel stepped forward.
First step.
Everyone held their breath—would she explode like the others?
But...
Nothing.
She simply kept walking.
Second step. Third. Tenth.
Her pupils shifted colors with each stride—gold, crimson, icy blue—as if reflecting every possible path she could take.
100 steps. 200. 300...
She climbed effortlessly, as if gravity was an illusion to her.
500th step.
She paused for a second, her eyes turning pitch black, and in that moment...
Kun Lian squeezed the amulet.
— Grandfather... help me...
The amulet in his hand turned ice-cold, and suddenly—
Weightlessness.
Unbelievable, all-consuming.
As if his body no longer had mass.
And he ran.
1 step. 2. 10. 50...
He raced upward like a ghost, barely touching the ground, feeling no resistance.
— Ha-ha-ha! — Jun Le cackled, tumbling through the air. — Looks like the trial just turned into a race!
Riannel glanced back.
Her pupils flared scarlet.
And she sped up.
600 steps. 700...
800.
900.
950.
Kun was already catching up, his footsteps soundless, as if he were running on air.
And ahead...
The final steps.
And the prize, waiting for whoever dared to reach the end.
1000th step.
Silence.
The air trembled, as if reality itself was holding its breath, watching the climax of this mad trial.
Riannel stood at the top.
Her pupils, moments ago flickering with infinite possibilities, were now cold and clear as ice. She wasn't even winded—as if her climb had been a casual stroll, not a feat of impossible endurance.
Kun Lian froze on the 995th step, his fingers still gripping the amulet, but the lightness that had carried him forward was fading. He had lost.
Just ten steps short.
And then...
Space rippled.
Before Riannel materialized a sword.
Not a hero's gleaming blade. Not an ancient artifact etched with runes.
A rusty, broken thing.
The blade was corroded, the guard bent, the hilt wrapped in filthy strips of leather. It looked like it had spent a thousand years rotting in a swamp.
Riannel frowned.
She picked it up, turned it over — and snorted.
— I don't need this.
Without hesitation, she hurled the sword downward—straight at Kun's feet.
He caught it on reflex.
The blade was... ordinary.
No magic. No hidden power.
Just a piece of scrap metal.
— You can have it. — her voice rang from above, dripping with disdain.
Kun clenched the hilt, waiting... for something.
But nothing happened.
And then—Jun Le laughed.
— Oho-ho! What a twist! — He materialized beside Kun, slinging an arm around his shoulders like an old friend. — Looks like the winner refused the prize! Well, lucky you—it's yours now!
His laughter echoed across the staircase, bouncing off the ancient stones.
And Riannel was already descending, not even looking back.
The trial was over.
But what had just happened — no one understood.
A dull click.
Space shuddered — and all the participants, like puppets with cut strings, collapsed onto the arena sand.
Some groaned, others scrambled to their feet, glancing around as if unable to believe they'd survived. Shao Xiaotian breathed heavily, his stripes slowly fading back to normal. Feilin Yue landed soundlessly, her face unreadable, though her eyes flickered with cold intrigue. Luo Zhi'en and Natsuki Kengo exchanged brief glances—both knew the next trial would be worse.
And Kun Lian still clutched the rusty sword.
— Congratulations to all survivors! — He spun in place, arms spread as if expecting applause. — Especially you, lucky winner of a shiny new hunk of scrap! — He pointed at Kun, then burst into laughter as if it were the funniest joke in the world.
He snapped his fingers.
— The next trial begins tomorrow! — His tone turned cheerful again, as if he hadn't just threatened them. — I recommend resting...
With that, he dissolved into sparks, leaving behind only echoing laughter and heavy silence.
The participants slowly dispersed.
Kun Lian stared at the sword.
Rusty. Broken. Useless.
And yet...
He couldn't bring himself to throw it away.