67: Chapter 67 Trial of Willpower and Awakening of "Martial Intent" (Part 1)

White mist surged.

That viscous sensation didn't feel like water vapor; it felt more like some kind of squirming living thing, burrowing into his body through his pores.

Lin Qi didn't resist, allowing this force to pull his consciousness downward.

The feeling of solid ground beneath his feet vanished.

When he opened his eyes again, his surroundings were a stark, deathly white.

The pungent smell of disinfectant rushed to his head, and the monotonous beeping of an ECG monitor echoed in his ears.

Lin Qi found himself lying on a narrow hospital bed, completely devoid of sensation below his neck. He tried to move his fingers, but there was no response.

That body was like a heavy coffin, pinning his Soul firmly inside.

"It's a pity."

A doctor in a white coat stood by the bed, holding a medical chart.

His tone was as cold as if he were reading a death sentence. "Nerve necrosis, irreversible damage. He'll be like this for the rest of his life."

Suppressed sobbing came from the doorway of the ward.

It was his mother's voice. His father crouched in the corner, an unlit cigarette between his fingers, his hunched back making him look like an old man.

Lin Qi lay on the bed, quietly watching this scene.

This was the most despairing moment of his past life.

Going from a high-spirited youth to a cripple who could only survive on nutrient solutions—this fall was enough to destroy anyone's will.

"Do you see?"

A fleeting voice rang in his ear, carrying a sickening, slimy quality. "This is your essence. A piece of trash, a burden who needs to be fed even to drink water."

Lin Qi said nothing.

He looked at his mother, who was wiping away tears. There was no fear in his eyes; instead, they held a hint of nostalgia.

"Quite a performance," Lin Qi commented in his mind. "Unfortunately, my mom doesn't cover her mouth when she cries."

The voice seemed to falter for a moment.

The scene suddenly distorted.

The ward shattered like a mirror, replaced by a dim room.

The blue light from a computer screen illuminated Lin Qi's pale face. On the screen, the majestic "Martial Saint" character clad in golden armor was slowly fading.

A line of blood-red text appeared: [Server closing soon. Countdown: 10... 9...]

That was the day the martial arts era shut down.

It was also the day Lin Qi's only spiritual sustenance in this world collapsed.

"No!"

Lin Qi heard "himself" let out a heart-wrenching roar, fingers frantically pounding the keyboard, trying to hold onto the character that had accompanied him for ten years.

But it was useless.

The data stream dispersed, and the screen plunged into darkness.

The fleeting voice rang out again, this time with a hint of mockery:

"You think you're a Martial Saint? No, you're just a string of data. Outside the game, you are nothing."

"In this world where everyone is digitized, you're a blank slate without a status panel. You have no skills, no talents—you're not even as good as the lowest-level Goblin."

"Admit it, Lin Qi. You're just a pathetic wretch who hid in a game to escape reality."

The voice grew louder, like countless flies buzzing in his ears.

Meanwhile, in the monitoring room.

On the massive holographic screen, dozens of small sub-screens were displayed.

Each screen represented an examinee's mental state.

"The situation doesn't look good."

The young Teaching Assistant pointed to the top-left screen. "Li Shaobai's brainwave values are fluctuating too much; he's nearing the critical point."

In the screen, Li Shaobai was kneeling on the ground, clutching his head, his expression distorted beyond recognition.

"My sword... my S-rank talent... give them back! Don't take them!" he screamed hysterically, tears and snot smearing his face. "I am the heir of the Li family! I am not a beggar! Get away!"

Clearly, he had lost everything he took pride in within the illusion.

On the other side, Zhao Lei's situation was even worse.

The burly man was swinging his fists at the air, his eyes bloodshot as he let out beast-like roars: "Kill! Kill you all! Don't come near me! I'm not afraid to die!"

His heart rate had soared to two hundred, and his muscles were as tense as stones. If this continued, his blood vessels would burst.

"Prepare for a forced ejection," Night Owl ordered with a frown. "The psychological resilience of this year's freshmen is too poor."

"Wait."

The Old Professor suddenly spoke, pointing at the center screen. "Look at Lin Qi."

Everyone's gaze shifted over.

In the screen, Lin Qi stood in the white mist with his hands in his pockets, his expression as calm as if he were waiting for a bus.

His brainwave chart was a nearly straight line of steady fluctuations, with only occasional small spikes that quickly returned to normal.

"Is the equipment broken?" The assistant subconsciously tapped the console. "This is the Heart Demon Illusion; even a Second-Turn class holder's brainwaves wouldn't be this stable inside."

The mechanism of the Heart Demon Illusion is to read subconscious fears and then amplify them infinitely.

As long as one is human, they have weaknesses.

Greed, fear, inferiority, arrogance... there's always something that fits.

But Lin Qi's reaction was practically like that of an emotionless robot.

"The equipment isn't broken." The Old Professor adjusted his glasses, his eyes filled with disbelief. "It's that he doesn't take the Heart Demon seriously at all."

Inside the illusion.

The voice was still rambling on.

"Kneel! Bow to reality! You are just a Mortal; you can't change anything!"

Countless pale hands reached out from the surrounding darkness, grabbing at Lin Qi's ankles, trying to drag him into a bottomless abyss.

Human faces grew upon these palms—some crying, some laughing, some cursing.

Lin Qi lowered his head, looking at the hands clutching his trouser legs.

"Are you finished?"

Lin Qi suddenly spoke.

The voice stopped, seemingly not expecting Lin Qi to react this way.

"This is the ultimate trial of Longya Academy?" Lin Qi looked up, disappointment in his eyes. "I thought there would be something new, but it's just digging up old history?"

"You... you're not afraid?" The voice became somewhat shrill.

"Afraid of what?"

Lin Qi smiled, a cold smile. "Afraid of paralysis? I've already lain there for ten years; I know that feeling better than anyone. Afraid of losing power? I've already lost it once, and because I lost it, I'm holding on tighter than anyone now."

He lifted his foot and gave it a gentle shake.

The Ghost Hands clutching his trousers were like they had touched a branding iron; they let out sizzling burning sounds and retreated with screams.

"This kind of low-level mental suggestion is useless against me."

Lin Qi took a step forward.

With this step, the surrounding darkness seemed to be squeezed by something, forced to recede.

"I'm a pragmatist."

As he walked, Lin Qi methodically straightened his cuffs. "To me, pain isn't something to be reminisced over; it's fuel to be burned. You rip open my scars and think I'll cry?"

"Idiot."

"That only makes it clearer to me just how precious this body I have now truly is."

The voice grew frantic.

The black mist churned even more violently, condensing into a massive black skull that opened its maw to bite down on Lin Qi.

"Arrogance! Within my Domain, I am God!"

A massive spiritual pressure descended upon him.

For an ordinary person, this blow would be enough to turn their brain into mush.

But Lin Qi didn't even blink.

He just stood there, his body sinking slightly into an extremely peculiar stance.

It wasn't a boxing stance, nor was it a palm technique.

It was a type of intent.

A martial arts will, tempered through a thousand fires and settled through countless life-and-death battles.

Deep in his mind, the originally dormant Martial Arts Monument suddenly jolted.

Golden light suddenly flashed.

Though it was only a sliver, in this pitch-black spiritual world, it was blindingly bright.

"God?"

Lin Qi looked at the diving skull, a mocking arc curling his lips. "You think you're worthy?"

He slowly raised his right hand, fingers splaying open before suddenly clenching into a fist.

It was as if he were gripping an invisible blade.

"Too much nonsense."