The moment Ethan placed his foot on the 91st step, everything collapsed.
His already bloodshot eyes could no longer endure the burden. Without warning, blood burst forth, streaming down his cheeks like crimson tears. The pain was so intense that his vision blurred instantly, and the world around him twisted violently.
Ethan froze.
He was completely stunned.
According to the pattern he had painstakingly endured so far, only the steps that were multiples of ten carried overwhelming pressure. The 20th step. The 30th. The 40th. Each of them had followed a cruel but predictable logic.
But the 91st step?
By all logic, it should not have done this.
Then why?
Why did the pressure suddenly surge to such a terrifying degree the moment he stepped onto it?
Ethan's thoughts were in chaos, but even in that near-broken state, his mind forced itself to function. He clenched his teeth and tried to make sense of the situation. Slowly—painfully—two possible explanations surfaced in his consciousness.
The first possibility was straightforward.
He was close.
Very close.
He could already see the end of the staircase. He could feel it. The first floor was no longer some distant goal—it was right there, only a handful of steps away. Perhaps from the 91st step onward, the test no longer followed the previous pattern. Instead of increasing difficulty every ten steps, each individual step might now represent a trial equal to—or even greater than—the earlier milestones.
In other words, from this point forward, every step was a final step.
The second possibility was far simpler, yet far more terrifying.
The Soul God wanted to break him.
Not physically.
But mentally.
Spiritually.
Perhaps this was intentional cruelty. A final filter designed to eliminate even the most resilient cultivators. A reminder that inheritance was not something to be taken lightly, and that those who reached this far without absolute resolve had no right to proceed.
Regardless of which explanation was correct, Ethan understood one undeniable truth:
From this point on, the difficulty was no longer escalating in stages.
It had entered an entirely different realm.
The meaning behind the words engraved on the stone pillar finally became clear to him.
"If you want my treasure, be determined. Or else, you may lose your life."
Those were not empty words.
If it had not been for the System's guidance earlier—if it had not warned him to adapt rather than resist—Ethan was certain he would have died long before reaching this point.
Suppressing the agony tearing through his Spirit, Ethan forced himself to sit down on the 91st step. His movements were sluggish, his breathing uneven. Blood dripped from his eyes onto the stone steps below, staining them dark red.
He closed his eyes.
He absorbed.
Bit by bit, he drew in the Spirit Energy embedded within the pressure. The sensation was unbearable at first, like shards of glass grinding against his consciousness. But slowly—painfully—the pressure began to stabilize.
Minutes passed.
Eventually, the crushing weight eased.
Ethan opened his eyes.
The pressure from the 91st step was gone.
Without wasting even a second, he stood up.
There was no relief in his heart. No satisfaction. Only grim determination.
He knew the 92nd step would be worse.
He inhaled deeply, steadied his trembling legs, and placed his foot forward.
The instant his foot touched the 92nd step, the pressure exploded.
This time, it was far worse than before.
Ethan's endurance—already stretched thin after days of relentless trials—finally reached its limit. His knees buckled. His body swayed violently as he nearly lost control altogether.
Blood poured not only from his eyes, but also from his nose.
His vision dimmed.
His consciousness flickered.
"No… not yet…"
With trembling hands, Ethan retrieved restoration pills from his inventory. His fingers were numb, his movements clumsy, but desperation drove him forward. He stuffed the pills into his mouth and swallowed them without hesitation.
A wave of warmth surged through his body.
The immediate collapse was halted—barely.
Using the last shred of clarity he possessed, Ethan sat down on the step and once again began absorbing the Spirit Energy. The pressure resisted fiercely, but he endured.
When he stood up again, he no longer paused.
He moved forward.
93rd step.
Pain.
94th step.
More pain.
95th.
The pressure gnawed at his Spirit like a beast starving for blood.
96th.
His breathing became shallow. His heartbeat thundered in his ears.
97th.
His vision swam. The world blurred at the edges.
98th.
His mind screamed for rest, for escape, for release.
99th.
By now, Ethan was no longer fully conscious.
His face was a mask of blood and sweat. His eyes were unfocused. His body moved forward not because he willed it to, but because something deeper had taken over.
Instinct.
Pure, unyielding instinct.
The desire to reach the end.
The refusal to fall here.
With staggering steps, Ethan lifted his foot one final time.
The 100th step.
His instincts screamed at him.
Brace yourself.
Prepare.
Endure.
He stood there, waiting for the crushing pressure that he was certain would descend upon him.
But nothing happened.
There was no pressure.
No pain.
No resistance.
Yet Ethan did not realize it.
His consciousness was too far gone.
Believing the pressure would come, his body reacted automatically. He remained standing for a moment, then—following the pattern ingrained into him through suffering—he sat down, preparing to absorb energy that was no longer there.
Seconds passed.
Then minutes.
Then his body finally gave out.
Ethan collapsed.
Darkness swallowed him whole.
He did not know how much time had passed when he finally opened his eyes.
His gaze was empty at first—vacant, unfocused.
Slowly, awareness returned.
Ethan blinked.
Once.
Twice.
Then he froze.
This place…
It was not the staircase.
He was no longer standing—or sitting—on stone steps.
He was somewhere else entirely.
He found himself standing on the first floor.
He did not remember climbing the last steps.
He did not remember crossing the threshold.
He did not even remember losing consciousness.
But none of that mattered.
Because the scene before him was enough to render all other thoughts meaningless.
Golden light.
Endless, boundless golden light.
It stretched in every direction, illuminating the entire space without a visible source. There were no walls. No ceiling. No floor—yet he stood firmly, as if reality itself supported him.
The golden radiance was not blinding.
Instead, it was warm.
Ancient.
Profound.
It carried an indescribable sense of authority—one that made Ethan's Spirit tremble instinctively.
He stood there, utterly speechless.
"I never expected the first person to come here… to actually pass my test."
The voice came from behind him.
Ethan's heart skipped a beat.
He turned around instantly, his body tensing despite his exhaustion.
Behind him stood a young man.
At first glance, he looked ordinary—almost too ordinary. He appeared no older than his early twenties, dressed in simple robes that fluttered gently despite the absence of wind.
But his eyes…
The moment Ethan met his gaze, his breath caught.
Those eyes were deep.
Vast.
They contained stars.
Galaxies.
Entire worlds seemed to swirl within them.
Ethan did not need the System.
He did not need confirmation.
He knew.
This young man was the Soul God.
Ethan did not show hostility.
He did not kneel either.
Instead, he bowed his head respectfully.
He understood why he had been attacked at the village entrance. He understood the rules. Strength ruled everything in this world, and the Soul God had every right to enforce his will.
"I underestimated the difficulty of my own test," the Soul God said, his tone calm, almost reflective. "You are the first person to reach this place. And you will be the last."
"The test… wasn't easy," Ethan replied honestly. His voice was hoarse, but steady. "Even I don't know how I managed to pass it. The last thing I remember clearly is reaching the 90th step. After that… it's all blank."
The Soul God studied him intently.
Then a faint smile appeared.
"Oh?" he said softly. "So you awakened Willpower."
Ethan stiffened.
"Not bad," the Soul God continued, his tone growing warmer. "Very few manage that. Now… I believe you are worthy of my treasures."
Encouraged, yet cautious, Ethan gathered his courage.
"Soul God," he said, meeting those galaxy-filled eyes once more, "I know it was you who attacked me at the village entrance. I won't ask why. You are strong. I was weak. That explanation is enough."
He paused briefly before continuing.
"But there is something I must know. Why didn't you kill me? Cultivators aren't allowed to enter that village. That was your rule, wasn't it?"
The Soul God sighed.
"Yes," he said quietly. "I did intend to kill you. Every cultivator who invaded that village was meant to die. That was my law."
His gaze softened slightly.
"But someone intervened."
Ethan's eyes widened.
"Someone… saved me?"
The answer shook him to his core.
Who could possibly interfere with a Soul God's decision?
Who could save him… from that kind of existence?