Just as Mark thought he would win, all of a sudden, the scenario changed when Mark woke up the next day after his brief nap.

They were no longer in Snow-capped mountains.

The air turned warm.

Snow melted rapidly.

A heat wave rolled across the dunes.

The entire place began to turn into a desert.

The Fire Tribes roared with renewed vigor as flames burst back to full strength.

Meanwhile, the black tribunal's voice boomed from the heavens: "Bravo Challenger, you managed to defeat the enemy before even the war properly began. Now, challenger… solve the original scenario of history when the Fire Tribes overpowered the Ice tribe."

Mark clenched his teeth. "Damn it."

But he wasn't rattled.

"Pull everyone back from the open dunes!" he commanded quickly. "Do not engage them in the open. Retreat to the caves and ice tunnels. Fire does nothing in enclosed, frozen spaces."

Captains immediately rushed to obey.

The Fire Tribes charged like blazing meteors, their morale soaring as the desert thawed, but the entrance to the mountains bottlenecked their movement.

Mark shouted, "Collapse the outer ridges! Make this valley a tunnel!"

Disciples struck the weakened ice pillars, causing huge sheets of frozen walls to fall. The mountains reshaped into narrow corridors.

Fire Tribe warriors smashed against the narrow entrance, only able to push through a few at a time.

Inside those tunnels… their flames dimmed again.

Mark called out, "Drench the paths! Make the floors ice!"

Water disciples poured qi and created slick sheets. Fire warriors slipped and crashed.

Ice disciples used the time to freeze them into blocks.

"Trap them. One by one. Don't fight head-on!"

*

Hours passed.

One final group of Fire Tribes broke through their failing formations and charged into the valley's center, a frozen lake.

However, Mark waited for them there, with dozens of disciples still surviving.

He stared across the shimmering ice where their forces gathered.

The elder rushed to him. "Patriarch, the lake cannot hold them..."

"I know," Mark said simply.

The Fire Tribe commander pointed his flaming halberd at Mark, roaring, "Face me, coward!"

Mark ignored him.

He raised his arm.

"Disciples! Focus all attacks on the lake."

Qi surged in all sides at his orders.

Dozens, then hundreds of icy blasts hammered the frozen surface.

Cracks spiderwebbed beneath the Fire Tribe warriors.

The commander blinked in confusion.

Then the ice shattered.

The entire enemy force plunged into the freezing depths at once.

As steam rose, and screams of shock and pain exploded across the valley as cold water extinguished their flames, Mark lowered his hand and ordered.

"Now, freeze the lake."

A wave of cold qi surged from the mountains. Within seconds, the lake solidified again, trapping the enemy in ice forever.

Silence fell on the battlefield as hundreds of fire tribe cultivators were buried beneath the frozen lake.

The elder stared at Mark, stunned. Disciples broke out into disbelief, then relief, then laughter mixed with sobs.

"You… you saved us..." the elder whispered.

Mark simply crossed his arms behind his back and glanced at the sky, "What do you think?"

As if responding to his question, High above, the painted sky trembled.

The black tribunal's voice thundered: "Wisdom… acknowledged."

As a blinding flash of light enveloped Mark, he disappeared and once again found himself before the three tribunals. The black one's chest swelled with satisfaction, spreading his arms wide as if presenting him to the heavens.

"You are one excellent seedling," he boomed, the excitement could be heard in his words. "Never have I seen a challenger twist that war into victory, not once but twice. You have my full approval. Your wisdom is proven."

Mark breathed slowly. He didn't show pride, though inside he felt a small warmth of validation. It wasn't just because of passing the trial, it was because the war felt too real, as if people had actually lived and died there.

And then at last, the red one moved forward.

"Wisdom and character are the foundation," the red one declared in its usual distorted tone of both masculine and feminine. "These determine whether a sect head rules justly, whether he guides the sect without falling into corruption or selfishness. But strength…" The red one paused, and every color in the air dimmed slightly, as if even the fabric of this place feared its authority. "Strength is what makes others bow their heads. Strength is what prevents betrayal. Strength is what makes enemies hesitate before raising a blade against your sect.|

Mark waited patiently until the dialogue was finished.

But, the red tribunal continued to speak, "The head of the Ancient Lan Sect must be, without exception, the strongest among them. Your disciples must look at you and feel relief. Your elders must fear to move against you. Outsiders must tremble before challenging you. But you are too young to demand the same trial we demanded of your ancestors. Hence, we have adjusted the difficulty to your level for your last trial."

The black tribunal grunted in agreement. The white tribunal crossed her arms in approval, too.

The red one then leaned forward. "Your final trial is straightforward. You win, you live. You lose, you die. However, you have already passed two of the three trials and greatly impressed us. Hence, we are willing to give you an opportunity to leave, and leave you with an imprint so that you can come back for a challenge… Would you like to take the chance or would you like to fight? Make the choice, challenger."

Mark stared at him for a few seconds in silence and then said. "No, I would like to fight."

The red tribunal didn't say anything to that and curled its hand, "Very well. But we would like to give you one advantage, to choose your battle. You may choose your field," it offered. "Do you require flames? Forests? Mountains? Rivers? A realm filled with storms? Or absolute darkness? We will shape your battlefield according to your preference."

Mark didn't think long to answer that.

"Plain field," he said. "No obstructions. No terrain. Or tricks. Just make sure that I can see. That's much I expect."

The red tribunal's tone deepened. "So you choose a direct contest."

A faint, approving hum echoed from all three tribunals.

"Very well," the red tribunal stated. "Your battlefield will be a plain field, empty and bare."

It snapped its fingers.

And the world cracked open, once again.

One moment, Mark stood in the tribunal chamber, the next he was standing on an endless, barren plain that stretched toward every horizon. No mountains. No trees. Not even wind. It was just a silent, dead field beneath a bright sky, although with no sun or clouds.

Mark rolled his shoulders once and stretched his fingers, ready for the battle.

And then, a few moments later, a knight clad in black armor materialized step by step. The knight stood a full head taller than him, with broader body, rigid posture, and terrifyingly steady.

Mark murmured under his breath, "Eyes of God."

Lines of data scrolled across his vision:

[Supreme Adamantium Forge]

Rank: Peak 13-Circle

Type: Battle Puppet

Element: None

Description: The battle puppet was made of 96% adamantine metal, the strongest metal in the material universe, forged in the heart of a dying star. It cannot be destroyed by attacks lower than 13.0 stats. However, due to the lack of a special core or any soul, it carries no elements or any skills, and neither can it be graded. Just contained pure strength.

*

Mark whistled softly. "You're kidding me. An adamantine puppet? This thing is top-tier even by the Dominion's standards, adjusting the difficulty, my ass. But then again, it didn't have any energy either. That means it is just a weakling. As long as I have the No Touch skill on, it won't be able to touch me. Ha… what a joke.."

The red tribunal's voice then boomed across the barren land.

"The rules are simple, Lan Zhen. There are no rules. Survive and pass. Or die and fail."

Mark nodded. "I know."

He also figured out the real reason why his great-grandfather sent him. It is not just to fail him. If he dies here, it would look like fate, not murder. And no one would blame Lan Yujin either.

He exhaled quietly. "Regardless, you underestimate, Lan Yujin. This is not even in the same league as the Demon Cat Empress."

And then as the puppet raised its sword, which was a massive black blade forged of the same metal as its armor, the red tribunal's voice echoed:

"The trial begins… now."