Chapter 155: Lifeless Toy

The Exarch-class Automaton did not hesitate. Its speed was so great that Cassia could barely track its movements, but she didn’t try to dodge...

She simply braced her boots against the floor.

The Automaton’s broadsword slammed into Cassia’s shoulder.

The spirit immediately primed its teleportation arrays, expecting the junior operative to be cleaved in two.

To the spirit’s astonishment, Cassia did not even flinch. The blade bounced off her glowing skin, entirely unable to penetrate the Diamond Crucible Form.

The Exarch-class Automaton was a formidable adversary. Enduring fifty strikes from such a machine would push even an Exarch to their limits.

Yet Cassia, a mere Vanguard, stood her ground like an immovable mountain.

Clang! Clang! Clang!

A continuous symphony of metal striking metal echoed through the arena as the Automaton unleashed an unforgiving barrage.

Less than a minute later, the machine’s gears whined, and it ceased its assault, returning to its starting position.

"Challenger, congratulations," the voice announced, tinged with genuine respect. "By enduring fifty exchanges against an opponent two major tiers above you, you have achieved a flawless score. You may select one of the two remaining Provincial-grade artifacts."

Two ornate chests materialized.

One contained a high-grade spiritual sword, but since Seraphina didn’t use standard blades and Cassia preferred hand-to-hand combat, it was useless to them.

Cassia opened the second chest, revealing an elegant wrist-cuff forged from deep-sea meteor-iron. Her eyes sparkled.

She grabbed the cuff, trotted over to Seraphina, and slapped it onto her senior sister’s wrist.

"See?" Cassia beamed, planting her hands on her hips. "I told you I’d win you a present! Do you like it?"

Seraphina looked down at the Provincial-grade cuff, then at the beaming junior operative. A genuine smile touched her lips.

"I do. Thank you, Cassia," Seraphina said. She adjusted her spectacles and turned toward the staircase. "Let us proceed to the second floor."

Once the two girls had vanished up the staircase, the spirit focused its attention on the final participant.

"Challenger number three. How will you proceed?"

Silas stepped into the center of the arena, rolling his shoulders confidently.

Since all three of them had entered the Spire, the spirit likely assumed they were a group of peerless prodigies.

But Silas knew the truth...

If a Vanguard-tier teenager could endure fifty strikes without breaking a sweat, and if an Old Dynasty scion could dismantle a puppet with a single chop, these Automatons had to be defective.

Their Aether-signatures might read as Exarchs, but their actual combat power was clearly lacking.

"The final Provincial-grade artifact is a sword," Silas chuckled. "A perfect fit for me. Spirit, if I challenge an Automaton at the Eighth Realm of the Exarch tier to match my own cultivation, how fast must I defeat it for a flawless score?"

"Within thirty strikes," the spirit replied smoothly.

"Summon it."

A new Automaton rose from the floor, radiating the oppressive Aether of an Eighth-Realm Exarch.

"Let the match commence!"

The Automaton blurred into motion, surging forward with a heavy downward cleave.

"Heh. A lifeless toy," Silas scoffed. "I will dismantle it with a single, effortless move!"

Silas sidestepped the downward strike, intending to copy Seraphina’s tactic.

He channeled his Aether into his palm and aimed a devastating chop at the back of the machine’s neck.

But as the Automaton passed him, its torso suddenly rotated one hundred and eighty degrees with a sickening grind of gears.

A fist the size of a boulder shot directly toward Silas’s face.

"What the...!"

Caught off guard, Silas had no time to dodge. He hastily raised his left arm to block.

The sickening sound of snapping bone echoed through the arena.

Silas was launched backward like a cannonball, crashing into the arena’s spatial barrier and crumpling to the floor.

Silas stared at his arm, which was now bent at an unnatural angle. His mind reeled.

When Seraphina fought, the Automaton had only attacked once before she destroyed it.

When Cassia fought, she had just stood there and taken the hits, so he hadn’t seen the machine’s agility.

He had never imagined the Automaton possessed such horrifying reflexes!

Before Silas could even push himself off the floor, the brass centurion was standing over him.

Its heavy metal leg whipped out, burying itself deep into Silas’s ribs.

Silas vomited a mouthful of blood, feeling his internal organs shift from the impact.

Is this... is this really an Eighth-Realm Exarch? Silas thought, his vision swimming with pain. This thing hits like a Supreme-tier patriarch!

It was only in that moment that Silas finally understood.

The Automatons weren’t defective. They weren’t weak...

The two girls from the Abyssal Syndicate were just monstrously strong.

...

Defeating the Automaton within thirty strikes? Silas was certain he would not survive thirty strikes.

"Spirit," Silas choked out, coughing up a mouthful of blood and channeling his Aether to stabilize his ruptured internal organs. "If I abandon the rating... how many strikes must I endure just to pass the first floor?"

The Aether-spirit was silent for a long moment.

It had assumed the three teenagers were a team of peerless monsters...

Why was the final participant so remarkably weak?

"Five," the voice finally replied, sounding unimpressed.

Silas regretted his arrogance.

If he had known the Exarch-class Automaton was this lethal, he would have just picked the Vanguard-tier puppet and endured fifty weak strikes.

But the machine did not give him time to regret his life choices.

It blurred into motion again, unleashing a devastating sweeping kick.

Silas, already severely injured, could not dodge the afterimage.

*CRACK.*

Silas’s left leg snapped like dry kindling. "Ahhh!"

His eyes bloodshot, Silas gritted his teeth and desperately channeled every ounce of his Aether to protect his head and chest.

The Automaton was too fast and hit too hard. Forming external Aether-shields was useless; his only hope was reinforcing his internal organs and praying he survived long enough to heal.

*BOOM!*

The fourth strike landed. Silas vomited another mouthful of blood.

*BOOM!*

The fifth strike descended.

The Automaton’s boot drove upward, burying itself directly into Silas’s groin.

The Automaton immediately ceased its assault.

Its gears whined as it slowly returned to its starting position, leaving Silas curled into a fetal position on the floor, clutching his crotch and writhing in agony.

"Ruined! It is ruined!" Silas shrieked, rolling across the floor. "Why did it target my vitals?! What kind of treacherous machine is this?! Damn it! Damn it all!"

Through the searing haze of pain, Silas managed to sit up.

He stared at his trousers, which were staining a deep crimson.

Uncontrollable muscle spasms wracked his entire face.

Sweat poured down his forehead. The pain was excruciating...

He managed to suppress a portion of the agony by forcing his Aether-meridians into a localized block, but as he probed his own state... he realized the damage was catastrophic.

It was crushed.

Without hesitation, he summoned a Provincial-grade healing potion from his spatial ring and downed it in a single gulp.

He meditated for five minutes. The potent elixir knit his broken arm and leg back together, healing his fractured ribs by ninety percent.

Yet, below his waist, the tissue remained unresponsive.

Silas’s face turned the color of ash.

He had come to the Eastern Marches to complete a routine trial, and now this?!

How was he going to explain this to the Cult?

He was the heir to the Silas family!

He was the most exceptional talent of his generation! He hadn’t even taken a wife yet!