CHAPTER 123: STRENGTH DIMENSION

Although he knew Arctic was strong, the exact extent of that strength remained a mystery. That lingering uncertainty gnawed at him, filling Damien with a strange anticipation. He couldn’t help but wait, eyes fixed on the scene, heart pulsing a little quicker than usual.

Then, without warning, a stream of information surged into his mind—sharp, cryptic fragments that demanded focus. But before he could make sense of it all, Arctic’s fist blurred through the air.

Boom!

The sound resembled a cannonball colliding with a steel fortress. A deep, thunderous shockwave erupted as Arctic’s punch struck the massive pillar. The sheer force caused the air itself to ripple, distorting the surroundings in a brief wave of pressured silence. Dust trembled, and the ground quivered ever so slightly under Damien’s feet.

But the pillar?

It didn’t even flinch.

Not a scratch. Not a dent. Not even a faint tremor.

Although Arctic’s expression remained calm, something flickered behind his eyes. A tightness at the edge of his mouth. A sliver of disbelief. He might’ve masked it well, but Damien could see through it with ease.

He was surprised. Deeply.

He had known the pillar wouldn’t collapse, but at the very least, he had expected it to tremble under his strength.

The moment of quiet realization didn’t escape Damien’s keen gaze. Standing a short distance away with his arms crossed, he let out a soft scoff.

"Don’t tell me this guy was expecting the pillar to break."

What a ridiculous thought. This wasn’t some regular strength test—it was the Trial of Strength. If it were that easy to bring the pillar down, then what would be the point of this trial in the first place?

As he shook his head in amusement, the pillar began to glow.

Intricate symbols etched into its surface lit up one after the other in rapid succession. Arcane script danced in shimmering patterns, coiling upward like serpents of light until three luminous digits emerged at the top, hanging in the air like an ancient verdict passed down by the heavens.

A deep, mechanical voice echoed from the pillar, cold and indifferent:

"1,000 tons of force. Eligible to become the outer disciple. Kindly choose your starting technique."

Damien blinked.

Then, without warning, the glowing script on the pillar began to blur. Words twisted and smudged into unreadable forms, as if a veil had been drawn between him and the trial’s secrets.

Damien didn’t try to decipher them. There was no point. He instinctively knew this was a built-in mechanism—one designed to ensure privacy for those who passed the test.

So he waited.

Calm. Patient.

Unmoving, like a sentinel in the storm.

Five minutes passed in the blink of an eye.

Just then, a voice boomed out like thunder crackling across a silent field:

"So the little kid was fooling me all this time!"

Arctic’s voice echoed through the chamber, laced with disbelief and fury. His entire face flushed a furious shade of red—like he’d swallowed a dozen ghost peppers whole. His ears practically smoked with outrage, and veins bulged along his neck as if about to burst.

Damien, who had been standing a short distance away with a casual expression, lifted an eyebrow in curiosity.

"What did you say?" he asked, tone light but his eyes gleaming with sharp interest.

Without missing a beat—too enraged to keep the truth bottled—Arctic snapped:

"The Seven Strikes of Blue Hammer isn’t even a family-exclusive technique! It’s just some—"

He didn’t even finish the sentence, but that single line was enough.

Damien understood.

The rest no longer mattered. The foundation beneath the mystery cracked open, revealing the truth in its full, disappointing glory.

So this was it.

No wonder the skill felt underwhelming. That lingering suspicion Damien had carried in his chest now turned into confirmation. But rather than feel annoyed, his heart swelled with rising anticipation—what other surprises did this ancient trial hold in store?

With that thought blazing in his mind, Damien calmly stepped forward.

Arctic, still fuming, was reluctantly dragged out of his indignation. His attention snapped back toward Damien, now more intrigued than angry. Despite watching the boy closely, he still couldn’t wrap his head around Damien’s strength. Sometimes the kid displayed absurd power, yet other times he barely seemed average.

What was he hiding?

Damien didn’t speak a word.

He simply clenched his fist, inhaled deeply, and lashed out with a straight punch.

"Super Serious Punch!"

The words rang out like a theatrical declaration, but the result was anything but dramatic.

The pillar glowed softly as if unimpressed by the display. A faint flicker of symbols shimmered across its surface before freezing.

A number emerged.

10 tons.

Damien merely nodded. He had expected this.

After all, he hadn’t activated his Acceleration Talent.

Arctic said nothing—his eyes simply narrowed into slits, calculating. There was no sneer, no mockery—just silent observation. He knew better than to draw conclusions so easily, especially when it came to Damien.

Then, a familiar cold, mechanical voice reverberated throughout the stone chamber:

"Evaluation completed. Unable to reach the basic qualification. Please try again. If you are unable to meet the basic requirement, you will be directly killed on the spot."

The message was blunt and merciless, lacking even a shred of warmth.

Damien’s lips curled ever so slightly.

A death threat?

He found it amusing.

The system wanted him to try again?

Then he would.

This time, his posture shifted. Slowly, silently, he moved into his stance—not rushed or explosive, but methodical. There was no trace of arrogance now—only quiet intensity.

This punch would not be for show.

Although the Acceleration Talent allowed him to generate monstrous force, it came at a price. His body would be strained to the limit—perhaps even beyond. A single mistake, and his muscles might rupture. His bones might snap. Worst case, he might quite literally disintegrate into nothing but a mist of blood.

He knew the risk.

He welcomed it.

Suddenly—

Shing!

The very air shrieked.

A silvery brilliance flickered to life, like moonlight condensed into blade-thin filaments. The glow flowed across Damien’s body in streams, coating him from head to toe in a second skin of liquid metal-light.

It wasn’t armor—it was something far more volatile.

Arctic’s entire body tensed. His instincts screamed.

Danger.

Something had changed.

Damien’s aura no longer felt casual or veiled. It was focused. Sharpened. Condensed into a spearhead of killing intent wrapped in silver radiance.

Whatever he was about to unleash... wasn’t human.

And for the first time since arriving in this trial ground, Arctic found himself staring at Damien—not as a mystery or an amusing little pest...

...but as a potential threat.

Just then, a thunderous explosion tore through the air, the kind that made your bones hum and your skin tighten.

A number blazed across the pillar’s surface in golden brilliance, crackling with an eerie energy that echoed like the ringing of a divine bell.

The entire chamber trembled for a brief moment, and a shockwave rippled outward in a focused ring, slamming into Arctic like a phantom freight train.

He stumbled back half a step as the blast whipped his hair and robes, the wind pressure alone enough to blur the edges of his vision.

His face twisted as if he’d been slapped by reality itself.

Eyes wide and mouth agape, Arctic looked as though his jaw had fallen off and hit the floor.

"What... just how is this possible?!" he exclaimed, his voice shrill with disbelief, echoing against the stone walls like a cry of madness.

His pupils darted to the pillar again—no, he hadn’t imagined it. The number was still there, glowing with a quiet menace.

But more than the number, it was the speed that left him reeling.

The moment before the strike had felt like a breath held between worlds.

And then—bang!

The punch had come so fast that even Arctic, a seasoned warrior with refined senses, had almost missed it entirely.

If he hadn’t been watching Damien’s movements with laser focus, he wouldn’t have even known the moment the punch connected.

It wasn’t human.

That was the only conclusion that made sense.

And somewhere deep within his soul, a whisper of unease curled around Arctic’s heart.

Damien had no interest in paying attention to the dramatic genie beside him. All of his focus was locked on the mysterious voice echoing through the space.

"6,000 tons. Evaluation complete. Eligible to become a direct disciple of the Strength Temple."

"Prepare yourself to receive the direct inheritance of the Divine Saint."

"Before choosing your skill, do not forget to visit the Strength Dimension."

Damien blinked.

For a moment, he thought he’d misheard.

His gaze involuntarily flicked to the glowing number still burning on the stone pillar, then back to the empty air where the voice had come from.

Divine Saint?

Strength Dimension?

His mind raced, and without hesitation, he asked, "What’s the Strength Dimension?"

The answer came immediately, cold and indifferent as ever:

"A special dimension that can only be accessed by direct disciples of the Strength Saint. Within it, disciples may train together and call for assistance in times of need."

Damien’s eyes gleamed as a sharp glint flickered across his pupils.

A shared space... where powerhouses gather... and favors can be exchanged?

His fists clenched slightly.

This wasn’t just an inheritance.

It was the opening of a new path.