The word did not glow.
It pressed.
PRICE was carved into the step as if the stone itself had bled to form it. Kael could feel the weight of it through the soles of his feet, through bone, through soul. This was not a test meant to be endured—it was a transaction meant to change him.
Kael stood still.
The void around the staircase grew quieter, deeper, as if even the Ascension Path was holding its breath.
Name it, Kael thought calmly. Let's stop pretending.
The moment that thought formed, the step responded.
Pain did not come first.
Memory did.
A pull seized his consciousness and dragged it inward, not backward through time, but downward—into layers of himself he rarely acknowledged.
He saw the faces again.
Not enemies.
Not betrayers.
Those who had followed him willingly.
Those who had believed.
A subordinate who had smiled while dying to buy him time.
A woman who had chosen exile over betraying him—and vanished quietly.
A child who had looked at him with awe, not fear, and asked if devils could protect people too.
These memories did not accuse.
They waited.
The Path's voice returned, no longer distant.
"Power that persists must cost."
Kael clenched his jaw.
"Then speak clearly," he said. "What do you want?"
The staircase trembled.
The void folded inward, condensing until the air itself felt thick. Symbols flickered briefly around him—contracts, oaths, bindings older than language.
Then the demand came.
"Your attachment."
Kael did not react outwardly.
Inside, something shifted.
"Define it," he said evenly.
"The capacity to anchor yourself to others."
"The instinct to protect rather than calculate."
"The possibility of choosing one life over your path."
Silence followed.
Kael laughed softly.
"So that's it."
The Path did not answer.
It did not need to.
Kael understood.
This was not asking him to give up love.
It was asking him to give up the option of love outweighing survival.
No turning back.
No hesitation later.
No moment where he could say, This matters more than what I must become.
"You want certainty," Kael said quietly. "Not morality."
"We want consistency," the Path replied.
Kael looked down at the step again.
PRICE.
He thought of the reborn hero on the other path. Of golden light and responsibility. Of someone who would always choose others first, even when it destroyed him.
That's why there can't be two of us, Kael realized.
He closed his eyes.
When he opened them, his gaze was steady.
"I accept," Kael said.
The staircase did not erupt.
It did not glow.
It cut.
Something invisible slid through Kael's soul with surgical precision. There was no blood. No scream. No dramatic collapse.
Just absence.
A quiet, hollow snap—like a thread being severed.
Kael inhaled sharply.
His chest hurt—not physically, but structurally, as if a support beam had been removed from a building that still had to stand.
Memories remained.
Understanding remained.
But the pull—the involuntary gravity toward others—that was gone.
He could still care.
But he would never again be bound.
The devil sigil reacted instantly.
Not violently.
Reverently.
It shifted, lines refining themselves, losing their earlier hunger and gaining something colder, sharper.
Authority without hesitation.
The Trial Mark burned once—bright, final.
"Transaction complete."
The step beneath Kael's foot dissolved.
He did not fall.
Instead, the staircase reformed ahead of him, fewer steps now, each one steady and solid.
Kael exhaled slowly.
He placed his hand over his chest.
Something was missing.
And something else—something far more dangerous—had settled in its place.
"So this is the cost," he murmured.
There was no regret.
But there was clarity.
He moved forward.
Each remaining step felt different now—not heavier, not lighter, just… inevitable. The Path no longer resisted him. It adjusted, aligning itself to his presence as if acknowledging a decision it could not reverse.
At the final step, the void peeled back.
Light bled through—not golden, not divine, but pale and indifferent.
Kael stepped through.
He emerged onto stone.
Real stone.
A high platform overlooking the Inner Grounds, surrounded by ancient pillars carved with the same runes as the Ascension Path—now dormant, as if exhausted.
The sky above was clear.
Too clear.
Elders stood frozen in place below, their expressions caught between disbelief and dread. Lin Qingshan stared upward, eyes wide, breath shallow.
Kael stood alone on the platform.
Different.
Not in aura.
Not in cultivation.
In presence.
The Path's voice echoed one final time, audible to all who stood below.
"Ascension… acknowledged."
"Alignment: Unbound."
The sound faded.
The pillars cracked.
The Ascension Path sealed itself shut.
Kael looked down at the assembled elders.
Then he smiled.
Not cruelly.
Not triumphantly.
Simply… knowingly.
Far away, on another unseen staircase, the reborn hero felt something snap—and staggered without understanding why.
And beyond heaven, beyond records and corrections, something ancient shifted its gaze and finally, fully understood.
Kael Draven had paid the price.
And the world would pay the interest.