Darkness folds around him, cold and silent.

Merin stands within it, his newly woven spiritual body steady, when a shape emerges before him. A figure, vague yet solid, its presence a mirror to his own.

A voice resounds in the emptiness. Defeat the other, and you can advance to the next round.

No sooner do the words fade than the figure lunges, its fist tearing at the void, strands of space twisting to strike.

Merin meets it head-on, his own body flaring with the same power. In this trial, only the law of space breathes, and every clash tears cracks through the dark.

Blows fold reality inwards, collapse ripples outward, each movement collapsing and expanding fragments of the void.

But Merin’s comprehension runs deeper.

He gathers space itself into his fist, the pattern of destruction flowing through his veins.

The seventh move of his technique awakens.

Space Shattering.

The strike lands, and the figure splits apart, its body dissolving into fractured strands of the law it wielded. Silence returns, and the darkness fades.

Merin opens his eyes to the white expanse once more, the tablet waiting before him.

The same voice stirs again. You have a week to comprehend. After that, you will fight the next opponent.

Merin lowers himself before the tablet once more, its spider-web of nodes gleaming faintly across the white wall.

As the days slip by, his focus sinks into the strands of space.

Each pulse of law through his spiritual body strengthens its form, refining what was hastily forged.

At the same time, he begins peeling apart the seventh move of the Destruction Fist.

He sees it clearly now—the core of that strike is destruction, with space only woven in to guide its collapse. Here, in this trial, destruction has no place—only space answers.

Piece by piece, he dismantles the fist until only the skeleton of space remains.

From that skeleton, he begins anew. His hands stretch, shaping force, twisting strands of space into something sharp.

Not a fist but claws. By the end of the week, he raises his hand, and five spectral talons bite deep grooves into the air.

The world blurs, the white room vanishes, and he stands once more in the void.

The voice falls like a decree. Defeat the other, and you can advance.

The second figure steps forward, and without pause, both surge into battle.

Merin’s claws rake across the dark, leaving lines carved into the fabric of space itself.

His opponent twists, folding dimensions around its body, but Merin adapts, his spiritual body reshaping mid-fight. Fingers elongate into talons, sharper, denser, an extension of the law itself.

With one sweeping arc, his claws tear through the figure, unravelling it into motes of broken space.

The void fades. He finds himself back in the white expanse, the tablet waiting.

Again, he is given a week.

But this time, he does not seek a second move.

Instead, he sharpens what he has, weaving every breath into his claws, moulding his spiritual body into a vessel worthy of them.

Slowly, his form changes. He grows taller, his arms lengthen, scales ripple across his skin, and the claws solidify into blades of condensed law.

Fangs sprout when his mouth parts, as if space itself forged them.

When the week ends, he is thrown once more into battle.

The third opponent rises from the dark, a mirror of power, but Merin’s perfected claws cut the void itself.

The figure shatters under his onslaught, unable to resist the tide.

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Silence falls again, and when the darkness retreats, Merin stands before the tablet.

The voice shifts this time. You have one month to comprehend.

His breath steadies. He has already unravelled twenty-four nodes of the web, each one a spark of insight.

In a month, he plunges deeper.

Every day, the strands pull him further into the abyss of the law, until his claws hum with resonance and his spiritual body stabilises into something beyond human.

When the month ends, the tablet dissolves into dust.

Merin opens his eyes in the darkness again.

But now, the void is not empty.

At its edges, two whirlpools churn, one to the east, one to the south, each spinning with the rhythm of space itself.

The voice rolls through the void, calm yet commanding. Escape the maze to advance to the next round.

Merin narrows his gaze at the two portals.

Both ripple faintly, each indistinguishable from the other.

No guidance, no clue, only choice.

A wry smile touches his lips. “So it comes to luck, does it?”

He lifts a hand, pointing between them, muttering the childish rhyme under his breath. “Eini, mini, mo…” The chant circles round, and when it ends, his finger rests on the south whirlpool.

Without hesitation, he steps through.

The space folds.

He emerges into another void, identical to the last, but now the south whirlpool rests at his back as the east glimmers before him.

Two new whirlpools spin open, one to the north, one to the south.

Merin exhales softly, shoulders loosening.

Again, the rhyme begins, finger dancing between the three choices.

The song decides, and he takes a step into the chosen portal.

Again, the world shifts. Blackness. More portals. He chants, he points, he walks.

On and on it goes, each step twisting the labyrinth tighter, until at last he arrives in a void unlike the rest.

Only one whirlpool waits behind him, silent and unmoving. Before him lies nothing but endless dark.

Merin stills, his eyes narrowing. “A dead end.”

He turns sharply to leave, but the whirlpool behind him is gone, the path sealed shut as if it never existed.

A low roar trembles through the void, deep and guttural.

Merin whirls back, tension spiking in his chest.

At the centre of the dark space, ripples form, spreading outward like waves on an endless sea.

From those waves, a figure rises—scaled, towering, its body half-lizard, half-man, eyes burning with cold hunger.

Before Merin can fully register its form, the creature blurs, vanishing.

Alarm bells ring in his mind, instincts screaming.

He jerks to the right just as a claw tears through the air where his head had been.

The lizard’s body flickers into view at his left, then fades again before he can strike back.

Merin steadies his stance, eyes narrowing to razor edges. “It can teleport.”

The monster answers not with words but with another sudden strike.

It flashes from space to space, claws slicing across the void, and Merin twists and dodges, sometimes barely escaping, sometimes too slow.

His spiritual body bears the marks—long gashes etched into scales and skin, energy bleeding away.

Pressure mounts, his breath harsh, every move sharper with desperation.

For the first time since entering the trial, he feels the stench of defeat coil around him.

The lizard’s speed, its unpredictability, its perfect use of space—it pushes him into a corner where reaction alone is not enough.

Merin grits his teeth, eyes flashing with the steel of survival. “No… this won’t work. I need to deduce how to break it… How to hunt

it.”

But until that answer comes, the lizard batters him without mercy. Each teleport rips new wounds across his body, claws carving scales, fangs grazing his flesh. His breaths grow ragged, movements slower, desperation carving deeper lines into his face. Every clash reminds him—reaction alone will not save him.

A slash tears across his shoulder, and he staggers, eyes darkening. Yet in the chaos, a thought pierces through. Formation…

His mind races, dragging up every trap formation he ever studied. Nets of spirit lines, nodes of entrapment, killing arrays—all swimming through his memory. But here, there are no materials, no flags, no stones. Only the raw, violent power of space itself.

Then I’ll use that.

He moulds the law of space, weaving lines from the surrounding energy.

The formation takes shape, crude yet functional, patterns collapsing and reforming with each heartbeat.

It is weaker than anything forged with proper materials, but strength is not what he needs.

Only a heartbeat’s worth of stillness.

The lizard flickers again, vanishing and reappearing with claws raised for the kill.

Merin snaps his hands together, energy blazing. The formation locks.

Space twists—and the monster freezes mid-step, its body caught in the crude lattice. For a breath, its eyes widen, realisation dawning too late.

Merin surges forward, swinging his claw, tearing the chest of the monster.

Light erupts, the lizard’s form fracturing, shattering like broken glass. Its body collapses into pure radiance before fading entirely.

Where it stood, a crystal of condensed space energy hovers, pulsing gently, a source of power waiting to be claimed.

Merin extends his hand, drawing it in.

The crystal flickers once before dissolving into a stream of brilliance that seeps into his palm.

The energy rushes through him, threading into every fracture of his spiritual body.

Wounds knit shut, scales harden, his form grows sturdier.

The power of space not only heals but reshapes him, refining every line of his existence.

As the last strand of energy settles, Merin closes his eyes and lets the memory of battle replay.

Each strike, each dodge, every moment of strain unveils itself with clarity.

The truth becomes impossible to ignore.

His attacks strike true, his destructive claw has power—but his body lacks the speed to evade cleanly, the defence to endure. In the illusion world, these flaws hid behind layers of false protection. Here, raw and real, they blaze like open wounds.

Breathing deep, Merin channels the lingering flow of space energy.

His mind sharpens, weaving principles together.

He sketches the shape of a shield, translucent yet pliable, built from folded layers of spatial nodes—his prototype for defence.

Alongside it, he sketches pathways of compressed space, threads that might carry his body swifter through the void—his prototype for movement.

Neither technique is complete; both are little more than blueprints carved in energy and thought. But the foundation is there, seeded by need, watered by resolve.

Merin opens his eyes, claws flexing, scales gleaming faintly in the pale white space. The fight has passed, but the lessons remain.

The trial moves forward, and so must he.

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep