The maze's shattered remains fell like dying snow behind them.

What replaced that chaos was silence—vast, heavy, ancient.

The Sanatan Flame Sect stepped into a new passage: wide, tall, built of obsidian stone that shimmered as if coated in night. The air here felt old enough to crush lungs; each breath carried dust of forgotten eras.

Torches ignited along the walls without a single spark—blue flames rising one after another, guiding them deeper.

"This castle…" Elder Wan muttered, voice low, "…changes with our steps."

Lin Shu nodded, remaining close to Shaurya. "It wants something."

Shaurya's gaze sharpened. "Yes. And it's watching every move."

They walked with caution—Shaurya in front, elders behind him, disciples arranged in formation, weapons drawn but pointed downward.

The corridor stretched endlessly, until—

A faint echo reached them.

Voices.

And not just anyone's—they carried arrogance and entitlement sharp enough to cut the air.

Shaurya raised his hand. Everyone halted.

From ahead, a royal procession emerged—white banners embroidered with roaring tiger heads, armor forged from silver-gold plates, a dozen elite cultivators walking with a cold swagger.

White Tiger Kingdom.

At their center walked a young man draped in fur-lined white robes, a saber strapped to his hip. His steps were lazy, chin tilted upward in absolute confidence.

Fifth Prince Bai Zhentian.

His eyes scanned Shaurya's group—first without interest, then with a faint smirk.

"Well well…" His lips curled. "The… Sanatan Flame Sect."

His tone was light, but dipped with mocking superiority.

Xiao Rui whispered behind Shaurya, "Here we go…"

Bai Zhentian flicked his wrist dismissively. "I didn't expect country-bumpkin cultivators to reach this far into the Shadow Castle. Luck truly favors the mediocre."

The Sanatan Flame Sect disciples stiffened, but Shaurya didn't waste emotion. He simply stared ahead, expression unreadable.

Elder Feng Yu stepped forward slightly, cold air looping around him.

But the Fifth Prince raised a single finger.

"No need for dogs to bark needlessly. Let me speak to your… leader."

His eyes dropped on Shaurya.

"You. Are you Shaurya?"

Shaurya's gaze didn't change. "Yes."

Bai Zhentian looked him up and down, unimpressed.

"You don't look like much. Just a handsome dumb guy with some powers. Who thinks he is really something."

Xiao Rui muttered under his breath, "He has death wish…"

Zong Bu elbowed him, whispering, "Shh—this kind of people's dies early. Let him continue."

Shaurya merely tilted his head. "And yet, somehow, you still feel threatened."

The entire White Tiger group stiffened.

Bai Zhentian's smile cracked. "You think too highly of yourself."

He took a step forward—

—and the hall trembled.

The walls shook violently. Torches sputtered. The ground split open beneath their feet.

A deep mechanical groan echoed through the corridor as the stone tiles rearranged themselves, sliding apart like pieces of a monstrous puzzle.

Both teams jumped back.

"What now?!" Wang Tian yelled.

From the ceiling, glowing symbols rained downward—glimmering silver, forming intricate patterns midair. Once assembled, they spun rapidly, then merged into a giant sigil on the ground.

A glowing circle expanded beneath everyone.

A voice echoed across the hall.

Deep. Ancient. Cold.

"Wisdom is the blade that cuts fate."

The ground rumbled.

Then rose.

A platform lifted both groups upward, rotating into an enormous chamber that had not existed moments ago.

A puzzle hall.

The ceiling was a dome of interlocked gears spinning endlessly. Walls carved with riddling scripts shifted constantly. Floating blocks hovered in midair, rearranging themselves like a living equation.

A giant stone table emerged at the center—circular, engraved with impossible patterns. On its surface lay a single glowing sphere.

The ancient voice returned:

"Those who step forward shall be judged."

Bai Zhentian smirked. "A puzzle? How amusing."

He stepped forward arrogantly. "Watch closely, peasants."

Shaurya remained still, arms folded.

Bai Zhentian placed his hand on the sphere.

Instantly—

The hall changed.

Blue-white light pulsed across the hall as Bai Zhentian placed his palm on the glowing sphere.

The reaction was immediate.

The entire chamber warped—

light bending, symbols rising from the floor like awakened beasts.

Metallic clanging echoed in the distance though no gears moved;

the ceiling rippled as if water reflected another universe.

Then—

A golden construct formed above the stone table.

It began with a single cube of light.

Then another.

Then a chain of cubes, revolving around one another like solar systems.

Lines of radiant symbols linked them—some jagged, some smooth, some burning red, others chilling blue.

When the formation stabilized, it resembled a multi-layered, spinning lattice of miniature suns.

A floating inscription carved itself midair:

> Sequence of Changing Suns

Reconstruct the correct pattern. Restore universal balance.

Time Limit: 60 breaths.

The inscription dissolved like sand in wind.

The puzzle cubes hummed in unison.

A timer, shaped like a glass orb filled with falling golden dust, materialized next to Bai Zhentian.

60 breaths.

And counting.

The Fifth Prince smirked, rolling his shoulders.

"Tch. This is child's play."

He flicked two fingers.

Fwish—

Thin white threads of qi shot out from his fingertips like spider silk, attaching to five cubes at once. With a flourish of his wrist, he dragged them together, forming a simple geometric chain.

The cubes clicked into alignment.

The hall vibrated approvingly.

Behind him, White Tiger Kingdom cultivators cheered.

"That's His Highness for you!"

"Already forming the base pattern—brilliant!"

"No one can match the prince's mind—!"

He smirked deeper, closing one eye arrogantly.

"Quiet. Let the less fortunate enjoy the sight of greatness."

Sanatan Flame Sect disciples watched silently.

Xiao Rui scratched his cheek. "Is this… greatness?"

Yan Chen shrugged calmly. "He's solving it wrong."

Even Elder Feng Yu's eyebrow twitched.

Only Shaurya remained completely indifferent.

The First Phase — Simple Patterns

The puzzle expanded before Bai Zhentian, projecting patterns like rotating constellations.

The first sequence required pairing ten glowing suns by color.

He dragged the cubes gracefully.

Link.

Align.

Fit.

The air hummed in approval.

He lifted his chin higher.

"See? Too easy."

But Shaurya murmured softly from the back,

"He connected yellow to yellow… when the rule clearly says each sun must reflect its opposite. He didn't see the inversion glyph."

Lin Shu blinked.

"He already made mistakes?"

Shaurya hummed.

"Three so far."

The suns multiplied—twenty now.

They orbited one another at different speeds.

Some accelerated with each rotation.

Others slowed.

One blinked every three seconds.

The rule lit up:

> Match the suns according to rotational rhythm.

If rhythm is disturbed: error triggered.

Bai Zhentian frowned, but hid it instantly under arrogance.

"This is more boring than difficult."

He spread his fingers, qi threads shooting to all twenty suns.

"Watch carefully," he bragged. "Let me teach—"

A sun destabilized.

CRACK!

It shattered like glass, fragments fading into black smoke.

Bai Zhentian stiffened.

One White Tiger soldier whispered fearfully,

"Did he… mess up?"

Bai Zhentian snapped, "Silence!"

He moved quicker now, dragging suns into orbit patterns.

His qi pulled them too harshly.

Another cube flickered—

tilted—

and—

BOOM!

It burst into sparks.

A red warning rune lit in the air:

> Incorrect.

The timer orb darkened slightly.

20 breaths lost.

Bai Zhentian's face paled.

"What—?! How?!"

He reread the rule, but his pride twisted it.

He refused to slow down.

The Pattern Escalates

The suns transformed.

Their orbits folded inward.

Some turned transparent.

Others mimicked each other, moving with deceptive synchronization.

Floating phantoms emerged—fake suns that mirrored movement but were traps.

The rule updated:

> Identify the true suns.

Ignore illusions.

Time remaining: 32 breaths.

Cold sweat formed on Bai Zhentian's brow.

"True suns…? Illusions…?" he muttered.

He scanned them quickly, too quickly.

He placed a cube.

It glowed.

He smirked.

Then all of them—

shifted pattern instantly.

And every link he formed—

shattered.

"Wh—WHAT?!"

Behind him, his guards whispered anxiously.

"It changed after he placed it!"

"Nobody warned about that—!"

"Your Highness, step back! This might not be solvable—!"

The prince gritted his teeth, rage and humiliation building.

The Final Collapse

The suns now rotated at impossible speeds.

Some backwards.

Some in figure-eight loops.

Some fading in and out of existence.

The final rule appeared:

> Restore cosmic order.

The center sun determines every orbit.

Find the center.

Time remaining: 10 breaths.

Bai Zhentian froze.

"C-center sun? Which— which one—?!"

There were over fifty suns now.

All glowing.

All rotating.

All identical in size.

He panicked.

His qi threads lashed out wildly—

picking cubes at random—

dragging them together—

CRACK!

One shattered.

BOOM!

Another exploded.

The hall roared in disapproval.

Bai Zhentian's breath hitched.

"No—nonono—!!"

He tried again—

Wrong.

Again—

Incorrect.

Again—

Error.

All suns flared white.

The entire puzzle collapsed in on itself with a violent WHIRL, snapping together like teeth of a monstrous gear.

Then—

FLASH!

A blinding pillar of white light struck Bai Zhentian and lifted him off the ground.

"GAHHHH—!!!"

He screamed.

The White Tiger cultivators lunged toward him—

But chains of glowing script shot from the floor, wrapping his arms and legs, slamming him down.

His skin burned as the glowing chains branded him.

The air reeked of scorched cloth.

The Guardian Spirit arrived.

A towering old man formed from drifting parchment scraps and ink dust, eyes glowing like twin moons.

He hovered down, robes billowing like storm clouds.

He looked at Bai Zhentian with cold disappointment.

"You failed as a scholar.

You failed as a thinker.

You failed as a prince."

And with a wave of his hand—

A glowing script lashed across Bai Zhentian's back, leaving a burning mark.

His scream shook the hall.

"NO—STOP—!!"

The Guardian Spirit didn't even blink.

"You lacked humility, therefore wisdom denied you."

He dropped the prince to the floor like discarded parchment.

Then he turned to Shaurya.

His ancient eyes brightened.

"You. Step forward."

Silence filled the chamber.

Sanatan Flame Sect members straightened—

Not worried.

Not tense.

Just quietly confident.

Shaurya stepped forward.

The Guardian studied him for a long moment.

"You stand calmly amidst chaos. Your mind is undisturbed."

Shaurya shrugged lightly. "Chaos is only chaos if you let it be."

A faint smile touched the old man's lips.

"Very well. To claim the treasure of this hall, you must complete three riddles…"

The hall dimmed. Three floating spheres rose above the table—each holding ancient light.

"…and defeat me in a debate."

Murmurs broke out among the White Tiger cultivators.

"A debate?!"

"What kind of nonsense test is this?!"

Shaurya simply smiled.

"Accepted."

The Guardian lifted both hands.

The chamber shook.

Walls dissolved into floating books.

The floor became a scroll of golden ink.

Statues formed from drifting letters.

Ink pooled midair forming shelves.

A vast literature hall materialized around them—quiet, boundless, sacred.

The Guardian's voice boomed:

"Let the Trial of Wisdom begin."

Shaurya stepped forward, eyes calm, posture relaxed.

A faint golden line of text wrapped around him like a crown.

Lin Shu whispered from behind, smiling proudly—

"He looks… completely in his element."

The Guardian spread his robe sleeves wide, ancient symbols swirling like galaxies.

"First riddle…" he said, voice echoing like temple bells.

The air tightened.

The trial began.

To Be Continued…

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