The Inner Sect disciples' eyes widened at the sight of Lin Tian pointing a wooden practice sword at them. Their initial shock quickly transformed into mocking laughter.

  "Lin Tian? The Trash of the Lin Family dares to challenge us?" The leader sneered, his golden-trimmed robes fluttering as he stepped forward. "Do you think wielding a practice sword changes anything about your worthless cultivation?"

  Lin Tian's expression remained calm, his posture relaxed yet alert in a way completely foreign to those who knew the previous Lin Tian. This wasn't the stance of a cultivation failure—it was the bearing of someone who had faced countless battles.

  "Your actions dishonor the Celestial Dragon Sect," Lin Tian said evenly. "As disciples, we're bound by rules established by the elders. No one granted you authority to dispense punishment."

  The leader's face darkened with anger. "You dare lecture us on sect rules? You, who can't even form a proper Qi Core after years of attempts?"

  Around them, the crowd grew. Outer Sect disciples whispered among themselves, astonished that the infamous Lin Tian would invite such trouble.

  Lin Feng stepped back, his face pale. "Young Master, please reconsider—"

  But Lin Tian was already moving.

  The leader of the Inner Sect disciples lunged forward with a sneer, his palm crackling with azure energy—Celestial Dragon Sect's basic striking technique, but executed with fourth-level Qi Condensation power.

  For the onlookers, what happened next defied explanation.

  Lin Tian—who supposedly couldn't even manipulate the smallest amount of spiritual energy—didn't try to match the attack with force. Instead, he pivoted slightly, the wooden practice sword moving in a precise arc that seemed to guide the azure energy away from its target.

  The Inner Sect disciple stumbled forward, his attack missing entirely.

  "What—?" he gasped, genuinely surprised.

  Lin Tian had moved with perfect economy, using the minimum necessary motion to redirect the attack. It wasn't the flashy technique of a cultivation prodigy but the refined movement of someone who understood combat at its most fundamental level.

  "Impossible," someone in the crowd whispered.

  Lin Tian—no, Edward Reinhart—immediately assessed his situation. His current body was pathetically weak, with barely enough spiritual energy to execute even the most basic techniques. Yet his mind retained all the battle wisdom from his previous life.

  'This body can't handle powerful movements,' he realized. 'But these overconfident disciples are full of openings.'

  Two more Inner Sect disciples attacked simultaneously, one from each side. Their movements were technically correct but lacked refinement—they relied on raw power rather than precision.

  Lin Tian stepped back, letting the attackers nearly collide with each other, then tapped one disciple's extended arm with his wooden sword while using his foot to subtly guide the other's momentum.

  Both attackers stumbled off-balance.

  "How is he doing this?" a voice from the crowd called out.

  The wooden practice sword in Lin Tian's hand moved with purpose. Each motion was economical, designed not to overextend his body's limited resources. He didn't attempt to match the disciples' spiritual energy—he simply avoided it entirely, using their own momentum against them.

  "Stop dodging and fight properly!" the leader roared, his face flushed with humiliation.

  Lin Tian finally spoke: "I'm fighting as befits my current level. You're simply used to opponents who stand still and accept your attacks."

  This further enraged the disciples. Three attacked at once, their movements increasingly reckless. Lin Tian spotted the pattern immediately—these were disciples who had grown accustomed to overwhelming weaker opponents with brute force. Their technique was sloppy because they had never needed precision.

  Lin Tian sidestepped the first disciple, used the wooden sword to redirect the second's attack, and simply stepped aside as the third charged past him.

  The crowd's whispers grew louder. How was Lin Tian, with his notoriously weak cultivation, evading attacks from Inner Sect disciples?

  "Face me properly, coward!" the leader shouted, gathering more spiritual energy in his palm. The azure light intensified, casting eerie shadows across his face.

  Lin Tian assessed his options. His body was already feeling the strain—muscles unaccustomed to such precise movement were beginning to protest. He couldn't keep this up for long.

  "Enough!"

  A thunderous voice cut through the commotion. The spiritual pressure that accompanied it caused several Outer Sect disciples to stumble backward.

  A young man descended from the sky, his robes emblazoned with the emblem of the Core Disciples—the elite of the Celestial Dragon Sect. His landing was graceful, dispersing a circle of dust around him.

  "Young Master Yang!" The Inner Sect disciples immediately fell to their knees.

  The newcomer's cold gaze swept across the scene. "Starting fights in the open grounds? Is this how Inner Sect disciples conduct themselves?"

  The leader kept his head bowed. "Young Master Yang, this trash insulted us and—"

  "Silence." Yang's voice wasn't loud, but it carried immense authority. He turned to Lin Tian, eyes narrowing slightly. "You're from the Lin family, aren't you?"

  Lin Tian nodded, maintaining a respectful but unintimidated posture. "Lin Tian, third son of the Lin family."

  A flicker of surprise crossed Yang's face. "The rumored failure? Interesting." He glanced at the bruised boy still huddled nearby. "And what prompted this... confrontation?"

  Lin Feng stepped forward, bowing deeply. "Young Master Yang, these disciples were administering unauthorized punishment to a junior. Young Master Lin intervened, citing sect rules that such matters should be handled by the elders."

  Yang raised an eyebrow. "Is that so?" His gaze returned to Lin Tian. "You know the sect rules well for someone who allegedly struggles with basic cultivation."

  Lin Tian met his gaze steadily. "One's cultivation level doesn't determine one's understanding of proper conduct."

  A moment of silence followed as Yang studied Lin Tian with newfound interest.

  "Brother Yang!" A melodious voice called from above. Another figure descended—a young woman in elegant robes, her long hair bound with celestial ornaments. "The elders are gathering for the quarterly evaluation. We shouldn't be late."

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  Yang nodded without taking his eyes off Lin Tian. "Sister Mei, perfect timing. We have an interesting situation here." He gestured toward Lin Tian. "This Lin family disciple just held his own against five Inner Sect disciples without displaying any spiritual energy."

  The young woman named Mei looked at Lin Tian with curiosity. "Without spiritual energy? How is that possible?"

  "Technique," Yang said simply. "Pure physical technique and extraordinary timing." He turned to the Inner Sect disciples, still kneeling. "You five will report to Elder Zhou for discipline. Starting fights and abusing juniors—you bring shame to the Inner Sect."

  "Young Master Yang, please—" the leader began.

  "Consider yourselves fortunate I'm not expelling you immediately," Yang cut him off. "Now go."

  The Inner Sect disciples retreated hastily, shooting venomous glares at Lin Tian as they departed.

  Yang turned back to Lin Tian. "Lin Tian, was it? The quarterly evaluation begins shortly. I believe you're participating?"

  Lin Tian nodded. "I am."

  "Good." A hint of a smile played at Yang's lips. "I look forward to seeing what other surprises you might offer." He glanced at the bruised boy. "And you, take yourself to the healing pavilion."

  The boy bowed deeply. "Yes, Young Master Yang. Thank you."

  As Yang prepared to depart, he paused, looking back at Lin Tian. "We all start somewhere, Lin Tian. What matters is not where you begin, but how you choose to progress." With that cryptic statement, he gestured to Mei, and they ascended into the sky, their figures becoming distant specks in moments.

  The crowd began to disperse, but their whispers continued.

  "Did you see that?" "How did Trash Lin avoid those attacks?" "Maybe he's been hiding his true abilities?"

  Lin Feng approached Lin Tian, his expression a mixture of awe and confusion. "Young Master, that was... I've never seen you move like that before."

  Lin Tian handed the practice sword back to Lin Feng. "There's much about me you haven't seen yet."

  Lin Tian felt his muscles trembling from exertion. This body was truly in pathetic condition—even the minimal evasive maneuvers he'd executed had pushed it to its limits.

  "The evaluation," he said to Lin Feng. "We need to prepare."

  As they walked away, the bruised boy approached them, bowing deeply. "Senior Lin, thank you for your help. My name is Liu Wei. If there's ever anything I can do to repay you..."

  Lin Tian paused, studying the boy. Despite his injuries, there was something resilient in his eyes—a determination that reminded him of warriors he'd known in his previous life.

  "Focus on your cultivation, Liu Wei. Grow stronger so you won't need others to intervene on your behalf."

  The boy nodded earnestly. "I will, Senior Lin!"

  As they continued toward the evaluation grounds, Lin Feng couldn't contain himself any longer. "Young Master, how did you do that? Those were Inner Sect disciples with at least fourth-level Qi Condensation. Your movements were... different."

  Lin Tian glanced at his attendant. "Lin Feng, what do you think is more important in battle—raw power or proper technique?"

  Lin Feng considered the question. "Both are essential, but without proper technique, power is wasted."

  "Precisely," Lin Tian nodded. "Those disciples rely too heavily on their spiritual energy. They've grown lazy, neglecting fundamentals because their power overwhelms most opponents." He flexed his hand, feeling the strain in his muscles. "They left openings that even a physically weak opponent could exploit—if that opponent understood how to see them."

  Lin Feng stared at him in amazement. "Young Master, you sound like... like a different person."

  Lin Tian smiled faintly. "Perhaps I am."

  As they walked away from the confrontation, Lin Tian could feel his muscles trembling with exhaustion. Every fiber in his body protested the unfamiliar strain.

  "Lin Feng," he said quietly, "how long until the evaluation ceremony actually begins?"

  Lin Feng checked the position of the sun. "The main ceremony starts in two hours, Young Master. Participants are expected to arrive one hour beforehand for preparation and registration."

  Lin Tian nodded. This was fortunate—he had time. "Take me somewhere quiet. I need to meditate before the evaluation."

  Lin Feng's eyes widened. "But Young Master, your previous attempts at—"

  "Things are different now," Lin Tian cut him off. "Just find me a secluded spot."

  They found a small clearing beyond the training grounds, sheltered by ancient spirit trees. Lin Tian sat cross-legged on the ground, his back straight.

  "Leave me for now," he instructed Lin Feng. "Return in one hour to escort me to the evaluation grounds."

  Once alone, Lin Tian closed his eyes, turning his awareness inward. Edward Reinhart had been a master of battle meditation in his previous life—though the energy he had manipulated then was different from the spiritual energy of this world.

  'The principles can't be that different,' he thought. 'Energy is energy, regardless of what it's called.'

  He focused on his breathing, tracing the pathways within his body that the original Lin Tian had tried and failed to open countless times. The meridians were there, but they were narrow, barely able to channel the ambient spiritual energy.

  In Latvaria, his homeland in his previous life, mana had been a wild, explosive force that warriors harnessed through sheer will. Here, spiritual energy seemed more refined, requiring precise guidance through these meridian channels.

  He adjusted his approach. Instead of trying to force energy through the meridians as the original Lin Tian had likely done, he visualized a gentle current, patiently widening the pathways with each breath.

  Slowly, painfully slowly, he felt the spiritual energy respond. It was a mere trickle compared to what he had commanded as Emperor Reinhart, but it was something.

  'This body truly is in terrible condition,' he thought. 'But perhaps that's actually an advantage. I'm starting with the fundamentals rather than rushing ahead.'

  As the hour passed, Lin Tian focused on a single point in his lower abdomen—the dantian, where cultivators formed their Qi Core. The original Lin Tian had failed repeatedly to establish even the most rudimentary core, but Edward understood something the boy hadn't: compression.

  In Latvaria, the most powerful mana techniques involved compressing energy to its limit before release. Here, in his dantian, Lin Tian began to gather the slight spiritual energy he could access, compressing it into an increasingly dense sphere.

  By the end of the hour, he had formed something—not the impressive Qi Core that Inner Sect disciples possessed, but a tiny, thumb-sized concentration of energy that pulsed with potential. He had taken the first true step on the path of cultivation—something the original Lin Tian had never managed.

  'I could compress it further,' he thought, 'make it explode with power as we did in Latvaria... but not yet. This vessel is too weak to handle such techniques.'

  Lin Feng returned, looking anxious. "Young Master, it's time."

  Lin Tian rose to his feet, feeling the tiny core of energy in his dantian. It wasn't much—he was still objectively weak compared to even the most junior Inner Sect disciples—but it was progress.

  "I'm ready," he said, his voice steady despite his body's fatigue.

  As they headed toward the evaluation grounds, Lin Tian considered his strategy. The quarterly evaluation would test his current body's limits—but it would also provide an opportunity. He wouldn't showcase any dramatic breakthroughs today—his body simply wasn't capable of it yet. But he would demonstrate something that would confuse and intrigue the observers: technique that shouldn't be possible for someone of his cultivation level.

  The path ahead was daunting—Lin Tian harbored no illusions about that. The disciples he would face in the evaluation wouldn't be as careless as those he had just encountered. His body was weak, his spiritual energy barely a flicker compared to his competitors. The cultivation world didn't reward weakness, and mere technique could only carry him so far.

  But as Lin Tian approached the evaluation grounds, he found himself thinking not of his limitations but of possibilities. This world of cultivation presented obstacles he had never encountered before, but the principles of growth remained the same: identify weaknesses, develop strengths, and never waste an opportunity to advance.

  "Young Master," Lin Feng ventured, "the evaluation will be difficult. The other participants have been cultivating for years, and your..." he hesitated, "your current condition—"

  "My current condition is merely that—current," Lin Tian replied. "It is not permanent."

  The resources he needed to grow stronger lay beyond his grasp at present. To obtain them, he would need to defy expectations, to showcase enough potential that the sect would deem him worthy of investment rather than dismissal. Today's evaluation was not just a test—it was his first true step toward reclaiming power in this new world.

  Lin Tian could see the evaluation grounds now, disciples gathering in the distance, their robes fluttering in the gentle breeze. Some radiated confidence, others nervousness, but all possessed what he currently lacked: proper cultivation.

  But unbeknownst to Lin Tian himself, there was a slight smile playing on his face—not the confident smirk of Emperor Reinhart marching into battle, but something more subtle. It was the expression of someone who had found an unexpected challenge worthy of his attention.

  Lin Tian—once Emperor Edward Reinhart—had never backed down from a challenge. Today would be no different. The world had set expectations for him, labeled him trash, a failure, unworthy of notice.

  Those expectations were about to change.