Jared drew an item pouch from his belt and tossed it across the courtyard. “Sixty thousand, for the two of us.”
The disciple’s brows lifted. Someone who could hand over sixty thousand without blinking had to come from wealth, or power. “Generous,” he chuckled. “Still, beginners start as janitors.”
Each sentence dripped condescension. “If you’d rather join the Sword Guards,” he added, “I could arrange introductions.”
His tone made the arrangement sound infinitely expensive. Noah waved both hands. “Joining the sect itself is honor enough.”
He knew Jared had shouldered his thirty thousand. Sword Guard entry meant one hundred thousand just to register, an impossible dream that could crush the chance they already held.
“Suit yourselves,” the disciple said, turning away. “After you’re disciples, further tests may open that door.”
He disappeared into the house, letting the door thud shut behind him.
The scalper shot Jared and Noah a reassuring wink. “Relax. He’s tomorrow’s examiner. With his nod, you’ll breeze through.”
Jared and Noah exchanged resigned nods and followed the scalper back into the maze of lanes.
***
Morning brought a sea of hopeful cultivators to the testing grounds, voices clattering against the sky, every soul dreaming of Sword Sect robes and meteoric rise.
Among the robed officials, Jared spotted yesterday’s disciple, now a full examiner, preening behind a registration desk. A cold smile tugged at Jared’s mouth.
Let’s see how far that arrogance stretches once the swords come out…
The assessments began at dawn, each trial unfolding like a finely tuned performance, swordplay duels that sent sparks leaping, spiritual-energy gauges that thrummed with blue light, every feat more dazzling than the last.
Through it all, Jared and Noah moved with quiet certainty, carving a clean path from one station to the next. Blades sang, auras flared, judges whispered. By the time the final bell chimed, both names blazed at the top of the slate, drawing wide-eyed envy from the crowd.
Noah’s cheeks burned crimson, fists pumping the air. “I did it! Do you hear me? I finally made it into the Sword Sect!”
He spun and crushed Jared in an exuberant hug, his voice cracking. “Jerry! I owe this to you. Without your help, this door would’ve stayed shut forever!”
Jared forced a thin smile, tapped Noah’s back twice, and said, “Congratulations. From today on, we train under the same roof.”
Yet the curve of his mouth never reached his eyes, a cold edge of worry settled behind the smile.
He’d watched unremarkable applicants, some barely able to hold a sword straight, glide through on whispered favors, while gifted duelists were dismissed without a glance. This was what happened when strings were pulled.
If this rot continued, the Sword Sect would crumble from the inside out.
Newly admitted disciples were herded into a sprawling compound of slate roofs and practice yards, their futures echoing in every footstep.
A knot of senior students swaggered over. At their head strode Trevor Wolfe, eyes sharp with greed, arms folded across a broad chest.
“Well, look at the fresh meat.” Trevor’s tone dripped mock concern. “First lesson, pay your respects. Hand over your celestial gems, and maybe we’ll let you breathe in peace!”
Noah’s brow pinched. He swallowed the anger in his throat and said, “We just joined. We don’t have much. Could you give us a little grace, sir?”
Trevor’s laugh was a rusty hinge. “Grace? Not in my courtyard. No gems, no training. Simple as that!”
A hot flare rose behind Jared’s ribs. Bullying for gems on day one, utterly shameless. This sect needs cleansing before it rots beyond repair. Mr. Cantrell, what have you been doing while I’m away?
