The stone staircase leading from the first trial was a dark, spiraling maw that seemed to swallow the light. With every upward step, the air grew colder, and a palpable pressure settled on their shoulders, a silent promise of the tower's deepening scrutiny. The easy camaraderie of their victory faded, replaced by a tense, focused silence.
They emerged into a chamber starkly different from the one below. The walls were made of polished black obsidian that reflected their images back as distorted, wavering specters. There were no glowing lines on the floor, no crowd of aspirants. There was only a single figure standing in the center of the room, perfectly still, wreathed in shadows.
He was clad in dark, silent leather armor that seemed to absorb the faint light. His face was half-hidden by a simple, featureless mask, and in each hand, he held a short, wickedly curved blade. He radiated an aura of lethal calm.
"I am Zhan Wei," the figure said, his voice as sharp and cold as his blades. "I am the gatekeeper of the second trial. Long ago, I climbed this tower and failed. Now, my penance is to serve as its shadow, to test the courage of those who follow."
He took a step, and it was as if he glided, making no sound. "Your first trial tested your ability to bear a burden together. This one will test if that bond is a weapon… or a fatal weakness." He raised his blades. "Your goal is not to defeat me. It is to land a single, meaningful blow. To prove that your unity has an edge. Begin."
Before the word was even fully spoken, Zhan Wei exploded into motion. He was a whirlwind of steel, his movements a blur designed to separate them, to turn them from a team back into three terrified individuals.
"Scatter!" Jian Ming yelled, already pulling his notebook out, his eyes wide, trying to track the impossible speed.
Ci Ying reacted instinctively, unleashing a torrent of fire. But Zhan Wei was like smoke, dancing between the flames, the heat washing over his leather armor without effect. He appeared before Bu He, his blades a silver flash. Bu He raised his enchanted branch to block, the impact sending a jarring shock up his arm. The force was immense. Zhan Wei was already gone, a shallow cut bleeding on Bu He's arm before he even registered the pain.
They were in disarray. Bu He charged, trying to pin him down with raw strength, but Zhan Wei was too agile. Ci Ying's fire was wild and uncontrolled, hitting nothing but stone. They were fighting as three separate people, and they were losing badly.
"He's reading you!" Jian Ming shouted from the edge of the arena, his brush flying across a new page. "His movements aren't random! He feints left after every third strike! Ci Ying, don't aim for him, aim for where he will be!"
Jian Ming's words cut through their panic. It was a new strategy. Ci Ying narrowed her eyes, and this time, she sent a plume of fire not at Zhan Wei, but at the space to his left. Forced to change his pattern, Zhan Wei sidestepped right—directly into the path Bu He was now charging.
The dynamic shifted. They were no longer just reacting. Jian Ming was their eyes, seeing the patterns. Ci Ying was their net, controlling the field. And Bu He… Bu He became the anvil.
Zhan Wei, his rhythm broken, turned his full attention on Bu He. He lunged, his blade aimed for Bu He's chest. This time, Bu He didn't just block. He took a deep breath, channeled the pain from his first cut into his core, and deliberately took the blow on his shoulder.
The pain was excruciating, a fire of agony that lanced through him. But he did not fall. Instead, he used the moment of impact to grab Zhan Wei's arm, holding him in place for a single, precious second. The reddish mark on his own chest, the sign of his nascent Blood Core, flared with a crimson light beneath his robes. A roar of defiance and agony tore from his throat.
"Now!" he bellowed.
That was the opening. With Zhan Wei pinned by Bu He's pain-fueled strength, Ci Ying didn't hesitate. She focused all her power into a single, concentrated bolt of fire, striking Zhan Wei's exposed side. At the same time, Jian Ming yelled, "His other hand! The blade!"
The combination of Bu He's grapple and Ci Ying's searing blast forced Zhan Wei to choose. He released the blade in his trapped hand to shield himself from the fire.
Clang.
The sound of the shortsword hitting the obsidian floor was louder than any explosion.
Instantly, the fight was over. Zhan Wei stepped back, the pressure vanishing. He stood silent for a long moment, looking at the fallen blade, then at the exhausted but fiercely united trio.
He slowly bent down, picked up his sword, and gave a single, almost imperceptible nod. "The bond holds," he said. "You pass."
He turned and walked towards the far wall of the arena. As he moved, his form seemed to melt into the obsidian, revealing a third staircase, leading even higher into the tower's oppressive darkness. His voice echoed back to them, a final, chilling warning.
"But know this. The higher you climb, the heavier the shadows become."