Chapter Seventeen: Testing the Talent

“So this is the martial path?” Bai Li Feihong pressed a hand to his pounding heart. Through his experiences, he realized that the blood energy generated through martial cultivation, granting such formidable strength, had already surpassed his understanding from his previous life.

Take himself, for instance. As a martial artist at the Five-Blood level, a single punch from him could unleash a force of about five tons. By his former standards, this was already something beyond the bounds of reality.

But the man before him, Zheng Yishan, the Demon Suppressor of the town, wielded the Mystic Ice Finger, a technique that seemed to transcend martial arts and carry a hint of those fantastical cultivators found in novels.

Feihong’s eyes burned, making no attempt to hide the longing within. To cultivate a secret martial method—this was his next goal. He would strive for it with all his might. Otherwise, even possessing a Skill Tome would be a waste.

“I have warned you again and again, yet you still harbor illusions, thinking you can muddle through,” Zheng Yishan said coldly, looking at the seventy-odd martial artists of Three-Blood rank and above who remained. “Demons will never grant you a chance for luck.”

“I do not know how many of you will remain, but let me teach you one thing—never rely on luck. I can give you three chances, but when facing demons and monstrosities, they will give you none.”

Bai Li Feihong, hearing this, saw in his mind’s eye the blood-soaked carnage at the Sihai Martial Hall. Zheng Yishan spoke the truth—demons never offered a margin for luck.

“Now, I announce that the selection for the Demon Suppression Bureau’s apprentice demon suppressors officially begins.”

As his words fell, a team of demon suppressors in black uniforms adorned with python embroidery entered the hall, beginning to clear away the corpses and prepare the selection grounds.

“First, we will verify bone age, then cultivation, and finally assess talent. This is the first trial for joining the Demon Suppression Bureau—the examination trial.”

Zheng Yishan recited the process as set by the Master Warden.

“The second trial is for wisdom, will, and strength. In this round, you will fight mutated demon beasts within a cage—a true test of your intelligence, resolve, and might.

“The rules are simple: those who slay the beast pass and are rewarded with ten Essence Blood Pills, aiding your blood energy condensation. Those who survive for the duration of a single incense stick also pass, but with no reward. If you cannot endure, you may call for help, but that will count as forfeiting.”

Seventy-six candidates breathed heavily, the weight clear on their faces. Yet not one retreated. At the same time, another group of demon suppressors, clad in black and marked by python robes, began distributing numbered tokens.

Bai Li Feihong received a wooden tag with the number eighteen.

The bone age verification began. In truth, anyone who survived thus far likely had little to worry about. A demon suppressor, his temples streaked with white, pinched and pressed a few spots on each martial artist’s body, and that was it.

Such a mystical process was eye-opening for Bai Li Feihong. When it was his turn, he realized those seemingly random pinches were, in fact, executed with great skill—a surge of force entered his body, probing his bones, and the examiner quickly drew a conclusion.

“Passed.”

The second stage of the first trial was even simpler: testing cultivation, which meant testing one’s blood energy.

When Bai Li Feihong’s turn came, he stepped before the examiner.

“Exert all your blood energy and grip my hand,” said the long-bearded demon suppressor.

Feihong was cautious, not using his full strength. He channeled four streams of blood energy into his hand and clasped the examiner’s hand gently.

The long-bearded demon suppressor smiled without comment, recording Bai Li Feihong’s cultivation: a newly advanced Five-Blood martial artist.

Feihong’s pupils contracted, but he squinted and smiled in satisfaction. Standing aside, he watched as other candidates gave their all, straining to display their strength for the examiner.

The examination trial continued to rotate.

Now came the talent assessment. Bai Li Feihong was deeply curious—what exactly was being tested?

It wasn’t just him; all the martial artists of Dongbin City were curious.

“Talent lies hidden within the body, a treasure to be unearthed. The greater one’s talent, the higher the limits one can reach in martial cultivation,” Zheng Yishan explained, his manner now kindly restored. If these martial artists became apprentices of the Demon Suppression Bureau, their futures would be promising.

He had already received word that the central bureau would support Dongbin City, tilting resources in its favor to cultivate more demon suppressors, even wardens. Inwardly, he marveled at the strength of the Gongyang family’s backing.

“The Talent Stone hails from the western continent, created by mysterious alchemists. This enigmatic stone can reveal your potential, the innate gifts within your body,” Zheng Yishan went on, recalling the first time he encountered such a wonder—it was still vivid in his memory. In the blink of an eye, twenty years had passed. He had gone from a hot-blooded youth to a middle-aged man. Yet, those who cultivate the martial path live longer than ordinary people. At the Divine Spirit level, where one comprehends the power of soul and will, the lifespan extends to a hundred and twenty years.

Of course, matters of lifespan are too abstruse. Even a Martial Saint cannot fully command their own fate.

Bai Li Feihong, holding the eighteenth token, waited his turn.

The talent assessment took place within a black tent hastily erected by the Demon Suppression Bureau. Outsiders could not glimpse one another’s talents—a rather mysterious affair.

Some emerged from the tent dejected; others beamed with radiant smiles. Soon it was Bai Li Feihong’s turn.

His heart was tranquil. As for talent, he had one: effort.

“Bai Li Feihong?”

“Greetings, sir. I am Bai Li Feihong.” He cupped his fists respectfully.

“Sit.” The examiner was an elderly demon suppressor with a white beard.

The python robe he wore bore three clawed pythons, denoting him as a B-rank demon suppressor.

They sat across from each other, a long rectangular table between them. At its center rested a black crystal orb, glowing with a faint, deep light—dark as the cosmos and filled with mystery.

Isn’t this the kind of crystal orb used for divination? Bai Li Feihong dared not ask.

“Focus your mind and place both hands on the crystal ball.”

Bai Li Feihong obeyed.

“Empty your thoughts and circulate your blood energy.”

Following the white-bearded examiner’s instructions, Bai Li Feihong did as told. Now, the deep black orb seemed like the universe at its birth; from the darkness, a beam of light ignited—burning like fire, flowing like water, ever-changing, until it became a golden sun.

“Water and fire in harmony, above average aptitude, no innate talent,” the examiner intoned expressionlessly.

“That’s all. You may leave.” He began recording with a brush.

Bai Li Feihong: water and fire in harmony, above average aptitude, no innate talent, bone age eighteen, Five-Blood martial artist. A simple line to be filed away.

Yet Bai Li Feihong understood that perhaps, from the moment his file was created, his future in the Demon Suppression Bureau was already decided.

Above average. Not bad, he thought to himself.

Leaving the tent, he resumed his place in line. He saw many depart—likely due to inadequate aptitude, unworthy in the Bureau’s eyes.

His only solace: he was not among those who had to leave.

Now, only forty-eight candidates remained.

The Demon Suppression Bureau had never told them that talent and aptitude were so crucial, but when it came down to selection, it was placed above all else.

The second trial began.

The cage match.

The forty-eight of them were led down to the underground prison beneath the Demon Suppression Bureau’s building.

Yes, the underground prison.

At its center was an open space, surrounded by massive rocks stained with blood.

More terrifying still were the cells on either side—utterly dark, barred by iron. Nothing inside was visible.

But the martial artists knew: these cells housed the Bureau’s demons.

Sensing the strange auras around them—charged with slaughter, indifference, brutality, bloodlust, evil, and chilling cold—their senses were intensely disturbed.