A week later, rumors swept through the camp that a figure known as the Heaven's Blade had arrived in the capital, a rogue cultivator whispered about in awe and fear. The Heaven's Blade was neither aligned with any sect nor bound by honor; he was a mortal who had supposedly attained enlightenment through sheer force of will, rising through mortal struggles to mastery.
Arthur was captivated. This was the story he'd yearned for—someone who had defied the limits of cultivation, not through birthright but through struggle. That night, he climbed out of the camp and hiked up the mountain path, driven by a desperate hope that he might find some clue to his own path.
At the peak, he found a cloaked figure seated at the edge of a cliff, his aura unmistakable. Arthur's breath caught, but he managed a bow.
"Are you the Heaven's Blade?" he asked, voice low.
The figure turned, eyes like dark coals, and studied him. "And who are you?"
Arthur took a breath, grounding himself. "Someone who doesn't belong here, but who isn't ready to leave." He swallowed. "I want to know… how did you do it? How did you, a mortal, reach such power?"
The Heaven's Blade regarded him for a long moment. "Power? What you call 'power' is just a side effect of understanding. Strength is only the means. The true goal is enlightenment." His voice was quiet but firm. "The path is endless. You must be prepared to endure, to rise each time you fall. That is how I survived."
Arthur stared, the words resonating in him. For so long, he'd focused on survival, on power—he hadn't considered that there might be a deeper purpose to his path. But he felt it now, an urge that surpassed even his desire for strength.
"If you wish to continue," the Heaven's Blade continued, "learn this: Cultivation is not just a fight against others. It is a journey within. Your true opponent is yourself."