The last two items posed no problem for him; this body was quite good in those aspects. What made things truly difficult for David Bolton was the lack of psionic strength. Under the crushing pressure of the Spirit Ascension Staircase, he could barely move his body. And the higher he climbed, the worse it felt. If not for his decent physical stamina, and the fact that his psionic energy had not yet run dry, he would have already fainted on these steps by now.

However, whether he could complete the climb ahead—even he, who had once reached near-perfection on the path of the spirit master—could not guarantee he would succeed.

“Why not give up?”

A young man in plain white robes, with a cold and stern face, suddenly appeared at his side: “Your soul is damaged, your aptitude insufficient. Forcing yourself to continue will do more harm than good.”

David Bolton did not reply, but continued to climb a few more steps. Then he began gasping for breath, like a dog on a scorching summer day.

Seeing this, the young man frowned slightly. “Your physical strength is passable, but your spirit is too weak. You won’t get far on the path of a spirit master.”

“I haven’t—haven’t tried yet, so how—how do you know?”

Once David Bolton caught his breath a little, he climbed two more steps. He thought to himself, not bad, only fifteen steps left. At this moment, he even had the mood to chat idly with the person beside him: “Sir, are you the proctor for this test? Isn’t this considered interfering with a disciple’s exam? Sir, talking to me like this makes it really hard for me to concentrate. Shouldn’t you be encouraging me at a time like this?”

“I am William Thompson, the proctor for this mountain gate trial.”

The white-robed youth’s tone was calm and even: “You might be able to hold out until the end, but you will surely damage your soul. Why put yourself through this?”

But David Bolton climbed another five steps, and at that moment, in front of the mountain gate above, someone was already shouting things like “Come on up!”, “Hurry up!”, “Give it your all! I believe in you!”, and “If you don’t get up here, I’ll kill you, you bastard!”—all with considerable momentum.

But at this point, David Bolton steadied himself, first drinking the last bit of saline from the canteen at his waist, then closing his eyes to rest for a moment. After that, he summoned all his strength and charged forward.

This time, it wasn’t until the final three steps that his momentum stalled, and then every step felt as heavy as if he were carrying a thousand pounds. It was as if an invisible barrier was blocking his way.

Beside him, the young man named William Thompson watched coldly: “After the Spirit Ascension Staircase, there are still three rounds of martial trials. You won’t make it through.”

At these words, David Bolton burst out laughing: “A real man can’t stand being told he can’t do it!”

As he finished speaking, David Bolton suddenly let out a wild roar, his muscles tensed, veins bulging. Around him, there was even a faint sound of air exploding.

It was as if a wall had been smashed through—David Bolton surged forward three steps in a row, finally crossing the last step.

But at this point, David Bolton was completely exhausted, collapsing limply to the ground, unable to move. What bothered him most now was not the total loss of strength in his body, but his head—it felt like a pot had exploded inside, drums and gongs thundering, making golden stars dance before his eyes.

At that moment, David Bolton heard William Thompson sigh: “Why put yourself through this?”

At the same time, it felt as if a drop of liquid landed on his head, instantly bringing a cool sensation to his mind, and most of his exhaustion melted away.

David Bolton was slightly surprised, turning his head in astonishment. In his impression, this fellow disciple had always been strict and rigid, not the type to help others.

Wasn’t this a violation of the rules? After all, after climbing the Heavenly Staircase, all disciples were supposed to participate in the martial trials after expending a great deal of psionic energy. By the rules, no medicine was allowed for recovery today.

David Bolton could hardly believe it—was the person before him really the same William Thompson from the “Disciplinary Hall,” who valued the rules above all else?

“It was the Dean who made an exception for you, worried you’d die on Tianzhu Mountain!”

William Thompson’s expression was calm and unruffled: “In half an hour, the martial trials begin. I won’t show you any more favoritism. If you can’t pass all three rounds, I’ll personally escort you down the mountain.”

With that, he flicked his sleeve and walked away.

David Bolton was stunned, then let out a wry laugh. What he feared most today was not making it up the stairs—he hadn’t even considered the possibility of being driven down the mountain afterward.

By now, the many youths at the gate had already been led inside by more than a dozen disciples of the Sun and Moon Profound Sect. But David Bolton still had no strength to get up, so he simply lay sprawled out, letting the scorching sun beat down on him.

A moment later, David Bolton noticed a girl’s figure appear in his field of vision.

She was a strange-looking girl—her face was strikingly beautiful, beyond words to describe. But her clothing was shockingly indecent; aside from the important parts being covered, large areas of snowy white skin were exposed. She had a pair of cat ears on her head, and a tail swishing back and forth behind her, like a cross between a cat and a girl.

“~Meow, Master, you really shouldn’t push yourself like this. Your brainwaves have only just returned to normal. If that person hadn’t helped you just now, you would have passed out again, meow!”

David Bolton frowned, instinctively reaching for his chest. Beneath his clothes there, there was a small pendant, which was now slightly warm.

“Why did you come out at a time like this? It wouldn’t be good if someone saw you.”