Villains Aren't Stepping Stones!-Chapter 106: Heart

The atmosphere in the arena had shifted from the theatrical dominance of the previous rounds to a cold, clinical tension as the golden vortex in the ceiling pulsed with a rhythmic, heartbeat-like thrum, signaling the commencement of the final bout of the second trial.

"FIGHT!"

The voice of the Heaven Piercing Saint boomed, the sound wave alone causing the dust on the arena floor to dance in frantic patterns.

Immediately, the two remaining participants—Number 9, a lithe swordsman from a mid-tier Northern sect, and Number 10, the mysterious cloaked figure—engaged in a blur of motion.

Shen Haoran leaned back against a cold stone pillar, his golden eyes narrowing as they locked onto the hooded figure of Jiang Chen.

He didn’t look at the exchange of blows or the technique of the swordsman; he looked at the spiritual foundation beneath the tattered brown cloak.

’First Stage of the Foundation Establishment realm...’ Haoran mused, a sliver of mocking disappointment crossing his features. ’It seems his luck has truly hit a wall. If it was him when I first arrive, when heavens were incredibly biased towards him, then a year should be more than enough for him to grow to the peak of Foundation Establishment realm at the very least. It seems the ’Heavens’ are becoming stingy.’

Haoran realized that the interference he had run—the systematic "emptying" of the Southern Continent and the psychological crushing he had delivered at the Ling gates—had actually begun to fray the threads of Jiang Chen’s destiny.

It seems that in this world, a protagonist who fails to achieve a face-slapping incident within a certain timeframe begins to lose their narrative momentum.

This is understandable, after all, who would like a protagonist that id always suppressed by the villain without even having a chance to show off?

Unless you’re a masochist, that story would fall faster than a shooting star.

’Looking at him now,’ Haoran thought, ’I think the only thing that can save him from death isn’t the heaven, who might’ve already abandoned him, but that old saint who appeared back then. And even so, I believe that Qing’er will be more than a match for that old guy.’

After all, Qing’er possessed a special physique, has been trained brutally since childhood, and is at full power while the old guy, despite being at Heavenly Saint, is gravely injured, and probably couldn’t even exert half of his strength right now.

Just then, a sudden, sharp scream echoed through the hall, snapping Haoran back to the present.

On the arena floor, the swordsman known as Number 9 was sent flying through the air, jis chest was caved in, and both of his arms were bent at unnatural angles, the bone protruding through the skin.

He hit the stone floor with a sickening crunch and rolled toward the edge of the pit, groaning in a state of semi-consciousness.

Jiang Chen stood in the center of the ring, his hood still obscuring his face, his breathing slightly ragged.

He had won, but it wasn’t the effortless victory a "Protagonist" should have had against a minor character.

"WINNER! NUMBER 10!"

The majestic voice boomed once more, its tone now carrying a hint of finality.

"The second trial is concluded! Those who have failed shall be sent out from my realm and returned to the frozen wastes. Those who have passed shall proceed to the next trial!"

Just like in the forest, the golden numbers on the backs of the winners’ hands began to glow with a searing, white heat.

Haoran watched as his own hand began to dissolve into shimmering motes of light.

The sensation was different this time—less like falling and more like being pulled upward by an invisible thread.

A bright, absolute white light engulfed his vision, forcing him to close his eyes against the brilliance.

The sounds of the arena—the groans of the injured, the panting of the victors—faded into a profound, ringing silence.

Then, a few moment later, the pressure on his chest eased, and when he opened his eyes, he found out that he was no longer in an arena.

Instead, he was standing atop a sea of clouds that stretched infinitely in every direction.

The sky above was a deep, celestial indigo, filled with stars that seemed close enough to touch.

In front of him, sitting cross-legged upon a cushion made of solidified cloud, was a handsome middle-aged man.

He wore a simple grey robe and had a wooden table in front of him, upon which sat a steaming pot of tea and two cups.

His eyes were not human; they were like windows into a nebula, swirling with ancient knowledge and a trace of weary sorrow.

Shen Haoran stared at the figure for a long moment, his posture remaining upright and arrogant.

"...You must be the Heaven Piercing Saint," he stated, his voice calm in the vacuum of the high heavens.

The man hummed, a sound that vibrated through the clouds beneath Haoran’s feet as he poured a cup of tea, the liquid flowing like liquid jade. "And you... you possess the absolute, unyielding bloodline of the Shen Clan. I would know that scent even if the universe were reset."

Haoran didn’t wait for an invitation and walked forward with measured steps and sat down on the mist-cushion opposite the Saint. "So what if I am? Does my lineage disqualify me? Am I not eligible to inherit the legacy of the one hailed as Heaven Piercing Saint simply because I am the descendant of the clan that eventually took your life?"

The Heaven Piercing Saint shook his head slowly, a faint, melancholic smile touching his lips. "It has been hundreds of thousands of years, young man. In the river of time, a single life, even a Saint’s, is but a ripple. Whatever grudges, hatred, or spite I carried from that era have long since faded into the void."

"Is that so?" Haoran asked, his golden eyes narrowing. "Then spare me the philosophical preamble. Tell me, what is the third trial?"

"This is the third trial," the Heaven Piercing Saint said, gesturing to the table and the vast emptiness around them. "Before I hand over the culmination of my life’s work, the techniques that once forced your ancestors to tremble—I must know your heart. I must understand your Dao. Tell me, young Shen, why do you cultivate? What is the end of your path?"

Haoran didn’t hesitate, he didn’t even need to ponder or search his soul as the answer was etched into his very marrow.

"I walk the path of supremacy." he declared, his voice ringing out across the clouds. "One day, I will stand above the nine heavens and look down upon the gods. One day, I will become eternity itself, a constant in an ever-changing universe. One day, the things that the legends of the past couldn’t accomplish, and the things that the people of the future continue to fail at, shall be achieved by my own hands! Is that an answer worthy of your legacy, Heaven Piercing Saint?"

The Saint stared at him for a long time, the nebula in his eyes swirling with a complex emotion.

"...That is an incredibly lonely path, young one," the Saint whispered. "To be the peak is to be isolated. There are no peers at the summit of eternity. Can your heart bear the weight of that silence? Can you truly exist when there is no one else to witness your existence?"

"Without any shadow of a doubt," Haoran replied instantly. "Cultivation is naturally a road paved with pain, suffering, and the abandonment of the mundane. If one does not have the heart to endure the isolation of the peak, then they had no business embarking on this path in the first place."

"....And to achieve this goal," the Saint continued, leaning forward, "are you truly willing to abandon every bond you have forged? Your mother? Your aunts? The women who follow you? Are they merely tools to be discarded once the height is reached?"

"Yes," Haoran said, though his voice lacked its usual sharp edge. "As long as it serves my ultimate goal, I will walk a path of no return. I will never turn back nor stop for anyone. Yes. My gaze halts for no one, and my heart softens for none. That is the price of supremacy, and I am prepared to pay it."

The Saint stared at him, his gaze piercing through Haoran’s golden eyes and into the depths of his soul. "...Is that so?"

"...Yes," Haoran replied.

"You hesitated," the Saint said softly.

The silence that followed was deafening.

Haoran said nothing, his jaw tightening.

’Did I hesitate?’ he thought, his inner mind a storm of denial. ’No. Surely not. I am a Shen. I was born superior to every living soul in this universe. How could mere bonds affect a heart that was forged for the sole purpose of ruling?’

"It seems your heart isn’t as firm as you believe it to be," the Saint said, his voice tinged with a pity that made Haoran’s blood boil. "You speak of supremacy, to bear the burden of loneliness, but there is a tether in your soul that you haven’t yet dared to cut."

Haoran narrowed his eyes, a dangerous, golden light flickering in his pupils. ’Isn’t as firm as I believe?’

Just the thought of it was ridiculous. Bonds? So what? In his vision, none of those things could ever be allowed to hinder his ascension.

Yes, his heart did not waver.

It is more possible that this is merely this Saint’s excuse to have him fail the third test, not wanting him to inherit the legacy due to his hatred for the Shen Clan.

’Very well...’ Haoran thought, ’If you refuse to give me your legacy willingly because of a phantom waver in my heart, then don’t blame me for being a true Shen. If the inheritance will not be given, I will simply take it by force and burn the rest to the ground.’

"It seems your pride blinds you from seeing your heart, young one." Said the Saint. "Understandable. You are a prodigy, born superior than anyone else. How could your heart waver because of the bonds you forged with those you considered lesser than you...am I right?"

Haoran did not answer.

"Very well." Heaven Piercing Saint stood up, "Young Shen, consider this as a senior giving advice to a junior...Now, let us begin."

[The Third Trial: The Trial of Heart!]