The young man stood before the massive bronze cauldron, sweat sliding down his cheeks.

12 days of grueling training had left his hands covered in calluses. But the fire burning in his eyes burned brighter than the bonfires on the training ground.

"Not enough," he murmured to himself, channeling his spiritual energy into his arms once more.

The bronze cauldron remained motionless.

Whispers erupted around him.

"Look, that useless waste is embarrassing himself again."

"A mere outer disciple thinks he can move the Black Iron Cauldron?"

The young man paid no attention. He felt an unfamiliar power flowing slowly through his meridians—a warmth emanating from the mysterious pearl deep within his dantian.

Suddenly, the bronze cauldron trembled slightly.

Every voice fell silent.

A slight curve appeared at the corner of the young man's lips. This was only the beginning.

--- *Chapter 12: Each day brought him closer to his destiny. The path of the Martial God was not walked in a single step, but forged through countless battles against oneself.*