Chapter 2: Talent Examination

  For a Virth Lord, there were three paths they could pursue.

  The most commonly walked path was righteous cultivation, which preached humility, bonds, respect, and virtue. This was the path everyone expected you to take if you wished to be perceived as honorable and just.

  They were told to dutifully uphold their sect's moral code and, if their achievements became renowned enough, were labeled “heroes.”

  Then there was that of a wandering Virth Lord, who were seen as vagabonds by the world. People who didn’t join a sect still followed a code of morality to a certain extent. They prefer to secure the resources and materials they need for cultivation through third-party deals with wealthy merchants and fellow wandering Virth Lords.

  The widespread opinion regarding them was quite mixed. Some thought they were foolish for not aligning themselves with the backing of a sect, and others believed they were respectable for valuing their freedom.

  Granted, such a path was challenging to benefit from. Sects would always monopolize cultivation resources, so trying to advance as a rogue wasn’t something for the faint of heart. The path demanded immense resourcefulness, intellect, and raw talent.

  After all, avoiding the code of a sect also meant that you were avoiding the protection it brought. If a wandering Virth Lord were to be attacked, they wouldn’t be able to count on anyone having their back truly.

  And there was the final path.

  The most frowned upon journey a Virth Lord could pursue.

  Demonic cultivation.

  In a demonic sect, morality was a myth.

  The very concept of right and wrong vanished into thin air. Only one’s cultivation mattered—there was no such thing as “too far.”

  The more of your humanity you shed, the more success you’d find in a demonic sect. The more willing you were to trample on everything people cherished, the better a demonic cultivator you’d become.

  Just like how righteous cultivation was the most preached, demonic cultivation was the most vilified. Their methods were immediately deemed taboo, and every member of a demonic sect was labeled as a target to be swiftly exterminated.

  Like how a powerful righteous cultivator would be seen as a “Hero”, a powerful demonic cultivator would be seen as a “Demon.”

  Their notoriety was so great that even Fel, who lived in a small village atop a mountain, had heard of them.

  Demonic cultivators were said to be evil, wicked, brutal, scum, fiendish, and vicious. They were the root of all evil, and a blight upon everything they touched.

  And now, Fel had found himself in the clasp of such an organization—the Bloodrend Sect—one of, if not the most feared, demonic sect in the Western Divide.

  He finally understood why Thatcher had proclaimed himself as “worse” when Fel brought up the notion of him being a human trafficker.

  The guardsmen referred to Thatcher as “Elder,” not just because of his age but because he was an Elder of the Bloodrend Sect, answerable only to the Vice Sect Leader and Sect Leader.

  “Elder Thatcher, we’ve arrived.” Granger, the driver, ordered the enlarged jaguars to stop. The carriage came to a complete halt as the rest of the guardsmen all assumed a perimeter around the open clearing without needing Thatcher to tell them to do so.

  “Good, go fetch the ward expert.”

  “At once, Elder Thatcher.” Granger cupped his hands before shuffling away to do as he had been ordered.

  At this point, pretty much all two hundred children who had been kidnapped were awake. Each yelled at Thatcher and the other guardsmen with all their might, demanding an explanation.

  “Hey! Let us out of here already!”

  “Who the hell are you people?! I want to go home!”

  “Ugh, I’m hungry. Y’all got any food or something?”

  “Silence,” Thatcher spoke, an insurmountable pressure clamping down on every present—the sheer dread the elderly man’s presence imbued nearly caused everyone, Fel included, to forget how to speak.

  “From now on, you’re all going to listen to every word that comes out of my mouth unless you want to be killed. Don’t respond, just nod if you understand.”

  Everyone’s heads started to move up and down frantically.

  “Excellent.” Finally, Thatcher decided to release his invisible grasp. “When I open your cages, you will all remain silent, and you will form 10 neat rows of 20 per row in front of me.”

  Thatcher waved his hand, causing the locked cage doors to fling open. This allowed all 200 children to step out nervously, glancing at the surrounding terrain to try to gauge their location.

  “Chop chop, it’s bad manners to keep an old man waiting.” Thatcher clasped his hands behind his back, causing them to double-time it into position.

  Except for a few, who rashly decided to try making a run for it.

  Yet strangely enough, both Thatcher and the disciples under him did not attempt to pursue them, merely chuckling to themselves as they watched them disappear into the brush.

  “GROOOWWWLLL!”

  “Ahhhhhhhhhh!”

  “M-monster! There’s a monster here!”

  “Help! Somebody!”

  “I guess that brings us down to 197.” Thatcher smirked, “As you just heard. Quite a few beasts are circling us now; the only reason they’re not attacking is my presence. So I’d suggest you all stay put unless you wish to share their fate.”

  Everyone looked at the part of the forest where the grotesque sound of bones tearing through flesh was coming from, a smell that Fel was all too familiar with wafting through the atmosphere.

  The smell of blood.

  “It’s a shame, their talent might’ve been quite high. But since they were too stupid to listen to me, any meaningful talent they could’ve had would’ve been wasted on them. As for the rest of you, I guess I should give you all an explanation.”

  He proceeded to tell them all the same thing he told Fel.

  Both the fact that they were being given the chance to become Virth Lords.

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  And that said chance, was being handed to them by a demonic sect.

  As one would imagine, this sparked quite the wave of conflicted emotions. None of which anyone dared give voice to in Thatcher’s presence.

  “Now here’s the thing,” Thatcher sucked his teeth, wearing a feigned look of regret. “Not everyone has the innate talent needed to become a Virth Lord, and right now, we’re going to find out who does and doesn’t.”

  They all had the same question on their mind.

  What would happen if you didn’t?

  Thatcher snapped his fingers, causing a disciple to walk up and stand beside him immediately.

  “We’re going to put you all under the influence of a ward, which is going to cause you all to experience a varying amount of pressure, which, depending on how long you can endure it, will tell us how talented, or untalented, you all are.” He breathed a sinister chuckle.

  “Oh, and don’t bother trying to resist. Your perseverance has nothing to do with this test; it’s all just plain luck.” He smiled. “If you faint immediately under the pressure, then it means you have no talent for cultivation. If you last 10 seconds, you’re a Grade D talent. If you last 20, you’re Grade C. 30 for Grade B, and 40 for Grade A.”

  Once someone had become a Rank 1 Virth Lord, the examination wasn't necessary since higher-ranked cultivators could simply inspect the Virth coursing through their body and differentiate their talent that way. The examination method that was currently being used was only for mortals.

  The higher one’s talent, the more efficient their bodies were at absorbing and moulding Virth, making it easier for them to cultivate and breakthrough to the next rank.

  Grade D talents were expected to become at least Rank 2 Virth Lords, Grade C’s were expected to be capable of reaching Rank 3, Grade B’s were expected to reach Rank 4, and Grade A’s were expected to reach Rank 5, the same rank as the Bloodrend Sect Leader.

  Of course, given the vastness of the cultivation world, there were always those who would prove themselves to be the exception. But those were far and few between, and they were normally people with exceptional conditions, such as having a “Mutated Constitution.”

  Mutated Constitutions also had their own ranking system, but even if you had one, you wouldn’t awaken it until you became a Rank 1 Virth Lord.

  One child raised their hand, seeking Thatcher’s permission to speak.

  “Go on.”

  “What if you last for 50 seconds or more?”

  Thatcher stroked his beard, “In that case. You’d be a Grade S talent and meet the Sect Leader on your first day here. However, I wouldn’t count on such fortune. If I were any of you, I’d hope you were at least Grade D.”

  He gestured at the disciple standing beside him. “We’re going to begin examining your talent now, so good luck—you’re all going to need it.”

  The disciple pulled out a talisman with a character etched into its surface. He placed it on the ground and made some kind of hand sign, causing the character to light up. This caused a different kind of pressure to descend on them.

  One that was still powerful, but not as malicious as Thatcher’s.

  And in an instant, 99 children collapsed, not even getting to show any signs of struggle before they did so.

  “Ah, well, isn’t that a shame?” Thatcher stretched out his hand, levitating them and plopping them down in a separate clearing.

  Fel didn’t feel any tangible amount of pain, but there was still a very faint pressure pushing against his shoulders.

  “To all of you who are still conscious, congratulations. You have the talent to become a Virth Lord, but just to free you of any false confidence. The difference in manageable pressure between someone untalented and a Grade D is significant.”

  The 10-second mark arrived, and blood had started to drip out of the noses of 48 children. All of which Thatcher levitated and sent to a clearing adjacent to those with no talent whatsoever.

  They were all Grade D.

  Even though Fel’s body had yet to give in, he had already begun sweating bullets, veins bulging out of his skin as his head shook rapidly, like he had been plunged into a river of ice.

  And once 20 seconds had passed, he began to bleed like the children with Grade D talent had, alongside 32 other children.

  Thatcher sent all of them to a different clearing, as he had done with the Grade D children.

  He had Grade C talent, which defined him as “average” in terms of talent—not terrible, but nothing to fawn over.

  Now only 18 children remained, and by the time 30 seconds had gone by, 17 of them started to bleed from their noses. They were all Grade B.

  This left only one blonde-haired child, and by the time 40 seconds had passed, he too began to bleed, declaring him the only Grade A talent amongst them.

  “Huh, I wasn’t expecting a Grade A.” Thatcher inquisitively stroked his beard. “What’s your name?”

  “Lith,” the boy answered with a blank, indifferent expression—one which caused the Elder to let out a bemused hum.

  “Disciple Granger, bring Lith to the inner sect. Straight to Elder Walker’s residence, he will handle him.”

  “Understood, Elder Thatcher.” Granger obeyed, grabbing Lith by the hand and leading him somewhere else.

  He looked at a different disciple. “Remind me who the Sect Leader said we can’t send to the Ravine of Tribulation again?”

  “Sect Leader Valefor stated we can only afford to send Grade D and C talent this term, Elder Thatcher.”

  Thatcher scoffed. “Bah! Because our recruitment has been lacking, we’re now going to end up with a bunch of pansy Grade B disciples.” He shook his head disapprovingly. “Whatever, send the Grade B children as well then.”

  “At once, Elder Thatcher.” A few disciples gathered around where the Grade B children were lying, instructing them to follow along.

  Thatcher grinned, looking at those in the Grade D and C group. “As for the rest of you, you’re all fortunate enough to be overseen personally by your’s truly.”

  Immediately, Fel felt his gut sink.