His Body Tempering did not seem to matter one bit, as exhaustion crept upon him after just a few minutes. Sweat covered his red face and his clothes were clinging to his body.

The mountain was very steep, so it was hard to find a path to climb where he could rely on his legs alone. He had to use his arms to pull himself up, and all that he could himself into was a sharp rock peeking out of the mountain, or a narrow crack where he could stick his fingers into.

It was not an easy climb at all. His fingers and hands were full of deep cuts from where the blood flowed profusely, sticking to his arms and falling on his face if he was not careful. More than anything, it hurt a lot. Every inch Amon climbed upwards meant holding himself into what seemed more like a dagger's blade than a proper support for his hands.

Climbing the mountain was suffering. It was a very slow and painful process, and the higher he climbed, the harder it became. When Amon could not go on any longer, he would find a place where he could properly step, and carefully hug the wall of the mountain to take a deep breath and recover his stamina.

It was, however, incredibly hard to find such places, and they were turning rarer and rarer as Amon climbed. He was sure that at some point, there would be no return. He would either reach the peak in a rush or fall off and die.

Cultivation was like this, after all.

Amon was no longer sure how high he had climbed, nor how much more he had to climb. All he could do was look up and search for the next sharp protrusion he had to hold in other to climb further. His fingers and hands were incredibly pale due to the effort and the blood loss, and all of his limbs trembled nonstop due to the exhaustion, making his climb even harder.

Ever so slowly, the white vortex of clouds was turning closer. Like a solid wall, it blocked his view from what lied beyond. Amon was not sure what he would find there, but he could only hope for the best.

The speed at which he climbed fell at a rate even steeper than the mountain itself. He was no longer sure how much he would be able to continue. His arms and legs were burning in pain, and he couldn't feel his fingers anymore.

Some of the blood flowing through his arms had dried, and it glued his clothes to them, making it even harder for Amon to move his weakened limbs. He had no idea how he was still managing to continue his climb, even if his pacing almost came to a halt.

He wasn't looking up anymore. His neck was hurting too much for him to move it in a way that would allow Amon to look directly up. All he could do was stretch his arms and slowly try to find by touch a place to hold. He, however, realized that a faint mist covered his surroundings, and the temperature was dropping. He surely was close to the white wall of clouds.

Like that, he raised his arms again, almost not managing to bear its weight, and reach above. He managed to stretch his arm with great difficulty. The moment he moved it to where the wall was, however, he felt nothing but a refres.h.i.+ngly cold sensation on his arm.

Surprised, Amon looked up, gritting his teeth and bearing the piercing pain that came from his neck. Directly above him, there was only a endless, almost solid expanse of white. Amon could only see the elbow of the arm he had extended. His hand and forearm had been swallowed by the white wall.

He reach out again, and felt nothing above him. His eyes shone with sudden relief as Amon realized what was happening. He slowly descended his arm as he moved it forward, searching for something.

A weak spark flashed in his already dim eyes as his hands finally reached an edge. Amon had been right. There was levelled ground above him.

Mustering all of his strength, he gave a shout with a hoa.r.s.e voice as he dragged his weary body upwards. First were his arms, then, his upper body. As he dragged his head over the edge, his vision was overtaken by a dense white mist. Nevertheless, he still had some sense of touch in his numbed body.

With his lower body sticking dangerously from the edge, Amon wriggled his body and stuck his fingers on the ground, ignoring the pain as he pulled himself further into the safe haven he finally found.

When his knees were finally in contact with the ground, he let his body loose, barely managing to turn on his back. He laughed like a lunatic with a hoa.r.s.e and weak voice that turned fainter and fainter as Amon closed his eyes and started taking deep breaths.

His body relaxed as he finally managed to rest. The exhaustion he barely managed to resist all this time started taking its toll. There might have been hidden dangers around, but Amon could not even lift a finger anymore. All he could do was fight back the urge to sleep as he slowly managed to catch his breath and recover some strength.

---

"How interesting." Richard Layn couldn't help but mutter as he looked at the pool made of the Ashen Heart Tree's sap. "To think that the kid would get the lead."

He shook his head lightly, making his white beard wave in front of his chest. He had a wry smile on his wrinkled face and his brow was raised. He cast a sidelong glance at the other sections of the pool. The thirty-one sections that were still glowing and showing images all showed scenes of conflict and struggles.

The Roaring Mountain Sect disciples were constantly pressuring the other, throwing blasts of Elemental Qi at the ones ahead of them. It was very clear that most of the thirty-one would burn out before reaching the peak. They were forcing themselves to keep a pace they could not maintain due to the pressure, and this would come with a price.

The inheriting disciples were not far behind Amon Kressler, but they were holding each other back constantly or at least they were, in the beginning. Now, however, they seemed to be too exhausted to do anything other than silently climb as they gritted their teeth. This, however, was still a race.

Reynard had the lead and seemed to be slightly less exhausted than the others were. Richard found it amazing, considering that he had a late start. The four of them pushed it other to their limits, making their pace far faster than the other disciples, but it was doubtful any of them would tire out.

The Elders from all sects other than the Roaring Mountain Sect had deep frown on their faces. They found the situation very displeasing, but could not say a word about it. It was, after all, the decision the disciples of their sect had made on their own. Even if the Roaring Mountain Sect had pressured them, they still could ignore the rush and follow their own pace.

The only one who did so, however, was a Body Tempering brat that most of the present didn't know about. Adding insult to injury, he was at the lead. He had no one to hold him back, and he had no one to break his pace.

Richard gave Lars Borgin a sneaky glance. The Sect Master had a cold and indifferent expression as he looked at the pool, but Richard could see the slightest of frowns showing on his face. What caught his attention, however, was that he was not looking at Jake's performance.

Lars Borgin had his eyes fixed in Amon Kressler, and his frown seemed to be turning deeper and deeper as time pa.s.sed.

---

Amon did not know how long he had been resting for, but eventually he forced himself to move. His body seemed to be weighting a ton, and his movements were naturally sluggish, but he still managed to stand up.

Even if the misty clouds surrounding him were thick, he could still faintly see his surroundings. His clothes were turning damp due to the humidity, and the temperature was low. His breath was condensing in front of him, dispersing in his white surroundings, barely visible.

Dragging his feet, Amon moved on to the direction he believed the center of the mountain would be. The eye of the vortex.

Suddenly, his steps came to a halt. His hair stood on end and his limbs started trembling.

He felt his blood churning wildly inside him, and he started feeling a strange excitement. Unknowingly, his face started reddening, and his breath turned rough.

Amon knew the feeling too well, but he could not understand how it was possible. This feeling, however, was even stronger than what he felt the last time. It was as strong as he remembered it being six years ago.

His face distorted into a mask of hate and anger as he looked ahead.

As he expected, a pair of golden eyes that glowed with a ferocious hostility appeared in the mist in front of him. The ground rumbled and a loud sound echoed as the beats stomped the ground and took a step forward.

Its head surged from the mist like it surged from the trees of the Broken Forest that day.

The head alone was his size, but Amon did not need to see the rest. He knew very well the size the beast had.

Amon saw clearly the bright silver fur that covered the beast. It seemed to emit a pale light, covering the beast's body in what looked like a beautiful moonlight, which only made the bright golden of its eyes seem even stronger, like a pair of blazing suns.

The beast took another step forward and growled as it gazed at Amon. The fur on its back stood on end, and it lowered its upper body slightly, as if preparing to charge ahead.

Amon extended his hands to his shoulder, and drew Windhowler with a piercing trill. His body was still numb, but his exhaustion seemed to fade away as adrenaline rushed through his limbs.

He met the beast's gaze, refusing to take a step back. There was no way he could outrun it anyway. This cla.s.s 6 beast was known for its speed and agility.

In front of Amon, surging from the mist, was a Silverback Wolf.