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

The world beyond Ironhold stretches wide and untamed, the landscape shifting from the structured streets of the city to the rugged wilderness where only the strong survive.

The road ahead is long—a journey that will take them through dense forests, over steep ridges, and past territories where rogue cultivators, wandering warriors, and hidden dangers await.

For many, the journey to the Sect Selection is just as much a test as the selection itself.

Because only those who can survive the road deserve to stand at the gates.

Three days into their journey, the well-worn dirt road begins to narrow, winding between sharp cliffs and overgrown terrain.

The forest grows thicker, the towering trees casting long shadows beneath the setting sun.

The energy here is different—not just the quiet stillness of untouched land, but something else.

Something wrong.

De slows his pace. Solar, who has been padding ahead, lets out a low rumble of warning.

Kalia, sensing the shift in atmosphere, rests her hand on the hilt of her saber.

"What is it?"

De doesn't answer immediately.

Because now, he can see it.

Scattered along the road, partially buried beneath fallen leaves and dirt—the remnants of armor, shattered blades, and the unmistakable traces of dried blood.

A battle took place here.

And not long ago.

They move forward cautiously, eyes scanning for signs of movement.

But there is nothing.

No bodies. No scavengers. Just the remains of a fight that left only ghosts behind.

Kalia nudges a cracked sword with her boot. "Whoever fought here didn't even bother collecting their dead."

De kneels beside a discarded helmet, fingers brushing over a deep cut along its edge.

Not just a cut.

A strike from a qi-infused blade—one powerful enough to split solid steel.

This was not a simple skirmish.

This was something else.

Solar snarls suddenly, her fur bristling.

De rises to his feet instantly.

Something is coming.

And it isn't just the wind.

A sudden whistle through the air.

De moves before thought, before sound, before warning.

Shadow Phantom Steps.

His body flickers, narrowly avoiding the incoming strike—a sharpened projectile embedding itself into the tree where he had just stood.

Not just any projectile—a hidden weapon, infused with qi.

Kalia reacts instantly, drawing her saber and pivoting into a defensive stance.

From the shadows of the trees—figures emerge.

Not bandits. Not mercenaries.

Cultivators.

Their movements are controlled, precise—not reckless killers, but warriors who have chosen this moment for a reason.

One of them steps forward—his robes dark, his face partially obscured by a hood, but the unmistakable pressure of his qi marking him as dangerous.

His voice is calm, measured. "You should have turned back."

De meets his gaze, expression unreadable.

"That was never an option."

The man tilts his head slightly, considering the words.

Then—he smiles.

"Good."

The tension thickens, the forest's stillness replaced by the subtle shifts of movement—the measured breath of warriors prepared for bloodshed.

De's eyes flicker between the hidden figures, each step deliberate, each motion controlled. These are not reckless raiders.

These are cultivators who have fought before.

The leader stands firm, his posture unwavering, his hands resting loosely by his sides—not in arrogance, but in absolute confidence.

He has already decided the outcome.

But so has De.

And only one of them can be right.

A whisper of movement.

No signal. No warning.

The first **strike comes from the shadows—**a dagger, thrown with precision, slicing toward De's ribs.

A distraction.

Because before the blade even reaches him, the real attack comes.

A low, sweeping kick from the left.

Another figure emerging from behind the trees, their sword slashing toward his exposed flank.

A coordinated assault.

But not fast enough.

Shadow Phantom Steps.

De shifts, his body flickering out of range—the dagger passing harmlessly, the kick swiping through empty air.

The sword comes close—too close.

So he meets it.

Domineering Demon Fist.

A single punch, precise and measured, not to overpower but to redirect.

His knuckles meet the flat of the blade—a sharp crack as the force sends it spiraling away.

The wielder stumbles, eyes widening in shock.

And De does not let them recover.

He pivots, driving an elbow into their sternum, sending them crashing backward into the dirt.

One down.

But the battle is far from over.

While De engages, Kalia moves with the fluidity of a huntress.

Her saber flashes, not wild, not reckless, but sharp—controlled.

Two opponents move against her, one wielding a short spear, the other dual daggers.

They try to flank her, pressuring her movement.

A mistake.

Because she is not the same fighter they expected.

She steps inside the spear's range, her blade gliding through the air—not to meet the weapon, but the wrist holding it.

A sharp twist of steel—

The spear clatters to the ground.

The wielder barely reacts before Kalia is already behind them, a reverse slash cutting just inches from their throat.

A flicker of fear crosses their face.

And then—she is gone.

Not retreating.

Shifting.

Turning her focus to the second opponent—the dagger-wielder who had assumed she was distracted.

They lunge, blades flashing.

But Kalia does not retreat.

She meets them head-on, her saber weaving between their strikes, parrying, controlling—

And then—

A single step forward.

A sharp kick to their ribs.

The sound of breath leaving their lungs as they crash into the dirt.

Kalia exhales, rolling her shoulders.

Two down.

She glances at De—only one opponent left standing.

The leader.

The leader has not moved.

Not yet.

But as his fallen allies groan in the dirt, his expression shifts—not in fear, but in assessment.

He studies De.

Then Kalia.

Then—he exhales.

"Impressive."

His fingers flex slightly, and De senses it—a surge of controlled qi gathering in his palm.

He still intends to fight.

Not out of desperation.

But because warriors do not surrender until they understand the full depth of their opponent's strength.

De and Kalia exchange a glance.

The message is clear.

They finish this. Together.