Chapter 5: Strength test

The bus came to a gentle halt with a low hiss of brakes.

Ethan looked out the window, his eyes taking in the towering structure before them. The Martial Alliance Branch Hall loomed ahead, an imposing building of dark metal and reinforced stone. Its walls were engraved with ancient martial emblems, each representing the legacy of strength passed down through generations. A large archway marked the entrance, beneath which a tall figure stood waiting.

The students filed out of the bus, their chatter dimming as their eyes locked on the man awaiting them. He was tall and broad-shouldered, his posture as straight as a blade. His aura radiated quiet strength and unshakable confidence—clearly a veteran of countless battles.

Arnold stepped forward with his usual calm demeanor. "Students, this is Richard Hervey," he announced. "He is a senior executive officer of this Martial Alliance branch—and also a Martial Master. He’ll be overseeing today’s tests."

Ethan raised an eyebrow.

A Martial Master? Here? That already seemed impressive enough. But what truly caught his attention was Richard’s behavior.

The moment Richard turned to Arnold, his tone shifted subtly, and his back straightened just a little more. There was a glimmer of deference in his eyes—respect that couldn’t be faked. It was as if he were standing before someone far above his rank.

Why is he acting like that toward Arnold? Ethan wondered. Arnold doesn’t even have the aura of someone beyond Martial Warrior... unless he’s been hiding his true cultivation all along.

Shaking the thought for now, Ethan followed the group as they stepped inside the hall.

The main hall was vast and solemn, lit by soft white ceiling lights that reflected off the polished dark floor. Decorative flags of the Martial Alliance hung high along the walls, each symbol representing strength, unity, and legacy. Along the sides, there were several training chambers and test rooms, with glass walls that allowed observers to watch from the outside. The air inside smelled faintly of disinfectant and iron—proof that this was a place of combat and discipline.

They were led into one of the larger side rooms, where ten heavy-duty machines stood in a row—metallic pillars each outfitted with thick padded targets and digital displays above.

"This," said Richard, gesturing to the machines, "is the first round—the strength assessment. You’ll go in teams of ten. Your task is to deliver a single punch into the machine. If your force exceeds the required threshold, you’ll qualify for the speed test."

A murmur passed through the crowd. Everyone already knew the standard—500 kilograms of force. It was the minimum requirement for students aiming to enter one of the top-tier martial academies.

The first batch of ten students stepped forward—six boys and four girls. Each of them took their position before a punching machine. Some stretched their arms, others shook out their wrists. The tension in the room thickened.

"Begin," Richard instructed.

The students raised their fists. They adjusted their feet and postures, breathing in deeply—and then, simultaneously, they struck.

BAM!

The thuds of ten punches echoed across the chamber like a volley of small explosions. The machines whirred to life as the numbers flickered upward on each display.

Machine 1: 400 kg

Machine 2: 600 kg

Machine 3: 500 kg

...

...

Machine 10: 533 kg

When the numbers settled, Richard gave a brief nod. "Six of you passed."

The four who failed looked devastated. Their heads lowered, and one girl clenched her fists, trembling slightly. Months, if not years, of training had led to this moment—and they hadn’t made the cut.

Arnold stepped forward, his voice warm but firm. "Don’t be discouraged," he said. "Not making the top academies isn’t the end. There are second-tier universities, and more paths than you know—join the military, train as a free warrior. Your journey doesn’t end here. Sometimes, the ones who stumble early rise the highest later."

His words had weight. They carried the calm experience of someone who had likely seen many rise—and fall.

The failed students looked up, their eyes slightly brighter. The pain didn’t vanish, but it dulled, replaced with resolve. The six who passed beamed with joy, a few exchanging high-fives.

More students were called up. In the second batch, five passed the test.

Then came the third batch—Mark Silva’s batch.

The room grew noticeably quieter.

Mark walked up to his machine with an arrogant gait, shoulders back, chin lifted. There was no trace of nervousness—only confidence. He adjusted his gloves slowly, deliberately, making sure everyone saw him.

He exhaled sharply, took a picture-perfect posture, and launched a punch.

The display beeped as the number rapidly climbed.

100... 300... 600... 750 kg.

Gasps filled the room.

"750!" someone whispered.

"Incredible..." another said.

"The Silva family really is something else. After Old Master Eric, another dragon has emerged."

Mark stood still, smirking. The praise rolled off the crowd like music. He turned slightly, his eyes seeking someone.

Ethan.

But Ethan’s expression didn’t change. No awe, no envy—just a quiet, unreadable calm.

That irritated Mark. Deeply.

"Hmph," he muttered, clenching his fists. "Just wait, you filthy bug. Fail this test, and you’ll regret ever standing in my shadow."

Then came the next group. Rose and Ryan were in it.

Ryan stepped forward hesitantly. He glanced left and right, then focused on Machine 2. Rose, by contrast, was composed as ever. She walked to Machine 7 like she’d done this a hundred times.

"Begin."

BAM!

Ryan’s machine showed 433 kg—a decent effort, but below the threshold. His face fell.

Then everyone turned to Rose’s machine.

The numbers rolled fast—500... 700... and finally 800 kg.

The room fell into stunned silence.

Even Richard’s brows rose. Arnold chuckled softly, nodding in approval.

"800 kg... and she’s still unawakened," Richard muttered. "Not something you see often—even in super cities."

The students murmured in amazement, but Rose simply turned and walked back. No smile, no arrogance.

Ryan looked disheartened. Ethan came over and bumped his shoulder gently.

"Don’t worry," he grinned. "When I become Heavenly King, I’ll make you one of my generals."

Ryan blinked—then laughed. "As you command, my king."

The two shared a light moment, laughter easing the tension.

Then it was Ethan’s turn.

He walked up to the machine in silence. Thoughts swirled in his head. His real strength exceeded 6,000 kg—but the current theoretical limit before unlocking the gene was 1,000 kg.

Should I hold back? Maybe punch 900 kg to avoid suspicion? But then a different thought crossed his mind. No... Why dim my light? I’ll surpass even the dragon in a few months who is currently the strongest warrior alive. Let them see it.

He raised his fist without any stance. No posture. No preparation.

The students whispered again.

"What’s he doing?"

"Does he think he can hit 500 without form?"

"He’s going to embarrass himself."

Mark smirked, practically trembling with anticipation.

And then—

Ethan struck.

BOOOOM!

The punch echoed like a cannon blast. The machine trembled slightly, the display blinking furiously.

The number shot up like a rocket—300, 500, 700, 900...

1000 kg.

The room froze.

Nobody spoke. No one moved.

Ryan’s jaw hung open. Rose’s eyes, usually tranquil, widened in disbelief.

Mark? His smile vanished. His face twisted in fury and disbelief. His clenched teeth ground audibly, drawing stares—but no sympathy.

Because in that moment, all eyes were on Ethan.

Arnold’s composure wavered. For the first time, he looked genuinely surprised.

And Richard?

His eyes gleamed. "Student Ethan," he said, walking forward slowly, "that was... extraordinary. I daresay even some super cities may not have someone like you."

He extended a hand. "You have a bright future. I’ll be watching closely."

Arnold chuckled beside him. "Not bad, kid."

Ethan simply nodded, calm as ever. But deep down, a warm pride stirred in his chest. He had made his mark—and now, no one could ignore him.

The rest of the batches followed, but the excitement had peaked. Nothing could overshadow what had just happened.

In the end, seventy students passed the strength test.

Richard clapped once, getting everyone’s attention. "Alright. Those of you who passed—follow me. The speed test comes next."

The remaining thirty, though disappointed, were not crushed. Many looked determined, eyes already burning with thoughts of training harder.

And with that, the selected seventy students followed Richard deeper into the hall, their next challenge waiting ahead.

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