Chapter 40: Strength Test

He didn’t even blink. He simply adjusted the collar of his jacket, letting the insults slide off him like water off a duck’s back. When a lion walks past a den of yapping dogs, it doesn’t waste its breath roaring back.

Beside him, Evelyn’s delicate brows furrowed slightly. Her clear eyes turned cold as she swept a frosty glance across the nearest gossiping students, instantly silencing them.

She turned toward Lucian, ready to say something, but when she saw his calm expression, she held her tongue. A faint, helpless smile softened her otherwise cold features.

Not far away, Eric’s teeth ground together with an audible crack. His hands clenched into tight fists inside his pockets, his knuckles turning white.

Enjoy your smugness while you can, beggar, Eric snarled inwardly. Once we reach the wild, without Evelyn standing in front of you, I’ll grind your bones to dust.

WUUUUU—

A sharp, low-frequency siren suddenly echoed from the main dais, cutting through the restless murmur of the crowd.

Heavy footsteps sounded through the public address system as a tall, broad-shouldered man in a deep-blue military coat walked onto the stage.

A jagged scar ran from his temple all the way to his jaw. The oppressive aura surrounding him made his strength obvious, he was an advanced Martial General from the city garrison.

His steel-gray eyes swept across the two hundred awakened students standing below.

"Quiet down, maggots!"

The chief examiner’s voice thundered across the tarmac without needing an amplifier.

The entire arena fell silent.

"The Federation doesn’t waste resources on dead weight. Awakening a Martial Soul only gives you a ticket to the starting line. It doesn’t make you a warrior."

He paused, letting his words sink in.

"Today’s mock trial will determine your resource allocation, your class placements, and whether you’re worthy of stepping into the wild."

The examiner pointed toward the row of massive black-iron pillars standing along the eastern track.

"First assessment: raw physical strength."

His voice carried clearly across the field.

"Line up according to your student registration numbers. Each of you gets three strikes. No spiritual energy, no weapons. Pure physical strength only."

A harsh smirk appeared on the examiner’s face.

"Now step forward and show us what you’ve got. Let’s see whether your bones are made of steel—or if you’re nothing more than soft meat waiting to be eaten."

A stern military technician stood beside each pillar, an encrypted data slate in hand. Their faces remained expressionless, completely unaffected by the nervous energy spreading through the lines of students.

The chief examiner’s voice boomed across the training ground again, cutting through the quiet murmurs.

"Listen carefully. Each candidate gets three consecutive strikes on the designated strike pad. The internal kinetic sensors will record your highest impact value."

He paused for a moment.

"We’re measuring the raw strength of your body, your physical density, skeletal durability, and explosive power."

His sharp gaze swept across the front rows.

"Don’t hold anything back."

He paused, sweeping a sharp gaze across the front rows.

"External projection of spiritual energy is strictly forbidden. If you manifest an energy blade, elemental shield, or long-range sonic burst, the pillar’s dampening runes will immediately reduce your score to zero."

"Rely on your blood, your bones, and your muscles. Step forward when your identification number appears on the central monitors."

The rules were simple and unforgiving.

At the early stages of martial cultivation, before a warrior could use the world’s energy to soar through the clouds or split mountains apart, the body was still the foundation.

If that foundation was weak, it didn’t matter how impressive someone’s Martial Soul was. The moment they faced real combat, that fragile body would eventually give in.

"First candidate. Student Number 014, Liam Vance!"

A lean young man with short brown hair stepped out from the formation.

His jaw was clenched tightly, and his knuckles were already white as he approached the three-meter-tall alloy pillar.

He planted his boots firmly on the rubberized tarmac, took a deep breath, and suddenly drove his fist forward with a strained grunt.

Thud.

The pillar didn’t move an inch.

Only the crimson strike pad sank slightly beneath the impact.

The digital display above it flickered for a moment before settling on a clear number:

250 kg.

Liam didn’t stop.

He threw his second and third punches in quick succession, gritting his teeth as sweat began to form across his forehead.

248 kg.

255 kg.

"Final recorded score: 255 kilograms," the military technician announced flatly, barely glancing away from his data slate.

"Next. Student Number 027, Ryan Cole."

Ryan stepped forward next.

He had broad shoulders and the solid build of someone who had spent years playing sports at school. Planting his back foot firmly, he shifted his weight through his hips and threw a clean, powerful punch.

280 kg.

Marcus came after him, managing 315 kg on his strike.

Then Jason stepped up. His third punch pushed the number to 340 kg, earning a brief cheer from his classmates.

One student after another took their turn.

Slowly, the numbers began to reveal the harsh reality.

For most students who had only completed a standard Heavenly Cycle, or those still struggling halfway through their circulation, breaking past 300 kilograms was extremely difficult.

Their muscles strained with every punch. Their breathing grew heavier, and their movements lacked the coordination and control that came from properly refined martial training.

The tiered stands remained filled with quiet murmurs as spectators watched the results.

Clan scouts occasionally scribbled something onto their data slates, but their expressions remained largely unimpressed.

So far, nothing had appeared that was truly exceptional.

Then the central display suddenly lit up with a golden crest.

"Student Number 004, Eric Vance!"

The moment his name was announced, a loud cheer erupted from the eastern section of the stands.

The four Vance Clan lackeys immediately jumped to their feet, clapping and whistling as they pumped their fists into the air. They shouted louder and louder, trying to drown out the rest of the crowd.

"Come on, Young Master Eric!"

"Show them what a true noble looks like!"