A Test of Will

Step by step, the pain did not fade.

It grew.

Leo found himself lagging farther and farther behind. Mira had already vanished beyond the clouds of marble mist above, and Aric's steady form was a distant silhouette now, his control and calm propelling him upward with quiet resolve. The other climbers—some groaning, some trembling—continued their ascent. Grimaces, bleeding noses, clenched fists… but they moved.

Leo stumbled to a knee on the seventh step.

The tone resonated again—deep and resonant, like a bell tolling inside his skull. It slithered down his spine, curled around his heart, and pressed into every scar and weakness in his body and mind. Pain arced across his chest. Regret surfaced like poison from old wounds. Doubt, shame, loss—all rising with the tide of torment.

You're not strong enough.

You got lucky.

They all think you're pretending.

Leo's hand clenched around the marble edge of the step.

He tried to rise.

He couldn't.

His body felt like lead. His breath came ragged. And more than the pain, it was the realization—the horrible, tightening certainty—that he was falling behind. That all the strength he had gained, all the qi points, all the training, meant nothing in the face of this.

This is will.

And his… wasn't enough.

He lowered his head, sweat dripping from his brow and splattering against white stone. He could see his reflection faintly in the polished surface—lips curled in frustration, eyes tight with pain. His grip faltered.

But then, a thought cut through the chaos.

This isn't a trial to pass. It's a trial to be used.

It wasn't a test of strength.

It was refinement.

Not just an obstacle to overcome—but a whetstone.

A forge.

If the pain was this sharp, then the flame must be real.

Leo exhaled slowly, closed his eyes, and stopped trying to fight the pain.

Instead, he leaned into it.

He let the tone echo deeper. Let it crack through the walls of pride and urgency and self-doubt. He let it burn. Not just through flesh—but thought. Through memory. Through every layer of fear still gripping his heart.

He climbed the next step not to ascend—but to temper.

He gritted his teeth as the next tone shattered his equilibrium. But he welcomed it.

Another step.

Then another.

Not fast.

Not proud.

But pure.

Each time his mind tried to flinch, he forced it to stillness. Each time weakness whispered, he answered with breath. Again and again. Like polishing a blade with pain.

If this is a test of will, Leo thought, then I will turn it into my training ground.

The climb didn't get easier.

But it began to change.

The agony remained, but something within him started to solidify. Like sand turned to stone. The tone, once a scream, now became a low roar behind his thoughts. Still deafening—but distant. Manageable.

Step twenty. Step twenty-five.

He no longer tracked the others.

He didn't need to.

The climb continued.

Step after step, Leo pushed forward, enduring the punishing resonance that crawled through his soul. His muscles screamed, his vision blurred, and still he climbed—not with the fire of desperation anymore, but the cold resolve of someone shaping something deeper within.

And yet, even that wasn't enough.

Somewhere past the fiftieth step, he stalled.

His foot hovered above the next rise, but his body refused to obey. The tone—once manageable, even familiar—roared louder than ever, as though the Tower itself recognized his progress and now demanded something more.

He tried to push through.

He failed.

His knees buckled. He collapsed, panting, arms trembling under his own weight. No injuries, no wounds—only pressure. As if the step itself would not allow him to pass unless he offered something greater.

Why can't I move? he thought. Why now?

He sat there for what felt like an eternity, the others long gone above, until only silence and his ragged breathing remained. Then, through the stillness, a deeper thought rose—not of his body, not of the trial, but of his will.

He had treated his will as something to harden.

To temper through suffering.

But now he realized the truth:

You couldn't forge an indomitable will from pain alone.

You needed something to aim it at.

What was I climbing for?

The question echoed louder than the tone ever had.

He had never really asked himself that. Not deeply. He thought of his friends, his family. The faces that once gave him comfort now flickered uncertainly in his mind, like images seen through water. He wanted to return to them. Didn't he?

Then why isn't that enough?

He thought harder, digging back through every moment of this climb. Every hardship. Every victory.

Not just the bridge, the monsters, the fifth-floor trial, or the pain of sparring until collapse.

But the nights alone.

When the world was silent.

When it was just him and the spear.

The memory rose unbidden—a perfect strike during one of those nights. A thrust so fluid it felt like the world had paused to watch. The sensation of movement in harmony with breath, with instinct, with intent.

The joy had been overwhelming.

Pure.

There had been no audience. No praise. Just him… and the path.

And suddenly, Leo understood.

He wasn't climbing for survival.

He wasn't climbing for his past.

He was climbing because this was the path he chose. Not out of obligation. But because there was joy in it. Meaning. The unrelenting pursuit of mastery.

Not just the climb of the Tower.

But the climb of the self.

He wanted to walk this path of the spear until its very end. Until his strikes could part mountains, until his will could split the heavens. Not to prove something.

But because there was nothing more beautiful than the journey itself.

Leo stood.

The tone struck again—louder than ever.

But he didn't flinch.

His foot rose, then fell forward with clarity. Not in defiance, not in pain, but in purpose.

And the Tower felt it.

The pressure did not disappear—but it shifted.

It no longer crushed him.