Chapter 310

Chapter 310: Path of the Mind

At the entrance to the Mind Maze, twenty figures stood in a line—elite members of the Judge’s faction, the Patrol Team, the Execution Team, and Midi’s group.

Judge Marcel and the others, having just cast their secret technique, recovered their magic while studying the young Blood Purification elites with expectant eyes.

With his sharp instincts, Midi sensed the Mind Maze’s trial was no simple adventure. It reeked of factional struggles within Blood Purification itself.

Like the sprawling Hawk Brigade, which housed endless competition beneath its supreme Iron Triangle, this isolated trial space would pit ambitious youths against one another. Resources were scarce, people plentiful. Opportunities here came laced with danger.

Midi harbored no illusions. In this sealed space, no one would play nice. These rookies cared nothing for alliances—personal gain ruled their hearts.

*Total chaos, then?*

He exchanged a glance with his three companions.

The blinding glow at the Maze’s entrance solidified into a gigantic vortex.

“The gateway stabilizes,” Judge Marcel’s bass voice rolled across the group. “Once twenty enter, it seals. Pass the mental trial, become elite Thought Capturers, and join us in crushing the sect headquarters!”

“Yes!” came the unified reply.

Trial participants strode through the black mist’s passageway into the ancient door. As Midi crossed the light’s threshold, vertigo twisted his gut—proof this was no ordinary door, but a teleportation magic array. The Mind Maze’s true location lay far from Blood Hell Island’s temple, its scale unimaginable.

His vision cleared to reveal all twenty participants clustered in a strange space. No walls, no ceiling—only an endless broad path of gleaming mind-blue tiles. On either side gaped bottomless chasms where Sharp Winds shrieked like blade storms.

Midi gauged the magic waves. Even his sword light at full power wouldn’t last long against those gales. Ordinary practitioners’ defenses? Useless. The winds prickled his memory—they mirrored the impassable barrier between Arad’s Zenith and the Sea of Clouds’ abyssal depths.

As the group surveyed their surroundings, twenty light points materialized. They shot into the participants’ bodies as transparent motes. Ten ancient cyan tokens glimmered into existence nearby. A voice older than stone echoed in every skull:

“Welcome to the Mind Maze. The Mind Crystals granted shall tally your trial. Endure longer, venture farther, perform better—your reward depends on it.”

No one panicked. They’d been briefed.

“Begin.”

The voice faded.

Without any explanation, the trial had already begun in silence.

Based on prior intelligence, Midi knew this first challenge was called the "Path of the Mind," where the only rule was to walk forward until reaching the exit. The problem lay in the path’s ever-changing length and unpredictable obstacles across different trials. The sole constant was the requirement to "complete" the path for victory—everything else remained unknown. Fear of the unknown was natural, and withholding the rules itself served as a psychological test.

"First, let’s determine whether to move forward or backward," Midi muttered, studying the endless path stretching in both directions. Breaking mental habits was crucial in dangerous situations, especially within the Mind Maze’s countless hidden traps.

His question was soon answered. Blazing blue flames erupted from the shadows behind them, surging forward like tidal waves!

"Run!"

Without orders, the twenty trial participants bolted ahead. The azure inferno devoured the path behind, leaving no trace.

One hour, two hours, three hours…

As time passed, the runners gradually split into four factions. The strongest group, led by Sandur, raced far ahead until they vanished from sight. Rot’s Patrol Team, skilled in endurance, chased Sandur’s team competitively. The Execution Team, built for battle rather than travel, fluctuated between bursts of speed and sluggishness, their Scarred Man leader silent throughout.

Midi’s team remained last but maintained a steady rhythm. Their pace hadn’t wavered since the start, precise as clockwork, keeping a fixed distance from the flames. Each member’s magic consumption balanced perfectly with recovery—a rare equilibrium. Theoretically, they could sustain this for a week using alchemical potions alone.

Midi had deduced this trial tested neither combat nor speed, but endurance. Enemies would gauge strength; faster flames would test speed. Instead, the endless path and creeping fire demanded physical and mental stamina.

After eight hours, Midi’s team overtook the exhausted frontrunners. Their steady momentum gradually widened the gap from the flames—now, they could even pause for a meal safely. Meanwhile, early sprinters drained their magic and gulped magic potions, depleting future supplies.

A full day passed. All pretense of competition faded. Every trial participant now mimicked Midi’s method, realizing his measured pace conserved energy best. But their drained magic and diminished supplies left them worse off than Midi’s well-prepared group. Only the top members of each faction remained composed, though exhaustion etched every face.

"How much longer?" Avril asked, drawing alongside Midi.

"Another day," he answered, gazing ahead. "Changes suggest we’re halfway through." Following his stare, Avril glimpsed something astonishing—across the abyss canyon flickered the warm glow of a campsite.