Transmigration To Magus World-Chapter 47: Ringing the Bell, Bidding Farewell

Someone was storming the mountain—a major event that hadn’t happened for over thirty years. In the Heavenly Demon Clan, "storming the mountain" did not refer to an enemy attack but to a disciple’s attempt to ascend the mountain to seek promotion.

Black-clad disciples could challenge the outer Clan, and outer Clan disciples could also challenge the inner Clan. However, to become a direct disciple beyond the inner Clan, mere challenges were not enough. Direct disciples could only be accepted into the Clan by the approval of a Heavenly Demon Clan elder.

Being accepted as a direct disciple meant joining the inner circle of the Clan, becoming part of the family. Many masters valued their direct disciples more than their own relatives, as these disciples were chosen to inherit their teachings, something even their own children might not have the talent for. Of course, in the profit-driven Demonic Clan, the status of direct disciples was still somewhat awkward and not as prestigious as in righteous Clans or among the overseas loose cultivators.

But let’s set those matters aside for now.

Aizen had almost reached the halfway point of the mountain, and his actions had already alarmed most of the outer Clan disciples living on Demon Ox Peak. Many of them swarmed to the cliffs, looking down at Aizen as he climbed the steep and rugged path.

Even though Aizen was below them, and they were looking down, it felt as if they were watching a giant ascending a mountain. This feeling left them slightly awed and apprehensive. Aizen’s aura was powerful, so powerful that it forced them to set aside any thoughts of underestimating him. 𝐟𝐫𝕖𝗲𝘄𝚎𝗯𝕟𝐨𝕧𝐞𝚕.𝕔𝕠𝐦

Aura, that intangible and elusive thing, was something only experts could sense. To ordinary black-clad disciples, the outer Clan disciples on this mountain were undoubtedly all experts. Most of them had already reached the peak of the innate sorcery body mid-stage Bone Refining Level. They were sensitive to potential threats and could sense danger before it manifested.

If Aizen hadn’t actively released his aura, they might have looked down on him. But when Aizen finally exuded this vast and overwhelming aura, not one of them dared to ignore the threat he posed.

It was like two tigers fighting over territory—each would observe, display their aura, bare their fangs, and stomp the ground to intimidate the other. Aizen was doing the same, using his aura to ward off potential threats.

However, releasing an aura isn’t easy, and Aizen hadn’t yet reached the stage where he could freely project his aura. But under the immense pressure of the mountain’s formation, every step he took increased his aura’s intensity. This aura was a manifestation of his unshakeable belief that he must become an outer Clan disciple, his unwavering conviction of victory, and his unparalleled self-confidence. The aura formed from this confidence was sharp and fierce, forcing everyone to take notice and respect it.

Faced with such a formidable aura, even though many outer Clan disciples did not want Aizen to reach the halfway point, none of them wanted to be the first to step forward and block his way. Their hesitation worked to Aizen’s advantage, allowing him to skillfully use his movement technique to reach the halfway point while they were still deliberating.

Dressed in black, his long hair cascading over his shoulders, Aizen stood tall, with sharp eyebrows slanting toward his temples and cold, deep eyes. His lips were tightly pressed, symbolizing his determination, but a faint, almost imperceptible smile played at the corners of his mouth, hinting at his unruly nature.

No one spoke. All eyes were fixed on Aizen, and the silent standoff felt like an invisible battle. Despite being under so many intense gazes, Aizen remained as calm as a stone, showing no reaction. He held his unsheathed iron sword, the Sword chipped and notched in many places. The worn blade, stained with the marks of battle, symbolized the fervor with which it had taken lives.

It was a sword for killing, though now battered and seemingly on the verge of breaking.

A bell’s chime echoed through the mountain air.

The bell ringer was a lazy old man, striking the bell slowly and seemingly without much effort. His withered, bony hands looked like they might stop ringing the bell at any moment. The bronze bell, covered in rust, trembled with each strike, sending sound waves that scattered the dust and caused rust particles to fall away.

About fifty years ago, this old man had also rung the bell. Unfortunately, the person storming the mountain back then had died, while the bell ringer had lived on.

Was ringing the bell a way to bid farewell to those storming the mountain, to send them off into the afterlife?

It was said that over thirty years ago, someone from the Eastern Courtyard had also attempted to storm the mountain. The bell ringer at that time had been the old man’s cousin. Surprisingly, that person had succeeded. The bell had rung loud and clear that day, a sound still remembered by many, even though the successful challenger had died over a decade ago, and most newcomers had forgotten his name.

As the bell rang, not only was Demon Ox Peak alerted, but the surrounding three peaks also took notice. Even Black Wind Cliff, which symbolized the inner Clan, was stirred. Pairs of eyes peered out from the rock dwellings carved into the cliffside, watching Demon Ox Peak.

Most of those eyes belonged to innate realm experts, having surpassed the magus body refining stage. Some were at the pinnacle of the magus body refining stage, but only the top few outer Clan disciples could compare to these powerful individuals.

Innate realm experts had gone beyond body refinement, capable of projecting internal energy to attack from a distance. Ordinary Sorcery artists who had practiced internal techniques for a decade or so could imbue their weapons with energy, forming a blade aura. But this was fundamentally different in quality and strength from the "Aura" condensed by innate Sorcery realm experts.

Under the scrutiny of so many eyes, Aizen couldn’t help but feel a thrill of excitement. Despite his maturity for his age, he couldn’t remain completely composed under the attention of such a large audience. Nevertheless, he forced himself to stay calm, and his initial flicker of emotion quickly faded into a serene expression.

His gaze swept over the outer clan disciples observing him from near and far. Only a few of them felt like genuine threats.

"State your name and present your identity token. Since you’ve climbed the mountain, you must challenge one of the top hundred ranked Golden List disciples of the outer Clan. If you succeed, you’ll take his place and enjoy his resources."

A cold voice suddenly rang out. Everyone turned to look, their eyes narrowing in response.

On a rocky outcrop shaded by ancient pines, a middle-aged man in a brown robe, with a long, cold face, had appeared. Many outer Clan disciples recognized him as one of the patrolling stewards. He had once been a Golden List disciple but, after being injured during a mission, had failed to advance to the inner Clan. He now served as a steward in the outer Clan.

Although he wasn’t an inner Clan disciple, his strength was among the top in the outer clan.

"Aizen."

Aizen softly uttered his name, his eyes shining brightly. He reached to his waist and pulled off his identity token. With a flick of his hand, the token flew like an arrow toward the brown-robed steward.

The steward reached out and caught the token effortlessly. As he flipped it over and saw the number—a figure in the lower ten-thousands among the hundred thousand black-clad disciples—his expression grew solemn, his mind deep in thought.