The Path To Strength Is Lonely [ISEKAI/CULTIVATION PROGRESSION]

The morning sun casts a golden hue over Ironhold's bustling market district, the energy of the city palpable as warriors, traders, and sect hopefuls move with purpose, ambition, and quiet desperation.

With the Sect Selection drawing closer, the air is filled with tension—last-minute deals, final resource gathering, and whispered talks of potential competitors.

For De and Kalia, this is the final day before departure.

A chance to ensure they have everything they need for the journey ahead.

De walks through the market with calm steps, his gaze sweeping over the various stalls, taking in the items available—weapons, talismans, cultivation manuals, and elixirs.

Kalia follows beside him, stretching lazily, her body still adjusting to the newfound strength coursing through her meridians.

As they pass by a weapons vendor, De pulls out a small coin pouch, weighing it absentmindedly.

For the past month, he has been careful—spending only what was necessary, ensuring they never lacked but never wasted.

Most of the expenses—lodging, food, occasional tools—cost only a handful of silver or even just bronze coins.

Yet now, as he looks at the golden coin resting in his palm, a realization settles over him.

Gold is rare.

Gold is valuable.

And Cheon Ma Sin Gun—the inheritance he left—had given him an amount that was nothing short of absurd.

De had assumed he would eventually run low. Now, he understands.

He could live comfortably for years—maybe even decades—without ever touching another silver coin.

For the first time, he fully comprehends just how deep the foundation of his predecessor was.

Kalia catches his look and raises an eyebrow. "What? Finally realizing you're loaded?"

De doesn't react to her teasing, simply exhaling through his nose. "I've been underestimating how much I had."

She snorts. "Yeah, no shit."

De stops at a tailor's shop, one that caters to cultivators—offering robes imbued with light defensive formations, reinforced stitching, and fabrics that adjust to qi flow.

He gestures for the shopkeeper. "Two sets of combat robes. Fitted for movement, reinforced where necessary."

Kalia raises an eyebrow. "Wait—two? You're buying for me too?"

De doesn't look at her. "Your current set is falling apart."

Kalia scoffs, glancing down at her outfit—frayed edges, torn sleeves, and signs of battle damage that she had long since stopped caring about.

"It's still functional."

De shakes his head. "It won't be for long. You need to be in peak condition."

Kalia opens her mouth to argue but then pauses.

Because he isn't wrong.

She exhales, crossing her arms. "Fine. But I'm paying you back."

De glances at her. "Later. When you succeed."

Her eyes narrow slightly. "So you think I will?"

De doesn't hesitate. "Yes."

Kalia looks at him for a long moment before muttering, "…Annoying."

But she doesn't refuse.

As they near a blacksmith's forge, De's eyes catch something—a sleek, well-balanced saber, resting against a weapons rack, its craftsmanship standing out amongst the rest.

A single-edged blade, curved slightly, made for speed and precision over brute force.

A perfect match for Kalia.

He steps forward, motioning toward the weapon. "This."

The blacksmith nods. "An excellent blade. Forged using Cold Iron and tempered in the ice springs of Mount Heng. It channels qi exceptionally well."

De reaches for another gold coin. "We'll take it."

Kalia steps in front of him. "No, we won't."

De tilts his head slightly. "You need a better weapon."

Kalia folds her arms. "And I'm not taking one I didn't earn myself."

A moment of silence.

Then—De speaks, his tone measured.

"Then consider it a contract."

Kalia blinks. "What?"

De picks up the saber, testing its weight before turning it toward her, handle first.

"You and I are traveling together. I need you in peak condition. You pay me back when you succeed in the sects. Not before."

Kalia stares at him.

There's something in his tone—not commanding, not arrogant, but resolute.

Not charity.

Not pity.

A partnership.

A test of trust.

For a long moment, she doesn't move.

Then—she reaches forward, her fingers closing around the hilt.

She weighs it, testing the balance, running her thumb along the edge.

A long exhale.

Then—a smirk.

"Fine. But don't think this means I owe you."

De doesn't argue.

Because they both know—it does.

And when the time comes, she will repay him.

Not in coin.

But in battle.

The morning air is crisp as De and Kalia step through the streets of Ironhold for the final time, their preparations complete, their destination clear.

The city has served its purpose—a proving ground, a place of hidden lessons and unexpected growth.

But as they near the eastern gates, the path to the Sect Selection stretching beyond, fate presents one final test.

A figure steps into their path.

A warrior Kalia knows.

A face from before she had changed.

Tall, broad-shouldered, with an arrogant smirk carved into his face.

Rai Shen.

A mid-level disciple of a well-known martial clan, his name carrying weight among those just below the true elites.

Months ago, he had defeated Kalia.

Easily.

Without mercy. Without hesitation. Without offering her even the smallest shred of respect.

To him, she had been nothing more than a stepping stone.

And now, as he stands before her once more, his gaze flickers with amusement, as if he has already decided the outcome.

"You're leaving?" he asks, his voice oozing condescension. "I thought you'd stay behind and train for another year before embarrassing yourself at the selection."

Kalia does not react.

Not immediately.

Because the person standing here today is not the same as the girl he defeated.

De watches from the side, saying nothing.

This is not his fight.

It is hers.

And she knows it.

Rai Shen grins, mistaking her silence for hesitation.

He unsheathes his blade, tapping it against his shoulder. "One last match before you go? No excuses this time."

A beat of silence.

Then—Kalia steps forward.

No words. No hesitation.

Just acceptance.

Her saber slides free with a whisper of steel.

And in that instant—Rai Shen's expression shifts.

Not in fear.

Not yet.

But in realization.

That the opponent standing before him is not the same one he faced before.

The moment the fight begins, it is already over.

Rai Shen moves first—because he thinks he should.

Because he assumes she will be on the defensive, just like last time.

Because he has not realized that the world has already changed.

His blade arcs toward her, sharp, fast, confident—

And misses completely.

Kalia is already gone, her footwork carrying her to the side, her body moving as if she had been born for this moment.

She does not waste time.

A single counterstrike.

Not reckless. Not emotional.

Just efficient.

Her saber cuts through the air, stopping just before his throat.

Rai Shen freezes.

His own sword is still mid-swing, his body still caught in the moment before understanding.

And then—

He understands.

The fight is over.

Kalia pulls back, flicking her blade downward, the finality of the moment settling in the silence between them.

She meets his gaze, her expression unreadable.

And then, for the first time in this rivalry—Rai Shen does not speak.

Because he knows.

He is no longer her obstacle.

She has already surpassed him.

As Kalia turns, stepping back toward De, the weight of the moment settles between them.

She does not gloat.

She does not taunt.

Because the victory does not belong to the past.

It belongs to the future.

She exhales, rolling her shoulders. "Now we can leave."

De simply nods. "Took you long enough."

Kalia smirks.

And with that—they step beyond Ironhold's walls, leaving the past behind.

Because now, the real battle begins.