Chapter 309: The Stair Of Luck

Logan continued to read through the pages. He was immersed in Seika’s story.

’After resting briefly, Seika rose again. The forest did not wait. Over the next four days, he pushed himself forward relentlessly. He encountered more beasts — some weaker, some terrifyingly strong. There were fights he won with ease, ending them swiftly. Others left him crawling away with bloodied hands and fractured bones.

More than once, death brushed past him. A pack of wolves forced him to hide for an entire night, clutching his knife in silence. At one point, he collapsed from exhaustion and woke up surrounded by claw marks in the soil.

But somehow…. He survived.

Hunger, pain, fear, rage — he endured them all.

When the fifth day finally came to an end, the forest seemed to exhale. Seika stood quietly among the remaining figures, his clothes torn, his body marked with dried blood and bruises. He was exhausted. Hungry. Barely holding himself upright. But he was standing.

Out of the more than ten thousand who had entered the forest, fewer than four thousand remained. More than six thousand had failed.

Some had crushed their crystals in fear. Some had collapsed from hunger. Some had been dragged out by instructors after suffering injuries that they could not survive alone.

Few… never came out at all.

A low hum echoed through the forest as spatial formations activated. One by one, the remaining participants were enveloped in faint light and transported out.

The next moment, Seika felt solid ground beneath his feet. He stood once more before the massive gates of the Savage Star Sect.

The crowd that had once filled the area was now drastically thinner. Faces were gaunt. Eyes were sharper. Those who remained were no longer hopeful dreamers — they were survivors.

A familiar figure stepped forward. The middle-aged man who had announced the first test stood before them once more, his expression calm, unreadable.

His gaze swept across the survivors.

“Congratulations,” he said, his voice carrying easily. “You have survived the first test.”

No applause followed. No cheers. The forest had burned that kind of naïve enthusiasm away.

“Survival alone,” the man continued, “is proof of willpower and guts. That makes you worthy of standing here.”

For a brief moment, some faces relaxed. Then the man’s eyes sharpened. “But,” he said coldly, “willpower and guts alone aren’t enough.” The word hit harder than any beast’s claw. “To walk the path of cultivation, you need more than endurance. You need talent. And you need luck.”

At those words, Seika’s brow furrowed.

Luck!

The word tasted bitter. If he had luck… would his mother have died giving birth to him?

If he had luck… would his father have abandoned him so easily? If he had luck… would he have spent years starving on the streets, beaten for stealing scraps of food?

His fists clenched unconsciously.

’Luck…?’ Seika thought grimly. ’If I had any, I wouldn’t be here in the first place.’

The middle-aged man continued, unaware or unconcerned with the storm of emotions his words stirred. “The next two tests will determine your talent and your luck.”

A murmur rippled through the remaining participants.

“Now,” the man said, stepping aside, “the second test begins.” Behind him, a massive structure came into view. Stone steps rose upward in a long, steep path, leading toward an ancient temple whose roof was shaped like a dragon’s head gazing toward the heavens. Golden patterns shimmered faintly along the stairway.

“This,” the man announced, “is the Stairway of the Golden Dragon’s Temple.” All eyes locked onto it. “There are one hundred steps,” he continued. “If you can climb fifty, you pass the test.”

A sigh of relief escaped several participants.

“But,” he added calmly, “if you can climb seventy steps, you will be awarded one thousand points.” The word points sparked interest. “Within the Savage Star Sect,” the man explained, “points are currency. Techniques. Elixirs. Herbs. Food. Everything requires points.”

The crowd stirred again.

“If you believe you can reach seventy,” he said, “then climb. And remember,” the man paused for a bit, “each step will exert pressure based on luck. The greater your fortune, the lighter the burden. The less fortunate… the heavier the pressure.”

Understanding dawned. This was not merely a test of strength. It was judgment. One by one, participants stepped forward.

Some barely made it past thirty before collapsing under invisible weight. Others reached forty, gritting their teeth, faces pale with strain.

A few managed fifty, collapsing in exhaustion the moment they crossed the threshold.

Cheers erupted when someone reached sixty.

Then….

A girl stepped forward. She looked to be around Seika’s age, dressed in fine robes woven with subtle runic patterns. Her posture was straight, her eyes calm and confident.

Whispers spread through the crowd.

“She’s from the Larkwyn family…”

“A direct descendant…”

“No wonder…”

She stepped onto the first stair.

Ten steps.

Twenty.

Thirty.

The pressure built, but her expression barely changed.

Forty.

Fifty.

Cheers broke out when she crossed the passing mark without slowing.

She continued.

Sixty.

The pressure around her visibly distorted the air, yet she continued to press on. When she reached seventy steps, the crowd exploded.

“Seventy!”

“She did it!”

“One thousand points!”

But she didn’t stop. Step by step, she climbed further, her breathing heavy now, sweat dripping down her chin.

Seventy-five.

Eighty.

She finally stopped at eighty-one.

The moment she stepped back, the crowd roared. She bowed lightly, pride shining in her eyes.

No one else came close.

Then after a few more participants….

It was Seika’s turn.

He stood frozen for a moment, staring at the stairs.

’Luck…’ he thought bitterly. ’If this test truly measures luck… then I’ll fail.’

Still, he stepped forward. He had come too far to turn back now. Seika placed his foot on the first step.

Nothing happened.

He frowned slightly and stepped onto the second.

Still nothing.

Third.

Fourth.

Ten steps passed.

Twenty.

Thirty.

Murmurs began to rise. By the time he reached forty steps, confusion flickered across his face.

There was no pressure. None.

’Is the formation broken?’ he wondered.’

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