SSS-Rank 10x Reward System: Accepting Disciples to Live Forever Chapter 121: Scholar Class

Whatever progress Wang Chen had achieved over these past three hundred years, he knew one truth with absolute clarity.

If he wanted to push beyond this frontier—if he wished to touch that forbidden fourth form—he could not do it alone.

No amount of stubborn persistence would bridge this gap.

Even if he sealed himself in ditation for another thousand years, grinding away at enlightennt until his sanity thinned, he might still fail to grasp the final essence of the Thief Supre’s Legacy.

He needed foreign intervention.

A specialization.

A class.

Sothing that could shatter the invisible ceiling pressing down on him.

"Hm..."

The low murmur escaped his lips as he exhaled slowly.

Without hesitation, Wang Chen rose to his feet and turned toward Mo Huyan. Then—sothing he rarely did—he bowed, not deeply, but sincerely.

It was not a gesture of submission.

It was gratitude.

During these centuries, while his mind had been consud by authority, fate, and impossible techniques, Mo Huyan had quietly stood watch. More than once, she had erased intruders before they even realized death had found them. Without her presence, this cave would have beco his grave long ago.

For that, he owed her.

Mo Huyan watched the gesture in silence before letting out a soft chuckle, the corner of her lips curving upward faintly.

At least this little cultivator knows what gratitude ans, she thought.

Before she could voice anything, Wang Chen spoke, breaking the stillness.

"I’ll be leaving for a while," he said calmly. "I need to train. I’ll return."

He didn’t elaborate.

He didn’t need to.

Inside the Tower of Infinite Enlightennt, ti was a lie. What felt like centuries here could be nothing more than fleeting monts outside—or the reverse.

Mo Huyan’s expression dimd for the briefest instant, sothing unreadable flickering through her eyes. But she said nothing. She only nodded, as though his departure was of no consequence at all.

Wang Chen did not linger.

With his current strength, the first floor of the Tower of Infinite Enlightennt no longer posed any real challenge. The once-oppressive domain now felt almost trivial beneath his feet.

As he stepped forward, the space around him folded silently.

And in the next instant—

He was gone.

Within monts, it was over.

[Ding! Task successfully completed.]

[Assessing progress...]

[Result: Master failed to break the record.]

[Evaluation: Poor.]

[Compensation: One random skill will be granted for clearing the floor.]

Wang Chen had expected this outco.

He wasn’t disappointed—there was no room left in him for sothing as frivolous as disappointnt—but his eyes still dimd ever so slightly.

A random skill... huh.

If fortune chose to smile on him for once, he hoped for sothing that could at least complent the Holy Knight’s strengths. A defensive art, a support ability, sothing that enhanced survivability or battlefield control. Even if it wasn’t groundbreaking, it would help reinforce the image he had carefully cultivated.

And yes—he cared about his image. A lot.

Before that thought could fully settle, the first floor of the Tower of Infinite Enlightennt collapsed, breaking apart into countless motes of light. Space twisted, his vision blurred, and in the blink of an eye, he was standing once more in the familiar reinforcent chamber.

Cold. Silent. Unforgiving.

Without wasting ti, Wang Chen focused on the newly granted reward.

A radiant orb, nearly a ter wide, hovered before him. Its surface pulsed faintly, layered with shifting runes that hinted at possibilities not yet revealed.

His body scread for rest. His mind throbbed from prolonged strain. Any sensible cultivator would have paused—recovered—waited.

Wang Chen did none of that.

Gritting his teeth, he raised his head and issued another command to the tower.

Another run.

Another gamble.

Ti inside the tower lost all aning.

One speed-run bled into the next.

On the second attempt, the tower mocked him with a Tinkerer class—a profession utterly useless in direct combat. Before he could even experint with its potential, a tide of resentful ghosts swallowed him whole. His vision shattered, pain flared, and death followed instantly.

Reset.

Frustrating?

Yes.

Discouraging?

No.

Each ti, he returned to the starting point.

Each ti, the system rolled him a different class.

Each ti, he threw himself forward without hesitation, testing limits, forcing adaptations, searching for the one path that might break his deadlock.

Death after death.

Failure after failure.

By the ninth attempt, Wang Chen’s face had gone pale, the color drained as if his vitality itself was being eroded. Spiritual exhaustion gnawed relentlessly at his mind, a dull ache pressing behind his eyes, threatening to fracture his focus.

His breathing grew heavier. His thoughts slowed.

Yet still—

He did not stop.

He could not stop.

Not now.

His fists clenched tightly, knuckles cracking as tendons strained beneath pale skin.

Please...

Just this once—give a good class.

Wang Chen prayed inwardly, the words heavy with exhaustion and resolve. Even if fate remained cruel, even if the heavens continued to sneer at him, he was prepared to burn tens of thousands of years in solitude if that was what it took to find the single path capable of breaking his deadlock.

He would endure.

He always did.

As if responding to that stubborn resolve, the Tower of Infinite Enlightennt stirred once more. Cold light descended, and the final trial of the first floor began.

His tenth consecutive run.

The world twisted.

When the scenery stabilized, Wang Chen found himself standing once again in the familiar wasteland of spirits. Endless snow stretched to the horizon, and the air trembled with the distant shrieks of resentful ghosts. The land itself seed weary of his presence, as though even the dead had grown tired of seeing him return.

Ignoring the oppressive atmosphere, ignoring the whispers clawing at the edge of his consciousness, Wang Chen lifted his head. His face was pale, but his eyes burned with a quiet intensity.

He spoke under his breath, each syllable deliberate.

"Class—Scholar."

A soft chi echoed through the frozen wasteland.

For a heartbeat, nothing happened.

Then information flooded in.