I looked at the master, and in his steady gaze I saw no effort in seeking the fool left behind on this plain. Even a cretin would have known that the figure standing there—a solitary, withered flower amid a field of vibrant blossoms—was none other than me.

  For decades, I had sealed my lips, choosing action over words to speak my truth. Yet now, as the man approached with a measured step and an acknowledgment that he had heard of me, an unfamiliar yearning stirred within me. I opened the mouth I had kept shut for nearly a century. My voice emerged rough and trembling. My throat burned with the effort, as if dust and age had sealed it shut over the decades. But still, I spoke.

  “You… have heard… of the stubborn fool, I… presume.” My voice was barely more than a whisper, coarse and cracking.

  "Yes," he said softly, his voice as calm as still water, yet carrying a depth that stirred the air around us. "The stubborn mortal who refuses to stop knocking at heaven’s gate... demanding ascension, day after day, for nine full decades."

  He took a step closer, his eyes never leaving mine.

  "My disciple has spoken of your persistence many times throughout the years. I’ve been interested… and today, I decided to see for myself."

  There was no mockery, no pity, no disgust in his tone—only respect. The kind that came not from admiration of power, but of endurance.

  I gripped my sword tighter, using it to hold myself upright as I drew a shaky breath. My voice rasped out in a dry whisper, one syllable at a time.

  "Are… you… here to… stop me?"

  The old master let a quiet breath escape his nose, the faintest exhale of amusement—no arrogance, only honesty.

  "No," he said. "I came here out of curiosity, nothing more. Time is not something I often spare, but... well, I suspected time is something you no longer have much of. So I chose today, of all days, to visit. To meet the man who would not leave willingly."

  He looked at me with the calm of someone who had seen centuries pass and still found wonder in rare things.

  "To see what the so-called fool truly looked like."

  I held his gaze, felt the words crawl from my throat.

  “Disappointed?”

  He paused, then shook his head slowly.

  “No,” he said, voice low but sure. “Not disappointed… Only humbled.”

  The master cultivator stood still for a moment, then spoke—not with condemnation, but with something more thoughtful. “Why do you persist?” he asked, voice gentle, as though speaking not to an adversary, but to someone already weighed down by too much. “Would it not have been wiser to step away? To build a life—raise a family, pass on what you’ve learned, entrust your hopes to the next generation?”

  He studied me, his gaze neither judging nor sharp. “There is wisdom in letting go. Sometimes… the nobler path is to lay down the mantle, and allow others to carry forward your will.”

  I gave a hoarse, dry chuckle, one that scraped my throat on the way out.

  “Who… would choose to build a future with a broken sword like me?” I asked, barely above a whisper. “When there are so many others… still sharp, still whole?”

  He nodded slowly, not in agreement, but understanding.

  “Perhaps,” he said, “but sometimes, the mind convinces us of truths that were never there. Maybe, had you tried a few times and looked … really looked… you might have found someone. Perhaps there was a soul out there willing to walk beside you, had you reached beyond your solitude. You locked yourself away beneath this gate in pursuit of something… but you also locked yourself away from everything else.”

  “Try a few times, you say?” I rasped, leaning heavily on my sword. “Is that not what I’m doing now? Trying.”

  The cultivator’s gaze softened, his eyes reflecting more years than any one man should carry.

  “A few times,” he murmured, “does not mean the entire length of your existence.”

  I couldn’t help but smile. I looked at the man before me, truly looked at him, and in his eyes I saw no malice. Only a quiet concern. A tempered wisdom that had long outgrown pride.

  How long had it been, I wondered, since someone had spoken to me like this—not as a warning, not as judgment, but with care?

  So long that the last voice I could recall speaking to me with such warmth… was my father’s.

  “…Thank you,” I whispered, the words soft and real as I lowered my head slightly in respect.

  Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

  Then, slowly, I turned. My limbs protested, joints aching, but I placed one foot ahead of the other. My sword dug into the soil as I leaned against it, guiding my body forward. The old man’s words rang with truth, and for a brief moment, I let myself consider them.

  But this… stubborn path, I had walked it for so long. And if this life was to end soon, I would let it end as it had begun.

  Yet, before I could take another step, he raised his hand—no words, no force, just a simple, silent gesture, and something in the air shifted.

  I stopped. Because I knew—he wanted to show me something.

  I watched him turn toward the gate. His face remained calm and his presence was undeniably powerful. Then, with the quiet confidence of someone who had done this countless times before, he raised his hand.

  Light began to gather in its purest form—a glow even finer than the golden portal. His soul weapon appeared, not as steel, jade, or any forged metal, but as pure light itself. It was a sword of pure essence, stripped of any details or decoration. No handle, no hilt, no markings—just a raw, absolute form held in his hand.

  He took one step forward, and with a single, fluid motion, he swung.

  A wave of energy burst forth from the arc of his blade, cleaving through everything in its path. The very ground split open, carving a canyon beneath us. The mountain range behind the gate was sliced clean through, the upper halves crumbling off their bases.

  But the gate…The Golden Ascension Gate remained unharmed.

  I stood in stunned silence, my breath caught in my throat.

  The old master lowered his blade, letting the light fade gently from his hand, as if it had never been there. Then, he turned to me once more, his voice calm—not cruel or boastful, simply... honest.

  “Do you see now?” he said softly. “Even a sword such as mine cannot leave a mark on the gate. Your struggle was never a test of strength... because strength has no place here. Your efforts… were never meant to succeed.”

  I stood there, the weight of what he had shown me still settling over my shoulders. But even so, I raised my voice again.

  “Have you heard… of the Fate-Defying Cultivator?”

  The old master blinked, clearly caught off guard by the sudden question.

  “I… don’t recall hearing of such a figure,” he replied, cautiously.

  I gave a small, tired nod, as if I expected that answer.

  “I thought as much,” I said, my words coming slowly, every breath a careful pull. “I do not know if he ever truly existed, or if he was just a story my father told me to bring comfort to a child born with a broken sword. Maybe it was something to give me meaning when the world offered none.”

  I paused, my gaze drifting upward toward the Gate towering above us.

  “But I believed in it. Of a man who defied the fate imposed on him by the heavens. Who refused to accept that what he was given at birth would define his end. Have you ever done that?” I turned my gaze back to the master. “Have you ever tried to defy fate? Or met someone who did?”

  He tilted his head slightly, thoughtful, but uncertain. He was a man who had never tasted such rejection, never stood outside the gate with his hand pressed to something that would not move. A man born with light in his hand and acceptance in his path.

  How could he understand the question? How could someone favored by fate begin to grasp what it meant to be born beneath it? To claw upward alone. To believe in a story because reality had given you nothing else. No—he could not answer me.

  Because he did not know what it meant to fight not for glory, or power, or recognition… but just for the right to take the first step.

  I looked at him with the weight of a century behind my eyes. My voice held a clarity now that needed no force to be heard.

  “I have but a few swings left in me,” I said, each word carefully carved from breath and will. “A few more before fate wins.”

  The cultivator’s eyes held still, and in them, I saw sorrow.

  “All I ask,” I continued, “is that you let me end my story with the best outcome I could have pushed forward.”

  The cultivator didn’t interrupt. He didn’t raise a hand, or shake his head, or offer more wisdom.

  He simply stepped aside.

  I turned toward the gate for the last time. The crowd parted without a sound. It was as though the entire plain understood—if only for this moment—that I was not walking forward in pursuit of success.

  I was walking to finish something.

  Bathed in the golden light of the portal, I stood before that unyielding threshold once more. And then, I swung.

  Cling.

  The sound echoed across the plain, like a bell tolling the final chapter of a life.

  I swung again.

  Cling.

  Each strike was as precise, as unwavering, as every one that came before it. My breath came shallower with each movement, my chest tight, my limbs trembling and weakening. My vision began to fade, black seeping in at the edges. Even the brilliance of the golden gate could not hold back the dark. My hand, though numb and brittle, raised the sword one final time.

  And with a last breath—

  I swung.

  Cling~.

  I collapsed—On my knees, my sword buried in the soil, its blade holding me upright even as my strength vanished.

  A soft, familiar light enveloped my weapon—just like the day I had watched my father’s soul weapon rise into the ether. Slowly, gently, it began to dissolve into a thousand points of light.

  It was returning to the Soul Realm.

  And I… I was following it.

  Father… I’m coming to you.

  Don’t worry… I came after doing everything I could. I swung until the very end.

  I defied fate… as best I could.

  My eyes closed. The world around me faded into quiet.

  And then—just as the last threads of consciousness slipped from me—A sound.

  —Ding—

  [Condition Fulfilled!]

  [You have endured without recognition, without guidance, without a single step forward.(Completed)]

  [You have resisted fate without falter.(Completed)]

  [You have defied the heavens decision until the very end (Completed)]

  [Your Soul Weapon has recognized your will.]

  [Your Soul Weapon reveals It’s true name: 《Fate-Defying Sword》]

  [Path Unlocked: Fate-Defying System Granted.]

  And in that final instant—

  Before the breath could leave my lungs completely—

  My eyes opened.