《Sixteen Paths of Eternal Cultivation [LitRPG/Xianxia]》


 Chapter 1 - New Quest

    The air was cool and filled with the smell of damp earth and fresh leaves. Zamian perched on a thick branch of a giant tree, his body tense as he peered down, keeping an unyielding focus until the sound of rustling behind him shattered his concentration.


    "Uh¡­ What are you doing over there, Z?" Zamian heard a grave voice, as the talker tried and failed to speak in hushed tones.


    Zamian''s heart skipped a beat, but looking at the muscled and bare-chested newcomer, he pressed a finger to his lips, with eyes wide and bloodshot. "Shut up, Bohlo,'''' Zamian hissed, motioning for his short-haired and long-eared friend to crouch beside him.


    Bohlo lay down next to Zamian, using his forearms to support his body, and followed his friend¡¯s gaze. Below them, Clerics¡ªbeautiful naked women responsible for performing rituals¡ªdanced around a young sapling, their bodies casting eerie shadows in the flickering light made by their technique.


    The young plant was the size of a common tree, the standard height of Colossal Tree¡¯s saplings before their growth. A luminous green mist flowed from them into the plant, weaving through the air, and coating its brownish bark in a green hue.


    Bohlo raised an eyebrow, saying with a mocking tone "Little friend, I hate to tell you this, but from up here, we can''t get a good look at their tits¡ª" He paused, catching the severe furrow in Zamian''s brows and the intense focus in his friend''s eyes. Noticing the boy with shoulder-length black hair looked paler and more worn out than usual, Bohlo realized this wasn''t the time to bother his friend.


    From their high vantage point, the ritual''s chants were inaudible, the distance making it difficult even to confirm they were observing women and not dancing insects. Confused, Bohlo struggled to find anything interesting down below.


    Shifting slightly on the branch and glancing at his friend from time to time, Bohlo''s leg began to tremble, and he sighed repeatedly. The big guy hummed a little song but was soon stopped by Zamian¡¯s glare.


    "Leave if you can''t be quiet, you stupid oak," Zamian muttered, sparing his friend another glance before refocusing on the ceremony.


    Even for Zamian, it was a challenge to distinguish the people down there from one another just by looking at them, and the only obvious sign of their lack of vests was their skin¡¯s colors contrasting against the forest¡¯s green.


    But for the young cultivator, this wasn¡¯t an issue. Because for each figure in his field of vision, no matter the distance, a green line floated above their heads. When he focused on these lines, the text zoomed in before his eyes:


    [LEVEL 1 - MORTAL TIER - CREATION PATHWAY]


    [LEVEL 1 - MORTAL TIER - CREATION PATHWAY]


    [LEVEL 2 - MORTAL TIER - CREATION PATHWAY]


    [LEVEL 1 - MORTAL TIER - CREATION PATHWAY]


    ...


    Among the twelve Clerics below, only three were of Level 2. When Zamian had glanced at Bohlo just moments earlier, he had seen the same green text hovering above that round head.


    Having studied the rules of the ritual below beforehand, and based on his experiences before arriving at this tree, Zamian understood that Level 1 indicated commoners, while Level 2 denoted the Enlightened. A really low number for such a big difference in power and status, in Zamian¡¯s humble opinion.


    "Why are you ogling them from so far? We could just go to some restricted bath. You''re an Enlightened, for Verdant¡¯s sake! Some girls would beg to be ogled by you! Er¡­we could even charge for that!" Bohlo suggested, his knowing smile making the big man¡¯s intention clear.


    "Leave. Or. Be. Quiet," Zamian spoke through gritted teeth, not bothering to look at his friend anymore.


    Zamian''s attention returned to the ritual, studying the flow of energy rather than the green text that hovered above the heads of the cultivators and commoners. He didn¡¯t understand why these last ones even needed labels¡ªwhy would a person who hadn''t yet cultivated need an identifier?


    ¡®It would be way better if the sapling below had some indication of its level, tier, and pathway¡¯, Zamian thought.


    ''Tier I understand¡ªwe are all mere mortals. But the path... Could it be that using Nature Pathway on this text would provoke the wrath of the Verdant God?'' Zamian pondered this, unsure if he even believed in his speculation. These texts already proved they were of blasphemous origin. The number of sacred laws broken by reading it could have his mortal cycle cut short.


    Looking up, a whitish fuzzy tiny ball lingered just at the edge of his vision in the right corner. Commanding it with his mind, a white text materialized, floating before his eyes.


    PERSONAL INFORMATION


    Name: Zamian Greenfield


    Level: 2 [12%]


    Tier: Mortal


    Main Pathway: Creation


    Title: None


    STATS POINTS


    Body: 8/20


    Mind: 25/40


    Soul: 38/40


    REWARDS


    Ancient Identify Technique (Passive)


    Description: See the secrets beyond the limitations of time


    QUEST LOG


    Last Quest: Read 100 books in two local years


    Reward: Ancient Identify Technique (Passive)


    Status: Completed (100/100)


    Main Quest: Destroy an Unholy Sapling before the end of the month


    Reward: Special Physique (??)


    Status: Ongoing (14 days left)


    Willing the text to disappear, Zamian refocused on the ceremony. The young man had more to do than pondering about the meaning of everything written in there, again. In one thing he could trust, though: his stats. ¡®I am blighted tired,¡¯ he grumbled inwardly.


    Soon, his eyes darted from the entrance of the ceremonial site far away, to the thorned walls surrounding the place, and finally to the Clerics'' dance, before settling on the sapling. In the entire town, this was the only sapling worth anyone''s attention, even if calling it unholy felt a little suicidal.


    ¡®But I do like your boldness, White Dot. This sapling is unholy,¡¯ Zamian smirked.


    Below, the green stream flowing from each Cleric formed a vortex with the sapling in the center, further illuminating its bark. The outlines of its roots became visible beneath the ground as the dozen women slowly ceased their dancing, some collapsing on the grass.


    After the ritual concluded, attendants came forward to clothe the Clerics, while two women in what looked like wooden armor moved to guard the sapling. ¡®Usually, it¡¯s just one. Why are they both here?¡¯ Zamian pondered. Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.


    Sighing, the young man stood, his expression downcast. "Failure, again."


    No matter how many times he observed this daily ritual, finding a loophole or even a window of opportunity to act seemed impossible.


    "What? No, it was a success. A simple Nurture Ritual, wasn¡¯t it?" Bohlo looked back and forth to his friend and the ground, puzzled.


    "Not that, Bohlo. My trip here was the failure I¡¯m talking about, just a waste of time and essence," Zamian''s voice dragged, his tone tinged with annoyance. "Anyway, what are you even doing here?" He curved an eyebrow at his friend while raising and patting the dust out of his linen clothes. ¡°And why are you bare-chested? Wait. Ignore that last question.¡±


    "Uh. Okay. Your father was looking for you, Z. The Lord asked about his tea first, though. He''s a little angsty without it if you want to know." Bohlo chuckled, scratching his cheek after getting up, and slowly walked to the giant tree''s trunk.


    "Dammit. I thought this would be finished earlier,¡± Zamian sighed, ¡°I should have believed my father when he said some Clerics were busy on the Stargazing Tree. Did you know the stars are slowing down... You don¡¯t care, do you?"


    The pale cultivator was following his friend, carefully stepping on the giant branch, and shook his head when he noticed the unfocused gaze on the big guy''s face.


    "Sorry, Z. Too complex for me. I¡¯m a simple guy ¡ª If you need someone to climb, dig, or eat something you can count me in!" Bohlo scoffed, touching the tree trunk with both hands and making weird stroking gestures while wiggling his eyebrows.


    "Like my trip, dear Bohlo, you''re also a waste of essence. " Zamian scoffed, also touching the tree trunk with both hands.


    A green glow pulsed in both cultivators¡¯ chests, moving through their arms until it settled in their hands. While Zamian''s pulse was faster, the light from Bohlo¡¯s arms was darker. They chanted in unison, "Nature is the Cycle, so our path is never-ending. Nature is the Creation, so our path is ever strong. Nature is the Truth, so our path is the only one."


    While chanting, Zamian visualized the first moment he touched a tree, remembering the rough texture of the bark, its brownish color, and the strength behind it. Feeling warmth spreading through his hands, he watched with a strained gaze as his arms took on a wooden texture and fused with the tree''s bark, from the tips of his fingers to his forearms.


    "You''re blighted tired, Z!¡± The pale cultivator heard Bohlo¡¯s laugh, noticing the bare-chested man¡¯s arms covered with the same technique, from the tip of his fingers to his shoulders.


    "If you ever find yourself focusing on something for a long time, nonstop, even your pee-pee would stop working, B. '''' Zamian rolled his eyes, knowing his friend was speaking the truth. "Come on, I need to bring the old man some tea leaves and take some rest."


    "Yep. Down we go." Bohlo shrugged, wasting a little essence softening his shoulders to allow such movement, and prompting Zamian to shake his head.


    Both young men began circling the giant tree¡¯s trunk by walking on its branch. Finally, the branch ended, and they looked down searching for signs of people. Seeing none, they nodded to each other and jumped.


    Zamian hands, fused with the wood, would harden or soften according to his will, allowing his slow descent, while he kept his feet flat against the tree¡¯s bark, slightly pushing himself off from the trunk with his legs, bouncing away from the wood, over and over again.


    Green essence pulsed in a constant rhythm, feeding the technique. Zamian sweated from his forehead, focused to not lose concentration until he saw the ground approaching.


    Slowing his descent, he finally ended the Everbark Technique, freeing both hands from the trunk and touching the ground with his feet.


    Huffing and puffing, Zamian sat down, taking a moment before glancing at his friend, who was coming close to hand him a wooden bowl filled with water.


    "Thanks. Where did you get this?" Zamian asked, quickly drinking the crystalline water before trying to stand up, only to feel his legs tremble, forcing him to sit down again.


    "From my pe¡ªhey!" Bohlo feigned offense, catching the empty bowl thrown at him, effortlessly. The big guy sent a green pulse through it, softening the material to mold it into a bracer on his right arm.


    "Anyway, I had left it here before climbing up. I can hide things pretty well, Z. Uh... You look even worse after drinking that water. Uh, do want me to carry you?" Bohlo asked in concern.


    "Let me rest a bit, and then I''ll head home," Zamian said, massaging his face with both hands, barely processing his friend''s response.


    "Don''t worry, little Z. Bohlo¡¯s here to keep you company." Bohlo quipped, plopping down next to him.


    "How did you find me, anyway? I didn''t tell you about my¡­ Daily activities... Dude, don¡¯t look at me like that."


    "Ogling is foolish. Doing it on holy ground is more foolish. And being so far away that you can''t even see the tits is even more foolish! Z, if you have some needs, come with me, and I''ll help you deal with your urges!"


    "That last phrase didn''t come out right, just so you know, B¡­ And you still haven''t said how you found me."


    "Again with the complex stuff, little Z. I¡¯m just a friend trying to give you a hand!"


    "I''m not little, and that isn''t complex. You''re just big and dense. And it makes no sense; you handle essence too well to be this clueless about what to say. Do you ignore nature¡¯s knowledge while you cultivate?"


    "I''m already naturally attuned to¡­ Nature... Anyway, my talent is greater than anyone else¡¯s," he grinned. "And to answer you, following your trail was simple, just so you know. Because. I. Am. The. Best.¡± Bohlo chuckled. "Of course, your father helped a little bit... Let''s just say he pointed out where to look!"


    Zamian shook his head, a defeated sigh escaping his lips. "If it wasn¡¯t the lack of tea, he sure wouldn¡¯t make you look for me. Well, I need to go back home anyway. Cultivating, getting stronger, becoming a Zealot¡ªyou know, the usual easy stuff," he said, unconsciously taking a glance at the right corner of his vision. Maybe that White Dot could help make it faster?


    "No worries, my squeamish friend! With your brains and my natural power," Bohlo kissed his biceps, one after the other, "We¡¯ll both be Zealots soon and even¡ªwith Verdant¡¯s grace¡ªChosen!"


    "Your foolishness can¡¯t be from birth, right? Maybe if I banged my head against this root, I could be as carefree as you?"


    "Don¡¯t do it, you¡¯ve got a good head on your shoulders! Just cut back on the ogling; it¡¯ll get you in trouble otherwise! Focus on your cultivation, eat well, sleep more, and¡ª" Bohlo continued, listing each piece of advice while counting on his fingers.


    "Okay, I get it. Stop counting, I fear your soon-to-be eleventh advice would make us stay here forever," Zamian muttered, lying back down. He felt the dry leaves and twigs beneath him, gazing up at the sky illuminated by a bright greenish-white light, devoid of clouds or stars. ¡®I hate these white leaves¡¯, he thought.


    After taking some time to rest his body and calm his mind, Zamian directed his thoughts on what mattered, ¡®From here to the market is, at least, a forty thousand steps trip. Getting home will be another ten thousand. That''s so exhausting.''


    "Okay, I''ve rested enough. We should go. Come on, big guy," Zamian said, massaging his sore neck and starting to walk.


    Noticing the silence, Zamian turned to see Bohlo dozing off.


    ¡°I should be annoyed, but I¡¯m just envious,¡± he walked to his friend and lightly kicked the big guy¡¯s leg.


    "Wake up, little flower. We need to go to the tunnels. Oh, and you need to show me how you hid the essence around your bracer. It¡¯s a neat trick if it can dodge a Zealot¡¯s detection," Zamian said.


    "Uh? Tunnels? Ah¡­What? I just turned it into a ball of wood, put water inside through a little hole, and buried it¡ªwhere are you going?!" Zamian got goosebumps and ran through the bushes upon hearing the first part of Bohlo''s explanation, not even waiting for the man to fully wake, prompting the muscled cultivator to scramble and follow him with a confused look.


    Zamian didn¡¯t have time, or the patience, to explain to his friend the reason behind his sprint¡ªhow necessary it was to hide an object''s essence in this forbidden place, and that other people seeing them entering here would be a problem¡ªbecause after pushing through a few bushes, they both saw a stern woman clad in wooden armor, wielding an intricate wooden spear, glaring at them.


    If her armor wasn¡¯t enough for Zamian to know who she was, the blaring green text above her head surely left him with no doubts.


    [LEVEL 3 - MORTAL TIER - CREATION PATHWAY]


    He knelt with both knees, lowering his head but not bending himself, just like Bohlo already did.


    "This Enlightened one greets the soil stepped by the Zealot, wishing for the sacred light of Verdant to shine through your families'' leaves forever," Zamian spoke first, prompting Bohlo to follow his greeting midsentence.


    "This Zealot hears the sound leaving your mouth. Rise to the light of Verdant, both of you," the Zealot commanded, waiting for them to stand up.


    As they rose, she nodded slightly, and a dark green light gathered at her chest, shining through the wooden armor and concentrating on her spear. With a firm strike of the weapon''s shaft against the ground, thin brown vines broke through the earth and bound the two younger cultivators in place, grappling their legs.


    "As a Guardian of the Colossal Erasmus, I am empowered to execute thieves, rapists, murderers, and trespassers as I see fit, as decreed by the Verdant God."


    The Zealot''s eyes glowed a dark shade of green, and the essence animating the vines tightened around both cultivators, clashing against their skin.


    Zamian did not dare to think about resisting, merely battling the mental fatigue of another cultivator''s essence clashing against his own. It was an unsettling sensation, a phantom feeling of him being devoured by the ground, little by little, starting with the sensation of his legs becoming part of something detached from the rest of his body.


    "But first, I shall hear the explanation from both of you before enforcing God¡¯s rightful punishment," she said, halting her essence from further harming them both.


    Gazing at the Zealot and her stern face, Zamian sighed inwardly, a single thought blaring through his head: ¡®Bohlo, either she ends your mortal cycle, or I will!¡¯


    Before he could think of an answer, however, a white text appeared ahead of him, startling the young man.


    New Side Quest (!): Get home before dinner time


    Reward: Abyssal Leaf


    Status: Ongoing (6 hours left)


    (!) Failure to complete this quest will bring a Level 4 Calamity


    ¡°¡­?!¡±

 Chapter 2 - Cleric Chosen

    (!) Failure to complete this quest will bring a Level 4 Calamity


    ¡®Wh-what does that even mean?!¡¯


    Zamian felt a headache coming when he read those texts. He wished he had time to understand what a Level 4 Calamity was, and why this thing in his head would punish him for not arriving home before dinner time. A Calamity was a serious matter, but it being Level 4? Meant nothing for him.


    However, the young man didn''t doubt the White Dot¡¯s words, or power. After all, unless he was becoming crazy, his mysterious companion had already rewarded him with a divine technique, powerful enough to show him other people¡¯s cultivation stage, and it gave Zamian hope to save what remained of his family. His only hope.


    A forced cough snapped him back to reality. Glancing at the source, he saw Bohlo''s desperate gaze. The big man pointed with his head, signaling Zamian to respond to the Zealot''s query. ''Let¡¯s focus on the current problem first.''


    Clearing his throat, Zamian turned to face the Zealot, who, besides the glowing green eyes showing her might, betrayed no other thoughts with her lack of expression.


    "I am Zamian Greenfield, Enlightened of the Sanctuary. Verdant God blessed me, allowing me to live this mortal cycle as the son of the previous Lord Chosen, Dante Greenfield, and... Jasmine Greenfield," Zamian said, striving to maintain a composed demeanor while on his knees.


    "Jasmine? Her child was named Zamian, indeed," the Zealot nodded slightly, the glow in her eyes diminishing. "You''re the only child of Saintess Jasmine, yes?"


    Zamian gritted his teeth when he heard that title. Before having his judgment clouded by dark feelings, he replied, "Yes, I am. I believe this information is sufficient to clarify what I am doing here, right?"


    Bohlo sent a puzzled look his way. The larger man did not even try to hide his confusion, scratching his head as he looked back and forth from the Zealot to his friend.


    "While this indeed explains why you would want to be here, Enlightened Zamian," she said, stepping closer to them, before continuing, "This information does not justify your trespassing and violation of our sacred rules."


    Zamian clenched his fists. ''Go choke on a thorned branch with your rules!''


    He wished he could scream at and spit on this woman¡¯s face, barely managing to hold himself by knowing that if he did any of those things, he might not have a throat left to do the other.


    Taking a deep breath, he continued, "Guardian Zealot, I am just a son missing his mother. I''m sure as someone who walks the same path, you can understand my need to come here and witness her next cycle."


    From the corner of his eye, Zamian noticed Bohlo lowering his head. ''This guy... Father didn''t tell him, I guess... Sorry, B.''


    "Nature is the Cycle. So our path is never-ending," the Zealot recited almost mechanically. "Yes, I understand your desire to witness her transformation from Saintess to Colossal Tree. But!" her gaze pierced through Zamian, watching his reactions closely. Zamian, on the other hand, neither looked away nor flinched, just waiting for the woman to finish.


    "But we cannot allow our mortal desires to taint God''s divine rituals. Enlightened men are prohibited from stepping on the ground of a Nurture Ritual. You are well-educated about the sacred rules, Enlightened Zamian. And you too, Enlightened Bohlo.¡±


    ¡®Oh no¡¯, Zamian thought.


    ¡°However, I shall be merciful,¡± said the Zealot.


    The vines at their feet uncoiled, resting on the ground. The green light faded from the Zealot''s eyes and body, indicating that her essence was now dormant, circulating only within her.


    "I declare that the Cleric Chosen shall decide both of your fates. I can¡¯t judge a child who erred when he was simply trying to follow his path by watching the natural cycle."


    As the Zealot turned and walked through the bushes toward the Cleric Chosen¡¯s abode, Zamian and Bohlo followed in silence, side by side.


    Zamian watched the Zealot''s retreating figure, his thoughts racing. ''The Cleric Chosen is Lakea''s mother. She won''t finish my mortal cycle, but she could send me to the Deep Ground for repentance. That would mean failing the Side Quest, triggering a Level 4 Calamity, which¡­ Which I know nothing about. I have read about Calamities, but surely they aren¡¯t the same,'' he sighed, his reverie interrupted when the black-haired young man felt a warm hand on his back.


    Glancing sideways, Zamian gave a wry smile to his friend. Bohlo was crying quietly, one hand on Zamian''s shoulder, the other attempting to wipe away his tears. That the big guy was managing to cry without making loud noises was a relief.


    Zamian patted the bare-chested cultivator¡¯s arm while glancing at the Zealot. Bohlo had known his mother since childhood, so discovering what had transpired to her in such a way couldn¡¯t be easy.


    Of course, the news of his mother''s next cycle was old to him. For most of Sanctuary¡¯s inhabitants, however, it would come as a shock. The birth of a Colossal Tree was a testament to the Verdant God''s power and benevolence for the masses¡ªafter all, these behemoths circulated the whole Sanctuary.


    Nonetheless, until it was made public, his mother''s situation should stay hidden behind the lie of her being invited to the Lord¡¯s Tree.


    Zamian had barely left home these few years, only seeing Bohlo in some market visits to take tea leaves, and people believed the current Lord kept his mother incarcerated, and that he had put Zamian and his father in home arrest¡ªa way to control and weaken the previous Lord.


    Having been walking for some time and lost in thought, Zamian nearly stumbled as a white text suddenly appeared before.


    Side Quest (!): Get home before dinner time


    Reward: Abyssal Leaf


    Status: Ongoing (5/6 hours left)


    (!) Failure to complete this quest will bring a Level 4 calamity


    ''That¡¯s odd, the Main Quest also has a countdown, but it only appears when I command it to,'' Zamian furrowed his brows, dismissing the hovering text from his vision. He scanned their surroundings and recognized by the color, size, and texture of the giant roots that his trio was nearing another Colossal Tree, coming closer to the Cleric Chosen''s residence.


    "You shall stay outside the Cleric Chosen¡¯s house while I explain the situation to her. Do not enter before I call you, and do not lie to her, or I will hunt and bury you both myself, feeding you to the maggots,¡± she stated in a monotone, before completing, ¡°Alive."


    Both friends exchanged a glance and then nodded to the Zealot, with Bohlo finally letting go of Zamian¡¯s shoulder.


    Zamian entertained the thought of running home while the Zealot went inside, but escaping the woman on the edge of the Sanctuary would take a miracle, and the young cultivator was certain that no divine intervention was coming his way. ''Unless I count a divine punishment¡¯.


    Walking another hundred steps, they glimpsed beyond the foliage and into one of the larger roots that protruded above the ground¡ª there they saw a small cottage nestled among green leaves.


    Like most houses here, it was crafted from wood and situated within a hollowed section of a Colossal Tree¡¯s root. These giant plants channeled nutrients and essence through their roots, ensuring a safer place for commoners and providing cultivators an easier way to gather essence.


    The Zealot stopped and gave them a stern look before adjusting her appearance and slowly walking to the cottage. The door, woven from vines, opened before the Zealot even reached it, the vines going up and down to make a passageway. After she passed through, the vines crawled back, closing the hole.


    Left alone with his friend, Zamian shook his head when Bohlo opened his mouth to speak. This close to the Cleric Chosen''s residence, even whispered words might be overheard. The Chosen were the most revered mortal beings in the Sanctuary, and being judged by one was considered an honor. If his father hadn''t been a Chosen and his mother a Saintess, Zamian doubted the Zealot would have led them here.


    Bohlo maintained a downcast gaze, sniffling occasionally and opening and closing his mouth as if struggling with what to say. Zamian was considering ways to calm his friend down when they heard a rustling noise. Looking up, both of them saw the Zealot reappear outside the cottage, gesturing for them to enter.


    Following her command, Zamian walked with his friend, passing through the vine door. Instead of observing the sparse furnishings¡ªsimilar to his own home, which had just a few to no chairs and some doors leading to private rooms¡ª, his attention was drawn to the middle-aged woman sitting with her legs folded, knees bent, both touching the floor; her back kept straight, like an unbending trunk.Unauthorized reproduction: this story has been taken without approval. Report sightings.


    In front of her were wooden bowls, cups, and teapots, from which steam rose with the sweet scent of peach. She wore a dress made from orange flower petals, the same color as her eyes and hair. Her face was as beautiful and smooth as Zamian remembered. Most importantly, she also had a text hovering above her head.


    [LEVEL 4 - MORTAL TIER - CREATION PATHWAY]


    Inwardly nodding about the White Dot''s boldness to call a Chosen a Level 4 being, Zamian knelt alongside Bohlo, lowering their heads and placing their hands on their thighs.


    "This Enlightened one greets the soil stepped by the Chosen, wishing for the sacred light of Verdant to shine through your family''s leaves forever," Zamian and Bohlo said in unison.


    The sound of water pouring into wooden cups filled the room as the Cleric Chosen served tea, her face adorned with a gentle smile.


    "Zealot Tamara, please guard outside. I would like to have a private conversation with these Enlightened boys," she said, her tone motherly and soothing.


    Zealot Tamara bowed, not glancing back at the younger cultivators before leaving. The vine door closed behind her, a quick flash of green revealing the source of the technique¡ªsomeone behind the door to the left. Zamian discretely surveyed the three closed wooden doors around the room, confirming each side of the house had one, making four with the one they used to enter.


    His observations also confirmed, once more, that he needed a direct line of sight to see the text above someone''s head. He knew there were people in those rooms; he just saw their techniques, but no text appeared identifying them.


    "Come, sit closer, kids. The ones in those rooms cannot hear you, but they are aware of your movements," the middle-aged woman instructed.


    They moved closer, using only their knees and hands without rising or looking up.


    A soft chuckle escaped the Chosen¡¯s lips. "I see you still know the rules, Zamian. You both can raise your heads. Please, drink some tea. I just made it," she said, lifting a wooden cup elegantly to her lips.


    Zamian managed a wry smile before taking a cup and drinking with both hands. Bohlo mimicked him¡ªfearful of making a misstep that might doom them both.


    "Good tea," said Zamian, glancing at Bohlo.


    "Ah, yes. Good tea," the larger man echoed.


    "Thank you, kids," the Chosen nodded, setting her cup down and looking at them both, her eyes momentarily shining a darker shade of green.


    Zamian felt a chill down his spine as he noted that despite the woman''s smiling lips, her eyes remained cold and calculating. He straightened his back as he felt the Chosen''s penetrating gaze as if hundreds of vines were scraping his skin from the inside out. Out of nowhere, a white text appeared, making the young man flinch.


    STATS POINTS (!)


    Body: 8/20


    Mind: 24/40


    Soul: 28/30


    (!) Notification: there was a sudden drop in stats, please beware of your health.


    Zamian dismissed the text. His growing headache made him aware of how bad these ¡®drop of stats¡¯ were, and unlike when he lost or gained numbers there in the past, his ¡®cap¡¯ number also went down.


    ¡®But why is this happening? Did the essence from her gaze cause this?¡¯


    Even if he was in pain and confused, he couldn¡¯t show too much weakness here. Meanwhile, Bohlo''s face paled, and the big guy trembled slightly before quickly steadying himself. ¡®Maybe I¡¯m just too tired. Bohlo took it like a Colossal Tree,¡¯ Zamian thought.


    The woman¡¯s gentle voice signaled the end of their scrutiny, "I see you both are on the cusp of a breakthrough. Just a few years more, and you will join Tamara as Zealots. What a delight," she said with a single nod, her voice sweet and harm.


    ¡°Thank you, Cleric Chosen,¡± they answered back.


    "Sadly, Tamara has informed me that your actions do not match your potential. In fact, they seem to go against our Sanctuary¡¯s laws, which is very concerning. What do you have to say for yourselves?"


    "Cleric Chosen, may I first ask, how is Lakea?" Zamian said, maintaining a respectful demeanor but glancing briefly at the doors before focusing on the woman in front of him.


    The Chosen met his gaze squarely, her expression gentle but unreadable. "An odd timing. But, she''s well, Zamian. An Enlightened, like you. Almost 16 years old, like you," she paused, giving him a knowing smile, "And still single, like you."


    "No, no, that¡¯s not what I meant! I just wanted an update about her; I haven¡¯t seen her for almost two years," he stammered, his eyes wide as he shook his head.


    "My dear child, I know what you¡¯re trying to do. You¡¯re fortunate I enjoy talking about my daughter. Did you know she participated in the very ritual you both tainted today? She¡¯s a Cleric now," the woman revealed.


    Zamian nearly dropped his teacup. He had merely wanted to change the subject to buy some time. He was still struggling to think of a valid reason for their lawbreaking. He had no clue Lakea had been there! They were too far to notice, and the text hadn''t shown names.


    "Cleric Chosen... I swear in Verdant''s name we weren''t there to disrupt the ritual. You knew my mother personally. I just wanted to participate, somehow, in her transformation! To keep being part of her cycle! Is it wrong for me, her only child, to do that?" He argued, his voice rising with each word.


    "Yes," she replied simply, nodding.


    Zamian fell silent.


    "And you, Bohlo. Do you have anything to add? Your parents are at the market working as the faithful servants they are, while you''re here, flouting our sacred laws."


    "Please, Aunt," Zamian started, "it was my fault, he had noth¡ª" he paused as Bohlo placed a hand on his shoulder and shook his head.


    Looking at Bohlo, Zamian froze as he watched the larger man, still sitting down, bowed deeply, touching the floor with his forehead and repeatedly slamming it against the ground, each thud accompanied by a word.


    "MY. MORTAL. CYCLE. SHALL. BE. FINISHED. PLEASE. FORGIVE. MY. FAMILY. CLERIC. CHOSEN!"


    Blood began to trickle from his forehead as Bohlo kept his head bowed, hands splayed beside his head, supporting himself.


    Zamian bit his lip, looking at his friend but remaining silent.


    The Cleric waited for Bohlo to finish his self-punishment, then nodded.


    "Very well. Your family¡¯s life will not be implicated in this. The nature of your punishment, whether it be the end of your mortal cycle or something else, will depend on your reasons for being there. Young boys, tell me what you were doing."


    Bohlo remained silent, his head still low.


    Zamian knew his friend wouldn¡¯t speak. With his family¡¯s life now safe, he was too frightened to say anything that might worsen their situation.


    "Cleric Chosen, if I may?" Zamian asked.


    After receiving a nod, he continued, "Bohlo was there following my father''s orders. He was only obeying the previous Lord Chosen''s commands, too scared for his life and his family¡¯s to do otherwise."


    Bohlo stayed quiet, and Zamian was grateful his friend didn¡¯t contradict him.


    "Hmm. How is he, Zamian? How is your father? When Oliver completed his mortal cycle, it took me a few years to see our God''s grace again," she nodded slightly, subtly changing the subject.


    "My father," Zamian took a deep breath and composed himself, "He is suffering, as you must have heard. The old man confined himself to our home, constantly drinking tea, just like mother used to do. He even stepped down from his position willingly. But I believe that, with time, he will overcome this. We both will," the pale young man said, sipping more tea in search of comfort from its sweet taste.


    The Cleric Chosen hummed softly, her gaze drifting past both Enlightened. The only sounds were her tune and the wind whistling through the hollow root surrounding the house.


    After a moment, she inhaled deeply, blinking away the moisture in her eyes. She reached for her tea, only to find her cup empty.


    "Tell me why you were there, little Zamian," she said, her eyes softening.


    "I had to see my mother, she''s about to become a Colossal Tree," he murmured, looking down.


    "Did you know, little Zamian, that Lakea''s grandfather, my father-in-law, completed his mortal cycle outside this Sanctuary?"


    "¡­No?" Zamian responded, giving her a puzzled look.


    "When they brought his body back, it was barely recognizable. Full of holes, burnt, missing an arm, and one leg shredded. A terrible sight."


    "I''m sorry," Zamian murmured.


    "It is okay, child. Thank you. To finish my story, my husband didn¡¯t cry when he saw the body, he just looked at his father¡¯s remains with apathy. Oliver only wept much later, during the burial, as we let the roots cover his father¡¯s body,¡± the Cleric Chosen took another sip of her tea.


    ¡°Years later, when my husband couldn''t advance to become a Chosen, we discussed life and cultivation, including this fact I just told you. I asked him why he hadn¡¯t cried at first. Do you know what he said?"


    Zamian shook his head.


    "He said he couldn''t recognize that wretched thing as his father. He told me that no matter how he looked, all he saw was a hideous corpse, the remains of some random human. It wasn''t until the burial, that Oliver realized he had lost his father, and would only meet him again in God¡¯s Tree."


    Zamian remained silent, his eyes reddening but no tears falling.


    "Tell me the truth, child. I know you and your father don''t see the Colossal Sapling as your mother. At least, not yet," her gaze flashed a dark green light as she concluded, making Zamian feel like vines were squeezing his brain.


    STATS POINTS (!)


    Body: 8/20


    Mind: 23/40


    Soul: 18/20


    (!) Notification: there was a sudden drop in stats, please beware of your health.


    Zamian exhaled, closing his eyes for an instant to collect his thoughts, trying to ignore the text that just appeared, only to see a new notification, but this one was not about his stats.


    His head was throbbing, his heart racing, hands full of sweat. Zamian was also suddenly aware of an unsettling sensation of shortness of breath. Opening his eyes, he avoided the woman''s gaze and mumbled a low response.


    Barely hearing it, she stiffened, the wooden cup slipping from her hand to the ground with a loud clatter.


    "What-what did you say, brat?"


    Even Bohlo looked to the side when the Chosen made her query, still bowing, not having listened to what his friend just said.


    Taking a deep breath, Zamian met the older cultivator¡¯s eyes and repeated his answer, a bit louder this time.


    "I went there to ask Lakea to marry me."

 Chapter 3 - Soul Injury

    The glowing leaves¡¯ light cast the darkroom in a whitish hue; just like in most people¡¯s houses. A wooden cup rolled across the floor, tracing a slow arc near the orange-haired woman.


    Gracefully, she took the cup, putting it back on the wooden tray. With a strained smile, she began massaging one side of her head with two fingers, closing her eyes, and taking a deep breath.


    Meanwhile, Bohlo didn¡¯t even glance at the Cleric Chosen. His eyes and mouth were wide open, his head turned to the side, looking at Zamian as if his friend had just sprouted another head and an extra pair of arms.


    Zamian didn''t react either, just biting the inside of his lips to the point they were almost bleeding. ''Put your rot together, Zamian!''


    Looking inwardly, his hasty responses were driven by three main factors: the pressure of being in the same room as a Chosen and having her, somehow, damaging his soul¡ªthat was one of his guesses¡ªhis mental and physical condition wasn¡¯t good either, and last but not least, the other text that had just appeared while he was thinking a few moments ago.


    Side Quest (!): Get home before dinner time


    Reward: Abyssal Leaf


    Status: Ongoing (4/6 hours left)


    (!) Failure to complete this quest will bring a Level 4 calamity


    After reading it once more, he heard a tired sigh coming from the Chosen, and he looked at the woman just as she fixed her cold gaze on him.


    "Do you take me for a fool, Zamian?" Her voice was sharp, like a Zealot¡¯s spear cutting through the air. Her eyes, however, were curved, a dangerous glint in there.


    "A lowly one like me could never entertain such thoughts, Cleric Chosen," Zamian replied, bowing down while sitting.


    "For invading the Nurture Ritual, I could have you whipped with a hundred thorned vines. Or I could have you buried in this soil with only your head above ground. I could even use your skull as a vase while you still breathe. Are you aware of all this?"


    "It is your right to punish me as you see fit, Cleric Chosen," the young Enlightened lowered his head even lower.


    "So why complicate this whole ordeal? You are intelligent. You spent the last few years borrowing sacred texts, honing your cultivation. You''re an educated young man, an Enlightened with the potential to become a Zealot. Why choose to end your cycle here?" Her voice quickened and got a little louder toward the end, before she composed herself.


    Zamian waited a moment before responding, raising his head to look at her. He clenched both fists and slammed them on the ground.


    "I am an only child, Aunt Yokki. Mother had difficulties giving birth to me, and no technique or sacred herb helped her conceive either a brother or a sister for me. Father was always loyal to his wife, and even with the insistence of other Chosen, he never had another wife, nor even a concubine. Now, my mother is gone, and my father would end his mortal cycle himself before touching another woman."


    Bohlo and the Chosen remained silent. While the muscled man looked confused about his friend''s outburst, the female cultivator had a more easygoing smile, her eyes glinting more and more with each phrase Zamian spoke.


    "I''m about to reach adulthood. I need to continue my family tree. I need a respectful woman to marry and bear my children, to not let my ancestors down," he said, meeting Chosen Yokki¡¯s gaze. "That''s why when I heard Lakea was a Cleric, I knew I had to do something. Most Clerics have arranged marriages by the age of 16¡ªand Lakea''s birthday is after the end of the last Nurture Ritual. I couldn¡¯t¡ª no, I still can''t let another man take my future wife from me! I can''t be responsible for the end of my bloodline," Zamian concluded, hoping his flowery speech was good enough.


    "Child, but I just told you the news about my daughter, and you looked rather surprised, didn¡¯t you?" Yokki asked, raising an eyebrow.


    "Of course I was surprised! I went there to find her, but I failed. I even said so to Bohlo,¡± pointing to his friend, he kept talking, "I thought I had made a mistake, failing yet again at finding her, but then you confirmed she was indeed there. How unlucky of me!" Zamian shook his head, looking up in exasperation. "I have just committed a heinous crime for nothing. Even my punisher will be my lover¡¯s mother. Isn''t this a bit poetic? Tragic, even?"


    "Bohlo, why did Dante send you there?" Smiling, Yokki nodded to the bigger man, signaling for him to straighten himself.


    Zamian tried to intervene, but the Chosen shot him a glare.


    "Uhhh... Err... The-sorry. Lord Chosen Dante simply pointed me in Zamian¡¯s direction, saying he needed his tea, calling Zamian a fool, just an airhead boy daydreaming all day, staring at random people, and shaking his head... Uh, sorry Z." Bohlo answered, wiping blood off his face, and shooting a sorry glance at Zamian at the end.


    Zamian listened, looking at his friend, and feeling his headache growing. What his father saw¡­ That was him reacting to the random texts appearing in front of him! His father would never tell anyone about his weirdness unless things were worse than he thought.


    ''Bohlo, why didn''t you tell me all of this sooner?'' Thinking in distress, he looked back at the Cleric Chosen and saw her nodding thoughtfully. ¡®I just hope this ends soon.¡¯


    Even knowing the stronger cultivator had long decided the conclusion of this ordeal, his heart skipped a beat when Chosen Yokki turned her gaze to him, colder than a tundra.


    "Child, being lovestruck isn''t a crime, but you should reflect on your ways of expressing and pursuing this love. Too much of anything is a poison, and it can taint your cultivation, and by extension, our Sanctuary," she pointed at Zamian, raising her arm, "Today, you committed your first crime out of love. Who can say there won''t be a second? Who can say where you will draw the line?"


    Zamian remained silent, the impact of her words hitting him harder than he expected, but for entirely different reasons than the Chosen might have thought.


    Waving her raised arm, with the petals of her dress following the movement, she declared with an air of finality, "Both of you shall come here tomorrow after the first meal, for an audience with the representatives of the Nurture Ritual you just tainted. They shall be the ones to decide your fate, and I will personally execute any punishment decided by them. I will call Zealot Tamara as a representative of the Guardians. She witnessed the crime and brought both of you here, and, of course, I trust her impartiality."


    Zamian nodded strongly, showing his agreement, even though he knew he held no power over this decision. But for him, being judged by a Guardian who hadn''t seen their actions would be much, much, much worse than going to a trial with Zealot Tamara.


    Sometimes, a person¡¯s imagination can be uglier than reality. Any Guardian who heard the tale of two boys, one bare-chested and the other pale and weak, alone in the woods just beside the Nurture Ritual, might execute the bards and novelists responsible for spreading such nonsense. Should they discover that these two boys were real, living cultivators? Then the question would be how to execute them.


    "And as the representative of the Clerics who conducted the rituals, I shall invite the Enlightened Lakea Duskpeach. I trust her impartiality on this trial, too," said the woman, her smile mischievous. "And both of you shall share the whole truth with the judges. Do you understand me?"


    Bohlo hastily nodded, while Zamian did so mechanically, his eyelids heavy. He unknowingly closed his eyes while nodding, only to jerk his head up after nearly falling over.


    Yokki rested her hands on her legs, her cold gaze and ever-present smile returning to normal.If you encounter this tale on Amazon, note that it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.


    "Good. Now, you both must leave. I have other matters to attend to and cannot entertain you any longer. Tamara will escort you out." After speaking, her eyes glowed green, and the vines on the door moved, allowing the Zealot to enter just as the opening formed.


    "Zealot Tamara, please accompany these two to the town''s entrance. Ensure they arrive there safely. We can''t have these prodigies losing their way." Yokki concluded, nodding to the young men.


    Understanding the cue, Zamian and Bohlo bowed deeply. After raising and ensuring Bohlo''s forehead wasn''t bleeding as much as before, Zamian bowed one last time to the Cleric Chosen¡ªprompting Bohlo to do the same again¡ªand turned around, following Zealot Tamara, who he was sure had already bowed to the Chosen too, out of the abode.


    Leaving through the vine-covered door, Zamian walked just a few steps before his vision blurred, and a wave of vertigo overwhelmed him. As the ground seemed to rush up to meet his face, he felt arms supporting him from either side.


    Looking to the right, he saw a stoic brunette in wooden armor effortlessly supporting his right arm over her shoulder. Turning to his left, he caught the concerned look of an ugly monkey.


    ''Wh-¡¯, shaking his head, he soon recognized the short hair and big ears belonging to a human, but couldn¡¯t put a name on the owner. Besides the images, the sounds around him took a drowned tune.


    A male voice soon inquired, "What is happening to him, Guardian Zealot?"


    "Your friend seems exhausted. What exactly did you two do in there?"


    "Uh... He did the talking. I couldn¡¯t speak much. It¡¯s... A weird place, you know? I mean, it¡¯s hard to even stay sitting in there. Uh¡­ You understand me right?"


    Silence fell between them for a moment, then the one with the female voice spoke again.


    "You both have great potential. I''m glad I spared your lives."


    "Ah, that. Yes, thanks for that," the male responded.


    After this, Zamian heard nothing else as darkness consumed his vision, a throbbing headache preventing him from fully sleeping.


    When the pale cultivator regained clarity and could focus on his surroundings again, he found himself on the edge of a bustling town, with interconnected giant hollowed roots serving as streets, and hundreds of different buildings inside each root, all illuminated by white, yellow, and green glowing leaves.


    The first thing he truly noticed, however, was the white text hovering in front of him.


    Side Quest (!): Get home before dinner time


    Reward: Abyssal Leaf


    Status: Ongoing (2/6 hours left)


    (!) Failure to complete this quest will bring a Level 4 calamity


    Suddenly wide awake after reading the text, Zamian found himself outside a store with a wooden plaque: Survival Accessories.


    He yelled loudly, "Bohlo! In which blighted hole did you hide?"


    Looking around and hearing no response, he willed the White Dot to show his information, looking at his stats.


    STATS POINTS


    Body: 10/20


    Mind: 25/40


    Soul (!): 17/20


    (!): Your soul is injured.


    He made a mental note to ask his father about his soul injury, and he was sure this injury was causing his headache. As usual, the White Dot didn¡¯t find it important enough to show him when, how, or why he recovered stats points.


    Wetting his dry lips with his tongue, he was slowly feeling his sore body. Besides, all the talking, walking, hustling, and humming noises did nothing to ease his headache. ¡®Come on Bohlo, don¡¯t make me look for you, I need to rest.¡¯


    Moments later, a series of hurried footsteps approached Zamian. Finally, Bohlo, barechested and using some leaves as an impromptu bandana on his forehead, emerged from the shop.


    "Hey, sleeping beauty! Uh¡­ sorry about leaving you there; I just had to get something for my wound, and Mother would spank me with a carrot if she saw your body,¡± he scratched his face and pointed at the bandana.¡°This looks cool, right? Anyway, I was about to take you home, ok? I promise!" The big guy grinned foolishly, giving a thumbs up.


    Zamian could have argued about every sentence Bohlo uttered, but he chose to just hug his long-eared friend instead. After the embrace, he held Bohlo''s shoulders, looking him in the eyes.


    "Thank you, B. I don''t know how you brought me here, but you did. And what you endured for me back at that blighted abode... I won¡¯t forget it, man," Zamian said with red eyes, nodding.


    Bohlo hugged him back and kept grinning, tears welling in his eyes.


    "We''re in this for the whole cycle, Z. United by the roots. And... Aunt Jas, she..." Bohlo hiccupped, unable to hold back his tears any longer, pulling Zamian into another hug.


    Smiling wryly, Zamian could only pat the big guy''s back.


    "Come on, I couldn¡¯t have told you. The rules and all," he scoffed.


    "Z, she will be in a better place soon, trust me," Bohlo said, stepping back to wipe his tears.


    Zamian just nodded in acknowledgment. Hearing this was painful and annoying, but he knew his friend meant well.


    Suddenly, Bohlo grinned again, giving another thumbs up. Zamian couldn¡¯t help but think ¡®Being this naive, I¡¯m sure all his brainpower goes to cultivation.¡¯


    "And don¡¯t worry, my friend! I will make sure Lakea can only marry you, even if I have to bury the competition! I''ll save your family tree, Z!"


    Zamian wished he could facepalm without looking weird, but decided to simply shake his head.


    "I¡¯m not going to marry her, Bohlo. Forget everything you heard today. After our trial tomorrow, there¡¯s no need to keep any of this information at heart."


    "Uh... What? Why?"


    "Political games, Bohlo. Political games. Do you think a tired me can outsmart a Chosen, and the Cleric Chosen at that?"


    "Uh... No, I mean... Outsmart at what? Z, too complex again," Bohlo''s shoulders dropped a little.


    Zamian just stared at his friend and laughed.


    "Yeah, you¡¯re right. Too complex. And I don¡¯t have time to explain everything, I need to get home. I¡¯m exhausted,¡± Zamian vision blurred for a moment before stabilizing again, ¡°But what about you? Are you okay?"


    "Yep, I¡¯m fine. Oh, Zealot Tamara said you need to rest your soul a bit. She said something about you feeling better before feeling a lot worse. No clue what that means, but knowing you... Uh... you¡¯ll figure it out!" He grinned, patting Zamian¡¯s shoulder and almost making the paler cultivator fall. "Oops."


    "Yeah... I¡¯ll be okay. Don¡¯t leave without me tomorrow, okay, B? We''ll go together," Zamian said while massaging his sore shoulder, concerned about the Zealot¡¯s sentences.


    After the typically prolonged goodbyes, and making sure that Bohlo understood they would leave together the next day, Zamian began walking home. A numbness spread through his mind, like a veil covering everything, making him mechanically walk on the wooden streets.


    The light, coming from some glowing leaves and through the root¡¯s openings, was enough for him to see and recognize the path home. Hundreds of wooden houses were built not on ground level, but all around the tunnel shape root.


    Side Quest (!): Get home before dinner time


    Reward: Abyssal Leaf


    Status: Ongoing (1/6 hours left)


    (!) Failure to complete this quest will bring a Level 4 calamity


    The text appeared when he was looking at an alley, wondering if he should just lie down there and rest a little. But looking at his limited timeframe, he kept wobbling home, having no energy to think.


    Eventually, with a growing headache, Zamian arrived at his wooden house, passing through what used to be their door, but now was a hole covered with a giant leaf. The moment he entered, another text appeared.


    Side Quest Completed: Get home before dinner time


    Reward: Abyssal Leaf


    Status: Completed


    He glanced at the text, barely noticing the rough texture of an object with a waxy and veiny surface in his hand, before collapsing onto the warm floor. The wooden surface meeting his face was the last sensation he felt as he blacked out, as a new line of texts appeared for him.


    New Side Quest: Fully heal your soul


    Reward: Ancient Astral Seal


    Status: Ongoing


    Zamian drifted into a trance, of myriad vines carrying him to bed. A reddish fog surrounded his house, with a smell reminding him of fresh apples. The distant sound of his parents talking captured his fleeting attention.


    His father''s bestial laughter, unique as far as he knew, contrasted sharply with his mother''s berating tones, making his heart ache even in his semi-conscious state.


    As his awareness slowly faded, random thoughts of bright stars and a green sky falling on top of him consumed his mind, before a sweet and numb relief made all fade.

 Chapter 4 - Abyssal Leaf

    A strong citric smell woke Zamian from his sleep. As he slowly opened his eyes, the young cultivator was greeted by a ceiling carved with dozens of odd drawings, which he immediately recognized as his and his mother''s handwork.


    Memories of her holding a younger version of himself on her shoulders and of his father mocking said drawings, laughing at him, made the young cultivator chuckle.


    Feeling the soft bedding beneath him and the blanket of leaves covering his body, a relieved smile adorned Zamian¡¯s face. ¡®Home,¡¯ he thought.


    "Zammy, wake up and eat something, darling," a voice, modulated and slightly high-pitched, reached his ears.


    Zamian beamed, turning to look at the speaker, feeling a wave of calming numbness wash over him. A glance at the figure revealed a hovering red text.


    [LEVEL 4 - MORTAL TIER - ?? PATHWAY(IMPURE)]


    Beside his bed, an olive-skinned man with small eyes and a cleanly shaved face stood holding a wooden tray. The tray bore a cup and two bowls¡ªone filled with orange juice and the other with assorted fruits and grains. The man, whose long hair cascaded down his back, was smiling with a hint of concern in his eyes. He wore a purplish-silk robe, an unusual choice given the typical greenish or brownish attire of the Sanctuary.


    "Hey, Dad!" Zamian greeted, sitting up and taking the tray to his lap, completely ignoring the text.


    "Hey, darling!" Zamian¡¯s father spoke gently, crossing his legs one over the other.


    The man placed his hand behind Zamian¡¯s head, caressing his son''s black hair while humming an odd tune, sounding like a marching chant. As the melody unfolded, Zamian unconsciously trembled, his eyes growing moist.


    "How are you feeling, sweetie?" Dante inquired, his nose brushing Zamian''s hair. "You need a bath, Zammy. You''re a grown boy; must I remind you every time to clean yourself?" He chided softly, punctuating his words with a kiss on Zamian¡¯s hair.


    "Come on, Dad, it''s not that bad. You sure smelled worse back in the day," Zamian chuckled, rolling his eyes and assessing his state. "I guess... I am okay. Why wouldn''t I be?" He mused.


    Zamian shrugged, thinking of no reason not to be okay, and continued sipping his juice and nibbling on grains. He attempted to recall the events of the day, resulting in only fuzzy and sporadic memories of conversations with his friend Bohlo and a mysterious woman. Or two. Maybe three, he wasn¡¯t sure.


    "What time is it, Dad?" Zamian asked, his tongue rolling absently inside his mouth.


    "Just past the last mealtime, honey. You got here after the midday meal; why do you ask?"


    "I... I don''t remember how I got here."


    "Did you get drunk?" Dante raised an eyebrow.


    "Wh- No! I don¡¯t drink. You would have me whipped."


    "Not something so drastic, no. But you''d have some explaining to do," he said, smirking. "So, what is it? Did you eat some poisoned plant?"


    ¡°Now you¡¯re just messing with me,¡± Zamian gave a wry smile and scratched his head. "But I''ll find Bohlo later; he must know. I was with him."


    "Oh, okay, sweetie," Dante hummed, still gently caressing Zamian''s head.


    "...And how are you feeling, Dad?"


    "Hmmm... I won''t lie, I was a little worried when you didn''t come home earlier,¡± he pouted, ¡°And you''re right! I had to ask Bohlo to look for you. Let me see, what else,¡± Dante said, placing a hand on his chin and looking thoughtful.


    Zamian observed this while finishing his meal, still smiling.


    "Oh! I also got a little angry when I ran out of tea. Almost lost my mind." Dante snapped his fingers and nodded slightly, giggling by the end.


    "Dad, I''m sorry! Did you have... Another episode?" Zamian looked at his father with a concerned gaze, setting the tray aside and standing up. "Don''t worry, I''ll bring some tea leaves now. It must be hard for you to manage without them."


    Before Zamian could move further, his dad laughed, the gentle sound echoing warmly.


    "Oh, Zammy, did you really forget? Sweetie, you brought me tea leaves. Well, one tea leaf, but it''s big enough for two days. Maybe three. Oh, and thank you!"


    "Wh-I did? That vermin, what did Bohlo do to me this morning?" Zamian laughed in exasperation. "Did that guy slip some essence drug into my food? Did he force-fed me a poisonous fruit?"


    "Language, Zamian Greenfield," his father scolded


    "Sorry, Mom," Zamian blurted out reflexively.


    "It''s okay. Come, let''s drink some tea. It¡¯s rare for me to spend quality time with my son. You usually are locked in that room reading some old books. Still so young, but behaving like an old man," Dante laughed, again humming the odd tone.


    Zamian followed his father out of his bedroom, going to the previously empty living room, where a ceramic pot¡ªthe only one in the house, as far as he knew¡ªsat atop glowing gray leaves, which emitted a substantial amount of gray smoke and smelled like wood ash.


    "Wow, did you have to use Gray''s Opaque to make tea with that leaf?" Zamian recoiled slightly, looking at his father.


    "Uh-huh," the man nodded nonchalantly.


    "Aren''t those leaves, like, super expensive? One-month-of-your-old-wage kind of expensive?"


    "What can I say? You brought me a nice gift. I guess you scammed some merchant for that leaf, Zammy. I know you don''t have the money to buy it, not after buying so many books. And if you had stolen it," he gave a forced chuckle, "You wouldn''t dare come home, no matter how drugged or drunk you were."


    Zamian shuddered at the thought. He certainly wouldn''t dare face his father''s wrath in case of robbery¡ªboth his parents hated thieves even more than murderers.


    Settling next to the steaming pot, Zamian motioned to open the lid, only to have his hand slapped away.


    "Ouch!"


    "Patience."


    "I just want to look."


    "It¡¯s hot, Zammy. You could get hurt."


    "Come on, I''m an Enlightened. I can handle hot," he smirked, moving his hand toward the lid again.


    Observing his father''s wry smile, Zamian fortified his hand with a layer of essence inside and out before lifting the lid. ''Better safe than sorry,¡¯ he thought.


    Reddish smoke billowed from the pot, carrying the fresh scent of apples. As he inhaled the reddish smoke, memories of the morning''s events came flooding back, his thoughts in disarray. Out of instinct, he expanded the White Dot on the corner of his vision, looking at specific lines of text.


    STATS POINTS


    Body: 15/20


    Mind: 30/40


    Soul (!): 08/20


    (!) Your soul is injured.


    NEW REWARDS


    Abyssal Leaf


    Description: A fallen leaf from the broken realm.


    QUEST LOG


    Last Quest: Get home before dinner time


    Reward: Abyssal Leaf


    Status: Completed


    Main Quest:  Destroy an Unholy Sapling before the end of the month


    Reward: Special Physique (??)


    Status: Ongoing (14 days left)The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.


    Side Quest: Fully heal your soul


    Reward: Ancient Astral Seal


    Status: Ongoing


    As Zamian inhaled more of the red mist, he felt overwhelmed by the worst headache of his life. Clutching his head, he screamed in agony, collapsing and writhing on the floor.


    Meanwhile, his father sat cross-legged, eyes closed, mumbling under his breath. A palpable pressure emanated from him, making Zamian feel as though his body was dissolving.


    Sometimes, the pressure was akin to a swamp slowly devouring everything, other times it felt like dropping from high heights, a sense of dread consuming the young cultivator¡¯s mind.


    The smoke swirled towards his father''s nose, eyes, and mouth, and the features of the man changed perceptively. His muscles swelled while his skin roughed up.


    Zamian tried to crawl closer to Dante, but could only tremble on the floor. "DAD! WAKE UP! DAD!" He shouted as a static noise filled his ears.


    Dante kept absorbing the reddish smoke, and Zamian noticed the text above the man¡¯s head flickering, transitioning from red to green, changing little by little, and finally settling on a new line.


    [LEVEL 4 - MORTAL TIER - CREATION PATHWAY]


    Zamian had no time to react to the changes; because as soon as the text stabilized and his father ceased absorbing the smoke, the red fog rushed at him, searing into his eyes, mouth, and nose.


    The red fog dominated his vision and sensations.


    Paralyzed, he suddenly saw the red fog become a black space filled with motes of multicolored lights. The majority were white, interspersed with pale green, and a few as crimson as blood. There were also other hues of red, pink, brown, yellow, purple, and several colors difficult to perceive.


    These motes moved erratically, forming a humanoid shape surrounded by a dark green halo that emitted constant waves, which caused some motes to flicker violently, bringing Zamian spikes of pain even in the current state, while others began to fade, offering a numbing sense of relief. Some white motes shone brightly, slowing the advance of the green waves.


    From the periphery of this peculiar vision, a red mist surged¡ªthe color similar to some motes of lights inside this dark space¡ª- and swiftly consumed the green halo and infiltrated the gaps between those particles.


    The fading motes took a red color, and the flickering ones stabilized. Soon, new red motes formed, and the humanoid shape was then predominantly made of crimson red motes, followed by white and green.


    As there was no more space to accommodate additional specks of light, the red mist dispersed, allowing Zamian to open his eyes to the sight of dissipating red smoke and a wall of white text.


    +40 Soul Points (!)


    (!) Your Soul is fully healed. Expanding Soul Stat Cap ¡ú 48/48


    Completed Side Quest: Fully heal your soul


    Reward: Ancient Astral Seal


    Status: Completed


    +52 Soul Points (!)


    (!) Your Soul Stat Cap has reached a milestone ¡ú 100/100


    Initiating a breakthrough¡­


    Breakthrough attempt failed (!)


    (!) Please upgrade your stats.


    After the final message, Zamian¡¯s vision cleared, and the red fog spread throughout the surroundings, yet it did not leave the living room.


    Zamian stood up, feeling neither the previous headache nor any pressure emanating from his father. He slowly walked over to where the older man sat cross-legged.


    Settling beside him, Zamian analyzed his father. ¡®Cultivating. I can¡¯t interrupt. But¡­ He looks safe. That¡¯s good,¡¯ he sighed in relief, before focusing on himself.


    ''What is happening to me, though?'' Zamian pondered, shaking his head in confusion. ''How could I forget so much? What kind of mess is this?''


    He glanced once more at his father, confirming the man¡¯s condition, before willing the White Dot to expand.


    STATS POINTS


    Body: 15/20


    Mind: 28/40


    Soul (!): 100/100


    (!) Please upgrade your level to increase your Soul Stat Cap.


    NEW REWARDS


    Ancient Astral Seal


    Description: A Star Seal guarding your Astral Self.


    ''A seal? Where is it? What about the leaf...'' He walked to the pot, confirming it was empty of either tea or leaf, before glancing around at the lingering smoke. ''Now it¡¯s all smoke. I¡¯m sure this red mist healed me, and more importantly, stabilized my father.''


    Zamian tapped his body, searching for the seal. He recalled a rough texture on his hand when he completed the side quest to arrive home¡ªhe believed that was the Abyssal Leaf.


    The reward of his first main quest, about reading books, was a technique, and the change signalizing the delivery had been instantaneous¡ªa line of text appearing above people''s heads was hard to miss.


    Finding nothing tangible, he closed his eyes instinctively. Zamian was certain something had changed. Having dealt with the mysterious White Dot and these texts for almost two years, he had come to understand the significance of the stats.


    Body stat represented his physical health and condition. He hadn''t been exactly sick in these two years, but there had been a lot of fatigue from doing chores. This stat had improved from 12 to 20, but he believed it was only because of a routine of exercises prescribed by his father.


    Mind was the stat he liked most; it seemed to help him cast techniques faster and also improved his reading speed. It had increased from 25 to 40, and the young man suspected it also could influence his state of mind, like how patient and calm he could be, though he wasn''t entirely sure.


    And then there was the soul stat. At first, it was a mystery to Zamian, starting at 10 points. Cultivating essence seemed to have no impact on it, and only by becoming an Enlightened did it rise to 40.


    When one becomes an Enlightened, they can learn a cultivator¡¯s technique¡ªusually the Everbark Technique that Zamian and Bohlo used before¡ªand gather more essence inside themselves. Because of this, Zamian guessed this stat symbolized his attunement with essence¡ªhow quickly he could cultivate and how much essence he could hold.


    Now, he was fairly certain it related to his cultivation and some mysterious specks of light.


    Once, his father had explained that essence existed beyond the physical realm; it was connected to places only the Verdant God and other divine beings could see and touch. While mortals felt essence as energy to be gathered to strengthen their body and power their techniques, only to be spent and forever lost, for more powerful beings it was like a cup filled with water¡ªeven if you drank the water, the cup would still be there to be filled again.


    Closing his eyes to try his luck, Zamian thought about the space he saw before, surprising even himself when he saw a dark place full of motes of light. ¡®That was easy,¡¯ he thought.


    The young cultivator tried to command these motes, willing them to move and replenish his essence.


    Nothing happened.


    He then attempted to touch them, to reach a little closer, but to no avail. He even tried to distinguish how many there were, only counting enough to know there was much more than only one hundred, which was the number on his soul stat. Zamian could just look at them, moving while they formed a generic human figure.


    ''But why multicolored? My Soul and my essence should be green. I am a Nature¡¯s Path cultivator, even if I¡¯m an unfaithful one,'' he thought, leaving his trance and taking a deep breath. ¡®At least father is stable.¡¯


    His father¡¯s body shook at that moment, startling the young man.


    Dante opened his eyes, his gaze still unfocused as he shook his head after a moment.


    Standing up in front of his father, Zamian gripped the man''s shoulder. "Are you alright, Dad?!"


    "Hm," Dante grunted and nodded slightly, closing and opening his eyes in a frown.


    Releasing him, Zamian stepped back, watching his father with an eagle eye. "Are you sure you''re okay?"


    The older cultivator, his voice raspy like dry leaves scraping across the ground, contrasting with the previous tone, spoke, "Don¡¯t worry, kid. My mind is clear and my body is healthy. In fact, I feel better than ever," said the previous Lord Chosen, while tousling his hair into a wild disarray with one hand, using the other to rip his robe and open the chest segment.


    Zamian muscles relaxed, an unknown amount of tension leaving his body.


    ¡°I don¡¯t know how much time we have, kiddo. Did I break anything this time? It sure looks like I evaporated someone¡¯s body here,¡± Dante let out a self-deprecating chuckle, looking around at the red mist spreading through his living room, and slapped his hand on the wood floor. As a dark green light flashed across the room, two intricated wooden chairs emerged from the ground.


    Both Dante and Zamian sat down, the older man¡¯s eyes shining green while he surveyed the room again. Stomping on the floor, small holes appeared on the ground, a gentle wind moving all the mist below. After checking everything twice, he looked at his son, making the boy feel like a myriad of vines had entered his skin, and were brushing against his soul.


    Dante winced and harrumphed, his eyes turning brown again.


    ¡°How long was my episode this time, Zamian? Had you left me alone for years?" The white-haired cultivator asked, frowning and massaging his eyes.


    ¡°Wh-No. No. Years? I was here yesterday. Did you forget?¡±


    ¡°Yesterday? I guess I lost a few more memories, kiddo. We can¡¯t be on the same timeframe here.¡±


    ¡°Dad, what kind of blight are you talking about? You¡¯re a Chosen, there¡¯s no way you can¡¯t tell the passage of time. Come on, don¡¯t make me more worried,¡± looking at his father¡¯s smirk, Zamian massaged his temples.


    ¡°Boy, I¡¯m feeling a little better seeing you this anxious and annoyed," he laughed, a bestial sound echoing through the room.


    Zamian rolled his eyes, relaxing even more on the cair. "Did that red mist put vermins on your head?" The young man joked, his instincts telling him everything was okay¡ªinstincts he barely noticed.


    ¡°I can only hope," Dante shrugged, "But let me stop joking. Do you still have that thing inside your head?¡±


    ¡°My super brain?¡±


    ¡°No, I mean the useful and helpful one,¡± Dante grinned


    Zamian felt his heart warm, and he snorted.


    ¡°The White Dot, yes. We talked about it. If you¡¯re feeling better, I can tell¨C¡± Before he could say anything else, his dad raised a hand.


    ¡°No talking about your mysterious gift with your unstable father, remember? The less I know, and the less anyone else knows, the better.¡±


    ¡°Yeah. Could you please just say whatever you want to say? So much happened¡ªis still happening¡ªand you aren¡¯t even letting me talk.¡±


    ¡°Some fathers would beat their kids up if they ever talked to them like that, did you know?¡±


    ¡°Please, Dad. Just say it. We have a lot to talk about. I encountered the Cleric Chosen, and my soul was injured. Then I found something that stabilized you, and maybe that can even heal you! I need to answer a trial, and we have a little less than a month for the Nurture Ritual to end. A lot, right?¡± As Zamian spoke, he felt a little overwhelmed¡ªtoo much had happened.


    ¡°Ohh boy, if that¡¯s it, you are in for a huge surprise, then.¡±


    ¡°What surprise?¡±


    ¡°Because you left two things out of that list of yours. And kiddo, one of them makes me shudder,¡± Dante gave a toothy smile.

 Chapter 5 - Family Small Talk

    Zamian stood, feeling a mix of annoyance and anticipation as he watched his father inspect the red mist and the empty ceramic pot. ''Maybe a unique reaction from the Abyssal Leaf with water and heat,'' he mused with a shrug. More pressing concerns lingered on his mind.


    "Come on, old man. I would joke about you spilling it out before you forget, but we both know it wouldn''t be a joke," he said, smirking.


    "Patience, patience. Were you always this anxious, kid?" Dante replied.


    "I could spend next lunch on the Deep Ground Prison, so yeah, maybe I''m a bit more anxious than usual," Zamian rolled his eyes.


    "Even you don''t believe that, boy. Either imprisoning you or ending your mortal cycle at a trial would be a terrible political move. Taking away the previous Lord Chosen¡¯s son wouldn''t be what we call smart," Dante shot him a knowing look.


    "Dear father, wasn''t I, your Enlightened son, fatally wounded until a few moments ago?"


    "You jest, but even that was a smarter political move than sending you to the Deep Ground tomorrow. Can you guess why, boy?" Dante asked, finally sitting across from Zamian, making some fluffy leaves grow behind the chair¡¯s back for comfort.


    "Uh-huh," Zamian nodded. "Now that I think about the situation, I have a guess. Yokki wanted me to make it home. She wanted to test you, didn¡¯t she?" The young man¡¯s voice took on a serious tone.


    "Smart boy," Dante grunted. "But one correction: not she, but they. Yokki would never make a move alone. It would be beyond stupid to act against me without support."


    "The current Lord Chosen is helping her?" Zamian guessed the underlying meaning.


    "Good to see those fantasy books served you well," Dante grinned. "Yes, kiddo. He knows that even with his ass on that throne, even after taking my guards from me and sending me to this forsaken root at the fringe of the Sanctuary... Even with all that, I still pose a danger to his position."


    "But how could they know I was there? Bellow Erasmus Tree? Are they spying on me?"


    Dante laughed, with that bestial sound again, "Come on, boy. The world doesn''t revolve around you ¡ª that''s something Jasmine loved to say,¡± he smiled gently, ¡°Zamian, I bet they just saw an opportunity and took it. Learn from that. And if you don¡¯t see one, make it yourself."


    "Got it, old man," Zamian nodded nonchalantly, dismissing his father''s advice as an opportunity the older man saw to speak nonsense. "But please, can you finally tell me what''s so important?"


    "Okay, okay. Well, first of all, congratulations, kid. You are ready to have a breakthrough and become a Zealot!" Dante gave a thumbs up.


    Zamian sat in stunned silence, his gaze distant. Abruptly, he snapped to attention, eyes wide. "Impossible, Dad! Becoming a Zealot takes at least a dozen years for an Enlightened. I need at least five more, three if I push myself to the limit."


    As Zamian spoke, Dante murmured affirmatively, "And now you understand why I am torn between hugging and beating you. Listen to me, boy. Typically, cultivators hear Nature''s Knowledge as they cultivate, obtaining more essence."


    Zamian listened earnestly.


    "This makes our soul stronger, too, accelerating the cultivation process until we can have a breakthrough. The difference between a Zealot and an Enlightened isn''t merely in the amount of essence they can hold, no, it is in how they interact with the world, how easily they can command essence. And if your soul is powerful enough, you can cultivate more efficiently. For example, in a few breaths, I can gather more essence than you could in a day."


    "My soul makes my cultivation faster¡­ That is good! How much time do I need to have a breakthrough? A few months?"


    "Two days, Zamian,¡± Dante said with a wry smile, ¡°At most, in two days of non-stop cultivation, you, my son, will be one of the youngest Zealots I''ve ever known. Maybe only the Children of Verdant could compare to you."


    Zamian''s heart raced. Despite his disdain for the Verdant God due to what happened to his parents, being compared to one of his divine children was flattering, stroking his almost non-existent ego.


    "And that isn¡¯t the best part, boy."


    "It isn¡¯t?"


    "No, kiddo. Achieving a breakthrough is merely a matter of time. Even if it took you years, you would become a Zealot," Dante''s eyes gleamed.


    Zamian signaled his understanding.


    "The best part," Dante said, pointing at Zamian¡¯s heart. "It¡¯s inside your soul. Boy, you have something in there I''ve never seen before. Not in another Chosen or in the Children of Verdant¡¯s souls. When I tried to screen your soul with my technique, I was overwhelmed by a sense of danger. That was the thing that made me shudder."


    Zamian''s eyebrows shot up. It was no small feat to alarm a Chosen.


    "Listen closely, because whatever now lurks in that soul of yours, it wasn''t there yesterday, and aside from observing your soul, I could do nothing else. Do you understand what this means, son?"


    Clenching his fists, Zamian answered, "I must be more cautious or Yokki will notice something is amiss, right?"


    "No."


    "Wh-What?"


    "You''re wrong. When in doubt, you''re always too cautious. You need to be a bit more fearless. Look at Bohlo, kid. Occasionally not using your brain could be good."


    "Let me think," Zamian closed his eyes in thought.


    ¡°Don¡¯t think. You need to open your mind while listening to your instincts too,¡± Dante said, a toothy smile spreading across his face.


    Zamian did what he was told, and tried to listen to his instincts. He had no clue of what to do at first, but then it hit him, like a flow of thoughts and whispers, a trail of ideas he should follow and listen to. After a few breaths, Zamian''s eyes snapped open.


    "You''re coming with me tomorrow. Yokki won''t dare do anything in front of you. And then, I can cultivate to become a Zealot in two days, justifying any changes to my soul as a secret technique of yours or from mother''s. I could even claim the soul injury awakened some dormant talent."


    Dante nodded, encouraging Zamian to continue.


    "And," a realization dawned on Zamian, quickening his breath, "I can''t become a Saint! The thing inside my soul makes even you feel danger, the other Chosen will be the same¡ªthey won¡¯t mess with my soul!"


    "Well said, my boy. Unless the great Verdant God lowers himself to transform you, no matter what happens, they can''t turn you into a future Colossal Tree. They can''t take you away from me, like they did to your mother," Dante''s eyes shone as he spoke.


    "That''s huge, Dad," Zamian stood, looking towards the middle door of the living room, "I''ll start cultivating now,¡± he was eager to advance and learn more about the thing inside his soul. ¡®Maybe this thing can be passed to father, It can save him, It can-¡¯ the flow of random thoughts constantly whispered new ideas to him.


    "Wait," Dante summoned vines with a wave of his hand, pulling Zamian back to the chair and interrupting the young man¡¯s thoughts, "Calm down. Having a stronger soul will also make you more thoughtless. You have started listening to your instincts, but you must determine your actions with a clear mind."


    Zamian froze, unsure what to do, and then sat down again.


    "You should learn from Bohlo, as weird as it sounds. Sometimes you might think he''s foolish, but it''s just because his soul is too powerful for his own good, kid. He trusts his instincts too much and acts without thinking," Dante explained, showing each finger as he kept speaking. "And in return, he cultivates faster, gathers more essence, is more attuned to nature, can learn new techniques more easily, can visualize better images when cultivating, and has a feel for his surroundings. Of course, for balance, he can¡¯t use his brain as a normal person would expect him to,¡± Dante smirked.This story has been taken without authorization. Report any sightings.


    "How can I avoid that? It doesn¡¯t make sense. Chosen should be mindless beasts at best with how powerful their souls are. Or they would be in great danger by not thinking with their souls and listening to their instincts in battle."


    "That¡¯s why you need to have a breakthrough. Zealots and Chosen have stronger vessels for their souls; they can handle the battle between reason and instincts. But beware, becoming a Zealot won''t turn you into a genius; it only allows you to use more of your existing intellect while dealing with the flux of information from your instincts,¡± Dante lamented in false mockery, "Most people will forever be foolish."


    Zamian scratched his head, and then nodded "Okay, Dad. After tomorrow''s trial, I''ll seclude myself and become a Zealot."


    "What seclusion? Two days at home don''t even qualify as recovering from an illness, much less a cultivation seclusion, boy, " Dante scoffed with amusement.


    Zamian''s cheeks reddened slightly. For a moment, he had thought those were nice words to say, after all, only powerful cultivators secluded themselves while crafting techniques or delving into the secrets of their Path.


    "Now, tell me everything that happened after you left the Colossal Tree, though you must skip any mention of that secret of yours," Dante instructed as a dark green glow emanated from his chest to the floor, conjuring a small table laden with fruit, grains, and wooden cups. He bit into a hairy, fragrant fruit.


    Zamian nodded, recounting the events up to the moment his father truly awakened. The young man picked and opened a greenish fruit filled with transparent liquid and drank it every so often. Throughout the story, Dante nodded, occasionally grunting or shaking his head.


    "Point out your questions or concerns, boy," Dante remarked.


    "Besides what we already talked about, and the things we can¡¯t discuss for now, I¡¯m curious about what a Calamity is and about the timing of... The miracle," Zamian cautiously stated, avoiding mentioning the Quest as his father had demanded before.


    "And the marriage issue," Dante added with a grin.


    "I thought we already had a plan for the trial?" Zamian returned his father''s look with a puzzled expression.


    "I said marriage, not trial, boy."


    "Aren''t they essentially the same, Dad? I mean, Yokki would never let me marry Lakea even if we wanted to¡ªand it''s been years since we last saw each other. Besides, the marriage proposal was just a pretext for me to leave there, we all know it," Zamian argued, his brow furrowing.


    "It was indeed a pretext, kid. Yokki would never fall for your ruse, of course. She must have been thrilled when you gave her a plausible reason to release you. She needed a valid motivation to free you, not knowing who can be trusted in her own house; after all, her abode is a nest of snakes masquerading as vines," Dante pointed out.


    Zamian acknowledged this, recalling the hidden cultivators on Yokki¡¯s abode.


    "However, that was then. For now, this situation won¡¯t be all roses and morning dew any longer. When you return as a Zealot in a few days, and her spies notice it, she''ll insist on the marriage. Do you understand why, son?"


    Silence fell. Zamian clenched his fists, his voice low, "Fear."


    "Exactly, fear. I''m the thorn in the side of the current Lord Chosen. Only Verdant God knows how those two snakes became allies, but they both should see me as a threat.¡± Dante spoke with a bestial smile forming on his face, as he looked at Zamian.


    ¡°However, kid, when you become a Zealot, your potential will scare them too. They''ll want to monitor you closely, bind you to them, and ensure their plans, whatever they are, go smoothly. And a 15-year-old Zealot is a big blighted tree in their way. Yokki shall see the marriage as the perfect chance to address the issue."


    "She will say I tainted her daughter and declared my love," Zamian muttered through gritted teeth after hearing his father, ¡°After all, I said I committed a crime for Lakea. Yokki will demand I do the righteous thing. Taking responsibility and starting the new family I said I would. Vermins!¡± Zamian cursed.


    "Kiddo!" Dante winked, "Don''t worry too much. I''ll handle it, simply give me some time," he gave a thumbs up "As for the Calamity, our world was once decimated by a Divine Calamity, according to the sacred texts. Solely the Stargazing Clerics have the scriptures that talk more about them. If you want to read, I¡¯ll need to pull some strings."


    "But what about a le¨C¡± Zamian cleaned his throat, thinking of an alternative for Level 4, "A lesser Calamity, what could that entail?" Zamian asked


    "I''m not sure. Considering the timing of your miracle, however¡­¡± Damian paused, and seemingly changed the topic, "Boy, did you know that some cultivators can detonate their essence, causing an immense wave of destruction? Thankfully, it''s a forbidden technique known only to a few Chosen, meant exclusively for dire circumstances outside the Sanctuary," Dante explained, his smile becoming melancholic his intense gaze meeting Zamian''s, ¡°And some of them would use it when they lost their sanity.¡±


    Zamian understood the implication. ''Thank you, White Dot,'' he thought.


    "Carrot and stick, boy. That''s how we made mules carry our burdens to their destination, in the past. Poor things never understood where we were going or what would happen to them when we arrived," Dante said, sipping his juice.


    "I bet the mules would do everything to survive and protect their family, even if they faced only the sticks. Having any carrot is more than they could hope for," Zamian replied, his gaze unfocused.


    "The burden isn''t yours alone, Zamian," Dante cautioned.


    "Do you still want to save Mom?" Zamian challenged.


    "Of course, boy!" Dante exclaimed, passion flaring through his speech, "She''s the mother of my child and the love of my life!"


    "Then I''ll be there to save you, you crazy old man," Zamian retorted coldly. "Because she''s been gone for years now, put that on your blighted head already."


    "You''re letting your emotions get the better of you, and too much has happened too quickly," Dante said, his presence emanating a heavy pressure that made Zamian feel pure dread as if sinking into an abyss. "But don''t you dare challenge me on this, do you understand?" The pressure lifted, and Dante grinned, "And you''re not the only one with secrets, boy. Remember, being a cultivator is about reshaping the world to your will. To make the impossible, possible. To find your path, and follow it. No matter what."


    Dante stood, and with a flick of his wrist, all wooden constructs retracted into the floor.


    ¡°Dad, wait," Zamian said out loud ¡°There is another issue."


    "I know you are concerned about my condition, boy. I''ll investigate that red mist, maybe it can help me. You go rest now, and tomorrow, we can have some fun with those fancy ladies at the trial," he laughed, stepping into a newly formed hole in the ground and sealing it after himself.


    Left alone, Zamian glanced at the floor where his chair had been. Not feeling particularly weary, he moved towards a door opposite the main entrance. Opening it revealed a vibrant garden under a canopy of multicolored leaves and bright green grass, illuminated by glowing white leaves on the ceiling.


    Settling beneath a yellow-leaved tree, Zamian leaned back against the trunk, sighing deeply as he looked up, lost in thought.


    "So much has happened today," he murmured with a faint smile. "Yet, I feel more alive than ever. These past two years, just reading books and caring for father, have been boring, I guess." He closed his eyes. "I just hope the following days are not so dangerous."


    Feeling a breeze in the closed garden, Zamian spotted a bush a few steps away, its branches heavy with purple fruits. Small, sweet delicacies originated from a kind of grape, as the young cultivator read once. "Mom loved these," he mused. "She said they reminded her of her childhood."


    He chuckled, the memory bittersweet. His mother''s eccentric sayings had always been a charming aspect of her personality. "What would you have to say for me now, Mom?"


    Rising, he walked over to the bush, crouching to dig a small hole beside it. His fingers brushed against a hard object. Recognizing the shape, he carefully excavated it, and wiping away the dirt, he uncovered a book titled Sixteen Paths of Cultivation.


    ¡®Not a great place to keep a book, but that is what turned it into the best hide spot.¡¯


    Sitting cross-legged, he checked on the book, placing it on his lap and flipping open the cover, his eyes scanning the note on the first page:


    "Zammy, happy birthday! I hope your mortal cycle is filled with good food, good friends, and good memories of all kinds. Baby, look at you¡ªsuch a handsome boy now. In a few years, you''ll break many hearts. I am already worried! Please, don''t become a womanizer, darling, otherwise, your future wife will have her hands full and make you suffer¡ªjust ask your father."


    Zamian laughed, his eyes misting over, as he continued reading:


    "I know you detest reading, so I''ve filled this book with plenty of images. I hope it helps you appreciate literature more. Sadly, the Sanctuary only has dull books¡ªoh, how that pains a cultured lady like me. Anyway, my love, I truly hope this book inspires you to walk your path with courage and joy. Embrace cultivation, Zammy! Forget about power and strength. Strive for happiness!


    With love, your sweet and beautiful and humble,


    Mom.¡±


    Zamian closed the book, wiping his tear-streaked face with his sleeve. Blinking back his emotions, he began to flip through the remaining pages.


    As his mother had promised, beyond her inscription, the rest of the book had little text, and a wry smile touched his lips.


    Every subsequent page was blank.


    Previously, there had been some images and a few lines of text. Zamian had received this book on his twelfth birthday. His mother had flipped through some pages with him, but at the time he paid little to no attention. Afterward, he had merely stored the book beneath his bed and forgotten about the gift.


    Only after Jasmine was taken, and during the first of his father''s crises did the thirteen-year-old Zamian remember the book, when he found himself bellow his bed, clutching it to his chest. From outside, he could hear screams and a burst of bestial laughter, accompanied by the sounds of vines slicing through flesh and making sickening, squelching noises.


    It was there, beneath his bed, that he first opened the book to read his mother¡¯s note. He hadn¡¯t noticed the note when she gifted him.


    And when he turned to the next page, a bright white light covered his vision, searing in his mind a wall of white text¡ªthe first of many.


    Inheritor Found


    Analyzing


    Name: Zamian Greenfield


    Bloodline: Match.


    Spirit: Match


    Attempting merge (!)


    (!) Please find a secluded place for the merging process


    Secluded place found: Underbed


    Initiating merging.


    After that, Zamian remembered waking up later to the White Dot issuing his first Main Quest.

 Chapter 6 - A Mothers Legacy

    Zamian put the book back in the hole and covered it, moving the dirt with his hands. As an Enlightened, his control over essence was minimal, restricted mostly to affecting his body or essence-imbued equipment¡ªsimilar to what Bohlo had done with the bracelet. For now, he couldn¡¯t move the dirt with only his will.


    Sitting cross-legged in the middle of the indoor garden, Zamian chanted under his breath, "Nature is the Cycle, so our path is never-ending. Nature is the Creation, so our path is ever strong. Nature is the Truth, so our path is the only one." Essence cycled slowly within him, as green light covered his skin from the outside.


    He took measured breaths, attuning to the flow of essence around his body. It was said that beyond the Sanctuary, the world was polluted with essences from different Paths, slowing down cultivation and increasing the risk of being tainted. ¡®I wonder if this is true,¡¯ he thought, before focusing on his cultivation.


    His parents, Chosen themselves, had taught him the nuances of cultivation. They said essence accumulates when one''s actions or thoughts align with one¡¯s Path.


    Closing his eyes amidst the rhythmic breathing and chanting, Zamian envisioned a newborn lying in a verdant grassland. Surrounding the infant were his exhausted and sweating mother and his supportive father by her side, under a canopy of swaying trees with green fruits tumbling to the ground. Neither had green texts above their heads.


    Zamian pictured a half-eaten fruit next to the woman, who carefully cradled the baby in her arms. The couple¡¯s face changed to look like his own family and the newborn looked more like what Zamian imagined as his younger self.


    The newborn¡¯s parents were smiling from ear to ear, bringing warmth to his heart. Green essence pulsed through the air, and the trees brightened, becoming more vivid. However, their bark¡¯s color didn¡¯t seem to match the environment.


    Zamian then visualized the boy''s growth: how the mother nursed him, the father who hunted and returned with fresh game, the young kid learning which fruits were safe to eat and which caused nausea or other ill effects, and even the methods of planting and harvesting the trio improved from time to time, even if the seed texture was always slightly different.


    As the boy matured, Zamian envisioned a meeting with another family, this one with a daughter, their faces indistinct. The boy and the girl grew up together, learning about climbing trees; even the crooked ones; digging shelters, tracking animals, and hiding themselves.


    Time progressed, and Zamian saw the youth starting his own family as his parents aged and prepared for another child. He saw this older version of himself teaching his own child, foraging for his family, overcoming illnesses, and having other children after the last one married and built their own family.


    With difficulty, he pictured the end of his parents¡¯ mortal cycles, burying them beneath the trees in the grassland. Zamian imagined himself finally lying aged and wrinkled beneath a tree, surrounded by generations of his lineage.


    He drew his final breath and was buried beneath a tree, which absorbed nutrients from his decomposing body. The tree eventually bore vibrant green fruits, and one fell near a young couple¡ªthe woman, who appeared to be close to giving birth, took a bite out of it.


    As he envisioned cycle after cycle, he observed flaws in each iteration. Sometimes, vegetables were misplaced, tree barks were mismatched, leaves disproportionate, soil too compact, or roots were too fragile.


    Flaws were common in cultivation, and by correcting them, one could resonate more with nature¡¯s knowledge and get stronger.


    His mind grew heavy as he corrected those flaws every cycle. Soon, Zamian had to adjust dozens of flaws in each vision, when in the past he only corrected two or three, at most.


    Realizing the burden of nature¡¯s knowledge was too heavy, he ceased his chanting and visualizations. Opening his eyes, Zamian observed a vortex of green essence swirling around him, centering on his chest. "Wh-," surprised, the young man was captivated by the amount of essence flowing around.


    The green wave of energy then dispersed like grains tossed to the wind, spreading to the trees and grass. Checking on himself, Zamian felt his essence invigorating his muscles and clearing his mind.


    This amount of essence had already surpassed what he could have gathered in an entire morning just the day before. On a whim, he summoned the White Dot to check his cultivation progress and stat points.


    PERSONAL INFORMATION


    Name: Zamian Greenfield


    Level: 2 [14%]


    Tier: Mortal


    Main Pathway: Creation


    Title: None


    STATS POINTS


    Body: 16/25


    Mind: 35/40


    Soul: 52/100


    "Are you some harbinger of bad news, White Dot? You didn''t even alert me on my cultivation progress or bigger body cap. Maybe you only feel joy when delivering bad news," he joked.


    Zamian¡¯s gaze went to the soul points. "I usually don''t check this after my cultivation sessions," he murmured, pondering the implications. "At least it wasn''t the cap that lowered this time, but the points," he concluded, talking aloud to the white text inside his head.


    Deciding to probe further, the young Enlightened closed his eyes once more.


    Immersing himself in the unknown darkness, Zamian soon saw the humanoid outline composed of multicolored motes of light¡ªpredominantly red, white, and green. Unlike before, the white and green motes shone, their brightness spreading throughout the place.


    After trying again to manipulate these specks of light, he achieved no success and ended his trance, grumbling inwardly and exhaling deeply.


    Reclining on the grass and gazing up at the leafy canopy, Zamian noticed a gentle breeze wafting through, rustling a solitary yellow flower nearby. Its simple beauty made him smile. "You sure are carefree, aren¡¯t you?" he murmured. After a while, feeling more at ease, he checked his stats once again.


    STATS POINTS


    Body: 16/25


    Mind: 35/40


    Soul: 59/100


    "That¡¯s it," he said aloud, "I usually cultivate with brief pauses, and maybe only unhealthy souls don¡¯t recover quickly."


    He chuckled out of nowhere. "Am I talking with you White Dot?" Zamian shook his head, ¡°I hope this doesn¡¯t become a habit.¡±


    Opting against wasting essence by practicing his techniques, he focused on rest and cultivation, feeling the essence flow through him every time he repeated this cycle.


    When Dante called him to visit Bohlo, Zamian had been cultivating for more than a dozen hours. Following his instincts, he checked his stats once more before setting out.


    PERSONAL INFORMATION


    Name: Zamian Greenfield


    Level: 2 [45%]


    Tier: Mortal


    Main Pathway: Creation


    Title: None


    STATS POINTS


    Body: 45/54


    Mind: 46/50


    Soul: 40/100


    Zamian stood, laughing cheerfully. Though his appearance remained unchanged, the newfound strength within was palpable.


    ¡®It took me more than one year to accumulate 10% on Level 2, and now I am at 45%?!¡¯ he whistled. ¡®I shouldn¡¯t ignore Soul Points¡ªno, I shouldn¡¯t ignore anything the White Dot shows me.¡¯


    After standing up and taking his first step, the ground cracked, and Zamian stumbled, only avoiding the fall by a vine snatching at his clothes.


    Dante shook his head, his hand on his forehead. "Go wash up in the stream, boy. We are not using the tunnels, so stay clean. And don''t worry, your soul will help you manage this new strength,¡± Dante paused. ¡°Maybe after you''ve gotten more intimate with the ground," he added with a smirk.


    Rubbing the back of his neck, Zamian headed to cleanse himself on a small pond in the middle of the garden. He and his father had decided to go to Bohlo¡¯s house before the first meal, fearing the stupid oak would dare to go alone.


    As the father-son duo exited their home, a pulse of green energy radiated from Dante¡¯s feet, sealing the wooden structure in a ball of vines.


    Their house nestled within a cavernous tunnel formed by one of the Colossal Tree¡¯s roots that spanned the entire Sanctuary¡ªthey didn¡¯t even know from which tree it came. While most segments of the roots burrowed underground, several arched above the surface. It was upon these exposed segments that the inhabitants of the Sanctuary established their residences.The author''s content has been appropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.


    Once Dante relinquished his title as Lord Chosen, they had to vacate the prestigious Lord''s Tree and relocate to a more secluded and modest site situated between the main town, in the middle of the Sanctuary, and the area of the Colossal Trees, on the periphery. At least they could take their home wherever they chose to move. Or were demanded to move to.


    Approaching the massive entrance carved into the root, Zamian shielded his eyes against the intense light from above. After a moment, he took a deep breath, and spread his arms wide, gazing up at the sky¡ªa dome of white leaves covering everything above, being the source of their light.


    The Clerics used to teach that the Sanctuary is atop God¡¯s Tree, where the Verdant God resides with his Children.


    At the horizon, the Colossal Trees dotted the landscape with their verdant canopies. Turning around, the young cultivator view was filled with an expanse of ordinary trees. Unlike the forests described in books, the Sanctuary radiated tranquility, with no unknown sounds or animals hunting and being hunted.


    Zamian''s expression was soft, his body easing as he let the quiet whisperings of his instincts flow through his mind once more.


    "Snap out of it, kiddo," Dante chided, clapping Zamian on the back and jolting him forward.


    Taking a moment to focus, Zamian took a deep breath, ¡®This was dangerous, but the world around me seems so different.¡¯


    Closing his eyes to organize his thoughts, he asked, ¡°What about the red mist, Dad?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s still red," Dante smirked.


    ¡°Did you discover anything? How it can help you?" The young man ignored his father¡¯s remark.


    ¡°When I find something, you will know.¡±


    Zamian opened his eyes and cast a slightly annoyed glance at his father.


    They proceeded in silence¡ªZamian dressed in plain brown, Dante in his tattered purple silk robe. After a few moments, Dante paused and grinned, prompting Zamian to halt and scan their surroundings, his senses heightened¡ªhe wasn¡¯t anxious, just curious.


    The young man felt a warm breeze on his skin and turned to look at the source, seeing a bush. He could hear and feel whispers from his instinct coming from there, but no matter how he looked, it was just a quiet and ordinary bush. But then, the bush rustled. Glancing at his father, who merely smiled, Zamian kept observing it, his brows furrowed.


    A muscular arm emerged from the foliage, followed by a shirtless man adorned with a wooden bracelet and a leafy band, his short hair framing long ears. He smiled with a look of mild confusion.


    "Uh, Z. Ah, and Lord Chosen. Nice to see you both here!" Bohlo beamed, opening his arms wide after recognizing the duo.


    "What are you doing here? I told you to wait at your store," Zamian exclaimed, embracing his friend in greeting.


    Bohlo wheezed in response, "The...Z...I..." Noticing he was holding his friend a little too tight, Zamian released Bohlo, observing his friend''s wide-eyed, gasping expression.


    "Sorry," Zamian muttered, scratching his neck.


    "Z, what did you eat? I want some!" Bohlo chuckled, draping an arm around Zamian''s neck.


    Dante''s laughter drew their attention. "I''m no longer Lord Chosen, Bohlo Boy, his eyes flashed a green light, and Bohlo shuddered. After a while, Dante nodded to Zamian and said out loud. ¡°Let''s keep moving."


    Zamian understood, ¡®Bohlo¡¯s soul is fine. Good.¡¯


    As they continued their walk, the big-eared cultivator exclaimed, "Ah, Z, it was for a... Surprise!"


    "What now?"


    "I wanted to surprise you; that''s why I came," Bohlo said, grinning.


    Zamian returned a wry smile, thinking, ''Maybe your soul is as big as your heart, B.'' But then he smiled genuinely, ''And I hope that never changes.''


    Their path led them past more enormous roots, with homes, shops, and even more kinds of buildings found along the way. Ahead lay a massive confluence of roots, forming the main town.


    The scent of soil and grass shifted to woody tones, mixed occasionally with acidic or sour notes. The residents were accustomed to these smells, none strong enough to overpower the pervasive aroma of the forest. Green energy shimmered sporadically in more populated areas, showing the overflow of Nature¡¯s essence.


    Hundreds of commoners bustled through the roots, with some Enlightened leaping from one structure to another. Zamian noted that nearly everyone was Level 1. Opting to remain on the ground, they navigated the crowd, which parted respectfully at the sight of Dante''s distinctive purple robe.


    Not a single person, however, approached his group in recognition of his father¡¯s past role. Even some guards patrolling the streets gave a wide berth, pretending not to see them.


    Zamian shrugged. He would be surprised if they dared to come closer. Yesterday, when he walked alone on these streets, people who recognized him also avoided coming closer.


    Eventually, they arrived outside a two-story wooden building, the sign Survival Accessories hanging above the door.


    "Why are we here, Z?" Bohlo asked, releasing Zamian with a hint of concern in his voice. The big guy was used to holding his friend¡¯s shoulders as they walked.


    "We need to eat, that¡¯s why," Zamian grinned, pushing open the door. The whispers of information from his instincts were telling him to move.


    "Did you even tell your parents about the trial, Bohlo?" Dante inquired, his tone serious.


    "Uh, no, sir. I forgot. But there is no need to bother then," Bohlo admitted, his cheeks reddening, as he looked at Dante with big eyes, pounting.


    "Bohlo Boy, you''re not a kid anymore. Stop trying to be cute. And we need to talk to your parents," Dante insisted.


    Inside, they were greeted by an elderly couple smiling warmly.


    "Welcome, Lord Chosen. It¡¯s an honor," Bohlo''s father began, starting to bow, but Zamian quickly intervened.


    "Please, Uncle Soho, no need for all that stuff. Right, Dad?" Zamian looked at Dante for confirmation.


    Nodding, Dante gestured with one hand pressing down for everyone to relax. "Good to see you again, Shopkeeper Soho and Harvester Misandra," he said evenly. "I don''t wish to impose for long. May we speak here?"


    Misandra, dressed in a green floral garment with her white hair neatly tucked under a tunic, nodded still smiling softly.


    Dante grunted, and a green wave pulsed through the ground, summoning a small round table with chairs. He sat down, leaning back in a relaxed posture, his arms resting on the armrests.


    Bohlo hurried to assist his mother to take a sit, while Zamian helped Soho before they all settled into their seats.


    As anxious glances were exchanged, Dante cleared his throat, addressing the older couple warmly. Only Zamian was puzzled by his father''s tones, ¡®Why aren¡¯t we eating?¡¯ the young man thought.


    "We first met when Jasmine was shopping for unusual trinkets, right, Shopkeeper?"


    "That''s correct, Lord Chosen. Miss Jasmine sought a particular kind of imbued lockbox. I can''t quite recall its name," Soho responded with his hand tenderly holding his wife''s.


    "A chest. She always found our ways of safeguarding treasures underground and under bed rather archaic," Dante sighed deeply. "I regret being so blunt after such a long absence, but there''s a matter concerning our sons that might affect you both."


    Acknowledging with nods, Misandra gently patted her husband''s hand, while Soho moistened his lips and shifted uncomfortably.


    "They face a trial today," Dante disclosed, noting Soho''s pallor, "It''s not a Sacred Trial, just a regular one, presided over by a Zealot and an Enlightened," he explained, spreading his hands reassuringly.


    "I understand, Lord Chosen," Soho said, turning to his son, a glint hidden in his eyes. "Their mortal cycle is safe. Even the worst sentence would only send them to the Deep Ground for repentance."


    "Typically, yes," Dante tapped the armchair thoughtfully. "But this time, the situation isn¡¯t so simple."


    Observing his father throughout the conversation, Zamian interjected, puzzled. "Dad, why all the drama? Uncle, Aunt, don''t worry," he reassured the elderly couple, "My father just wanted you informed about the trial, but everything will be fine. We''re just here to eat before heading out."


    Bohlo remained silent, a sorrowful look in his eyes.


    "Son," Dante''s voice softened, "What are your instincts telling you right now?"


    Zamian felt a chill. As his father posed the question, he already knew the answer, as the whispers subsided, "To protect and make them feel safe," he murmured.


    "And what does your mind tell you?" Dante pressed.


    Surveying his father, then his quiet friend, and finally the elderly couple, Zamian read the text hovering over their heads:


    [LEVEL 4 - MORTAL TIER - CREATION PATHWAY]


    [LEVEL 2 - MORTAL TIER - CREATION PATHWAY]


    [LEVEL 1 - MORTAL TIER - CREATION PATHWAY]


    [LEVEL 1 - MORTAL TIER - CREATION PATHWAY]


    Taking a deep breath, Zamian pieced it together. "They''re our weakness," he jumped out of his seat, "Yokki will strike at them after she fails with us. Not out of spite, but to ensure we have no allies," he shot a worried glance at Bohlo, "And to ensure even our friends abandon us," finally he looked at Misandra, noting only a motherly concern in her eyes, not a trace of fear.


    The whispers rushed back.


    "No,¡± his face dawned with realization. "Something already happened."


    Misandra nodded, and Bohlo sighed, hanging his head.


    "They came while we were washing dinner¡¯s dishes¡ªthose from the Lord''s Tree," Soho explained, standing with his wife, still clasping her hand tightly. "They said our store hadn¡¯t paid the proper taxes. They¡¯ve ordered us to leave by today."


    "Uncle, this store..." Zamian''s gaze swept over the shelves stocked with wooden bowls, vases, sticks, and baskets¡ªeverything except armor or weapons. "It was your mother''s, wasn''t it?" A pang of sorrow tightened his chest.


    Soho nodded solemnly. "Yes. As an outsider, her skill in crafting imbued trinkets brought something unique to the Sanctuary. This store, her legacy, has been one of the three best things of my life," he glanced at his son and his wife. "But I''m content to retire under the grace of Verdant God," he said, spreading his arms alongside his wife.


    "They can take your store, but not your craft, Shopkeeper," Dante interjected, his voice resonating throughout the room.


    "Uh, Lord Chosen, there''s more," Bohlo interjected, his voice breaking as his eyes welled up. "They''ve forbidden my father from ever crafting or selling items again. "


    Dante''s eyebrow arched sharply. "Audacious," he muttered, his smile twisting into a scowl. "Those old farts think that because I¡¯m following their rules, I won¡¯t act at all?"


    ¡°No need to do anything rash, Lord Chosen!¡± Soho said in a panic.


    "Bohlo, did you know about this?" Zamian interrupted, his gaze heavy.


    Already behind his parents, standing at least two heads taller than the older couple, Bohlo smiled weakly and wrapped his arms around the duo, either to calm them down or to calm himself. "Yeah, I didn''t want to worry you, Z. But, uh, I¡¯m the first Enlightened in my family, no way I would keep this store after my parents retired, right?" he shrugged.


    As Zamian¡¯s gaze reflected the serene yet saddened expressions of his family''s friends, a surge of anger overwhelmed him. Yet, he controlled his instincts, which were sending information about revenge and destruction, focusing his mind. ''I won''t accept this,'' he thought.


    Lines of white text appeared, blocking his vision:


    New Side Quest: Get revenge on your friend''s behalf


    Reward: 01 Book from White Tower''s First Floor


    Status: Ongoing (1 day)


    ''No need for a reward, White Dot,'' Zamian thought after dismissing the text while walking to the family of three, and gently embracing them, with newfound control over his strength, ¡®This one I¡¯ll do for them.¡¯


    Invisible to Zamian¡¯s eyes, red essence came from the trio surrounding him, slowly swirling over his skin and gathering inside his chest.


    Dante¡¯s eyes followed the stream of essence, his dark eyes shining a deep red color for an instant as a look of recognition flashed across his face.

 Chapter 7 - Forgiveness

    "Are you sure you don''t need our help to move now, Uncle Soho?" Zamian asked, resettling in his chair and popping a grape into his mouth, having just received from the old couple an array of grains, fruits, and vegetables, now spread on the small rounded table.


    ¡°Yes, yes. They asked us to leave today, but we would like to stay until the last meal,¡± Soho said, now hugging his wife by the side, their chairs closer. ¡°Besides, Missandra needs to talk to the Zealots at the Farms today; she''ll retire alongside me,¡± he added, his smile deepening the wrinkles on his face.


    The Farms, known to be the primary food source for those without private gardens like Zamian''s family, varied in structure¡ªsome above ground, some integrated into the roots, and a few underground for special crops. Zamian read some farms outside the Sanctuary kept animals, making him jealous.


    "It''s fine. We¡¯ll come back later," Zamian said, scanning the faces of the old couple and their son.


    ¡°Oh, Z. And don¡¯t come with this stupid thing of us forgetting you or leaving you behind,¡± Bohlo interjected, holding a bowl of cold vegetable soup, his face smeared with food, ¡°You won¡¯t escape me so easily,¡± he said with a grin.


    Zamian chuckled and nodded.


    ¡°Of course not. Besides, from now on, you will live by our side, Bohlo Boy,¡± Dante suddenly said, after being quiet throughout the meal. ¡°And don¡¯t even try to deny me this. What happened here is my and my son¡¯s fault.¡±


    Missandra nodded appreciatively, maintaining her calm demeanor.


    "We appreciate the help, Lord Chosen. It would be foolish to go against your command," the shopkeeper agreed graciously.


    After the discussion, Bohlo assisted his parents inside, to their room, taking the opportunity to clean up and change his clothes, donning a shirt for the first time in a long while.


    Outside the store, Dante and Zamian waited for him, observing the growing flow of pedestrians, signaling most families had ended their first meal.


    Zamian tried to speak, only for Dante to cut him off sharply, "Not here, boy," he ordered, casting a meaningful glance at his son.


    A few moments later, Bohlo emerged wearing a tight brown shirt that strained against his muscular frame. He looked uncomfortable and deflated.


    ¡°B, you look like an actual cultivator, protecting your dignity and all that. Nice!¡± Zamian teased, clapping the big guy on the back.


    ¡°Uh. I can barely breathe¡­ This thing is suffocating me, Z. Please let¡¯s go, I need to take this off,¡± his friend complained.


    ¡°B, you didn¡¯t tell them about my mother''s situation, right?¡± Zamian whispered.


    Bohlo shook his head, ¡°No way, even I know the rules.¡±


    With no further delays, Dante led the young men through the town, navigating past clusters of houses and stores along the central root channel, avoiding the periphery of the main settlement, where the bigger constructions were built. Zamian once read the towns outside the Sanctuary had their most important buildings in the middle, not at the edges.


    Along the way, commoners and cultivators avoided the trio, with some even ducking into dead-end alleys to wait until they had passed.


    Upon reaching a clearing well away from others, Zamian addressed his father, "Dad, do you even have a plan?"


    "I¡¯m all ears, boy," Dante responded with a smirk, continuing their walk.


    Meanwhile, Bohlo resumed humming a nursery rhyme, having already discarded his constrictive shirt and stuffed it into his pants.


    Zamian glanced at his friend, who waved back when he noticed it, and then turned back to Dante. "How does the protection from my soul work when you look at it?"


    Dante considered the question, one eyebrow arched, "I''m not sure how it works, boy. But I can tell you how it feels¡ªit''s like walking into a trap, a dangerous premonition of harm if I tried to probe deeper. Just as when you put a finger inside some stranger''s mouth, but one hundred times worse."


    "And what would happen if you persisted?" Zamian inquired, ignoring his father¡¯s last remark.


    "No idea, kid," Dante shrugged. "Could be anything from losing my mind for an instant to dropping to the ground without a breath."


    Bohlo whistled, impressed. "Wow, that¡¯s some potent stuff, Z. I want two of whatever you¡¯re on," he joked, then resumed his humming.


    Zamian rolled his eyes but continued, "Dad, I want you to take all the credit for my survival and recovery. And maybe convince them you used a technique to strengthen me, just temporarily."


    ¡°I can do better, boy,¡± the white-haired cultivator laughed, ¡°I could claim I used a forbidden technique to save my precious son, costing a lot to both of us,¡± Dante¡¯s grin twisted into his usual bestial shape, ¡°However, making them think I cast a technique to strengthen you with my current known condition would bring a lot of predators out of their bushes. Is this your goal?¡±


    Zamian shook his head in silence and spoke after a moment, "No. I just want them to not fear my recovery, and to believe it¡¯s not something easy to accomplish again."


    "I know exactly what to say," Dante assured, looking intently at Zamian. "Do you trust me, kid?"


    ¡°That¡¯s a stupid question.¡±


    "And do you trust Bohlo?" Dante continued.


    ¡°Uh, I can leave¨C¡± The big man''s eyes widened, having been taken by surprise.


    "Yes, I trust him," Zamian cut in, "I doubt he can string together a full sentence in the presence of a Zealot or a Chosen, Dad," he smirked.


    "Hey!" Bohlo protested in mock offense, "Your dad is the only Chosen who doesn¡¯t suffocate me!"


    "Are you comparing my father with some tainted woman who wants to suffocate you for her pleasure, B?" Zamian teased, not caring about his act of badmouthing a powerful Chosen.


    "Uh, no. Never. I didn¡¯t want to offend, Lord Chosen Dante," Bohlo quickly corrected himself, bowing his head slightly.


    The Chosen shot him an amused look "Bohlo Boy, just drop the Lord when you address me. And don¡¯t fall for my son¡¯s snake tongue."


    "Uh, yeah, sorry. Dad always calls you ''Lord this, Lord that,'' so..." Bohlo muttered, still embarrassed.


    Dante chuckled, his gaze drifting past the trees, lost in thought.


    Zamian gave his father a moment before bringing up the previous topic. "Dad, since I trust both of you, can you tell now what¡¯s on your mind?"


    Dante took a deep breath, "Son, I¡¯m thinking about telling them the truth¡ªthat the Verdant God blessed your mother''s spirit, letting her return, saving you from the previous ordeal and making you stronger in the process."


    Bohlo stopped his humming, almost missing a step. Zamian sighed, shaking his head, "Are you out of your mind, old man?"


    ¡°Uhh. Z, that¡¯s awesome, right? Don¡¯t worry, I won¡¯t tell a single person about this, not even my parents,¡± Bohlo hastily replied, and then frowned, ¡°But that also means I won¡¯t be as strong as you by just eating what you ate.¡±


    Both Dante and Zamian shared a look.


    ¡°What do you think, boy?¡±


    ¡°You can tell them this truth, Dad.¡±


    As they finally entered the Colossal Tree¡¯s area, seeing two wooden behemoths on the horizon, a chilling sensation crept up Zamian¡¯s spine, his instinct flaring up, prompting him to glance back. He caught sight of two women and a man, clad in wooden armor, quietly detaching themselves from the trees, and then read the green text above their heads.


    [LEVEL 3 - MORTAL TIER - CREATION PATHWAY]


    [LEVEL 3 - MORTAL TIER - CREATION PATHWAY] This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.


    [LEVEL 3 - MORTAL TIER - CREATION PATHWAY]


    Dante stopped, his usual grin absent, replaced by a stern, commanding presence. "You three need more practice with the Everbark Technique. Even my son noticed you," he stated icily, not even turning to look at the Zealots.


    The Zealot¡¯s eyes widened, the three of them feeling a grip on their chests, akin to roots taking place in their hearts. They recognized no technique was being used, worsening their overwhelming sense of dread.


    Before any one of them could talk, the cold voice sounded once more, ¡°Tell the other five ahead to meet us on the Chosen Cleric¡¯s abode. There is no reason to leave them there if they can¡¯t even hone my son¡¯s senses.¡±


    Even Zamian felt goosebumps. It wasn¡¯t his first time hearing his father''s commanding tone or feeling the Chosen¡¯s cold aura. However, observing how the man knew there were five other Zealots without being close or even using any technique, only showed how powerful his father¡¯s soul was, and Zamian was learning firsthand the impacts of a strong soul.


    The Zealots nodded, one of the women then sprang into the trees, moving swiftly ahead. Dante walked, followed by Zamian, a confused Bohlo and a pair of Zealots far behind.


    ¡°Eh. Z. How did you spot them?¡± Bohlo leaned closer to Zamian, whispering.


    Zamian gave his friend an exasperated look, not answering.


    ¡°Uh. Ok, don¡¯t tell me,¡± the bigger man shrugged as they continued the trek.


    After hundreds of steps, Dante indicated a spot in the distance, "There," he said, keeping his pace.


    Zamian heard gasps from behind and checked on the astonished faces of the Zealots.


    The same scene repeated four more times, the Zealots not reacting after the second time, and Zamian already understood what was happening, ¡®Father was pinpointing the Zealot¡¯s exact hidden locations, even after they left the place.¡¯


    Looking at his father¡¯s back, Zamian remembered for the first time in two years who his father was. This was not merely a grieving husband or a protective father, nor a deranged cultivator. Dante Greenfield was a Chosen who stepped above dozens of other powerful cultivators and conquered the title of Lord, before being forced to leave the throne.


    Zamian surveyed the scene ahead, noticing the entrance to the abode inside of the root was bustling with cultivators adorned in wooden armor and leaf-green attire.


    [LEVEL 3 - MORTAL TIER - CREATION PATHWAY]


    [LEVEL 3 - MORTAL TIER - CREATION PATHWAY]


    ¡­


    [LEVEL 2 - MORTAL TIER - CREATION PATHWAY]


    [LEVEL 2 - MORTAL TIER - CREATION PATHWAY]


    [LEVEL 2 - MORTAL TIER - CREATION PATHWAY]


    Adding to the two Zealots behind him, Zamian counted six others ahead¡ªthe previous Zealot Tamara who firstly found he and Bohlo at Erasmus Tree included¡ªcircling three female Enlightened, their forms marked by the cut of their garments, and their faces masked, making the young man believe they were Clerics.


    And moving away from the center of these Clerics, he found a familiar figure whose orange floral dress matched her vibrant hair and big eyes, her face etched with a serene smile.


    [LEVEL 4 - MORTAL TIER - CREATION PATHWAY]


    Yokki, the Cleric Chosen, had stepped out to greet them personally.


    As the groups converged, an impending greeting was cut short by Dante¡¯s stern proclamation. ¡°I demand the execution of the three zealots who disrespected me."


    Yokki¡¯s smile faltered, while the three Zealots responsible for watching the trio blanched at the command¡ªtwo behind Zamian and his group, and the other already on Yokki¡¯s side.


    ¡°Chosen Dante, such drastic action is unnecessary. They were merely extending a welcome on my behalf."


    ¡°They acted under your orders?¡±


    ¡°Yes, of course. They are my Zealots," she said, nodding. "And this Chosen one greets the soil stepped -" her words were abruptly halted by Dante¡¯s dismissive grunt.


    ¡°Then I demand your demotion for your followers¡¯ lack of decorum and breaking of our sacred traditions.¡±


    Yokki¡¯s expression hardened. ¡°There was no breach of decorum, Chosen Dante. In fact, by neglecting to use my title and interrupting Verdant God¡¯s greeting customs, you are the one who is currently breaking our sacred traditions.¡±


    Dante¡¯s expression remained icy. ¡°Now you invoke the Verdant God¡¯s greeting customs?¡±


    Yokki shot Dante a confused look, understanding dawning on her as she noted, behind Zamian¡¯s group, the two Zealots ashen expressions and trembling.


    ¡°To dare trail me by a thousand steps, having one of your followers even daring to run ahead, without a single formal greeting," he lamented, his disdain palpable. ¡°You all tainted our Sanctuary, spitting on Verdant God¡¯s greeting customs and breaking our sacred traditions.¡±


    If Zamian hadn¡¯t known some of these people were checking on him occasionally, he would have cheered. Bohlo, on the other hand, just scratched his chin, his head lowered, waiting for people to greet each other and be done with this.


    Yokki bit her lips and glanced at the Zealot woman by her side, the one who was shaking and had arrived first after fetching the other Zealots from their hideouts.


    ¡°Explain yourself to Chosen Dante, Zealot Hosta," the female Chosen ordered.


    ¡°Yes, Cleric Chosen,¡± Hosta nodded, steadying herself with a deep breath. ¡°I advanced to gather the others at Chosen Dante¡¯s instruction, else I would not have preceded him.¡±


    Yokki didn¡¯t wait for Dante¡¯s response, pressing on. ¡°Did you neglect Verdant God¡¯s greeting custom, Zealot Hosta?¡±


    With clenched teeth, Hosta responded, ¡°He¡­ He silenced us. His technique left us immobile!¡±


    A dark verdant glow flickered in Yokki¡¯s eyes, making Hosta feel like a dozen vines were caressing her soul. The Cleric Chosen then looked at the two Zealots still frozen in their spots behind Dante¡¯s group, making them tremble even more.


    Turning her gaze to Zealot Hosta, she spoke in a cold tone. ¡°Each of your souls is intact,¡± her eyes turned murderous, ¡°None of you have any injuries, and your armor is untouched," she observed, tracing a finger along Hosta¡¯s armor before demanding loudly, ¡°Now tell me truthfully, why did none of you honor Verdant God¡¯s greeting custom, Zealot Hosta?¡±


    Behind Zamian, thuds resounded as the two zealots kneeled, bowing deeply, their weapons clattering to the ground. At Yokki¡¯s side, Hosta mirrored their actions.


    ¡°This Zealot one greets the soil stepped by the Chosen, wishing for the sacred light of Verdant to shine through your families'' leaves forever,¡± they intoned together


    Dante maintained his stoic silence, his gaze locked with Yokki¡¯s.


    ¡°Will you allow me to impose their sentence for these violations, Chosen Dante?¡± she asked, a slight smile playing on her lips as she added, ¡°You could use a moment to recall why we¡¯re gathered here today if it helps.¡±


    ¡°Chosen Yokki remains as insightful and radiant as ever,¡± Dante replied, looking at her smile, ¡°Why would I not allow you to punish your own subordinates, indeed,¡± he mused out loud, his cold gaze never leaving the woman.


    Nothing but the sound of the wind could be heard after Dante¡¯s sentence; every cultivator was waiting for the previous Lord Chosen to answer.


    While others observed Dante, Zamian felt something was off. His heart pounded while he opened his mind to the whispering of his instincts. So he listened and then analyzed. He focused on his father, noticing the way the old man¡¯s voice was harsher, his commands more forceful. Dante wasn¡¯t just acting overbearing¡ªhe was stalling for some reason.


    ¡®Could it be? No way,¡¯ he thought, hoping he was right.


    ¡°Father, there is no reason for any punishment. I¡¯m sure we can all practice a little of forgiveness today,¡± Zamian proposed, his voice steady.


    Every gaze shifted to him, making his heart skip a beat, but the young man kept a calm appearance.


    Dante¡¯s features softened for the first time in this encounter, turning toward Yokki. ¡°The boy is right. We should all practice a little of forgiveness today," he bowed slightly, his fists meeting in a traditional salute, and he exclaimed out loud, ¡°This Chosen and both the Enlightened following this one greet the soil stepped by the Cleric Chosen Yokki and her followers, wishing for the sacred light of Verdant to shine through your families'' leaves forever."


    Zamian and Bohlo bowed silently, their actions encompassed by Dante¡¯s greetings.


    Yokki gritted her teeth, shooting a glance at a tree at her right, before also bowing to Dante, her hands in a praying position, ¡°This Cleric Chosen and her followers greet the soil stepped by the Chosen Dante and his followers, wishing for the sacred light of Verdant to shine through your families'' leaves forever," she stated, her voice smooth and devoid of resentment.


    After Yokki¡¯s followers bowed, they all stood up, including the trio of Zealots who hadn¡¯t moved after their first greeting.


    Yokki looked at one of the Clerics by her side, and then covered her face with one hand, chuckling gently.


    ¡°Oh, how forgetful I am. Child, come here," she extended her hand, pulling the arm of one of the masked Enlightened by her side. ¡°Offer a short greeting to your old friends."


    The Cleric nodded, taking off her mask and showing a face as beautiful as Yokki¡¯s. Despite having long, silky black hair and an alluring body with more curves than a young woman should possess, the only feature that caught the people¡¯s attention was the one that distinguished her lineage¡ªher peach-hued eyes.


    ¡°This Cleric Enlightened Lakea Duskpeach greets both Enlightened," she said, her tone warm and her gaze briefly meeting Zamian¡¯s and Bohlo¡¯s before she slightly lifted her chin.


    ¡°Uh. This Enlightened Bohlo greets the Cleric Enlightened,¡± Bohlo responded first, his voice steady.


    ¡°This Enlightened Zamian greets the Cleric Enlightened,¡± Zamian replied, giving her a wry smile.


    ¡®She¡¯s bored and angry,¡¯ Zamian quickly thought, ''Good to know she didn¡¯t change too much.''


    ¡°Now, with even the children having greeted each other, perhaps we may proceed to my humble abode and commence with today¡¯s proceedings, ¡± Yokki suggested, steering her daughter aside and focusing her attention back on Dante.


    The man simply nodded.


    After they passed through the vine-draped doorway, with Yokki¡¯s followers circling her, the group kept walking passing through a wooden door inside the abode and entering a private garden, which had two chairs made of vines with a dozen wooden chairs in a semi-circle surrounding it, these last ones being used by Yokki and her followers.


    Dante walked ahead of Zamian and Bohlo, touching each vine chair with his hands until a green pulse left his chest and transformed the simple vine chairs in the middle into elaborate, leaf-enshrouded seats.


    Grunting to the boys, he created a chair for his own, a little behind them, sitting with arms crossed.


    ¡°Who are the judges?¡± Dante asked, seeing his son and the short-haired Bohlo sit down.


    ¡°I have appointed Zealot Tamara as the representative of the Guardians and, as the representative of the Clerics, who conducted the Nurture Ritual, I had called my daughter, the Enlightened Lakea Duskpeach. I trust both of their impartiality," Yokki announced from her central seat, with Tamara at her left and Lakea by her right.


    ¡°So,¡± Dante grinned, glancing at the trees surrounding them. ¡°Let¡¯s begin this trial.¡±

 Chapter 8 - Trial of Love

    ¡°After sensing the weak-imbued item buried on the ground around the Colossal Erasmus, I sent a signal for Zealot Nil and Zealot Uma to keep a close eye on the Great Sapling, while I waited for the intruders to retrieve the item,¡± said Zealot Tamara, standing up and retailing about yesterday morning, as ordered by Yokki.


    ¡°And after that, Zealot Tamara?¡± asked Yokki, sipping a fresh warmed tea, which was served soon after the beginning of the trial.


    ¡°I waited for a few moments, and a little after the middle meal, I sensed two Enlightened¨C¡± She took a deep breath. ¡°Descending from the Colossal Erasmus,¡± hushed noises of surprises were heard, and some trees around the revenue shook unnaturally.


    ¡°Please, keep going, Zealot,¡± Yokki said in a stern voice.


    ¡°Yes, Cleric Chosen. Then, I just observed while they rested. I thought they were waiting for someone, and I was surprised when one of them started to run. I had to intercept both of them,¡± she paused, ¡°I must say, they came without causing further issues after proper greetings and initial explanation. I hastily understood the necessity to bring such case for the one above me.¡±


    After concluding her direct testimony, Tamara nodded to the group and took her seat beside Yokki.


    Meanwhile, Zamian only wished his father didn¡¯t sit behind him and Bohlo¡ªhe wanted nothing more than to look at the man¡¯s face to ensure everything was going as he planned. Having only Yokki¡¯s followers here made it seem like this was a commoner¡¯s play, something to entertain their boring cultivation days.


    ¡®They could just point me to where I should dig my grave, and be done with it,¡¯ he thought in self-mock.


    "Very well. As Zealot Tamara finished her statement, I ask for both children to explain themselves, and let the Guardian¡¯s and Cleric¡¯s representatives give their sentences," Yokki declared, as Lakea gently poured more tea for her.


    ¡°I shall invite Boh¨C¡± Yokki was interrupted by a grunt from Dante.


    Receiving the attention of every other cultivator, Zamian¡¯s father shook his head. ¡°I thought the judges were Enlightened Lakea and Zealot Tamara, not you, Cleric Chosen,¡± he tapped his armchair, ¡°I may not be as wise as you, so I ask for an explanation, on layman¡¯s terms, of why you are the one leading this trial.¡±


    Yokki maintained her composture, as she answered. ¡°This is my abode, Chosen Dante. I am merely facilitating the process," she spoke, tracing circles on the rim of her cup with her fingers. ¡°However, you are right. I made this mistake because, as a Cleric Chosen, it¡¯s customary for me to lead Sacred Trials. A Chosen can sometimes forget they have no authority over a situation, right?"


    ¡°Make sure to let your selected judges conduct the trial from now on,¡± Dante said, ignoring her last statement.


    Yokki nodded. ¡°Of course, of course,¡± she spoke, signalizing Lakea with her eyes.


    Standing up, the younger woman hadn¡¯t put on a mask again, glaring at Zamian and Bohlo with her orange eyes. ¡°Enlightened Bohlo, please explain your version of the incident,¡± she demanded.


    Bohlo instinctively looked at Zamian, his face marred by concern, nails digging into the wooden armchair.


    Zamian had some plans, most coming from the discussion with his father, and some by the insights of tomorrow morning. He was at ease, even joking inwardly¡ªhis instincts weren¡¯t detecting any danger, unconsciously making him relax.


    ¡®No. This can¡¯t be normal,¡¯ he thought in newfound concern.


    It was too calm, too quiet. Yokki didn¡¯t examine his soul¡ªshe wouldn¡¯t dare do this in front of Dante¡ªbut she could see he was alive and well. Yet, she showed no reaction. The fact of his father being here, even if her Zealots had told her earlier, was reason enough to make her anxious, in Zamian¡¯s opinion.


    But looking at the orange-haired woman supporting her chin with one hand, a serene smile on her face, while her other hand played with the cup of tea, he knew things weren¡¯t right.


    "Don¡¯t lie. Don¡¯t let Bohlo lie,¡± A sweet sound entered Zamian¡¯s mind. It was his father''s high-pitched voice, the one he used on his deranged stage. However, nobody else seemed to notice, not even the Cleric Chosen. Zamian was puzzled, but also relieved. Finally, he could be sure something was happening, or his father wouldn¡¯t send such a warning.


    And now, it was his time to act.


    ¡°Hearing your voice twice in such a short time warms my heart, dear Lakea,¡± Zamian said as he stood, his black hair falling into his eyes. ¡®It isn¡¯t a lie. I¡¯m anxious about what you¡¯re going to say,¡¯ he grumbled inwardly.


    The venue was silent for a moment, before exploding in surprised gasps. Bohlo couldn¡¯t hide his shocked face, which quickly turned into a grin, and he bumped his first low in the air, his lips reading ¡®Go get her.¡¯


    Dante and Yokki merely adjusted their sitting positions, two pairs of eyes flashing a dark green light at the same instant as they looked at the trees surrounding the abode¡¯s private garden.


    Lakea arched an eyebrow.


    ¡°What are you talking about, Enlightened Zamian?¡± she asked with a stoic face.


    ¡°I was waiting for the opportunity to talk to you.¡±


    ¡°This is not the opportunity you think it is. And please, refer to me by my title. We are on a trial, not on some root-street bar, Enlightened Zamian.¡±


    ¡°A wise man once told me, Cleric Lakea,¡± Zamian nodded, walking in her direction in short steps, ¡°If I ever saw any chance to achieve some of my goals, I should take it, making it an opportunity myself,¡± he stopped an arm''s length from the black-haired woman. ¡°So I disagree with you,¡± he said, his gaze fixed on Lakea¡¯s eyes.


    Zamian could see her indecision and feel what she wanted to do. It was something he recognized, because he wanted to do the same moments ago: to turn around and ask help from a powerful parent. Seeing her like this, made him aware of one of his shortcomings. ¡®I need to avoid depending on my father, even when he is stable.¡¯


    Lakea clenched her fists, raising her chin a little bit. ¡°Your words and actions show no respect for this trial and our rules, making a joke out of yourself. Behave like a proper cultivator. I will ignore your last words, Enlightened Zamian."


    "I am sorry. I just knew I had to do something, but you are right. It is my mistake, Cleric Lakea," he said, bowing. ¡°But I need to say one more thing before sitting down,¡± he turned his face to her, smiling and still bowing.


    ¡°Speak, Enlightened,¡± she frowned.


    ¡°Congratulations on becoming a Cleric. You always wanted to be like your mother, so I¡¯m sure you¡¯re happier now,¡± Zamian concluded, walking back to his chair, and sitting. He could swear Yokki smiled when he said the last phrase, but after glancing at her, he only saw her stoic face.


    After a few moments gazing at the young man, Lakea spoke. ¡°Thank you. Can you please explain your version of the incidents, Enlightened Zamian?¡±


    Zamian nodded.


    ¡°Of course. Zealot Tamara was completely right, Bohlo indeed left an imbued bracer buried below Erasmus Tree¡¯s soil, before finding me on behalf of my father. Of course, I was already up there, on one of the many branches of the Colossal Tree," he spoke in a casual tone.


    ¡°But why were you there? You must know, your reason doesn¡¯t condone your action, but this explanation may lessen your punishment,¡± Lakea¡¯s voice was icy.


    ¡°I said to your mother I was there looking at you, to confess my love, and to marry you,¡± Zamian smiled.


    Lakea just nodded, showing no reaction to the explanation. Bohlo was grinning like a fool, his eyes almost shining without any essence pumping there. Dante and Yokki, however, were surveying the revenue, like they couldn¡¯t care less about the trial.The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.


    ¡°Of course, I was lying,¡± Zamian concluded his statement, and then there was only silence, a shocked Bohlo, and a frowning Lakea.


    Lakea turned to her mother, gauging the woman¡¯s response. Sadly for her, the Cleric Chosen eyes were focused on the trees, showing no reaction to the accused.


    ¡°What is the truth, then?¡± a calm voice sounded from beside Lakea. She was too distracted by her mother''s indifference that she didn¡¯t notice Zealot Tamara walking to her side.


    ¡°It was because of a mission. Before you ask, this mission just appeared in front of my eyes, like heaven¡¯s decrees from the books.¡±


    ¡°Do you take us for a fool?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not lying. I swear. This mission came to me in a moment of great need. It sent me in the direction of my mother¡¯s sapling.¡±


    ¡°Wha for? No, who gave you such a mission?¡± Lakea asked, interrupting Tamara.


    ¡°How come you don¡¯t know?¡± Zamian asked and took a deep breath, ¡°I can see it every time I open my eyes. I can see when I look at the forest, at our Colossal Trees. I can see now, looking at your face, on this holy abode. ¡±


    Zealot Tamara frowned. ¡°Do you mean V¨C¡± She tried to ask, only to be interrupted by Zamian.


    ¡°We all know only a Divine entity could have the power to be present in all aspects of my life," he stood up, opening his arms like branches of a tree, ¡°I¡¯m sorry I lied before. I was scared Verdant God would punish me if I told the Cleric Chosen about my mission. I truly fear the consequences of being unfaithful.¡±


    Before Lakea or Tamara could ask anything else, a sense of dread enveloped the revenue. Zamian found himself frozen, feeling like his body was being devoured by a swamp, while his skin was caressed by a myriad of tiny vines. Moving only his eyes, he could see the Clerics and Zealots in similar situations, their faces contorting. The only exception was Yokki, who stood up and was walking in his direction.


    Feeling a hand on his shoulder, Zamian found himself free to move and looked at Dante, who was now by his side. A pressure was emanating from the white-haired Chosen, keeping at bay whatever brought the powerful sense of dread, and his eyes shone a green hue darker than he ever saw.


    Hearing hustling sounds, Zamian looked to his right, the same direction Yokki and his father were looking now, only to see three old men walking at a slow pace in his direction, side by side.


    They had the same old appearance¡ªwrinkled face, white beard, and long white hair¡ªand were wearing brown robes with a green tree drawn on them. The weirdest thing for Zamian was that they came from a different direction from the entrance.


    Zamian didn¡¯t know if the others could see any difference, but he could see a glaring one.


    [LEVEL 1 - MORTAL TIER - CREATION PATHWAY]


    [LEVEL 1 - MORTAL TIER - CREATION PATHWAY]


    [LEVEL 4 - MORTAL TIER - CREATION PATHWAY]


    The man on the right side was a Chosen.


    ¡°Stargazing Brothers, it is an honor to receive you here on my abode,¡± Yokki said, and Zamian couldn¡¯t help but notice she didn¡¯t greet them properly.


    They kept their slow pace, ignoring the Cleric Chosen¡¯s words.


    Dante squeezed Zamian¡¯s shoulder as he watched the three brown-robed men coming closer. Zamian could smell a wooden aroma mixed with a sour taste from these elders.


    As the trio stopped a little more than four steps away from Zamian, the young man noticed their eyes were blank, without irises or pupils.


    "Art thou blessed, Brother Zamian?" While only the middle one moved his lips, Zamian heard a booming voice inside his head.


    Zamian turned to the one from the right, the Chosen amongst them. ¡°I don¡¯t know. But I feel the company of something greater than any of us, every day of my life, for years. Is that being blessed?¡± He answered, not nervous nor anxious.


    The three old men smiled and nodded. "No deceive hath the Sacred Words of the Verdant God wrought upon him. We are pleased. And thou, Chosen, shall meet us unto the Stargazing Tree. The Clerics await thy presence," the voice sounded again on Zamian¡¯s head, and by the squeeze that he felt on his shoulder, his father also heard the enigmatic phrase.


    As the old men slowly turned and went back to the tree from the right side, disappearing among the bushes, Zamian¡¯s father took his hand out the young man¡¯s shoulder. Zamian noticed the pressure slowly receding, and no more dread was weighing on his mind.


    A chorus of erratic breaths caught Zamian¡¯s attention, as he saw almost everyone falling to the ground. The Zealots just bent their knees, but the Enlightened had to use their hand to not eat dirty. At some point, every one of the cultivators present had tried to stand up, only to fall on the ground a moment later. Zamian was so distracted by the creepy elders, that he didn¡¯t notice it.


    ¡°To protect someone else from the Stargazing Brother¡¯s Presence, you¡¯re sure stronger than the rumors, Chosen Dante,¡± the Cleric Chosen spoke, her orange eyes still shining green. Lakea, at her side, was also gasping, on all fours.


    Checking on Bohlo, Zamian noticed the short-haired man coughing, seated down on the grass.


    ¡°Hm,¡± Dante hummed in accordance, and Zamian could see the man¡¯s eyes dimming.


    At that moment, Zamian¡¯s instincts flared up. A warning of danger grasped his heart, while another feeling mixed with it¡ªa cold and sweet sensation. The young man glanced at Yokki, meeting her gaze, and for the first time he could recognize a strong emotion behind the woman¡¯s glowing irises: fear.


    His heart quickened, and time seemed to slow down. The red motes of light inside Zamian¡¯s soul shone, making the dark space take a reddish hue.


    Zamian¡¯s mind spun, and his essence was being depleted, sucked to a deeper place inside the dark space. But he didn¡¯t let himself focus on this drain; he wasn¡¯t even concerned about it.


    As his instincts kept flaring up two signals, one for danger and another unknown to him, he focused on Yokki. ¡®She wants to do something. And she is scared.¡¯


    Zamian didn¡¯t look at his father, nor did he move his gaze away from the Cleric Chosen. He could feel that whatever she wanted to do, was out of fear. It was an action to be made on the spur of the moment. He even dared to guess that if she stopped to reflect, she wouldn¡¯t do anything at all.


    Zamian felt tired and less than a blink of an eye had passed in real time. Unknown to him, half of his red motes of light were flickering, the rest of them shining as brightly as they could.


    His mind followed his current state to decide on the best course of action. ¡®Maybe she fears my potential? She fears that as a blessed one, I can gather more resources and take revenge?¡¯


    A myriad of thoughts entered Zamian¡¯s mind. It wasn¡¯t his potential the thing she feared the most. She didn¡¯t even know about his ability to have a breakthrough soon enough. No, what she feared was his connection with Verdant God.


    She wouldn¡¯t act based on this fear. It would be irrational of her, and knowing Zamian had a holy mission from God was dreadful. What if she did something to interrupt his mission? What if she was the one to face a Sacred Trial soon? She needed to protect herself. She needed to protect her family.


    ¡®Father, you made a mistake,¡¯ Zamian concluded as he felt connected to the Cleric Chosen.


    Yokki would never give Lakea to him, even if he were a Zealot or a Chosen. She would let her daughter choose her future, and not use her as a political tool. She loved her daughter more than anything else.


    But she couldn¡¯t let others know, so Yokki had hidden this feeling behind a veil. Her house was always full of snakes, Zealots loyal to other Chosen¡ªto the Lord Chosen. She needed to make her stance clear to them, that her daughter was below their cause.


    She sent Lakea to be a Cleric always from her, but still under her gaze, to protect her daughter from far away.


    Zamian felt all of her concerns, as his eyes shone a reddish light, reflecting Yokki¡¯s gaze.


    She wanted this trial to be a learning experience for her daughter. Yokki didn¡¯t try to protect Lakea from the Stargazing Brothers, aiming for her to become more independent.


    Her daughter was her only memory of her husband.


    ¡®Lakea is her only family,¡¯ Zamian thought, and as obvious as that sounds, he never thought Yokki would value her daughter that much.


    Zamian understood more of her feelings.


    She didn¡¯t hurt him when he mentioned marrying Lakea. What if her daughter liked him? She compromised, letting Zamian go, scouted by Zealot Tamara. Her deals with the Lord Chosen could wait, and they could use this to test Dante¡¯s might. It was a win-win situation.


    Zamian couldn¡¯t read her thoughts¡ªbut somehow her feelings were crystal clear to him. His eyes shone a red hue, and his perception of time was returning to normal, or he felt his essence deplete. ''Not fear. Not hate. I know what will make you move.''


    As his tiredness accumulated and the red motes of light were all flickering, he whispered low enough for only Yokki to hear, ¡°I will ask Verdant God to give Lakea to me, after the mission. She will be my reward and plaything from now on.¡±


    As Zamian went pale, Yokki¡¯s eyes gleamed. A strong green light shone from them, invisible to Zamian, targetting his soul.


    The Cleric Chosen attacked with all her strength, her mind clouded by thoughts of love and protection. She recognized Zamian¡¯s father was faltering only for a moment, having spent essence to protect his son from the elders¡¯ presence. She wanted to act, and the young cultivator¡¯s sentences ignited her feelings and made her more anxious.


    As she visualized a myriad of vines piercing Zamian¡¯s soul, sending most of her essence to pulverize the Enlightened¡¯s sense of self, Yokki felt a strong sense of danger, making her want to halt her attack.


    But it was too late.


    As the green light tried to pierce into Zamian¡¯s soul, a strong force absorbed Yokki¡¯s attack, siphoning the essence used to empower it in the direction of the dark space¡¯s edge. Not stopping there, the force swiftly attracted more of the Cleric Chosen¡¯s essence; much more than she could handle.


    ¡°Ahhh!¡± Yokki screamed, kneeling on the ground, and scratching her face while her eyes bled and her skin dried up.


    Zamian lost his strength and was quickly held by his father, who looked at Yokki with wide eyes.


    Meanwhile, the pale cultivator smiled, as he read the white text in his vision.


    Completed Side Quest: Get revenge on your friend''s behalf


    Reward: 01 Book from White Tower''s First Floor


    Status: Completed

 Chapter 9 - White Key

    As Yokki¡¯s followers and Bohlo heard the scream, a green light flowed from their chest, strengthening them to stand up and look at the source.


    A few instants had passed since the three elders¡¯ departure, and besides Yokki, Dante, and Zamian, no other cultivator had completely recovered from the terrible sensation from before. Moreover, they didn¡¯t use essence, for fear of spending it unnecessarily in such a non-urgent situation¡ªafter all, essence spent needed to be recovered.


    Yokki¡¯s scream changed their perspective, however.


    The Chosen Cleric lay thrashing on the ground, her hands clawing at her face as blood streamed from her eyes. Tamara and Lakea rushed to her side, panic etched on their faces.


    The other Cleric Enlightened held back, watching with wary eyes. The Zealots stood at the edges of the group, weapons drawn, scanning the garden¡¯s shadowed edges¡ªbut their glances kept returning to Dante.


    Zamian observed with tired eyes, his breath heavy and shoulders slumped. A smooth, cool object pressed against his palm, hidden within his clenched fist¡ªa reward from the side quest that had somehow materialized in his hand. His lips pressed into a thin line as he glanced at his father. Though his body ached with exhaustion, his gaze remained steady, betraying no hint of fear.


    With Yokki out of commission, this garden could swarm with another dozen Zealots, and they still wouldn¡¯t be enough to scratch his father¡¯s clothes, in Zamian¡¯s opinion.


    ¡°Mom!¡± Lakea¡¯s shriek cut through the chaos. Tears streaked her face as she knelt over the writhing Chosen, struggling to hold her down.


    Tamara froze, her eyes widening. ¡°Don¡¯t!¡± she yelled, vines springing to life at her command. They snaked forward, wrapping around Lakea to shield her from her mother¡¯s flailing limbs. ¡°She¡¯s in pain! If she hits you¡ª¡±


    She didn¡¯t finish. Everyone knew what a casual strike from someone like Yokki could do. A careless movement could snap an Enlightened¡¯s neck like a twig.


    It was futile.


    Lakea held her mother down effortlessly, as the woman kept screaming.


    Dumbfounded, Tamara could only change her target, commanding the vines to encompass the duo while she assessed the situation. A shiver crawled up her spine as her gaze snapped to Dante and the others.


    Bohlo had stumbled to Zamian¡¯s side in the meantime, holding his friend with one arm, unburdening Dante. The Chosen, meanwhile, had essence flowing to his eyes, looking in Yokki¡¯s direction and smirking.


    ¡°Chosen Dante, w-we need to take the Cleric Chosen to the Lord¡¯s Tree!¡± Zealot Tamara¡¯s voice trembled, her words barely holding together.


    Dante¡¯s grin widened, his eyes narrowing with a predatory glint. ¡°Impossible.¡± His gaze locked onto the Zealot, and she shrank back under its weight. ¡°We were summoned to the Stargazing Tree by the Stargazing Brothers themselves. To abandon that would be to spit on our sacred rules.¡±


    ¡°But¡ªher condition! The blood, her lack of essence, it¡ª¡± Tamara stammered, her voice breaking as desperation twisted her face.


    ¡°She has no essence, indeed,¡± Dante said, amusement curling in his tone like a blade.


    A sudden cry pierced the air, raw and trembling with despair. Inside the wall of vines, Lakea clung to the Cleric Chosen, her hands trembling as she tried to rouse her mother. The woman¡¯s breaths were shallow, her lips moving in faint, incomprehensible murmurs. Blood stained Lakea¡¯s fingers as she shook her mother gently, panic rising in her eyes.


    Before Tamara could argue further, Dante¡¯s grin grew sharper, flashing a hint of his usual bestial cruelty. At that moment, Zamian felt it¡ªa sudden spike of essence, sharp and deliberate, coming from the direction of the garden''s entrance.


    ¡°Leaving us already?¡± Dante¡¯s voice rang out, smooth yet mocking, cutting through the tense air like a whip.


    The three Zealots who had been inching toward the edge of the garden froze. For a split moment, they hesitated¡ªthen bolted. Green light flared around their bodies, casting ghostly shadows as they vanished into the trees. Snapping branches and crashing trunks echoed behind them, marking their frantic escape.


    ¡®Father will catch them,¡¯ Zamian thought, his gaze shifting from the fleeing Zealots to Yokki, then to the faint shimmer of the White Dot.


    He willed the White Dot to display his full information.


    PERSONAL INFORMATION


    Name: Zamian Greenfield


    Level: 2 [46%]


    Tier: Mortal


    Main Pathway: Creation


    Title: None


    STATS POINTS


    Body: 14/54


    Mind: 10/50


    Soul: 12/100


    REWARDS


    White Key - First Floor


    Description: Key to access White Tower¡¯s First Floor


    Ancient Astral Seal


    Description: A Star Seal guarding your Astral Self.


    Ancient Identify Technique (Passive)


    Description: See the secrets beyond the limitations of time


    QUEST LOG


    Last Quest: Get revenge on your friend''s behalf


    Reward: 01 Book from White Tower''s First Floor


    Status: Completed


    Main Quest: Destroy an Unholy Sapling before the end of the month


    Reward: Special Physique (??)


    Status: Ongoing (13 days left)


    Zamian clenched his fist, reassured as his eyes lingered on the White Key. ''Good, good,'' he thought. The Astral Seal must have been what helped him deal with Yokki.


    The Ancient Identify Technique had done its part, letting him deceive the creepy old men, but the Astral Seal had performed exactly as his father had predicted. He¡¯d gambled everything on it¡ªand, for once, luck had been on his side.


    Flexing his hands, Zamian noticed, with relief, the absence of the usual throbbing headache. Instead, there was only the dull fog clouding his mind and the weight of exhaustion dragging at his limbs. His stat caps were intact, and he already knew his depleted stats would recover with time. Small victories, but victories nonetheless.


    ''Did I have 45% or 46% in Level 2 before?'' The question nagged at him. ''And did the Astral Seal also help me read Yokki¡¯s feelings...?''


    His thoughts faltered as a wave of dread hit him, cold and suffocating. His body stiffened, and his gaze darted toward the fallen trees where the Zealots had vanished.


    Screams erupted from the other side, raw and panicked, cutting through the stillness like a blade. Beyond the chaos, a dark green glow radiated from his father¡¯s feet, spreading in rhythmic pulses that rippled across the ground. The grass around them shuddered, bowing as the waves of energy surged forward, relentless and unstoppable.


    After a few more screams and the sound of splintering wood, three massive vines¡ªthick as tree trunks¡ªemerged, each gripping a mangled body. The Zealots¡¯ arms and legs dangled at unnatural angles, blood dripping from their torn limbs. Their muffled screams seeped through the leaves covering their mouths, barely audible beneath the grinding sound of vines dragging their battered bodies across the dirt.


    The vines dumped the Zealots in a heap near Dante and then retreated into the ground. With a faint green flash, the soil sealed itself as if nothing had happened. Humming softly, Dante stepped onto the chest of one Zealot, his weight pressing down as he glanced at Tamara with a sharp, knowing look.


    ¡°Explain,¡± he said, his bestial grin stretching unnaturally wide, from ear to ear.


    Beside Zamian, Bohlo trembled violently. The oppressive sense of dread thickened, suffocating the air around them. Even Lakea, who had been crying moments ago, collapsed silently over her mother¡¯s body, her strength gone.


    ¡°Th-they must be traitors, Chosen Dante,¡± Tamara stammered, her face pale, her wide eyes darting between the bloodied Zealots and Dante¡¯s cruel smile.


    ¡°Are they? Traitors to our Sanctuary?¡± Dante¡¯s mocking tone sliced through the tense air. He stomped down hard, essence flaring in his leg. His foot sank through the chest of the Zealot beneath him as though the man were made of wet clay. The sickening crunch of bones breaking silenced the Zealot''s muffled cries.


    With a single movement, Dante had ended the man¡¯s mortal cycle.


    The remaining two Zealots thrashed against their bindings, their eyes wild with terror. Tears streamed down their faces as they frantically funneled essence into their wounds, desperate to stop the bleeding. The scent of blood and fear hung thick in the air, mixing with the raw power radiating from the Chosen.


    Looking at the scene, Tamara murmured. "Nature is the Cycle, so our path is never-ending. Nature is the Creation, so our path is ever strong. Nature is the Truth, so our path is the only one."


    ¡°Be smart, Zealot Tamara. Be. Smart,¡± Dante gave his advice after waiting for her to complete the chant.Support creative writers by reading their stories on Royal Road, not stolen versions.


    Tamara took a deep, shuddering breath, her teeth clenched. ¡°Th-they are spies,¡± she said, forcing the words out. ¡°Snakes sent from the Lord¡¯s Tree to keep an eye on our Cleric Chosen. They must have seen what happened¡ªand ran to report.¡±


    Dante stepped forward, his bare foot pressing into the dirt-streaked face of Hosta, one of the mangled Zealots. She was part of their welcome committee.


    ¡°Blighted snakes, yes. But,¡± Dante hummed, looking at Hosta¡¯s tearing eyes, ¡°Snakes who were just following orders.¡±


    As Dante settled his foot back on the ground, the glow of essence faded completely from his body. Even his piercing eyes dimmed, their usual gleam replaced by a more subdued light. The oppressive sense of dread that had gripped the garden vanished, leaving an unsettling silence in its wake.


    Crossing his arms, Dante shook his head, his long, disheveled white hair swaying slightly with the motion. He cast a sly wink at Zamian, his lips curling into a mischievous smirk, before turning to address the remaining cultivators.


    Zamian smiled back. ¡®This old man sure is reliable,¡¯ he thought while listening to his father¡¯s speech.


    ¡°Discovering serpents in one¡¯s home is never pleasant. They appear to be a friendly vine, a branch you can count on while traveling through the forest, only to bite you at the worst moments,¡± he lamented in a fake tone. ¡°I am no snake, however.¡±


    With measured paces, he went to Yokki. Moving his hands, the vine cage encompassing her and Lakea crumbled. Lakae was hugging her mother, her eyes red but without more tears, shooting Dante an angered look¡ªshe had just passed out, and was already seeing this monster coming closer after recovering her bearings!


    ¡°She has no essence,¡± Dante said. ¡°Her mortal cycle will end here if she¡¯s left untreated. Move, girl.¡±


    ¡°You¡ªyou,¡± Lakea stammered, biting her lips hard enough to almost draw blood. ¡°Will you hurt her?¡±


    ¡°She¡¯s my wife¡¯s friend,¡± Dante replied, smirking. ¡°Why would I hurt her?¡±


    Lakea glanced at Zamian, before narrowing back at Dante. ¡°I¡¯m no fool. You know why,¡± she replied, almost angrily.


    Crouching beside Lakea, the Chosen whispered while brushing his disheveled white hair, ¡°What if I told you she is more useful to me alive?¡± He smiled at the young Cleric, ¡°Besides, what are your other options here, kid?¡±


    Lakea looked at her mother, who was mumbling incoherent words under her breath until now, her eyes covered by so much blood that one couldn¡¯t even tell if she still had them there.


    Lakea¡¯s anger faltered, replaced by a deep sadness as she looked away. Closing her eyes and with a heavy voice, she asked, ¡°What do you want to save her?¡±


    Humming, the Chosen waved his arm for his Zamian, who came closer with Bohlo¡¯s help.


    ¡°Boy,¡± Dante spoke, and Zamian narrowed his eyes while listening to such a playful tone. ¡°I¡¯ll save your dear Aunt Yokki, as you asked me to. But Lakea here is curious¡ªshe wants to know what I want in return,¡± he grinned. ¡°Tell us, what do we want?¡±


    Zamian was taken aback. After seeing his father ending the Zealot¡¯s mortal cycle with a stomp, he wondered which false truths could justify the situation to the other Chosen. Even if Dante finished all witnesses, a bloodbath in the Cleric Chosen¡¯s abode, with 3 Cleric Enlightened, 8 Zealots, and the Cleric Chosen herself ending their mortal cycles would be a hard thing to explain.


    ''Why would I want to save this blighted woman? She hurt me! I bet she wanted you gone, father!¡¯ Zamian thought, doubting his ears as he processed Dante¡¯s question.


    Lakea sent a doubtful glance to Zamian, her big orange eyes scrutinizing the young cultivator. Bohlo, on the other hand, was biting his lips for fear of saying something he shouldn¡¯t, his eyes staring at the grass below him.


    Swallowing his doubts and irritation, Zamian glanced at Dante, and said in an even tone, ¡°Father, It was terrible what happened to Aunt Yokki. Please, help her only out of the goodness in our hearts.¡±


    Then, shifting his gaze to Lakea, he added, ¡°I would just like your help to conclude my divine mission, okay?¡±


    Dante¡¯s eyes glowed softly as leaves began to emerge from the ground, swirling upward to gently wrap around Yokki¡¯s body while they carefully moved Lakea away from her mother. The young woman didn¡¯t resist. Instead, she clenched her fists tightly and stood up, her gaze flicking away from Zamian for an instant to check on her mother¡¯s condition.


    ¡°What kind of help? What mission¡ªno, you mean the mission about Nurture Ritual?¡±


    ¡°I need to stay close to the Sapling until Nurture Ritual¡¯s ending,¡± Zamian answered.


    Lakea nodded slowly. ¡°Okay. As I need to care for my mother, I¡¯ll send one of the Clerics to help you.¡±


    ¡°No need to bother yourself with your mother, girl,¡± Dante interrupted, his task complete. Yokki¡¯s body was now entirely encased in a cocoon of leaves. ¡°I will take care of her until Zamian concludes his mission.¡±


    Lakea couldn¡¯t hide her concerned face as she understood what was being implied. With a heavy sigh, she nodded in silence.


    ¡°Can you help me then, Cleric Lakea?¡± Zamian asked, his voice low, as his tiredness grew.


    ¡°I will just accompany you, so it should be easy, and I¡¯ll then see my mother.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t think you understand,¡± he mumbled, ¡°My mission is almost a secret. I only told you because this is a trial, and I would never lie on one. We need to conclude God¡¯s mission in secret.¡±


    ¡°Why would the Verdant God give you a secret mission about a Colossal Sapling?¡± Lakea asked, her brows knitting together.


    ¡°God acts in mysterious ways. How could I possibly know why He does or doesn¡¯t do anything, Cleric Lakea?¡± He smirked.


    ¡°But everybody here knows your mission. The Stargazing Brothers also heard about your situation. How can you keep hiding it ?¡± Lakea sounded puzzled.


    Zamian hesitated, glancing at his father. If the Stargazing Brothers¡ªmainly that eerie old Chosen¡ªhad truly been listening since the beginning, the situation could spiral out of control.


    ¡°Yes, boy, they heard it all. Their gazes were here even before we arrived,¡± Dante said, much to Zamian''s concern.


    ¡°But don¡¯t fret over it,¡± Dante continued, waving a hand dismissively. ¡°Those old farts always send someone to watch every trial. Been like that since the old days. I expected some geezer to show up.¡± He paused, his dark eyes glinting with curiosity. ¡°The only surprise was the most annoying trio making an appearance.¡±


    ¡°Will they leak¡ªtalk with others about what happened today?¡± Zamian pressed.


    ¡°No way to know,¡± Dante shrugged. ¡°They usually keep to themselves,¡± he then smiled and looked at the leaf-entombed-Yokki. ¡°And the other Chosen will have greater issues to deal with."


    ¡°I understand. Maybe we should finish this trial, and deal with loose ends?¡±


    ¡°Boy, this trial is already over. The moment the geezers said they were pleased with you, you were pardoned. Only on a Sacred Trial the Cleric Chosen could protest¡ªwell, if she was awake," Dante grinned.


    ¡°What about the loose ends?¡±


    ¡°There are no loose ends. ¡± Dante replied with another dismissive wave of his hand, ¡°You stay here while I take Yokki and the rest of the Zealots to the Stargazing Tree.¡±


    ¡°What?¡± Lakea shrieked, ¡°I will go with my mother until the Stargating Tree at least!¡±


    Dante¡¯s grin didn¡¯t waver as his sharp eyes swept across the gathering. Zamian followed his father¡¯s gaze, noticing how every cultivator¡ªincluding the two mangled, bloodied Zealots still lying on the ground¡ªwatched the conversation intently, their focus glued to the Chosen.


    ¡°Besides Cleric Lakea,¡± Dante said, showing his bestial grin once again, ¡°anybody else disagree?¡±


    A hasty chorus of ¡°No, Chosen Dante,¡± could be heard, as if these Zealots were afraid of answering too slowly.


    ¡°Good, good,¡± Dante nodded. ¡°Now, everyone stay here. I¡¯ll check on my boy¡¯s condition.¡±


    Helping Zamian out of Bohlo¡¯s arm, he patted the muscled man on the arms in approval, before taking Zamian to the other side of the garden. The Chosen¡¯s eye shone a dark green light, and a myriad of vines and leaves made a small dome around them.


    ¡°Boy, you sure surprised me,¡± Dante said, lowering himself to the ground and helping Zamian do the same. They sat with their backs against the makeshift wall of leaves.


    ¡°You surprised me too, old man,¡± Zamian shot back. ¡°I¡¯ve never seen someone being stomped like that.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯ll get used to it,¡± Dante replied, ruffling Zamian¡¯s hair in an attempt to comfort him. ¡°Our souls make it easier to handle these situations, kid.¡±


    Zamian grimaced but didn¡¯t pull away. ¡°I hope a life of fighting isn¡¯t something I¡¯ll need to have,¡± he said, shaking his head.


    ¡°...¡±


    ¡°...¡±


    After a moment of silence, Dante chuckled. ¡°You were smart back there, kiddo. How did you know what to say?¡±


    ¡°Father, on our way here, you said you would tell them that the Verdant God blessed my mother''s spirit to return and save me. I just changed this a little, still using Verdant God as a pretense, thinking how I could hide a false tree in a real garden," Zamian said, feeling pleased with himself.


    ¡°That much was obvious,¡± Dante said with a shrug. ¡°Using the Verdant God¡¯s name in the trial was smart. People here fear and respect Him, you know that. I¡¯d have preferred to be the one lying when we had the chance, but those old geezers would¡¯ve sniffed out the truth in a heartbeat.¡±


    Dante¡¯s expression shifted. ¡°But no, boy¡ªthat¡¯s not what I¡¯m asking. What I want to know is how you knew not to lie outright. How did you figure out they could see the Cycle of Truth?¡±


    Zamian blinked, his expression confused. ¡°Wh¡ªYou told me, Dad. You told me not to lie. You told me not to let Bohlo lie either.¡±


    Seeing his son¡¯s expression, the Chosen sighed, avoiding the young man¡¯s gaze.


    Zamian¡¯s heart sank. ¡°Dad... You told me, right?¡± he asked, already aware of the answer.


    ¡°I don¡¯t remember,¡± Dante admitted with a wry smile. ¡°But I¡¯m glad I could do something for you. Truth be told, I was ready to fight our way out of here when you inevitably ended up lying.¡±


    Silence settled between them, the father and son gazing the ceiling, their thoughts and concerns hidden.


    ¡°Would you win against those old geezers? One of them was a Chosen,¡± Zamian broke the silence, his tone teasing. ¡°Sometimes I think you can only bully the weak.¡±


    Dante turned at the remark, catching the mocking glint in his son¡¯s eyes, and then he laughed. ¡°Boy, I could paint this Sanctuary red to save you. Only that blighted Warrior Chosen and the Children of Verdant could hope to stop me from taking you out of here alive.¡±


    ¡°Come on,¡± Zamian shot back, smirking. ¡°There must be a dozen Chosen at the Lord¡¯s Tree. I bet they¡¯d gang up and beat you into a pulp.¡±


    ¡°Boy, unless Verdant God Himself moves from God¡¯s Tree to take your life, I promise you, while I breathe you shall breathe too,¡± Dante said, the green flow in his eyes flaring briefly.


    Zamian knew his father and trusted the man, so he understood why he said all that. ¡®You can¡¯t lose me like you lost mother¡¯, he thought, but instead of voicing it, the young cultivator said, ¡°Don¡¯t worry, old man. Even Verdant God won¡¯t stop me from saving you if the time comes.¡±


    Dante blinked, startled for a moment, before his grin returned, sharper and more amused. ¡°Don¡¯t make false promises. You¡¯re almost a man now, and soon your words will be as valuable as your blood¡ªto those who matter.¡±


    Zamian nodded, letting the moment settle between them. ¡°I understand,¡± he said quietly, then paused. ¡°What¡¯s the plan now?¡±


    ¡°Firstly, how are you feeling, boy?¡±


    ¡°Tired. I was thinking about checking on my soul¡ª¡±


    ¡°No need to do that now,¡± Dante interrupted, his voice firm. ¡°I checked it earlier. Somehow, you used the crystal essence inside your soul, little monster. I don¡¯t want to know why or how. I know the gift inside you defended against Yokki¡¯s attack¡ªand harmed her in return. Don¡¯t you dare tell me anything else. Do you hear me?¡±


    ¡°Dad¡ª¡± Zamian started, but Dante cut him off again.


    ¡°Just tell me one thing,¡± the Chosen said, leaning closer. ¡°Did you influence Yokki to attack you?¡±


    ¡°I think I did. Somehow, I could feel her¡ª¡± A hand clamped Zamian¡¯s mouth close, bloodshot eyes glaring at him. Zamian could see anger and sadness mixed in his father''s gaze.


    ¡°Boy,¡± Dante growled, his voice low and strained. ¡°Do not trust me. Do not tell me your secrets. Whatever is happening to me¡ªit¡¯s too dangerous. Please.¡± His gaze softened slightly, but the sadness in his eyes deepened. ¡°Knowing you could influence her actions is enough.¡±


    Dante let go, his hand falling to his side as if even that action had drained him, his gaze empty for a fleeting moment.


    Zamian massaged his jaw, the lingering pressure still stinging, ¡®Old man¡­ I bet you¡¯re remembering about mother,¡¯ he thought, recognizing his father¡¯s gaze.


    Dante straightened, grinning again, ¡°I will close this abode after taking the Zealots with me. The two Clerics, Lakea, Bohlo and you will stay here."


    ¡°Do you think Bohlo is in good condition to defend us, old man?¡± Zamian asked, his smirk laced with exhaustion. ¡°Because I¡¯m beaten and broken inside. I can¡¯t do much more than talk back if Lakea tries anything.¡±


    Dante laughed, shaking his head in exasperation. ¡°That hairless gorilla could take you in a melee fight anytime, kiddo. You¡¯re quick with words, but he¡¯s quick with fists.¡± He grinned. ¡°There¡¯s no chance those three Clerics can stand against him. And besides, I¡¯ll leave you kids separated from one another. You¡¯re all just Enlightened. Breaking through my barriers would take each of you at least a day.¡±


    Zamian nodded. ¡°And what about you? Taking Yokki with the Zealots doesn¡¯t sound safe. They¡¯ll tell the other Chosen about what you did.¡±


    Dante¡¯s grin faded, his expression hardening. ¡°Boy, what you did to her already sealed their fates,¡± he said, standing up. "Now, answer me: it was your choice to make a move against her, or was from the thing inside your head?¡±

 Chapter 10 - Red World

    Zamian kept his mouth shut. It wasn¡¯t that he didn¡¯t want to tell his father the truth¡ªthe older man was the one constantly avoiding the issue. The real problem was that Zamian didn¡¯t know the answer himself.


    Yes, it had been his decision to take the opportunity to harm Yokki. It wasn¡¯t just about revenge, though that played a part. She was dangerous, and his actions were as much defensive as they were offensive.


    But Zamian couldn¡¯t deny that outside factors had influenced him. The White Dot had not only provided him with the means to counter Yokki¡¯s technique but also granted him the ability to read her emotions and manipulate them. And then there was the White Key, a constant reminder of the quests and rewards tied to his mysterious gift¡ªan ever-present nudge urging him forward.


    ¡°Moving against Yokki was my choice,¡± Zamian finally said, his voice steady as he stood, using the tree for support. ¡°But my gift offered the means and the¡­ extra motivation to act. I would have done it even without those factors, father. But, yes, they swayed my decision.¡±


    Dante¡¯s gaze lingered on Zamian, measuring his words. ¡°Good for you to recognize it, boy. But remember this: do not follow those motivations unless you know they¡¯re truly yours, son.¡±


    Without waiting for an answer, the white-haired cultivator held Zamian¡¯s arm and stomped on the ground, causing the wall to sink, vines retreating into the earth like a tide pulling back.


    ¡°Now come,¡± Dante said. ¡°I can¡¯t stay here any longer.¡±


    Zamian nodded silently and followed his father back to the center of the garden, where the others waited. To the group¡¯s right, the two injured Zealots remained on the ground, their eyes shut as they channeled essence to heal their battered bodies.


    Bohlo rushed to the duo, helping Zamian to take a seat and then standing on guard by his friend¡¯s side.


    ¡°You two," Dante said, gesturing to the Zealots who had accompanied him, Bohlo, and Zamian through the forest¨C¨Cthe other members of the welcome committee besides Hosta. ¡°Take the spies with you. And the rest of you,¡± his gaze shifted to the remaining Zealots, ¡°you take the Cleric Chosen. I trust you to keep her safe.¡± Dante concluded, his eyes glowing green as he sent essence below ground.


    At Dante¡¯s direction, the Zealots moved quickly, crafting an impromptu bed from wood and leaves. They carefully lifted their injured companions onto it, one Zealot taking the front and the other the rear, their movements deliberate and practiced.


    Tamara, along with two other Zealots, carried the Cleric Chosen, still encased in her protective leaf cocoon. Lakea moved to her mother¡¯s side without hesitation, whispering softly in the direction of her mother¡¯s head, while caressing the cocoon, and the two Clerics followed her closely, still masked.


    Then, without warning, the ground beneath them began to rumble. The grass swayed violently as if caught in an invisible storm. One by one, the towering trees crashed to the earth, their thunderous falls echoing through the garden. Even the bushes and flowers seemed to recoil, sinking into the soil as though devoured by the earth itself.


    It was chaos¡ªan earthquake consuming the entire garden¡ªyet no one reacted. The cultivators moved as if oblivious to the destruction unfolding around them, their focus unbroken.


    After a few moments, only the white, green, and blue leaves of the ceiling remained untouched. Every other plant or piece of wood larger than grass had sunk below the ground, leaving the garden eerily barren. The entrance¡ªor exit, depending on one¡¯s perspective¡ªwas now clearly visible. The cultivators glanced at it briefly before shifting their focus back to Dante.


    ¡°The five Enlightened will stay here,¡± Dante commanded, his glowing eyes sweeping across the group. ¡°Choose different places, and I¡¯ll reemerge the garden.¡±


    Zamian, too drained to argue, lay back exactly where he was, staring at the shifting ceiling above. Bohlo scratched his head, shrugged, and took a few steps away from his friend before flopping to the ground with a resigned sigh.


    Lakea opened her mouth as if to speak, but stopped herself when she caught Dante¡¯s stern gaze. Without a word, she turned and walked to the opposite side of the garden from Zamian, lowering herself to the ground and sitting cross-legged. The two Clerics accompanying her exchanged glances, then bowed their heads and sat a short distance away.


    As Dante finished surveying the place, he turned and strode toward the door, each of his steps sending green ripples across the garden, which shook strongly, and trees began to reemerge, sprouting in what appeared to be a random pattern.


    The Zealots followed him, crossing the door behind him. One by one, they exit the Cleric Chosen¡¯s garden.


    After the Chosen and the Zealots left, the five Enlighetend felt the garden calming down, no more earthquakes or emerging trees messing with their senses. Every single one of them was surrounded by trees a strong stream of green essence in an arm¡¯s reach.


    Zamian smirked. He could see nothing beyond the bushes and trees; only a strong white light from above. The young man saw his father remodeling their garden twice, both times being a brutal thing to watch. And now, looking at the strong flow of essence, he could only laugh.


    Whatever his father had done, Zamian knew it was unsustainable. This amount of essence concentrated in one place was unheard of. As far as he understood, gardens like this relied on the steady supply from the Colossal Tree¡¯s Roots, their lifeblood drawn from its immense reserves of essence.


    And yet, here was a garden practically bursting with essence, flowing like a river through its core.


    Zamian¡¯s smirk widened. ¡®He¡¯s broken something, hasn¡¯t he?¡¯ he thought, shaking his head as the green light reflected in his eyes. ¡®Whatever this is, it won¡¯t last.¡¯


    For some reason, the thought of causing permanent damage to Yokki¡¯s garden made Zamian feel thrilled.


    ¡°Bohlo, can you hear me?¡± he called out loudly in Bohlo¡¯s direction. A wall of flowers and vines stood beyond the tree and bushes surrounding him.


    ¡®Father blocked sound with plants? How? This is insane,¡¯ having no response, Zamian could only guess, and this served to remind himself yet again he barely knew the true power of a Chosen.


    He kept pondering. ''It isn¡¯t just about their might, but the diversity in their powers¡­ What else could father do?'' Focusing on the faint shimmer of the White Dot in his vision, he muttered, ¡°Blighted thing, what else are you hiding?¡±


    Shaking his head to clear the thoughts, he took a deep breath, inhaling the green essence around him.


    ''It¡¯s time to settle some things, and then I should cultivate. I can¡¯t let this opportunity slip away, no matter how tired I am! And firstly, let¡¯s check White Dot¡¯s reward!'' Resolving himself, Zamian opened his hand to glance at the White Key.


    But there was nothing there.


    Startled, he clenched and opened his fist repeatedly, his gaze scanning the grass for the missing object. Only when he confirmed he could still feel the item¡¯s smooth texture in his palm did he relax slightly, though confusion lingered.


    ¡®Now that I think about it, this thing doesn¡¯t feel like a key at all,¡¯ frowning, he grabbed a handful of grass and pressed it against the invisible object, compressing the grass to outline the key.


    Zamian had seen keys before¡ªhis house had a wooden key for his mother¡¯s lockbox, where she stored her clothes. But the White Key¡¯s shape was unlike anything he¡¯d encountered.


    Instead of a rough shaft with a notched edge leading to a larger bow, this key had only a smooth, cylindrical shaft ending in a perfectly rounded tip.


    ¡°A tiny stick with a ball at the end? Really?¡± he muttered, pressing the object as if trying to activate it.


    Nothing happened.


    He tried channeling essence into it, but the item remained unresponsive. Holding the key, Zamian sighed in anger. The shape didn¡¯t matter¡ªwhat mattered was the lack of a lock to use it on!


    ''How does the White Dot promise me a book, only to give me a key to a White Key? Will this blighted thing write the book for me?''


    The naming didn¡¯t escape him, either. He was sure the White Key and the White Dot were deeply connected, even if he¡¯d been the one to name his companion.


    Fighting against his tired body, Zamian slowly stood, plucking petals of different colors from the wall of vines. He covered the invisible key with the petals and placed it carefully on his lap after settling into a cross-legged position. ''Now, even if you fall to the ground, I won¡¯t lose you.''


    Taking a deep breath, he let Nature¡¯s essence flow into him. He forced himself not to reflect on the trial, Yokki¡¯s attack, his strange ability to read her feelings, the Stargazing Brothers, or even his father¡¯s unsettling display of power.Support the author by searching for the original publication of this novel.


    Zamian pushed it all aside¡ªfor Lakea.


    It wasn¡¯t love. It was the memory of her crying over her mother, her body shaking with sobs. He didn¡¯t feel sympathy for her¡ªhe doubted she even liked him after the ordeal, much less thought of him as a friend like she once did. No, it was something else weighing on him.


    "I am weak," he growled through gritted teeth. ¡°I am as weak as vermin.¡±


    What could he have done if it were his father, instead of Yokki, convulsing on the ground, bleeding?


    What could he do if a dozen Chosen arrived at the trial, forcing him, Bohlo, and his father to submit?


    What could he do if Clerics appeared at his home again, demanding his mother leave with them while his father was away at the Lord¡¯s Tree?


    Nothing.


    Again, I wouldn¡¯t be able to do anything.


    That¡¯s why Zamian ignored what had already happened and focused on first understanding his reward. After that, his next goal was clear: cultivate on this place that his father had prepared!


    Just as he was about to begin chanting, his instincts screamed at him. His stomach churned, a wave of nausea rippling through his body. ''Wh-What is this?'' he thought, alarmed by the overwhelming sensation. The whispers of his instincts weren¡¯t whispers anymore¡ªthey were screams.


    He first willed the White Dot to show his stats.


    STATS POINTS


    Body: 15/54


    Mind: 13/50


    Soul: 18/100


    He had recovered a few points just from resting a little, proving neither his soul, body, or mind was injured. ¡®Could it be something inside the dark space? But didn¡¯t father say he checked my soul?¡¯


    Deciding to verify the situation, with eyes closed, Zamian pushed his consciousness to the dark space, where the human silhouette made of motes of light existed. There, he saw flickering red motes stabilizing themselves¡ªjust like his sored body, they seemed more tired than damaged.


    Zamian scanned the scene, noting no green halo or any other peculiar sign. The Astral Seal, the force he knew had wounded Yokki, was nowhere to be found. His other motes of light, mostly green and white, shone brightly


    His gaze lingered on the flickering red motes. It was the only anomaly. He willed them to move, expecting nothing to happen, just like before.


    But they moved.


    As a torrent of light, they moved inside the humanoid form, shoving the other motes of light to the edges. Slowly, the red motes formed a vortex, their once-flickering light stabilizing into a steady glow. Amidst this vortex, Zamian could see ripples of red, forming images, some static, others in slow motion.


    Mesmerized by the scene, his vision zoomed in to the vortex. ¡®I remember this.¡¯, he thought, looking at a static image of a beautiful black-haired woman sitting on a wooden chair reading a book with one hand while she held a teacup in the other. ¡®Mom.¡¯


    The static image shifted. A red tide of light surged from it, rushing toward him. Startled, Zamian couldn¡¯t react¡ªhe was inside his dark space, his soul, unable to even close his eyes. The red light consumed him, blinding and overwhelming. When it faded, he found himself standing at home¡ªor at least a version of it, bathed in a red hue.


    ¡°Wh-What is happening? Wh¡ª¡± His voice broke the silence, trembling with confusion. But something was off. His voice sounded higher, younger.


    A soft chuckle came from his side. Turning instinctively, he froze. Warmth spread through his chest, and tears welled in his eyes, as he looked at the figure by his side.


    ¡°Zammy, were you sleeping on the floor again?¡± the black-haired woman said, her voice soft and melodic, tinted with the same red hue as everything else. She wore a long silk dress that shimmered in the crimson glow, holding a book in one hand and a teacup in the other. ¡°You should be playing with Bohlo, Lakea, Pat, and the others.¡±


    Jasmine, Zamian¡¯s mother, placed the book and teacup on the wooden table beside her and walked toward him. Her soft footsteps barely made a sound on the red-hued floor.


    ¡°Did something happen?¡± she asked, her voice full of concern as her worried eyes scanned his expression. ¡°Did you have a nightmare?¡± Kneeling by Zamian¡¯s side, she gently rested his head on her lap.


    Zamian remained silent, his small fist clenched tightly. He held back his emotions, but his gaze never left her face.


    ¡°Sweetie, talk to me,¡± she hummed an odd tune, sounding like a marching band, slightly offbeat.


    Zamian recalled the tune. His mother used to say it was a soothing sound for her, even if he thought it was an odd sound. Some outsiders taught her as a kid, and she never forgot. While it had cheered him up in the past, it had never truly soothed him.


    Now, though, it stirred a bittersweet warmth in his chest.


    Jasmine caressed her son¡¯s face, her thumb brushing away the tears that Zamian himself didn¡¯t remember when he had shed. ¡°Have you calmed down, darling?¡± she asked, her voice tender. Her loving, worried eyes never left his. ¡°Please, talk to me.¡±


    Zamian¡¯s mind raced. He wanted to believe he had somehow been sent back to the past. That this was a divine intervention, a chance to undo everything. A chance to warn his father not to leave that blighted day, to open the book his mother had given him and embrace the White Dot earlier, to save his family from their eventual downfall.


    The red hue, however, made him doubt that was the case. This wasn¡¯t the past¡ªit couldn¡¯t be. Still, there was one thing he could do, no matter what this was.


    Sitting up, Zamian turned and hugged his mother tightly. Her flowery scent filled his senses, grounding him. He whispered, ¡°Love you, Mom.¡±


    Startled by her son''s sudden demonstration of love, Jasmine hugged him back, smiling Smiling softly, she said, ¡°Love you too, Zammy.¡± She chuckled, her voice light and teasing. ¡°You¡¯re my favorite son.¡±


    Zamian chuckled softly, but the sound soon shifted. The chuckle turned into a laugh, and the laugh into a cry. His shoulders shook as he clung to his mother even tighter. ¡°I¡¯m sorry, I¡¯m sorry,¡± he sobbed. ¡°I want to protect him, mom. I can¡¯t lose father too. But¡ª¡± he hiccupped, his voice cracking¡ª¡°I don¡¯t know how to save him. I know he misses you, so much more than I do. I know.¡±


    His words came faster, tumbling out in a rush of pain. ¡°But why? Why can¡¯t he move on? Why?¡± His voice rose to a wail, raw and desperate. ¡°He¡¯ll end his mortal cycle, deranged, tainted. Why, Mom, why can¡¯t I move on either?¡±


    Zamian buried his face in her chest, his screams muffled by the fabric of her dress.


    Jasmine kept caressing Zamian¡¯s hair amidst his breakdown, humming the marching sound again. She neither interrupted the boy nor moved from her place.


    After a few moments, Zamian¡¯s cries quieted, his breaths slowing as he regained control. He pulled away from his mother, his head low. Sitting cross-legged in front of her, he wiped his nose with the back of his hand, his gaze fixed on the floor.


    ¡°Zammy, look at me,¡± Jasmine said gently.


    The young boy turned to her, his red, puffy eyes meeting her gaze.


    She nodded, respecting his choice to sit apart, and smiled softly. ¡°Would you mind drinking tea with me? I can read a book for you, sweetie. I know you won¡¯t touch them otherwise.¡± She chuckled, her voice light, as a small round table emerged between them, crafted from leaves and wood, complete with delicate bowls.


    As Jasmine began preparing tea, Zamian found himself captivated by her movements. Venting to her had lifted a weight off his chest, and now, watching her hands work, the locked memories in his heart seemed to loosen.


    He smiled faintly. ¡°Thank you, mom,¡± he said as she handed him a cup of tea. He took a small sip and paused, his lips quirking into a smirk. ¡°Grape tea? Really?¡±


    ¡°Hmm?¡± Jasmine tilted her head in mock confusion. ¡°Is my young boy complaining about my tea? Maybe I¡¯m old enough to be hallucinating.¡± She looked around theatrically, glancing from side to side, before locking eyes with him and taking a deliberate sip from her own cup.


    A moment passed, and they both burst into laughter.


    ¡°Storytime, Zammy,¡± Jasmine announced playfully, vines snaking over to deliver two books onto the table. She placed them in front of him, her eyes sparkling. ¡°Choose, choose,¡± she said, clapping her hands and beaming at him.


    Zamian¡¯s eyes widened as he stared at the book covers. ¡°No!¡± he screamed, his voice echoing through the red-hued space. The titles were unreadable¡ªa scramble of letters jumbled across the covers.


    That was a flaw.


    As his parents had once taught him¡ªand as he¡¯d experienced firsthand¡ªflaws could appear during cultivation, especially when imagining or visualizing something. Nature¡¯s essence would correct the flaw, allowing the cultivator to restart the cycle.


    But this wasn¡¯t a cultivation session.


    The moment the flaw appeared, everything froze. The scene around him cracked and fragmented, breaking apart into countless red motes of light.


    The bright light overwhelmed him, forcing him to close his eyes. When he opened them again, he was back in the dark space, staring at the humanoid form of motes of multicolored light.


    The vortex had stopped. The red motes no longer flickered, now still and stable. Zamian tried to move them again, to zoom his vision closer, but nothing happened.


    He tried again.


    And again.


    And again.


    Frustration clawed at him as the stillness mocked his efforts. Finally, he left the dark space and opened his eyes, his heart pounding. His gaze darted around, searching for his mother.


    But all he saw was the green garden, bathed in Nature¡¯s essence.


    ''Don¡¯t be childish,'' he thought, shaking his head. He took a deep breath, closing his eyes briefly before standing.


    Zamian moved to a nearby tree, reclining against its trunk. He placed the invisible key on his lap again, his gaze drifting upward. The bright white leaves above shone down, their light warming his face. A gentle breeze rustled his hair. For the first time in what felt like forever, he smiled, a heavy burden lifting from his chest.


    As he prepared to cultivate again, he paused, his eyes snapping open in astonishment. Something felt¡­ off. Inspecting his body, he noted that while his physical exhaustion remained, his mind felt clearer, sharper than before.


    He chuckled, the sound low and disbelieving. When he checked the amount of essence within him, a laugh burst from his lips, tinged with disbelief.


    Zamian willed the White Dot to show his relevant information.


    PERSONAL INFORMATION


    Name: Zamian Greenfield


    Level: 2 [60%]


    Tier: Mortal


    Main Pathway (!): Impure


    Title: None


    (!): Perpetuity Pathway and Creation Pathway detected. Please, choose your Main Pathway.


    STATS POINTS


    Body: 15/54


    Mind: 20/50


    Soul: 100/100


    Reading the information about his Level and status, Zamian couldn¡¯t help but feel overjoyed. Whatever had happened inside his soul had accelerated his recovery. Not only that, but his cultivation had surged to 60% in mere moments. ''One more day, and I¡¯ll surely become a Zealot,'' he thought, a grin spreading across his face.


    But as his eyes skimmed through other texts, his excitement froze. His expression turned to one of shock.


    Mechanically, he willed his essence to move, his hand trembling slightly. The usual green glow emerged above his palm, vibrant and familiar. But around it, swirling faintly, was something else¡ªa red mist.


    Frowning, Zamian steadied himself and began to chant, ¡°Nature is the Cycle, so our path is never-ending. Nature is the Creation, so our path is ever strong. Nature is the Truth, so our path is the only one.¡± He focused his energy, commanding the green essence to flow into his hands, activating the Everbark Technique.


    The green essence responded as always, moving through his body and hardening his flesh, turning it into something resembling bark. His hands took on a wooden texture, tough and rigid. But the red mist didn¡¯t follow.


    ''Enlightened gain their first technique when they cultivate,'' Zamian thought, his mind racing. ''We chant Nature¡¯s Knowledge so the essence understands our desires. Zealots, though¡ªthey can command essence directly, visualizing their will without needing to speak.''


    He dismissed the technique before it could drain more of his energy, his hand returning to its normal state. The red mist lingered, swirling faintly but refusing to integrate with his actions.


    Zamian¡¯s frown deepened as his thoughts turned to the text that had stunned him earlier.


    ''What does an Impure Pathway mean?''

 Chapter 11 - Bold Assumptions

    Zamian stared at the warning on the white text.


    (!): Perpetuity Pathway and Creation Pathway detected. Please, choose your Main Pathway.


    ¡°What does it mean, White Dot?¡± he asked aloud, not expecting an answer.


    And, as usual, no answer came.


    ''White Dot marked Father with Impure before, but it disappeared after he consumed part of the red mist. Should I do the same?¡ªwait, does that mean I¡¯m crazy?¡¯ Zamian¡¯s thoughts spiraled. ''But then again, I¡¯ve already consumed some of the red mist¡­''


    Trying to steady himself, Zamian willed his essence to flow through his body. He focused inward, checking for anything out of place.


    ''I don¡¯t feel any issues. My mind is clear, my body is healthy. If anything, I feel stronger, more prepared to cultivate and breakthrough soon,'' he thought, trying to listen for any subtle whispers from his instincts. ''And they¡¯re silent.''


    He sighed, his thoughts turning back to the strange warning. ¡°Why do you keep calling the Nature Pathway the Creation Pathway, White Dot?¡± he muttered, irritation creeping into his voice. Every book he¡¯d read and every cultivator he¡¯d spoken to called the green essence they absorbed Nature¡¯s essence, tying it unmistakably to the Nature Pathway. So why was White Dot different?


    Zamian wanted to dismiss the warning. But he couldn¡¯t. This blighted companion had proven itself too useful and powerful to ignore. It had given his soul a tool capable of defending against a Chosen¡¯s attack, even countering Yokki¡¯s technique. Whatever the White Dot was, it didn¡¯t seem prone to pranks. If it was warning him, there had to be a reason.


    ''There must be an issue with cultivating two pathways,'' he thought grimly. ¡°Otherwise, you wouldn¡¯t be telling me to choose, right, you muted thing?¡± he growled.


    He knew better than to ignore the text¡¯s warnings. The White Dot had been right too many times before. ¡°Tell me how to choose my Main Path,¡± he said aloud, his voice firmer now. ¡°At least explain what the Perpetuity Path is.¡±


    Silence.


    He sighed again, his frustration giving way to resignation. ¡°Please?¡± he added softly, a wry smile crossing his face.


    Still, there was no response.


    Gazing at the text again, Zamian didn¡¯t need to be a genius to figure out the red essence was tied to the Perpetuity Pathway. ''Or Perpetuity¡¯s essence? Such an odd name,'' he mused, his thoughts swirling as he tried to connect recent events with what he knew.


    ¡®Why do I keep forgetting to check my soul?¡¯ Wanting to beat himself, he once more entered his dark space.


    The familiar motes of light appeared before him, multicolored and scattered throughout the humanoid form¡ªred, green, white, and a half dozen other colors.


    Zamian focused on the most prevalent colors inside his soul.


    The red motes, dominating most of the humanoid shape, were clearly linked to the Perpetuity Pathway. They had come from the red mist¡ªor, more precisely, from the Abyssal Leaf, a White Dot reward he had never physically seen. It had allowed him to enter that eerie red world and speak with his deceased mother. ¡®I feel if I dwell on this too much, I will regret it forever,¡¯ he thought as his instincts agreed with him.


    The green motes represented the Nature Pathway. There was no doubt about it. He had seen green essence shimmering in the Sanctuary air since he was a child. It was omnipresent, familiar, and tied directly to his environment. Choosing it as his Main Pathway would make cultivation easier in the long run, not to mention avoiding awkward questions about where he acquired essence from other paths.


    Nodding inwardly, the young man glanced at the white motes of light.


    He didn¡¯t care about them before. There has been so much happening since yesterday, he should thank his mind to handle it without breaking. Part of him must have ignored these white lights, mostly because he had always seen something similar since more than two years ago.


    Even now, the White Dot lingered in the corner of his vision, distinct from the motes but bearing a resemblance. Zamian recognized he should have given these white motes more importance when he first noticed them inside his soul. But honestly, he hadn¡¯t seen a reason to.


    ''Why should I have worried?¡¯ he thought. His father had checked his soul before and hadn¡¯t mentioned the multicolored motes as either a problem or a blessing. Besides, there were other issues to deal with¡ªhis trial, cultivation, and his father¡¯s spiraling condition.


    The motes had always been untouchable to him¡ªpretty fireflies floating in the void. They were beautiful, yes, but useless. Decorations to glance at in passing, not tools to help him cultivate or fend off stronger enemies, like Yokki.


    But now, after the red motes¡¯ earlier display, the situation had changed.


    Zamian now understood that even if he hadn¡¯t originally cultivated essence of other colors, it didn¡¯t mean he couldn¡¯t use them. But the questions remained¡ªwhat caused the change in the red essence? What made him capable of cultivating the Perpetuity Pathway or even seeing his mother?


    ''Wait. If I can cultivate this new Path, gather more essence, and become a Zealot of both the Perpetuity and Nature Pathways, can¡¯t I do the same with the white essence?¡¯ His thoughts raced. ''Why not combine the essence from these Pathways and become a stronger Zealot? Or¡­ even a Chosen?¡¯


    The idea sparked deep curiosity in his mind. Zamian focused on the white motes, willing them to move.


    Nothing happened.


    He observed them closely, searching for a scene beyond their brightness like the red vortex had shown him.


    He thought of his mother, his father, his struggles. Good memories followed: playing with his parents, pranking Bohlo, cultivating with Lakea. Then the bad ones¡ªhis mother being taken by the Clerics, his father¡¯s first episode.


    But still, the white motes remained unmoving.


    Zamian frowned, but he wouldn¡¯t give up. ¡®Nature¡¯s essence gathers only when a cultivator aligns their thoughts and actions. The white essence must work the same way,¡¯ he reasoned. Yet, another thought struck him. ''Wait. How did I gather it before?¡¯


    The realization was sharp. ¡®The red essence came from the Abyssal Leaf, from the red mist. I never cultivated it¡ªit was introduced to me. So¡­ the white essence must have come from a source outside my control.¡¯ He turned his attention to the White Dot. ''You¡¯re the culprit, aren¡¯t you?¡¯


    As expected, there was no reply.


    With more questions piling up, Zamian shifted his focus to the other colors, willing each one to act. None of them moved, nor did they show him any past scenes. Frustration bubbled as he acknowledged the truth. ¡®Without knowing what triggered the red essence¡¯s change, I can¡¯t replicate it with the others.¡¯


    Reluctantly, he ceased his efforts and left the dark space, taking a deep breath as he assessed his situation.


    ''The red essence won¡¯t move for now, but that¡¯s fine. I can cultivate the Nature Pathway, become a Zealot, and figure out the rest later,'' he decided.


    ¡°Okay, White Dot, you win. I want the Nature¡ªno, the Creation Pathway as my main pathway,¡± he spoke out loud.


    As expected, nothing happened, and he could still see the warning.


    (!): Perpetuity Pathway and Creation Pathway detected. Please, choose your Main Pathway.


    Sitting back against the tree, Zamian closed his eyes, pushing aside his swirling concerns. ¡°I should cultivate. I won¡¯t solve this problem by overthinking, and I can¡¯t waste the rest of the day buried in worries,¡± he murmured.


    Taking a deep breath, he began to chant, his voice firm. ¡°Nature is the Cycle, so our path is never-ending. Nature is the Creation, so our path is ever strong. Nature is the Truth, so our path is the only one.¡±


    Essence cycled slowly within him, as green lights covered his skin from the outside. Zamian synchronized the movements of his chest and the rhythm of his breath with the essence¡¯s flow, letting his mind be carried away.


    As he immersed himself, Zamian noticed specks of red light floating along the grass he had imagined. The number of red lights grew steadily. ''Will this be a problem?'' he wondered, frowning.


    If you come across this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.


    Refusing to remain passive, he willed the red essence to leave. To his relief, the red specks dissolved into the visualization, carried away by an imagined wind.


    Satisfied, Zamian continued. He visualized his parents, shaping a scene of himself as a newborn, crying under a canopy of vibrant green-leafed trees.


    ¡°We should call him Zamian. It reminds me of my father-in-law¡¯s name, Damian. What do you think, darling?¡± a soft voice said, pulling Zamian from his focus.


    Zamian turned toward the source of the voice. The woman had his mother¡¯s face, her hand gently caressing the newborn¡¯s head as she panted, exhausted but smiling. She had just spoken.


    ¡®Wh-what?¡¯


    The visualization shattered.


    Zamian¡¯s eyes snapped open, his chest heaving. He trembled as he struggled to process what had just happened. It wasn¡¯t just that the woman spoke like his mother, or that her skin and clothing glowed with a deep red hue, reminiscent of the red essence.


    It was the sensation he felt as the visualization broke.


    A flaw.


    The feeling was unmistakable, but unlike the usual cultivation flaws, Nature¡¯s knowledge didn¡¯t offer guidance, no instinctive correction to set things right.


    A sense of foreboding settled over him as he tried again. Zamian visualized the scene from the start, purging the red essence before shaping the canopy, his parents, and himself as a newborn.


    But every time the baby was born, the woman would turn red, becoming more vivid and lifelike, taking more of his mother¡¯s features. She moved and spoke without following his will, breaking free from the limits of his visualization, even if it was for a few moments before the visualization broke.


    And no matter how much he tried to focus and keep the cycle moving, his visualization would always break.


    Zamian tried to remake the woman, choosing another model besides his mother. After concluding it, the woman¡¯s face morphed, her skin and bones moving and squirming, as she took Jasmine¡¯s appearance.


    The young man then tried to flood the woman with green essence, illuminating her with a flux of greenish light. The green essence, sadly, didn¡¯t enter her body, and Zamian couldn¡¯t provoke any change in her behavior.


    He kept trying different approaches but to no avail. Talking to her was impossible because his visualization would end after the usual first sentence came out of her mouth.


    Huffing, he glanced at the White Dot, willing his stats to appear.


    STATS POINTS


    Body: 15/54


    Mind: 22/50


    Soul: 60/100


    Zamian clenched his fists. He was tiring himself without achieving anything!


    When he cultivated in his house¡¯s garden before, he had recalled stories about the outside world being polluted with conflicting essences, which supposedly slowed and tainted one¡¯s cultivation. At first, he doubted it; in his opinion, no information shared by the Verdant God¡¯s believers could truly be trusted¡ªunless it came from Bohlo or his friend¡¯s family.


    Now, however, he had no choice but to believe. Zamian was sure the red essence tainted his cultivation. ¡®The Perpetuity Pathway won¡¯t mix with Nature Pathway!,'' he thought, dazzed.


    ¡°Oh no, did I cripple myself?¡± he muttered, his breath hitching. Dry heaving, he shook his head. ¡°No, no. I¡¯m overthinking. Don¡¯t make this too complex now, Zamian. Keep it simple.¡±


    He took a deep breath, forcing himself to slow down. ¡®Should I try something?¡¯ The thought crossed his mind, but he quickly dismissed it. ¡®No. I can¡¯t be reckless. I should wait for my father.¡¯


    It seemed like a decision had been made.


    But as he calmed himself, his instincts flared¡ªa sudden, overwhelming sense of unwillingness surged through him. It felt sticky and suffocating like viscous tree sap spreading through his chest.


    ¡®How can I save him if I always need his help?¡¯ The thought came from deep inside his heart. ¡®I should be looking for a way to save him, not depending on him!¡¯


    Zamian¡¯s eyes flashed red, the color mirroring the red essence inside his soul.


    ¡®My father was also Impure! But after cultivating the red mist, it changed¡ªno, after absorbing it, the red mist cured his soul. The text said he was still cultivating the Creation Pathway, so the Abyssal Leaf didn¡¯t change his Path. Father did something with the red mist inside him, which helped!'' Zamian concluded, understanding he was making too many assumptions.


    But now, he had some options to try.


    Zamian started murmuring Nature Pathway¡¯s chant, commanding his green essence to move, his eyes still open to observe the red light following close behind, circulating the green light like dust.


    Nature¡¯s essence gathered on his right fist and then returned to his chest, in a continuous cycle. The red essence, however, was kept in his closed fist, while he stared at it with bloodshot eyes.


    Zamian guessed he couldn¡¯t control the red essence directly because he lacked any correspondent technique. The young man could, however, make the red essence follow the green one.


    The Enlightened controlled Nature¡¯s essence by chanting and willing it to move. Zamian visualized its movements, emphasizing a single line of the chant, ¡®Nature is the Truth, so our path is the only one¡¯.


    Perpetuity Pathway wasn¡¯t a part of Nature; it wasn¡¯t part of Nature¡¯s cycle.


    Zamian wasn¡¯t aware of how to cultivate the Perpetuity Pathway, but he lived for almost 16 years in a society dominated by the Nature Pathway¡ªthe Creation Pathway.


    Zamian knew a few things about what his Path was capable of.


    Sweating and trembling, Zamian kept chanting, expending green essence while confining the red one inside his right fist.


    After a few moments, no more of Perpetuity''s essence flowed from his chest. Zamian grinned and punched the air.


    The essence didn¡¯t move, still attached to him ¡®Yeah, not my smartest move,'' he thought, smirking. ¡®Let¡¯s try this, then.¡¯


    Putting his fist on the floor, he commanded the green essence to strike against the red essence again and again. Waves of green slammed into the red, rippling through the ground beneath him, tearing up grass only to revitalize some blades in the process.


    Zamian lost more and more of his essence with this movement, wasting his cultivation progress.


    The red essence, compressed inside his right hand, had nowhere to go but to front, to outside his body! Zamian was creating a path, with green essence, and then cutting it off, so the red essence could follow it when going outside his body, but not rush back!


    ¡®Nature is the Truth, so our path is the only one!¡¯ he thought with gritted teeth.


    More than seeing it, Zamian felt the red essence leaving his body. ¡®Is red essence invisible? What was the red mist, then?¡¯ he wondered but chose to shelve the question for later. There was a more pressing issue at hand.


    As the red lights in his fist dimmed and the pale tone of his skin returned, Zamian commanded Nature¡¯s essence to flow again. He scanned his body meticulously, ensuring no trace of the Perpetuity''s essence remained.


    After a few moments of silence, he turned his gaze to the White Dot.


    PERSONAL INFORMATION


    Name: Zamian Greenfield


    Level: 2 [20%]


    Tier: Mortal


    Main Pathway: Creation


    Title: None


    STATS POINTS


    Body: 16/54


    Mind: 18/50


    Soul: 12/100


    After confirming his Pathway, Zamian lay back on the grass, sighing in relief.


    ¡°This blighted plan worked¡­¡± he muttered. ¡°But I lost too much. Moving essence without a technique is wasteful, and it seems doing it continuously reduces my soul points,¡± he pondered aloud. ¡°Would I pass out again if I kept going?¡± He bit his lip in frustration.


    Sitting cross-legged, he closed his eyes and willed himself into the dark space again. The familiar motes of light appeared¡ªred, green, white, and others in smaller numbers.


    ''...Oh please, no,'' he thought, his heart sinking as the red motes still shone brightly.


    Leaving the dark space, Zamian immediately began to cultivate, ignoring the fatigue in his soul. He needed to confirm that no red essence remained within him. Visualizing a field of grass, he focused on constructing the green scene in his mind. To his relief, no red specks appeared.


    Fixating his awareness on the woman, he willed her to take the shape of someone other than his mother. She obeyed. She didn¡¯t speak, didn¡¯t turn red, and didn¡¯t morph uncontrollably.


    Sighing inwardly, Zamian ended the visualization and opened his eyes.


    ''The essence inside my soul¡ªmy father called it crystal essence¡ªseems to influence my cultivation only when I have the same-colored essence in my body,'' he was puzzled, ¡®But how? Why?¡¯


    ¡®I¡¯m aware essences of different colors come from different pathways; this much is obvious,¡¯ Zamian thought, his mind racing. ¡®But not every pathway is cultivated the same way. Nature Pathway needs visualization, imagination¡ªthe act of bringing something to life in our minds. While the Perpetuity Pathway¡­ it needs our memories?¡¯ His eyes widened. ¡®No, it¡¯s our feelings. I could sense Yokki¡¯s emotions! The memories in that red world¡ªthe ones showing me my mother¡ªaren¡¯t they tied to strong feelings?¡¯


    Though pleased with his assumptions, Zamian felt as if he were missing a key piece. His instincts, which had guided him before, remained silent.


    ¡®I didn¡¯t have red essence inside my body this morning. I would¡¯ve noticed while cultivating.¡¯ He glanced at the white-leafed ceiling, wondering how much time he¡¯d already spent in the garden. ¡®Somehow, I gathered red essence between leaving home and creating that red vortex here. The Abyssal Leaf¡¯s mist only gave me crystal essence and healed my soul. It couldn¡¯t have placed red essence in my body.¡¯


    Frustration simmered within him, but Zamian wasn¡¯t one to give up easily.


    ¡®I need to discover how I gathered the red essence. If I can figure out the prerequisites for cultivating another pathway, I could cultivate white essence too.¡¯ His gaze shifted to the White Dot. ¡®And by doing this, I might uncover more about you and my mother¡¯s book. Maybe, with this knowledge, I can even save the old man from himself.¡¯


    Concentrating, Zamian combed through his memories from this morning onward. Most seemed unimportant until a realization struck him. ¡®The red essence became invisible when it left my body¡­ so it must have been invisible when I gathered it. Wait¡ª¡¯


    His hands flew to his body, patting frantically. A flush of embarrassment crept over his face when he found what he was looking for on his thigh, wrapped in multicolored leaves. Unwrapping it, Zamian revealed the topside of his last side quest reward.


    ¡°You¡¯re invisible too, White Key,¡± he muttered, holding the object up to inspect it.


    Zamian considered returning to cultivation. He had wasted enough time on the Impure Pathway problem, and recovering from the setback seemed wise.


    ¡°Today, I could reach 40% or 50% of Level 2,¡± he murmured, a smirk tugging at his lips. ¡°And still be as weak as a vermin.¡±


    He held the white¡ªbut invisible¡ªkey in front of his face, his gaze narrowing. ¡®Activating White Dot¡¯s reward seems more important. I tried sending green essence to it, but what if¡­¡¯


    A small smile formed as he moved his essence again, ignoring the headache that followed. Wielding Nature¡¯s essence, he guided it to his right hand, directing it toward the key.


    As the green essence flowed, Zamian focused on creating a path¡ªone that other kinds of essence could follow.


    After a while, the key began to take on a faint white hue. His grin widened. ¡®Not only invisible outside my body, but it seems it¡¯s invisible inside too.¡¯ His smile faltered as confusion crept in. ¡®But if I have white essence inside me, why didn¡¯t the White Dot mark my path as impure before?¡¯


    Another problem stacked onto the growing pile, and the pounding in his head intensified. ¡®Cultivation is hard!¡¯ he lamented, a sour chuckle escaping his lips.


    A sudden flash of white light snapped him from his thoughts. The key in his hand blazed like a beacon, its radiance engulfing him entirely.


    ¡°This reminds me of when I opened mother¡¯s book,¡± he muttered, his voice barely audible before the light consumed him.


    When the glow faded, the spot where Zamian had been was empty. All that remained was the white key, now dissolving into motes of light.


    The young Enlightened was gone.

 Chapter 12 - White Tower

    As Zamian¡¯s vision filled with white light, he felt like he was falling¡ªfast. The sensation reminded him of when he fell from the Colossal Trees, only this time there was no Everbark Technique to catch him.


    He tried to reach out, to steady himself, but his arms weren¡¯t there. Neither were his legs. His whole body felt like it had melted into the light, rushing forward in one direction he couldn¡¯t control.


    There was no pain, no real sensation at all, just an empty stillness. Normally, Zamian would¡¯ve panicked, but instead, he felt calm. A soft humming sound filled his ears, like wind passing through branches, growing louder as time went on.


    Then, the sound faded. There was nothing left¡ªno sound, no sense of time, no feeling. Just the endless white light.


    Zamian started to wonder if everything before this moment¡ªhis life, his struggles, his cultivation¡ªhad been a dream. Maybe this was his real existence now, part of the infinite light.


    His memories blurred, fading into white. Just as he began to accept it, something changed. A shadow appeared in the whiteness. It took him a moment to understand what he was seeing: darkness. His eyelids were closed.


    Suddenly, he could feel the ground beneath his bare feet. He was standing. There was no breeze, but he felt skin again¡ªhis own body. He didn¡¯t know why, but it flooded him with relief.


    Zamian tried to take a deep breath and open his eyes, but it didn¡¯t happen right away. ¡®The White Key¡­ it flashed, and now I¡¯m¡­ here? Wh-what¡ª¡¯ His thoughts tripped over themselves. He realized too late that he¡¯d meant to say those words out loud.


    ¡°The-here-Wh-wha¡ª¡± His voice broke awkwardly. His mouth wasn¡¯t moving the way he wanted it to. He tried again, willing his eyes to open, but it felt like his body was lagging behind his mind, reacting moments too late.


    His heart raced. His breaths came faster. Finally, his eyes opened, and emotions flooded in all at once¡ªanxiety, fear, confusion. They hit him so fast that he couldn¡¯t process them before they vanished, leaving him gasping.


    ¡°Wh-what in the blighted world just happened?¡± he managed, his voice shaky. He looked around, trying to make sense of where he was.


    In front of him, just a few steps away, stood a massive double gate. It was made of a strange, smooth material Zamian didn¡¯t recognize. It towered over him, wide enough for ten people to walk side by side, and so tall he couldn¡¯t see its end.


    The gate was pure white, unmarked and featureless. There was no lock, no doorknob, not even hinges¡ªjust a thin line splitting it down the middle. Most unsettling of all, the gate wasn¡¯t connected to anything. It stood alone, unsupported by walls or a ceiling, rising from the pristine floor.


    The floor beneath him was made of the same smooth, white material as the gate. It stretched out in both directions, forming a long, narrow bridge.


    But at his sides, there was an even more impressive view.


    Darkness.


    His stomach churned as he glanced around. The strength drained from his legs, and he collapsed onto the ground, his breath shallow. An unknown, irrational fear dominated him briefly, but that was enough to unsettle the young cultivator.


    Beyond that bridge, there was nothing. Infinite, endless blackness. Even the sky above was the same void, empty. ¡®No leaves like the Sanctuary, and no stars or clouds like the books,¡¯ he gulped.


    Zamian felt small, like a single leaf floating in a lake without water. ¡®What if I fall¡­?¡¯ The thought hit him hard, as he felt a sharp pang on his chest.


    This wasn¡¯t like his dark space, where he could move freely, even without feeling his body. Here, there was weight¡ªan invisible heaviness that pressed down on him, silencing his instincts while bringing a sense of dread he only felt when dealing with stronger cultivators.


    Forcing himself to gather his strength, Zamian gritted his teeth and stood, wobbling as he glanced down at his hands. His face paled further, nearly matching the color of the gate.


    He patted himself down in a panic, searching the key. His frantic movements stopped as a realization struck him. ¡°White Dot, where¡¯s the key? You blighted thing, what did you do?¡± he shouted, his voice echoing into the void.


    No answer came.


    Closing his eyes, Zamian slowed his breathing, willing himself to calm down. ¡®Too many emotions in too short a time,¡¯ he took a deep breath. ¡®I didn¡¯t lose the key. Maybe it already served its purpose?¡¯ he then looked at the White Dot. ¡®You wouldn¡¯t bring me here for no reason, right? This isn¡¯t some strange ceremony for my next cycle¡­¡¯ He smirked bitterly. ¡®And if you really wanted to lock me here forever, what could I even do?¡¯


    Opening his eyes, Zamian hardened his expression. His steps were heavy as he approached the white gate, but one thing caught his attention. ¡®My body, it isn¡¯t tired anymore?¡¯ thankful for a distraction, he glanced to the corner of his vision, where the White Dot hovered.


    ¡®Let¡¯s make sure of it,¡¯ he thought, willing the White Dot to display his information, while another thought struck him. ¡®I should check this information more often.¡¯


    PERSONAL INFORMATION


    Name: Zamian Greenfield


    Level: 2 [20%]


    Tier: Mortal


    Main Pathway: Creation


    Title: None


    STATS POINTS


    Body: 54/54


    Mind: 50/50


    Soul: 100/100


    REWARDS


    White Key - First Floor


    Description: Key to access White Tower¡¯s First Floor


    Ancient Astral Seal


    Description: A Star Seal guarding your Astral Self.


    Ancient Identify Technique (Passive)


    Description: See the secrets beyond the limitations of time


    QUEST LOG


    Last Quest: Get revenge on your friend''s behalf


    Reward: 01 Book from White Tower''s First Floor


    Status: Completed


    Main Quest: Destroy an Unholy Sapling before the end of the month


    Reward: Special Physique (??)


    Status: Ongoing (13 days left)


    Zamian halted mid-step, glancing at his stats. His eyebrows shot up. ¡®Really? One trip here and I recovered every stat point?¡¯ A wry smile tugged at his lips. ¡®I don¡¯t even know how to feel about this.¡¯


    It was the first time he¡¯d seen his stats fully restored. Besides the previous fear and looming sense of dread, he felt good, sure, but nothing so drastic. ¡®To be honest, I was hoping for something greater when I filled my stats.¡¯


    At least Zamian confirmed he still had 13 days to complete his Main Quest, meaning his travel time from the garden to here was less than a few hours. ¡°Thank you, great White Dot, for not making me waste time,¡± he murmured, his tone laced with sarcasm.


    Time was the most important resource he had! If he didn¡¯t lose too much of it, what was a trip to the void?


    ¡°And the White Key is still with me¡ªor somewhere,¡± Zamian muttered. ¡°The Abyssal Leaf only disappeared from my reward list after it turned into mist. This reminds me¡­ the prize was supposed to be a blighted book, wasn¡¯t it? Couldn¡¯t you just make it appear on my lap and save us both the trouble, White Dot?¡± He sighed, shaking his head as he resumed walking toward the gate.


    Reaching it, he noticed again the lack of a doorknob or handle. Zamian shrugged and placed both hands on the smooth surface. ¡®I¡¯d rather take my chances with you than the void, thank you very much,¡¯ he thought and shoved the doors.


    They didn¡¯t budge.


    But Zamian did.


    As his hands pressed the gate, a white light flared, blinding him. The bridge vanished, and Zamian felt his body being pulled somewhere else. Bracing himself, he blinked rapidly when the light subsided. What he saw made him gawk.


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    ¡°This can¡¯t be a library¡­ right?¡± he muttered.


    Back in the Sanctuary, Zamian had seen libraries before. There was one at the Lord¡¯s Tree, another at the Stargazing Tree, and two smaller ones in the town. The town libraries were simple, filled with fiction and work-related books. The Lord¡¯s and Stargazing Tree libraries, though? They housed sacred books and scriptures, with strict rules and restrictions.


    He¡¯d entered three of them in his life, never the one inside the Stargazing Tree. The commoners¡¯ library required money to access restricted areas, and the Lord¡¯s library required special permission. Zamian had once held both.


    Those libraries were familiar: wooden shelves filled with books, six to ten tables, and enough space to move comfortably. The size varied, but the general look was the same.


    This place, however, was nothing like that.


    Zamian now stood in a cylindrical room made of the same smooth white material as the gate. The door he had touched was gone, leaving no trace.


    The room wasn¡¯t large¡ªabout the size of his house. He could see the opposite wall without difficulty. But the most striking feature was the bookshelf. A massive, white bookshelf encircled the entire room, stretching endlessly upward.


    The walls were the bookshelf.


    Tilting his head back, Zamian tried to follow its height. The shelves continued upward, disappearing into a brilliant white light. ¡°White Tower, huh?¡± he muttered, chuckling nervously. ¡°I really hope my book isn¡¯t up there, White Dot.¡±


    After a few moments of silence, he looked around and let out a bitter laugh. ¡°And this is just the first floor? This bookshelf is bigger than any Colossal Tree I¡¯ve ever seen, you blighted thing!¡±


    The endless white around him was a stark contrast to the darkness he¡¯d seen before entering this place. Though the hues of white were subtle, they varied just enough for him to distinguish between the floor, the towering bookshelf, and¡ªmost importantly¡ªthe book.


    ¡°Is this a prank?¡± he asked aloud.


    Here he stood, inside an endless building, crafted in some divine material as far as he was concerned, with heights greater than the trees made by the Verdant God. He arrived here through unknown means, challenging any common sense that could still be found inside him.


    And there, on the shelf, was a single book.


    A white book, no larger than any ordinary book he¡¯d seen before.


    It was the only book in sight.


    In this colossal White Tower, there was only him and this lone book.


    Zamian stared at it, unsure what to think. ¡°Is this your way of showing off? That you can create this entire building just to hand me one book?¡± he muttered, narrowing his eyes at the White Dot lingering in the corner of his vision.


    Reaching out, he pulled the book from the shelf. Its cover was blank¡ªno title, no markings¡ªjust pure white, the same as its back.


    Smirking, Zamian sat down on the floor and reclined against the wall. Crossing his legs, he placed the book on his lap. ¡°Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame¡ªyou get it. No way you¡¯re catching me off guard with another light show, White Dot,¡± he said with a touch of smugness.


    He wasn¡¯t about to risk opening another strange book while standing. He knew better now.


    With a cautious but steady hand, Zamian opened the book. As expected, white light burst from its pages, flooding his vision.


    What caught him off guard wasn¡¯t the light¡ªit was the text that followed.


    Inheritor Found


    Analyzing


    Name: Zamian Greenfield


    Bloodline: Match


    Spirit: Match


    Accessing Information


    Level: 2 [20%]


    Tier (!): Mortal


    Main Pathway: Creation


    (!) Limiting Techniques to Mortal Tier


    Assembling Available Techniques


    03 Techniques Found (!)


    White Leaf Sect - One Amongst Myriad Beings


    Description: Creation is a cycle occupied by a myriad of beings, each one has a role, and each role is part of nature.


    White Leaf Sect - Seed of Creation


    Description: Creation begins from a small seed, growing within oneself, using the power of nature before giving it back.


    White Leaf Sect - Order of the Cycle


    Description: Creation demands all living beings to follow a natural order; whoever fights against it is fighting against themselves.


    (!) Please choose one technique to study and learn.


    Zamian read through the text, baffled.


    ¡°This isn¡¯t from the White Dot!¡±


    Though the writing shared the same cryptic tone and obscure phrasing, Zamian had spent over two years with the White Dot. On this last day alone, he had read its texts dozens of times.


    He could tell this came from the white book.


    ¡°The white texts from White Dot are more-uh-white¡± he mumbled, reading the text once more, surprised at how easy it was to see the white text on a white background.


    ¡°What is a blighted Sect? A kind of a Cult? A blasphemous organization? Who do they worship? White God? White Tree God?¡± the young man ignored the usual personal information, and focused on the techniques, puzzled.


    Besides the cryptic and unhelpful descriptions¡ªthey seemed even worse than his usual reward¡¯s descriptions¡ªthe repetition of the name White Leaf Sect clarified their origin.


    And, of course, for Zamian, this meant absolutely nothing. ¡°How am I supposed to choose one of these? By the name? The vibe?¡± He rolled his eyes and sighed in frustration. ¡°At least try to give me a hint, White Dot, or are we doing this blind?¡±


    However, no matter how much he whined, he would select one of these techniques¡ªZamian knew how powerful White Dot¡¯s rewards were.


    ¡°First, there¡¯s this One Amongst Myriad Beings. I hear about techniques that could help Chosen find other people! But that¡¯s it, or am I wrong?¡± he pondered out loud.


    ¡°Then there¡¯s Seed of Creation. Would it help me cultivate faster? Or maybe it creates a blighted tree inside me, devouring me from the inside. After all, it says I need to give it back,¡± he smirked, shaking his head. ¡°But the name is nice; I¡¯ll give you that.¡±


    ¡°I guess this last one, Order of the Cycle, could be a physical technique, helping me adapt to situations. Or maybe it¡¯s a counterattack technique, like the Astral Seal,¡± he muttered. ¡°And it has the word Cycle in its name, so it could be more attuned to the Nature Pathway.¡±


    Scratching his chin, Zamian didn¡¯t want to spend too much time choosing. All his guesses were just conjectures based on the names and descriptions of the techniques.


    Some of these could cause a suicidal explosion, and he wouldn¡¯t know.


    ¡°The first one doesn¡¯t resemble an attack or defense technique, so I don¡¯t think it¡¯ll be reliable in a fight,¡± the young man licked his lips, remembering his father¡¯s fight against the Zealots.


    But then he shook his head and narrowed his eyes. ¡°I¡¯m being reckless and a fool. The White Dot was the one who gave me the tool to resist a Chosen¡¯s soul attack. However, if Yokki had slapped me, my mortal cycle would¡¯ve been finished¡ªeven three Zealots couldn¡¯t resist my father!¡±


    The young Enlightened looked at the techniques again. ¡°I should think about their utility and potential for growth. Father never told me about Chosen techniques, but I¡¯m confident no Enlightened or Zealot has abilities like these three. However¡­¡± He paused, feeling a headache coming on.


    Zamian took a deep breath, trying to calm his nerves. His mind was spiraling with dozens of thoughts, drowning him in a myriad of hypotheses and possibilities. ¡®I must make a decision,¡¯ he realized. With outside pressure, he made decisions quickly, but when facing his own inner dilemmas, he thought too much.


    ¡®I should rely on my instincts more,¡¯ he thought. ¡®Learn, you birdbrained fool¡ªfeel your instincts while using your mind.¡¯


    Unbeknownst to Zamian, as he thought about using his instincts, they returned as if they had never been suppressed. The white light from the ceiling grew brighter, bathing the space.


    Random thoughts streamed into Zamian¡¯s mind as he heard whispers. Suddenly, he understood he needed to view these techniques with an open heart, setting aside all prejudice and preconceptions. His thoughts shifted, like a fallen leaf drifting on the wind, carried to wherever his instincts guided him.


    Not wanting to surrender completely to the flow, Zamian added his inner thoughts to guide his instincts¡ªhe was putting intent behind them.


    ¡®I won¡¯t hide. I will never be a child cowering under my bed again,¡¯ he thought. ¡®I won¡¯t wait for others to act. I will be proactive and create my own opportunities.¡¯ He smiled. ¡®I want power to become the protagonist of my cycle.¡¯


    Zamian opened his eyes, which briefly shone with a faint white light,


    You chose a technique


    White Leaf Sect - Seed of Creation


    Description: Creation begins from a small seed, growing within oneself, using the power of nature before giving it back.


    As he finished reading the text, the light from the white book dimmed, leaving behind simple, blank pages. ¡°Just like mother¡¯s gift. Annoying,¡± he muttered, clicking his tongue as he checked the book from all sides. ¡°Where is the technique?¡± he wondered aloud.


    The moment the words left his mouth, a sharp sting pierced his head, followed by a dull ache. His vision blurred, and if not for the bookshelf supporting his back, Zamian might have collapsed.


    After a short moment, the pale cultivator steadied himself, massaging his temple with one hand. ¡°Is this why cultivators like to rest and drink tea? Are they always dealing with headaches and dizziness?¡± he grumbled.


    Once he confirmed that nothing in the outside world had changed, Zamian instinctively knew where to look for the root of the problem.


    Closing his eyes, he willed himself into the dark space where the humanoid form of motes of multicolored light resided. His attention was immediately drawn to a new addition within his soul.


    Above the humanoid¡¯s head floated a strange object. Zooming in for a closer look, Zamian recognized it as Crystal Essence¡ªor so he thought. Its brightness, as always, made its shape difficult to discern. Normally, he¡¯d assumed Crystal Essence were round specks of light, simple and uniform.


    But this one was different.


    The light¡¯s intensity had dimmed just enough for him to see its true shape. ¡®Wait. These aren¡¯t round at all?¡¯ His eyes followed its edges, counting them carefully. ¡®One, two, three, four¡­ fifteen? Sixteen sides?¡¯ he counted inwardly.


    Ahead of him floated a white hexadecanoic crystal, a beautifully faceted object with sharp, clean edges. Its white surface gleamed faintly, but it didn¡¯t shine. On one of its sides, a strange drawing caught Zamian¡¯s attention¡ªor rather, a mess of scrambled lines. ¡®What kind of rubbish is this?¡¯ Zamian thought, narrowing his focus on the image.


    As he struggled to make sense of the chaotic lines, more scribbles appeared on the crystal¡¯s other sides, each one different in shape and form.


    Zamian observed in stunned silence as the symbols continued to manifest, filling every facet of the crystal. ¡®White Dot, you¡¯d better translate this rubbish for me! What kind of blighted language is this? How am I supposed to study my new technique?¡¯ he cursed inwardly. If he¡¯d had a body in this dark space, he would¡¯ve grabbed the crystal and smashed it against the White Dot.


    When every side of the crystal was finally covered with its distinct markings, the dark space began to tremble. The sensation set Zamian on edge, his instincts flaring. Without hesitation, he opened his eyes.


    The walls of the White Tower were glowing brightly, their light growing stronger with every passing moment. Before he could react, his vision was overwhelmed by the familiar brilliance of white light.


    ¡°White Dot, please don¡¯t do that again!¡± Zamian pleaded, his voice shaky as his senses dulled. Once more, he lost control of his body, the helplessness sinking in as the light engulfed him.


    Moments later, Zamian vanished from the White Tower, and the book he had opened reappeared neatly on the shelf where he had first found it.


    Once again, he was part of the infinite light.

 Chapter 13 - Sit and Learn

    Lying on the green grass, staring at the root ceiling filled with luminous white and green leaves, Zamian found himself in a daze. He recognized the place immediately¡ªthe Cleric Chosen¡¯s private garden.


    The White Dot had brought him back.


    ¡°Did I physically go to the White Tower, or was it only my inner self?¡± he muttered.


    Sitting up, the young man instinctively checked his body first, looking for any signs of change. His search extended to the white key, but it was nowhere to be found. Zamian didn¡¯t want to rely solely on the White Dot¡¯s information to solve every problem or understand his condition.


    Yet, with no other clues, he sighed and willed the White Dot to show his stats. Ignoring the information wasn¡¯t an option either¡ªand he did said he would look at it more often.


    STATS POINTS


    Body: 54/54


    Mind: 50/50


    Soul: 100/100


    REWARDS


    Ancient Astral Seal


    Description: A Star Seal guarding your Astral Self.


    Ancient Identify Technique (Passive)


    Description: See the secrets beyond the limitations of time


    Zamian nodded slightly as he read the familiar white text and dismissed it. ¡°I should¡¯ve checked my stats after reading the book. Now I¡¯ll never know if it cost me any soul or mind points,¡± he grumbled, narrowing his eyes. ¡°And the white key isn¡¯t listed under rewards anymore, meaning it¡¯s already been used. But¡­ where¡¯s my blighted new technique?¡±


    Hastily sitting back down, he closed his eyes and entered the dark space where the humanoid form of motes awaited him. His gaze shifted to the humanoid¡¯s head, where the mysterious crystal essence hovered, pulsing weakly with a faint white light that sent ripples across the space.


    Zooming in, Zamian observed the rapidly blinking drawings etched on the crystal¡¯s sides. Guessing it was the reward he sought, he focused his attention on the object, probing it as he had with the red essence before.


    The moment he willed the crystal to move, one of the marks flared brightly, drowning out every other color in the dark space. White light bathed his vision yet again. ¡®I¡¯m going to be traumatized by this color,¡¯ he thought, exasperated.


    He felt no danger¡ªjust growing annoyance. ¡®Why can¡¯t you just do the usual and give me the blighted technique already, White Dot? Who are you trying to impress with this endless light show?¡¯


    As the white light engulfed everything, an image of a towering structure appeared before Zamian¡ªa white tower stretching endlessly into the sky, its surface adorned with gleaming white leaves. The young cultivator tried to move or interact with the scene, as he had done in the Red World, but nothing happened.


    Unable to feel his body, he shrugged inwardly, accepting his role as an observer.


    More structures appeared around the tower, buildings of different shapes and sizes. Yet, they all had one thing in common. ¡®Are these buildings small, or is this tower truly larger than the Colossal Trees? It must be the same White Tower as before, then,¡¯ Zamian thought, his mind racing.


    He tried to find the bridge but saw only endless streets and rows of buildings.


    Then, like colored water spilling onto a blank canvas, the scene came to life. The buildings took on shades of brown, red, and yellow. They stood in open air¡ªnot under the protective canopy of tree roots. There were no trees in sight, not even grass. ¡®Just like old cities from the books,¡¯ Zamian thought.


    Suddenly, his point of view shifted, and he found himself atop the white tower. Looking upward, he saw a vast blue expanse filled with floating white shapes. ¡®Clouds. Those must be clouds, right?¡¯ he guessed, stunned. He remembered reading once that the world outside the Sanctuary had a blue sky, white clouds, and an enormous ball of light called the sun.


    But there was no glowing ball of light here.


    Frowning, Zamian tried to recall which book mentioned these things, but his thoughts were interrupted. A rush of movement drew his attention, and he noticed figures spilling onto the tower¡¯s roof through countless doors that appeared on the smooth, clear floor. A cold breeze swept over him, making him shiver.


    The figures surrounded him¡ªtens of thousands of them¡ªand Zamian¡¯s breath caught in his throat.


    ¡®What in Verdant¡¯s name are these things?¡¯ he thought, wide-eyed. At first, he noticed their robes, pure white and flowing like the ceremonial garments of the Sanctuary. But then he saw the creatures themselves.


    Some were enormous, twice his size, with bulging muscles straining under their robes. Their faces resembled birds, wolves, lizards, and insects. Others looked closer to human but were made entirely of roots and vines, their faces twisting unnaturally with every step.


    The crowd¡¯s mouths moved as they turned their attention to the center of the roof, speaking words Zamian couldn¡¯t understand.


    His body tensed, and goosebumps prickled his skin as whispers drifted from behind him¡ªa chorus of soft, eerie voices.


    ¡°Greetings.¡±


    Looking toward the source of the whispers, Zamian saw what he immediately guessed was the ugliest monster in the gathering.


    Draped in the same white robe as the others, the creature had two arms, two legs, and one head¡ªthat was where its resemblance to anything familiar ended.


    Its legs were made of dozens of brown roots, each as thick as Zamian¡¯s arm, writhing and intertwining with every step. Its arms had a leathery appearance, covered in shiny, tiny greenish scales. Instead of hands, it had six bony fingers ending in sharp claws, bare and exposed, as if flesh had never covered the white bone.


    But the true horror lay in its face.


    A grotesque collection of different insects formed its oval head, their bodies shifting and squirming. Small gaps between them revealed four glowing green eyes, while a gaping hole where its mouth should be emitted a faint, acrid stench. Zamian swore the air around the creature reeked of acid and rot.


    ¡°Sit,¡± the creature said, its voice like the sound of a thousand insects whispering in unison¡ªan unnatural impossibility.


    Distressed, Zamian watched as every cultivator around him obeyed, sitting cross-legged in perfect silence. For a fleeting moment, he hoped they were focused on the abomination standing behind him, but while their eyes briefly glanced at the creature, their gazes ultimately settled on him.


    Zamian blanched. His heart raced as he suddenly became aware of the sensations around him: the solid floor under his feet, the cold wind brushing against his skin, and the pungent odor from the insect-like monster.


    ¡®I have a body here?!¡¯ His eyes widened in panic as he looked down at his hands. Their shape and color were unmistakable. ¡®My body?!¡¯


    ¡°Good disciple. Only through struggle can we learn,¡± the monster whispered, its eerie tone sending a shiver through Zamian¡¯s spine.


    The floor beneath him trembled. Its smooth surface turned brown, roughening with the texture of bark. A moment later, it rose sharply, lifting Zamian and the grotesque creature on separate stumps that towered above the seated cultivators. Every pair of eyes was fixed on them with unnerving concentration.


    Before Zamian could process what was happening, the creature raised its right hand. Between its sharp claws appeared a green orb no larger than a fingernail, pulsing with a soft glow.


    ¡®I don¡¯t feel any essence from¡ª¡¯ Zamian¡¯s thoughts were abruptly interrupted.


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    That¡¯s because the moment the orb materialized, a baby¡¯s cry echoed in Zamian¡¯s mind, filling him with a wave of despair. The feeling was overwhelming, as though the world itself was rejecting his existence, demanding he fight for the right to be born. His chest tightened, and he nearly succumbed to the crushing weight of the sensation when, abruptly, it stopped.


    A force surged within him¡ªdeep in his soul¡ªblocking the orb¡¯s glow.


    ¡®The Astral Seal!¡¯ Zamian thought, his body faltering for a moment. But before he could react, the stump he stood on shifted, merging seamlessly with the stump beneath the grotesque creature.


    More than noticing it, Zamian felt the creature¡¯s gaze. Its four green eyes fixed on him. ¡°Your soul is stronger than a Farmer¡¯s should be, disciple,¡± it said without emotion behind its tone.


    With a deliberate motion, the vine-legged creature raised its claw and flicked the tiny green orb toward Zamian¡¯s shoulder.


    The impact was immediate and brutal. The force hurled Zamian to the edge of the stump, where an invisible barrier stopped his fall with a jarring thud. A sharp, searing pain radiated from his left shoulder. He gasped, his eyes widening as he saw a glowing green, almost hole-like wound. Before he could comprehend it, the wound sealed itself, leaving a small green leaf sprouting from his skin.


    ¡°ARGHHHHHH!¡± Zamian screamed, clutching his shoulder as the pain burned through him.


    He sensed the tiny green orb absorbing his essence, growing inch by inch inside his body.


    He wanted to keep screaming, but his voice failed him. His mouth hung open as he lay helpless on the ground.


    ¡®My¡­ esse¡­ essen¡­¡¯ His thoughts became sluggish, the pain far beyond anything he could comprehend. His mind wavered on the edge of unconsciousness, and his body felt drained of all strength. The orb, now larger than a fist, pressed relentlessly against his muscles and bones.


    His body turned rigid as the orb grew more and more. He heard loud noises of bones breaking, as his skin and muscles were torn, and the little leaf transformed into a sapling.


    Zamian¡¯s essence had long been depleted, and now the orb feasted on his blood, muscles, bones¡ªeverything it could consume within him.


    ¡®I¡­ I can¡¯t¡­ no¡­¡¯ Amidst his despair, he struggled to turn his eyes toward the creature that had hurled the orb.


    The vine-legged monster was watching him intently, its voice carrying a note of surprise.


    ¡°Your body is weaker than a Farmer¡¯s should be, disciple,¡± it said, its tone laced with amusement but entirely devoid of concern. It made no move to stop the technique.


    The others gathered there didn¡¯t seem alarmed. Their expressions were curious, and attentive, as though they were studying a lesson. Some even mimicked the creature¡¯s movements, murmuring softly among themselves.


    Noticing those people''s reactions from below, the despair consuming his mind took a shift to another two emotions¡ªdisgust and anger.


    With bloodshot eyes, he gnashed his teeth in rage. ¡®Bli-blighted mon-mon-monsters,¡¯ he cursed inwardly.


    As the corners of his vision darkened, and he felt as if he was taking his last breath, the scene seemed to pause.


    The blue sky¡¯s color paled, and everything was engulfed by a white light, before disappearing, solidifying into a familiar white crystal.


    Looking at the crystal in front of him, Zamain could clearly see one of its drawings fading away. Still shaken, he instinctively left his dark space, opening his eyes to the Cleric Chosen¡¯s garden.


    He arched forward, supporting himself with trembling hands, and threw up. His stomach convulsed as he dry-heaved, tears streaming from his bloodshot eyes, and sweat pooling on his back.


    In a hoarse, broken voice, he muttered, "D-di-did my mortal cycle¡­ end?"


    He needed to be sure he was safe.


    Still trembling, Zamian willed the White Dot to display his stats.


    STATS POINTS


    Body: 54/54


    Mind: 50/50


    Soul: 90/100


    Huffing, he stared at his stats points.


    And then he stood up, dazed, and muttered, ¡°I felt my current cycle ending¡­¡±


    Glancing at the White Dot, he clenched his fists. ¡°You!?¡± he flared up, his face twisting as he recalled the searing pain.


    He wanted to scream, to rip the White Dot from his vision and chew it before spitting it on the hideous monster¡¯s face and ending that creature¡¯s mortal cycle!


    Instead, Zamian punched the vine-covered wall. ¡°Blighted thing!¡± he cursed, his voice trembling with fury. He kept punching, his fists striking the trembling wall over and over until blood dripped from his knuckles.


    The first dozen punches were swift, driven by rage. The next dozen slowed, his strength waning. After a few more strikes, he stopped. Collapsing to the ground, he sat, breathing heavily, trying to calm his storming thoughts.


    ¡°I don¡¯t have time,¡± he muttered, his cold gaze lifting to the white-leafed ceiling above him.


    His life was a mess. His mother was gone, his father was losing his sanity, and these last two days felt like the start of an unending curse. He kept making mistakes, and the number of questions piling up seemed taller than a Colossal Tree.


    But amidst the mess, there was a silver lining.


    Or better yes, his white lining¡ªThe White Dot had given him hope.


    Ever since the quest involving the Level 4 Calamity, Zamian had been certain the strange companion in his head was helping him¡ªeven if it demanded a price in return.


    But he had let his past experiences blind him.


    It was simply too easy to be mesmerized by the quest¡¯s rewards. They all seemed to serve him perfectly, fulfilling his needs, and as rewards, he believed they were his right after completing a quest. He shouldn¡¯t have to fight for them afterward.


    ¡°I thought all your rewards would come like this. I¡¯m a fool,¡± he muttered bitterly.


    Unnoticed by Zamian, white essence began to gather around him, invisible to his eyes. Inside the dark space of his soul, the white motes of light shone brighter than ever.


    Finally calming down, Zamian sat cross-legged, his gaze sharper.


    ¡°No worries, White Dot,¡± he said, a smirk tugging at his lips. ¡°I¡¯ll figure out your blighted rules and learn how to turn whatever you throw at me into an advantage.¡±


    Closing his eyes, he willed himself into the dark space.


    ¡®No time to rest, no time to dwell. Forget thirteen days¡ªby tomorrow, some Chosen might show up at the garden and demand my head,¡¯ he thought grimly. His focus shifted to the humanoid figure, zooming in on the white crystal above its head.


    ¡®Only fifteen drawings now,¡¯ Zamian noted. ¡®Interacting with it was a mistake. When I received the technique, the text said to study it. I need to figure out how to do that.¡¯


    He concentrated on the scribbled markings, trying to decipher their meaning. As his gaze lingered on one of the drawings, it suddenly shone with intense brightness.


    ¡®Wh¡ª!?¡¯ Zamian¡¯s instincts screamed, and he tried to leave the dark space, but it was too late.


    Once again, he saw the white tower and the sprawling city below. His perspective shifted abruptly, placing him atop the rooftop, where the crowd of cultivators was gathering once more.


    Zamian glanced around and began walking toward the crowd, hastily suppressing his surprise and anger. ¡®It seems I¡¯m always summoned to the same place. Is this even real?¡¯


    Pretending to stay calm, he lowered his head and looked at his clothes and skin. ¡®Same white robe as them, but on my pale, weak body. I look like a specter from a storybook,¡¯ he jested inwardly, trying to steady himself as he observed his surroundings.


    None of the cultivators¡ªhuman or monster¡ªpaid him any attention. ¡®Last time, they only noticed me after that blighted creature spoke.¡¯


    Zamian blended into the crowd, noticing only a few among them spoke. Yet, he couldn¡¯t understand a word. Their voices were rough, their language entirely unknown to him. ¡®But how could I understand that disgusting monster before?¡¯ he wondered, frowning as he kept his head lowered and his gaze fixed on the open space in the middle.


    When the crowd had fully gathered, Zamian¡¯s attention was drawn to a green leaf sprouting from the smooth, white floor. In less than two breaths, the leaf grew into a dozen twisting vines. Before he could fully grasp what was happening, the vines formed a humanoid torso. As green essence flowed through the form, two scaly arms took shape, followed by thousands of tiny insects clustering together to create a head¡ªa hideous, all-too-familiar sight.


    A white robe materialized out of nowhere, draping over the creature as it spoke. Its voice was a collective symphony of countless tiny buzzing sounds, resonating as one.


    ¡°Greetings.¡±


    Zamian felt his face twist in disgust and anger but quickly forced himself to adopt a neutral expression, serene and unreadable.


    ¡°Sit,¡± the creature commanded.


    Without hesitation, Zamian sat down along with the rest of the crowd. So far, every action mirrored his last experience, but now, no one looked at him.


    Zamian smirked, ¡®As I thought.¡¯ Casting a quick glance at the White Dot, then at the crowd and the creature in the center, he nodded.


    None of them had any text above their heads!


    ¡°Rejoice,¡± the monster buzzed. ¡°Today, you learn.¡±


    The gathering remained silent, showing no reaction as the creature continued.


    ¡°Lin Zhi shall teach you.¡±


    A few cultivators gasped in surprise, while others shook their heads in dismay. Zamian swore some of those gasps sounded fearful and mournful.


    ¡°To learn, we must first struggle,¡± the creature began, its eerie voice echoed.


    ¡®Is he going to choose me to fight against him, again? I sat down this time,¡¯ he thought, narrowing his eyes.


    ¡°But the first struggle is the most unfair one¡ªour birth,¡± the monster continued, unmoving. ¡°Without consciousness, much less self-awareness, most of you were born without being asked. You had no choice, yet you were forced to prove to the world you had the right to exist.¡±


    The speech caught Zamian off guard. ¡®Why isn¡¯t this monster fighting anyone ?¡¯ he wondered, but his curiosity shifted to the swirling green essence forming around Lin Zhi.


    ¡°After the first struggle, which is never the same for each of us, there are always more. We struggle to grow, to avoid decline, and even in death, we struggle. We must respect these aspects of the natural cycle, accept them¡ªand, of course, struggle against them,¡± Lin Zhi continued, his voice steady and commanding.


    Midway through the speech, Zamian decided to focus. The green essence above the hideous teacher swirled and began forming vivid images: seeds sprouting into plants, roots breaking through rocks, trees spreading their seeds far and wide, consuming nutrients from nature to fuel endless growth. The scene didn¡¯t just depict life¡ªit showed a relentless struggle to overcome decline and death, to grow at any cost.


    ¡®What is death?¡¯ Zamian thought, his brow furrowing. He couldn¡¯t fully grasp it, like a mental barrier, which didn¡¯t let him associate death with anything he knew.


    Lin Zhi paused between phrases, giving the white-robed beings time to ponder. The crowd seemed deep in thought, their gazes fixed on the swirling essence.


    ¡°Cultivation isn¡¯t about power,¡± Lin Zhi said suddenly, the buzzing in his voice making Zamian¡¯s ears ring. ¡°Our cultivation¡ªour path¡ªis about proving to the world that we deserve to have been born and to keep growing.¡±


    The creature¡¯s four green eyes glowed darkly as it surveyed the crowd. ¡°So tell me, disciples,¡± it continued, its tone sharper, ¡°What are your struggles to prove your right to avoid death?¡±

 Chapter 14 - Enlightenment

    As Lin Zhi posed his query, all the disciples began chanting in their peculiar language, and green essence surged from the surroundings to the assembly.


    ¡®There are no trees, no forest, nothing connected to nature¡ªwhere is this essence coming from? And what are these images?¡¯ Zamian¡¯s eyes widened, his thoughts racing.


    He watched intently as faint images formed above the disciples, his curiosity piqued by those depicting animals.


    One image showed birds shot down from the sky by rocks, all but one falling. The lone survivor, with only one wing, kept flying. Another displayed wolves trapped in a pit, one using the bodies of its fallen companions as leverage to escape. A third showed a blue lizard feigning death, lying still while its predator devoured others of its kind. The last image depicted a peculiar insect¡ªa butterfly¡ªentering a monkey¡¯s ear, evading its paw¡¯s furious swipes, while the ape chewed on the wings of another butterfly.


    As more green essence filled the space, Zamian¡¯s mind sparked with realization. ¡®The green essence is thin here, but it exists! It¡¯s gathering quickly because of this type of external visualization. So many people are cultivating at once. But how...¡¯ He suddenly glanced upward.


    The sky, once a vibrant blue with scattered clouds, was now bathed in an intense green hue. Nature¡¯s essence wasn¡¯t just surging from below to the base of the tower¡ªit poured from above as well. Soon, all the cultivators were enveloped in green light, their original appearances fading beneath its glow.


    Turning his gaze to one of the human disciples¡¯ visualizations, Zamian¡¯s attention was drawn to a haunting image. A scrawny child knelt on a barren, grassless floor, begging as shadowy figures passed by, indifferent. Surrounding the child were others who had been with him¡ªonce sleeping but now still, their mortal cycles clearly ended.


    ¡°You have struggled,¡± Lin Zhi¡¯s voice thundered, a cacophony of buzzing tones echoing around them, though it seemed not to disturb the disciples¡¯ concentration. ¡°You have done whatever it took to grow and prove your worth. Now, you stand on the verge of creating a Core! And once again, you must prove your worth.¡±


    Above the white-robed disciples, more images appeared. What had been hundreds of distinct visualizations now numbered in the thousands.


    Zamian¡¯s mind reeled. The sheer influx of information spiked his headache, and he massaged his temples in frustration. ¡®Blighted thing! Will I ever get used to these headaches? They¡¯re like morning rains, coming and going as they please,¡¯ he thought with a grimace, squinting as he tried to focus on more of the shifting images.


    His instincts whispered, urging him to look, to learn. And more importantly, what if observing these images was the key to understanding the Seed of Creation technique? He couldn¡¯t risk missing that chance.


    A moment passed.


    ¡°Insects crawl, bury, squirm, flee... but die,¡± Zamian muttered, his bloodshot eyes darting from one image to the next.


    A notification appeared in his vision.


    +10 Mind Points


    ¡°Wolves gather, hunt, bite, kill... but also die,¡± he said through clenched teeth, pressing his fingers harder against his temples as the headache intensified.


    Another message flashed.


    +10 Mind Points


    ¡°Birds fly, dance, search, peck... and still die,¡± Zamian felt a dampness under his nose. Swiping a hand across it, he glimpsed blood on his palm. But he barely noticed, his focus locked on the images and the learning they promised.


    As he pushed himself further, the burden on his mind didn¡¯t just persist¡ªit grew. A new message appeared.


    +10 Mind Points


    ¡°Lizards fake, run, spit, poison... and in the end, they die,¡± he murmured, his voice strained. Green essence surged toward him as his eyes flickered alternately with green and white light.


    +10 Mind Points


    The pain in Zamian¡¯s head was unbearable now. His awareness of his body faded; the headache consumed him entirely, screaming for his attention.


    Yet, it only made him smile. His instincts screamed just as loudly, urging him to seize this opportunity and not let it slip away.


    To struggle against the pain. To prove his worth.


    As blood streamed from his eyes, Zamian muttered through trembling lips, ¡°Humans beg, fight, lie, learn... and we die!¡±


    He coughed violently, then vomited blood. It felt like taking repeated punches to his brain and heart, over and over.


    +10 Mind Points (!)


    (!) Your Mind Stat Cap has reached a milestone ¡ú 100/100


    As the white crystal reformed and another scribble faded away, Zamian found himself back in his dark space.


    He stood silently, without a body, staring at the crystal. The soft glow of its faceted edges reflected his swirling thoughts.


    After a few moments of contemplation, he willed himself out of the dark space, returning to the garden.


    ¡°Wow,¡± he muttered, his gaze sweeping over the familiar scene. The white leaves shimmered above, tree trunks stood tall, thorned vines coiled forming the wall created by his father, and the grass swayed gently alongside vibrant clusters of flowers.


    The world hadn¡¯t changed¡ªbut for Zamian, it wasn¡¯t the same anymore.


    ¡°You¡¯re all struggling to avoid death, aren¡¯t you?¡± His voice was calm, his gaze serene as he observed the plants around him. ¡°Each of you is doing your utmost to grow.¡± He smiled faintly, a newfound determination flickering in his eyes. ¡°I will do the same.¡±


    Taking a deep breath, Zamian willed the White Dot to reveal his information.


    PERSONAL INFORMATION


    Name: Zamian Greenfield


    Level: 2 [20%]


    Tier: Mortal


    Main Pathway: Creation


    Title: None


    STATS POINTS


    Body: 40/54


    Mind: 100/100


    Soul: 80/100


    QUEST LOG


    Last Quest: Get revenge on your friend''s behalf


    Reward: 01 Book from White Tower''s First Floor


    Status: Completed


    Main Quest: Destroy an Unholy Sapling before the end of the month


    Reward: Special Physique (??)


    Status: Ongoing (13 days left)


    Nodding, Zamian dismissed the text. His knuckles still ached from the punches, but that was all.


    ¡°That place wasn¡¯t real... or maybe the people weren¡¯t. But even if I couldn¡¯t absorb essence, how amazing it was to learn so much,¡± he muttered, standing up. His serene expression slowly morphed into a cold gaze as he struck the wall of vines.


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    ¡®Verdant God! You blighted thing! What did you do to us?¡¯ His fist collided with the vines again, the pain in his hand barely registering.


    It was all because of one realization.


    Death.


    It was part of the natural cycle. Zamian had seen it countless times in his visualizations¡ªevery time he cultivated, every time he rested in a casket or imagined an older version of himself taking his final slumber.


    But he had always seen it as a continuation. The last breath marked the end of a mortal¡¯s cycle, sure, but it wasn¡¯t final. He believed in rebirth, in returning as something else or perhaps being welcomed at God¡¯s Tree. Whatever came after was uncertain, but he never doubted there was something.


    Not anymore.


    Like a blockage being lifted, the truth was clear now. Watching so many creatures doing everything to survive had shattered his understanding.


    ¡°We are all going to die!¡± Zamian roared, slamming his fist into the wall again, his eyes flashing with a white hue. ¡°I am sure it¡¯s your doing!¡± His voice echoed in the garden.


    He clenched his fists as memories of the hundreds of books he had read flashed through his mind. None of them described death this way. No Chosen, no elder, had been enlightened enough to see that everyone¡¯s understanding of Nature¡¯s Cycle was flawed.


    ¡°You¡¯ve been teaching us wrong from the start!¡± Zamian raged, his fists hammering the wall in a futile attempt to vent his frustration.


    There was no external visualization method like the one he had seen, here in the Sanctuary. Even if his father had hidden things from him, it was impossible for Zamian to have missed such an obvious phenomenon. If green images had ever appeared above Dante¡¯s or other cultivator¡¯s head, someone would have noticed.


    Controlling his breathing, Zamian eventually sat down, chuckling bitterly. ¡°It means you¡¯re not a good God,¡± he muttered, a faint, sardonic smile playing on his lips. ¡°Does that make me a good guy for standing against you?¡±


    But his anger wasn¡¯t just directed at Verdant God. That realization was old news to him¡ªhe had doubted the deity ever since his mother was turned into a Saintess.


    Tears streamed down Zamian¡¯s face, and he hastily wiped them away.


    ¡°Mom¡­¡± he whispered. ¡°You¡¯re dead.¡±


    The words hit him harder than any blow. Like a heavy weight he hadn¡¯t even realized he was carrying, the truth lifted off his chest, replaced by a flood of grief and strange peace.


    No matter how much he had denied it, there was always a childish hope. A part of him had clung to the idea of bringing his mother back. He thought constantly about saving his father, protecting the last of his family, because he couldn¡¯t accept the truth about his mother. Talking to her in the Red World had been comforting, but it had also given him false hope.


    Not anymore.


    Crossing his legs, Zamian closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Taking some time to control his emotions once more, he then willed green essence to flow to his aching knuckles, soothing the pain.


    ¡°It¡¯s time to face things head-on,¡± he said quietly. ¡°First, I still have thirteen days to destroy the sapling. And I¡¯ll do my best to make sure that blighted thing is gone.¡±


    He concentrated, letting his thoughts align with his instincts. The constant anxiety, the endless second-guessing, and the rushed decisions of the past days were gone, replaced by a newfound clarity.


    After a moment of reflection, Zamian opened his eyes and swiftly moved his hand, writing on the ground in front of him. Soon, he finished. A line separated two blocks of words.


    Above the words on the right, there was ¡®Later¡¯, and on the left, ¡®Now.¡¯


    ¡°Learn more with Lin Zhi. Learn the Seed of Creation technique. Tell my father about the external visualization method. Destroy the Sapling. Research the Red World. Learn more about Verdant God and how he blocked knowledge from people¡¯s minds. Learn how to activate the white essence and determine if I can cultivate two or more pathways¡ªred essence seems incompatible with Nature¡¯s Pathway,¡± he read the words under ¡®Later,¡¯ nodding.


    ¡°Cultivate and become a Zealot,¡± he said, reading the words under ¡®Now.¡¯


    Zamian knew he might have only one day here, but he was so anxious to act, to gain power to deal with Chosen like Yokki, that he had previously chosen to learn new techniques instead of growing his cultivation.


    But now, he understood¡ªhe had to struggle to grow and prove his worth, to avoid decline and death!


    Sitting cross-legged in the middle of the garden, Zamian began chanting softly, "Nature is the Cycle, so our path is never-ending. Nature is the Creation, so our path is ever strong. Nature is the Truth, so our path is the only one."


    Green essence, abundant in the garden, surged toward him, forming a vortex that bathed his skin and seemed to flow into his body.


    He adjusted the flow, reaching for more with his mind. Instead of starting with inner visualization, he focused on gathering essence above him. Behind his closed eyes, white light flashed constantly, mingling with the visible green essence.


    Though he couldn¡¯t see it, invisible white essence also followed.


    Abruptly, Zamian stood up, his eyes still closed. He moved his arms slightly, but when the green essence showed signs of slowing, he stopped.


    The truth was that Zamian didn¡¯t know how to cultivate with external visualization. He would try to learn with the hideous monster later, but now, he had another clue to follow¡ªa peculiar word Lin Zhi had spoken earlier.


    Sweating, blood rushing to his pale face, Zamian took deliberate steps toward a tree. Extending his hand, with the vortex of green essence still following him, he plucked a fruit.


    He took a bite, then another, eating until only the seed remained. Slowly crouching, he dug into the grass, planted the seed, and covered it. Standing, he stomped the ground, sending green essence to the spot before moving to another tree. Repeating the process, he planted different seeds, each from the fruit growing under his father¡¯s recreated garden.


    As he worked, streams of green essence connected him to each seed. His instincts guided him, helping him locate even the smallest fruits. His movements became almost automatic, allowing his thoughts to drift.


    He recalled learning about the Sanctuary¡¯s Farms, where only commoners worked, and Zealots patrolled. Bohlo¡¯s mother had worked there, teaching both boys about farming when they were young. Cultivators didn¡¯t farm¡ªChosen could create gardens instantly, and others bought or traded for prepared food.


    Zamian now saw how unnatural that was.


    All because of how Lin Zhi had referred to him, even mistakenly: a Farmer.


    Lin Zhi had said Zamian¡¯s soul was stronger than a Farmer¡¯s, but his body was weaker. That couldn¡¯t mean a mortal Farmer¡ªhis essence-bathed body, even in that false world, couldn¡¯t be weaker than a mortal¡¯s.


    ¡®There¡¯s more to it,¡¯ Zamian thought, his instincts sharpening. His movements became swift and precise, essence rushing through him. His mind wandered to another realization¡ªthere were no animals at the Sanctuary.


    Lin Zhi and the monstrous disciples weren¡¯t entirely human. Most were humanoid with animal-like traits, and even their visualizations depicted animals. And only by observing animals¡¯ life cycles did Zamian grasp death¡¯s place in the natural order.


    Sure, Zamian read books, and outsiders that once in a while came and were accepted at the Sanctuary talked about animals, that most were extinct, that the lack of flora¡ªtrees, vegetation, good climate, everything¡ªmade surviving very difficult, mainly for commoners and creatures that couldn¡¯t cultivate.


    ¡®But then, why don¡¯t bring a few animals to the Sanctuary?¡¯ he wondered, and a flow of invisible white essence surrounded him. ¡®This place is lacking important aspects of the natural cycle.¡¯


    He was finally truly enlightened.


    Opening his eyes, he saw countless freshly dug holes filled with seeds, gushing out green essence, which flew to him and entered his body.


    Sitting in the middle of the small space, he closed his eyes once more, starting inner visualization.


    This time, he didn¡¯t start with his birth. While he chanted, he imagined green essence gathering and forming his body, still a baby, in a dark place. Numerous flaws appeared, and while his mind would normally struggle to process so much information, he now slowly made the changes whispered to him by nature¡¯s knowledge.


    Little by little, a swirl of green essence rushed in, weaving layers and lines. The head began to form, and a glowing thread stretched down, connecting it to the rest of the body. A spark came alive in the chest¡ªthe heart. It took shape and began to beat, sending blood and essence flowing through the tiny form, aiding its growth.


    After hundreds of other tries, finally, the spine appeared next, unfurling like a strong tree trunk down the back. Small buds pushed out from the sides, slowly growing longer, initially resembling flowers, and then stretching into arms and legs. They moved even before they were fully formed, directing the flow of green essence.


    Another hundreds of flaws were corrected, and bit by bit, the baby¡¯s face started to take shape. Eyes appeared like tiny glowing seeds, and a nose and mouth formed beneath them, soft and delicate. Inside the growing chest, organs like the lungs and stomach began to take their places, all bathed in a green hue.


    Finally, correcting and following nature¡¯s knowledge to adjust the last thousands of flaws, skin wrapped around the baby¡¯s fragile body, sealing it in a protective shell, akin to a soft tree¡¯s bark. Fingers and toes separated, their tiny tips flexing for the first time, resembling vines and roots connecting the body to the rest of the world.


    The baby was alive, and it was waiting. Zamian didn¡¯t know how much time had passed or how long it took for him to understand and apply nature¡¯s knowledge to correct all the flaws.


    But it was done.


    He observed that a root connected the baby¡¯s belly to the dark space.


    ¡®Not a space, but a womb,¡¯ Zamian thought, listening to nature¡¯s knowledge. ¡®My mother¡¯s womb.¡¯


    Zamian then imagined himself, as a baby, leaving his mother¡¯s womb. Struggling, breathing air for the first time, and proving not only to the world but to himself that he deserved to be born.


    White light flashed in his visualization, and Zamian felt that he should leave the visualization and open his eyes at that moment.


    And as he looked at the garden, the green essence had thinned out, and sprouts could be seen among the grass in the places where he had planted the seeds.


    More importantly, his body felt full, stronger, with a pressure emanating from him.


    Notifications then appeared.


    Your Body Stat Cap has reached a milestone ¡ú 100/100


    Analyzing¡­


    Level: 2 [100%]


    Tier: Mortal


    Main Pathway: Creation


    All stats capped


    Cultivation level capped


    Initiating breakthrough to Level 3 - Mortal Tier - Creation Pathway

 Chapter 15 - Level Up

    Initiating breakthrough to Level 3 - Mortal Tier - Creation Pathway


    As Zamian¡¯s pale body and shoulder-length black hair began to take on a greenish hue, an invisible white essence surged from the surroundings and entered his body. It fused with his skin, bones, and muscles, fortifying everything from his heart to his brain.


    Unaware of the intricate process happening within him, Zamian¡¯s mind was occupied with a flood of thoughts.


    ¡®Wh-wha,¡¯ utterly baffled, he couldn¡¯t help but feel overjoyed. ¡®Is this right? Shouldn¡¯t the breakthrough happen in the middle of visualization?¡¯


    He recalled his father once explaining that a cultivator¡¯s breakthrough required deep concentration, gathering essence while chanting and visualizing simultaneously.


    ¡®But this doesn¡¯t seem to be the case for me,¡¯ he thought, a faint smile forming. Instead of closing his eyes, he watched the trees sway gently, their movements following the breeze created by the pressure radiating from him.


    The whispers from his instincts grew louder, clearer as if more voices had joined in¡ªa chorus only he could understand. ¡®Yeah, all cultivators are crazy if they deal with this,¡¯ he jested.


    And then, nature¡¯s knowledge came.


    ¡®So it can be like this,¡¯ he thought, now mesmerized as his gaze lingered on the trunk of a tree. ¡®It¡¯s so much better than in visualization.¡¯


    He remembered the moment he became an Enlightened and how the knowledge to cast the Everbark Technique had flowed into him. Through practice, he corrected his flaws and learned to use essence to transform his skin and muscles into a bark-like structure. It made his body more durable, and resistant, but also rigid.


    He expected a similar process when ascending to Zealot. Yet now, as essence continued to gather and strengthen him during the breakthrough, something new unfolded before him¡ªhe could see the next technique forming.


    ¡°Nature¡¯s Embrace,¡± he murmured, his eyes alternating between a greenish glow and a bright white light, both flashing steadily. New knowledge bloomed in his mind, knowledge he hadn¡¯t possessed before. ¡°I am part of nature, and nature is part of me. One day, I¡¯ll repay nature for what it gives me, but until then, it will keep blessing me with the gift of growth.¡±


    Zamian extended his right hand, and green essence surged through his arm. The energy gathered and fused, forming a protective layer from his wrist to his shoulder. A flexible yet durable bark, darker than what the Everbark Technique produced, materialized. In his hand, a short wooden stake appeared, its surface marked with natural grooves and patterns common to trees.


    ¡°No need to practice, no need to chant¡ªit almost feels like I was born knowing it,¡± Zamian murmured, marveling at the piece of wooden armor and the wooden weapon created by the Nature¡¯s Embrace technique. He could feel the surge of power as if he was evolving into something greater. The breakthrough process was nearing its conclusion.


    ¡°Uh?¡± He lowered his hand, his eyebrows shooting up in surprise. ¡°This can¡¯t be right.¡± Bringing his hand closer to his face, he scrutinized it carefully, the green hue on his skin fading slightly. ¡°Why does my hand look like a forest?¡±


    His eyes, still flashing between green and white, remained oblivious to their peculiar glow.


    ¡°Yes, the veins are roots, these tiny hairs resemble grass, and my fingers¡ªsaplings,¡± he muttered, dazed and mesmerized by the transformation.


    A sudden thought struck him. With narrowed eyes, he cast the Everbark technique on his open hand. As green essence enveloped his hand, he maintained the Everbark layer while activating Nature¡¯s Embrace.


    Sending green essence outward while keeping both techniques active, he envisioned a baby¡¯s tiny hand being formed. Guided by this mental image, he began to reshape the structure of the two techniques, blending the rigid durability of Everbark with the flexible strength of Nature¡¯s Embrace. The fusion was seamless.


    ¡°Beginning of the Cycle,¡± Zamian whispered, dumbstruck, as he gazed at his hand. Now appearing stronger, bigger, more flexible, and carved from what he could think as sacred wood, his transformed hand radiated a green aura. ¡°My body is the beginning of my cycle.¡±


    His instincts told him¡ªthat was his natural reward for having enlightenment!


    ¡°My own technique,¡± he muttered, his voice trembling. As his hand reverted to its pale, frail-like state, the green hue vanished entirely. ¡°Like a Chosen, I have a technique of my own,¡± he said, a feeling of self-satisfaction blooming inside his chest.


    As the flashing white and green light in his eyes subsided, notifications materialized in his vision.


    Breakthrough to Level 3 - Mortal Tier - Creation Pathway finalized


    Analyzing current status¡­


    PERSONAL INFORMATION


    Name: Zamian Greenfield


    Level: 3 [01%]


    Tier: Mortal


    Main Pathway: Creation


    Title: None


    STATS POINTS


    Body: 400/500


    Mind: 400/500


    Soul: 380/500


    Congratulations on reaching Level 3


    Completed Hidden Quest: Level up once before the end of the month (11 days left)


    Reward: 100 points for every stat


    Status: Completed


    +100 Body Points


    +100 Mind Points


    +100 Soul Points


    STATS POINTS


    Body: 500/600


    Mind: 500/600


    Soul: 480/600


    Zamian hastily stood up, but with a loud boom, his body was thrown against the vines at the side, partially breaking the wall. Dazed, he breathed heavily, but he was otherwise unharmed as he stared at the scene with wide eyes.


    Still adjusting to the surge of essence now coursing through his body and the unknown changes brought to his soul and mind, he had used far more strength than he intended.


    Not only that, his thoughts were in complete disarray, chaotic as countless questions filled his head.


    ¡°Eleven days left?¡± he muttered, his voice trembling. ¡°Impossible. Have I already spent two days here? What happened? And why don¡¯t I have more muscles?¡±


    His father shouldn¡¯t have taken more than a day to handle his matters and return.


    ¡°What took so long? Father said this would take two days for me to become a Zealot, but I was sure I¡¯d finish in less than one with what I learned from Lin Zhi and the amount of essence in this garden!¡± he muttered, detaching himself from the broken wall and taking careful steps as he adjusted to his new body.


    Looking at the crater in the ground and the shattered vines and trunks that now formed a small hole to the outside, he whistled. ¡°Well, well, well. If I hugged Bohlo now, he¡¯d turn into tree sap.¡± Shaking his head, he muttered to himself, ¡°No, this isn¡¯t the time for jokes. I need to figure out what happened. Focus, you blighted pale vermin.¡±


    Noticing his chaotic trail of thoughts, Zamian sat down, closing his eyes and willing essence to flow within him. He discovered that, without the need for chanting, he could command nature¡¯s essence to move with simple intent. Like a swimmer returning to water after years away, it took him a moment to adjust, but he quickly got the hang of it.


    Find this and other great novels on the author''s preferred platform. Support original creators!


    Instead of immersing himself in visualization, he used the essence to soothe his mind and pass it through his body, taking stock of his current condition.


    ¡®I don¡¯t remember being this confused or out of control when I became an Enlightened,¡¯ he mused while meditating. ¡®Yeah, as usual, having the White Dot¡¯s assistance comes with both benefits and¡­ Surprises.¡¯


    Moving his neck and opening his eyes, Zamian slowly stood up. He began walking in circles, occasionally touching the broken vines with care and, at other moments, swiftly plucking flowers.


    Throughout the process, his body remained tense but gradually began to relax. ¡°Focus, focus,¡± he muttered under his breath.


    As he grew more accustomed to his movements, he exhaled deeply. ¡°It¡¯ll take time to fully understand my limits,¡± he said with a faint smile. ¡°Now that I¡¯m a Zealot, it¡¯s time to leave here, find father, and handle the next priority on my list.¡±


    Looking at the crater on the ground, he noticed that all his previous writing had been obliterated.


    ¡°...¡±


    Scratching his head, Zamian picked up a broken piece of bark from his rough landing and began writing on it with his finger, which easily cut into the wood.


    ¡°Find father. Tell him about the external visualization method. Learn more with Lin Zhi. Learn the Seed of Creation technique. Destroy the Sapling. Research the Red World. Learn more about Verdant God and how he blocked knowledge from people¡¯s minds. Learn how to activate the white essence and see if it¡¯s possible to cultivate two or more pathways¡ªred essence doesn¡¯t seem to be compatible with the Nature Pathway,¡± he read aloud after finishing his writing, carefully storing the piece of wood in his pants.


    He did a few jumps and stretched his body, smirking as his gaze landed on the part of the wall where he remembered Bohlo sitting earlier, back before his father had reshaped it along with the rest of the garden. ¡°Let¡¯s try this out,¡± he said, casting both the Everbark and Nature¡¯s Embrace techniques on his right arm.


    His arm turned a dark brown color with a greenish hue, its muscles defined and looking as though they¡¯d been intricately carved from wood by a master artisan.


    ¡°This is so cool. I hope this can make¡­¡± Just as he prepared to punch the wall, a notification appeared.


    New Side Quest: Save Bohlo and Lakea


    Reward: 01 Book from White Tower''s First Floor


    Status: Ongoing (1 hour left)


    ¡°...Bohlo screams in surprise,¡± Zamian muttered, completing his thought as he launched the punch. Though his hesitation cost some momentum, the impact still landed with a resounding crack that echoed through the enclosed space.


    An explosion followed, yet Zamian¡¯s body remained unmoved as fragments of wood, flowers, vines, fruits, and leaves scattered around him. Dust rose into the air, while massive chunks of shattered trees and vines were hurled to the other side of the garden, accompanied by startled screams.


    As the dust began to settle, Zamian¡¯s eyes alternated between a green and white glow. He peered through the destruction, noticing a path of toppled trees and three figures coughing as they stood amidst the debris.


    All three were clad in wooden armor, holding wooden spears.


    Zamian focused on the green text floating above their heads:


    [LEVEL 3 - MORTAL TIER - CREATION PATHWAY]


    [LEVEL 3 - MORTAL TIER - CREATION PATHWAY]


    [LEVEL 3 - MORTAL TIER - CREATION PATHWAY]


    Behind them, a crumbling wall of dirt and stone revealed two additional figures partially obscured by the collapsing structure.


    The text above their heads were highlighted in brown:


    [LEVEL 3 - MORTAL TIER - ATTACHED PATHWAY]


    [LEVEL 3 - MORTAL TIER - ATTACHED PATHWAY]


    While the three Creation Pathway cultivators wore wooden armor with masks that left their hands, mouths, and noses exposed, the two from the Attached Pathway dressed differently. They donned light, flowing garments that covered their faces but left their arms and feet bare.


    These garments were loose, dyed in earthy tones of yellow, brown, and white. The fabric appeared coarse and worn, smeared with dirt and speckled with embedded brown and yellow particles, as though marked by years of exposure to sand and dust.


    Their face coverings allowed only their eyes to peek through, the material stained and grimy as though untouched by washing for ages. The loose fabric swayed gently with their movements, while their uncovered arms and feet bore a thin layer of dirt, further emphasizing the ruggedness of their attire.


    As the dust on the other side of the garden continued to swirl, Zamian moved. His gaze sharpened as his thoughts aligned.


    ¡®One percent,¡¯ he noted, his perception making the world around him seem to slow. ¡®I have one percent of the essence a Zealot can hold.¡¯


    While becoming a Zealot wasn¡¯t easy, it was a matter of time and a great amount of essence. Talent wasn¡¯t a necessity; anyone who reached a bottleneck in essence while being Enlightened could become a Zealot within a few days at most, relying on nature¡¯s knowledge to guide them through visualization.


    To become a Chosen, however, was far more difficult. Never in the Sanctuary¡¯s history had there been more than fifty Chosen at a time, while Zealots numbered in the hundreds, Enlightened in the thousands, and commoners in the hundreds of thousands.


    Though the number of Chosen didn¡¯t seem incredibly rare, one had to remember they lived hundreds of years longer than Zealots. Most secluded themselves in the Lord¡¯s Tree or Stargazing Tree, dedicating their lives to cultivation and serving the Verdant God.


    ¡®These guys must be full of essence,¡¯ Zamian thought, willing his own essence to flow.


    There shouldn¡¯t be any reason for Zealots, who cultivated with such pain and effort, to waste their essence on anything besides their wooden armor and weapons. They would only spend essence to create and dismiss it.


    ¡®I can¡¯t give them time. I need to go all out,¡¯ he resolved, pushing every last drop of essence he could muster. Zamian¡¯s body flashed with green light as he leaped high, using a tree branch for leverage, and hastily chose his target.


    <hr>


    (Outsider¡¯s POV)


    ¡°Outsiders! How did you mess this up?¡± I heard one of the Sanctuary¡¯s wooden cultivators shout, their voices grating on my nerves. It was too soft, too squirmish¡ªlike all of them.


    Like me.


    ¡°What are you talking about, grassling? You¡¯re the ones who broke the wall!¡± Toran shot back, his rough voice brimming with anger. I was focused on crumbling the earth wall I¡¯d hastily created to shield us from the earlier explosion, but even I couldn¡¯t ignore how riled up he sounded.


    For a place surrounded by dirt, the Earth''s essence here was pathetic. If Toran had more to spare, I wouldn¡¯t put it past him to throw a clump of mud at that obnoxious Zealot just to make his point.


    I smirked, sensing a pulse of green essence above the blast zone in the trees. Turning to Toran, I jabbed a finger in their direction to egg him on. ¡°Look at these grasslings! You can feel their disgusting energy from here, and they still have the nerve to blame us.¡±


    I expected Toran to bark curses or stomp in frustration, like usual. Instead, he slammed his foot into the ground with determination, summoning not one, not two, but five Bonded Spheres.


    Each one was a tightly packed mass of dirt and stone, about the size of a human head. I knew their density¡ªthose spheres were heavy enough to shatter bones with ease. Toran wasted no time launching them toward the Sanctuary cultivators.


    For a moment, I was stunned. ¡°Toran! They¡¯re supposed to be our allies!¡± I started to shout, but before I could finish, a gut-wrenching sound cut through the air.


    It wasn¡¯t just the crash of Toran¡¯s spheres. It was a combination of sharp noises that sent chills down my spine and raised every hair on my body. Without thinking, I cast Linked Protection, forming a wall of dirt twice my height and five times my width.


    I then commanded it to move in the direction of the three Sanctuary¡¯s cultivators.


    Without sparing another glance, I bolted through the path of broken trees, Toran at my side. He cursed loudly, hurling more Bonded Spheres behind us as we ran.


    My mind raced, processing the sounds from moments before.


    First, there was a cracking sound¡ªwood breaking? Then two screams. The five Bonded Spheres hit, thunderous upon impact, and¡­ The squelch.


    Yes, the squelch. A sound I¡¯d heard before, when a weaker cultivator was struck by Linked Protection or when someone fell from the Giant Tree¡ªthe unmistakable sound of a body meeting the ground.


    Against my better judgment, I glanced back, trying to soothe my racing thoughts and silence the instincts screaming against the action.


    How I wish I hadn¡¯t looked.


    Behind us, smashing through the remnants of my wall and clutching two mangled bodies¡ªone in each hand¡ªwas a monster.


    From head to toe, it looked entirely crafted of wood.


    Unlike the wooden armor of the Sanctuary¡¯s cultivators, its form was alive.


    Even its toes and fingers moved with fluidity, as though the wood itself had gained life. Its face was smooth and bald, completely covered, with only its eyes exposed.


    And those eyes blinked constantly, flashing between white and green light. The creature towered over me, standing three or four heads taller and twice as broad. Each step it took shook the earth beneath my feet.


    Worst of all, it was using the mangled bodies as shields.


    Toran¡¯s Bonded Spheres struck the corpses, even with my brother''s unmatched skill.


    As I was preparing to cast a technique to stop that beast, a sudden force slammed into my back, sending me tumbling forward.


    ¡°Kurt, look out!¡± Toran¡¯s hoarse voice reached me, disdain laced in every syllable.


    I realized that Toran had used one of his Bonded Spheres on me.


    ¡®Why did he push me¡­¡¯ The thought barely registered when I turned to see the nightmare unfold.


    The monster¡¯s human-like hand, now forming a flat palm, pierced straight through my brother¡¯s chest like one of those Zealot''s spears.


    Blood sprayed as Toran¡¯s face twisted, his lips curling in defiance.


    Two sturdy walls of earth, stone, and grass rose on either side of him, formed by Toran using the Linked Protection technique. They seemed sturdier than the one I had created earlier, infused with more essence.


    All of Toran¡¯s remaining essence.


    With blood staining his lips, my brother glared at me. I could read his curse clearly, even without sound: ¡°Go get the others, you dirt-ass fool!¡±


    Summoning the last of his strength, Toran made the walls move, slamming them together with a deafening crash, striking himself and the monster.


    Shamefully, but luckily, I ran.


    It was a shame because I abandoned my brother, not even trying to kill him like I dreamed of doing someday.


    I know the bastard would do the same if I weren''t useful.


    But I was lucky to flee because as I ran, I could hear the monster breaking through the walls, piece by piece.


    ¡°Ahhh!¡± I screamed through sobs, tears streaming down my face as I rushed to look for the others.


    They could deal with this monster, right?

 Chapter 16 - Countdown

    Zamian braced himself against the slammed walls, using his back to hold one side and the cultivator¡¯s mangled body to brace the other.


    ¡°Outsiders,¡± he muttered, replaying the last moments in his head as he shifted his weight, freeing up one arm to punch the earth wall over and over until it finally crumbled.


    ¡®It almost feels like I was born for this,¡¯ he thought. ¡®When the first masked Zealot turned to talk to those outsiders, I knew it was time to act. Jumping in, my body fully enveloped by the Beginning of the Cycle technique, I landed above him. The other two Zealots screamed, one outsider launched techniques, and the last one made the mistake of looking away.¡¯


    One thing still puzzled Zamian. ¡®Why were they so weak? The first one crumpled like dry bark. The next two were so confident in their armor, infusing essence into their spears, but¡­ they were slow. I broke their necks and used them as shields. It felt¡­Natural.¡¯


    Looking at the wall¡¯s pieces, he tossed the outsider¡¯s lifeless body aside and scanned the area for the last one. ¡®These outsiders¡­ their skills vary so much. Those spheres hit like a blight! But if I compare the first wall with this one¡­ was the first made of paper?¡¯


    Failing to locate the last cultivator from the Attached Pathway, he decided to follow the trail of destroyed trees.


    ¡®I don¡¯t know how long I can keep this technique active,¡¯ Zamian thought, his eyes darting as he sprinted. The idea of resting never even crossed his mind. ¡®Sadly, it¡¯s not like Nature¡¯s Embrace.¡¯


    Unlike Nature¡¯s Embrace, which allowed essence to be spent upfront to create wooden armor or weapons, the Everbark technique required a constant flow of essence to maintain. And the fusion of the two¡ªBeginning of the Cycle¡ªwhile granting him enhanced power, also amplified their combined drawbacks.


    ¡®Luckily, my body has been permanently enhanced,¡¯ he mused. ¡®And for Bohlo, I¡¯ll keep pushing, even if it costs me much, much more.¡¯


    Moments later, Zamian reached the entrance to Yokki¡¯s Garden and heard rushed voices. The outsider he was chasing had arrived just a few moments ahead of him.


    Swiftly, he climbed into the trees and hid among the dense foliage, becoming as still as a stone. He stopped his breathing, widened his eyes, and scanned the grassy field below. With careful precision, he adjusted his movements to ensure he remained completely hidden.


    ¡®It¡¯s almost like Nature¡¯s knowledge is correcting my flaws,¡¯ he thought, watching the scene unfold below, and when he saw one of the figures there, a faint, inward smile crept onto his face. ¡®You dumb oak, it¡¯s good that you¡¯re fine.¡¯


    There was Bohlo, worse for wear, covered in dozens of bruises and bound by vines, but still awake. His fiery glare was fixed on a woman.


    Beside her stood four others, three of whom surrounded a kneeling figure¡ªthe outsider who had fled from Zamian.


    Zamian¡¯s gaze darted upward as he quickly read the brown texts hovering above their heads:


    [LEVEL 3 - MORTAL TIER - ATTACHED PATHWAY]


    [LEVEL 3 - MORTAL TIER - ATTACHED PATHWAY]


    [LEVEL 3 - MORTAL TIER - ATTACHED PATHWAY]


    [LEVEL 3 - MORTAL TIER - ATTACHED PATHWAY]


    [LEVEL 3 - MORTAL TIER - ATTACHED PATHWAY]


    ¡®All Zealots,¡¯ Zamian noted, his gaze sweeping over the four others.


    [LEVEL 2 - MORTAL TIER - CREATION PATHWAY]


    [LEVEL 2 - MORTAL TIER - CREATION PATHWAY]


    [LEVEL 2 - MORTAL TIER - CREATION PATHWAY]


    [LEVEL 2 - MORTAL TIER - CREATION PATHWAY]


    ¡®All Enlightened¡­ one being Bohlo, and that¡¯s Lakea, who I should also save, it seems¡­ And¡­ aren¡¯t those two Lakea¡¯s companions?¡¯


    Puzzled, Zamian took a moment to process the situation.


    Bohlo and Lakea were both bound by vines in a seated position. Meanwhile, the two Enlightened women¡ªbruised and scratched¡ªstood upright, glaring venomously at Lakea.


    Lakea, in turn, shot them a brief glance before focusing her attention on the kneeling outsider, who was hurriedly recounting what had happened with him and the other four Zealots.


    ¡®Snakes everywhere, just like father said,¡¯ Zamian smirked, narrowing his eyes as he tuned into the conversation, planning his next move.


    ¡°I swear on the Oasis name, Mistress Clarice, the monster is coming this way! We need to¡ª¡± Kurt stammered, sweating profusely and bowing repeatedly as he begged the fierce woman standing before him.


    Wearing the same attire as her followers, Mistress Clarice had her face uncovered: a striking bronze complexion, full lips, wavy brown hair, and piercing green eyes.


    She gazed at Kurt with palpable disgust.


    ¡°Shut up,¡± she snapped, kicking him hard enough to make him flinch. ¡°You¡¯re here only because your brother vouched for you, sandworm.¡± She spat on the ground beside him. ¡°Now, you will answer my questions. Do you understand?¡±


    Trembling, Kurt nodded hastily.


    ¡°Did you find the previous Lord Chosen¡¯s son when you were investigating the vortex of essence?¡± Clarice demanded, her tone sharp.


    Kurt shook his head rapidly.


    ¡°Did I take your mouth?¡± Clarice¡¯s eyes glinted with a brownish hue.


    ¡°N-no, Mistress! Sorry, sorry. You didn¡¯t take my mouth,¡± he stammered, hiccupping as he bowed repeatedly.


    ¡°And you said the wooden monster killed three of the Sanctuary¡¯s Zealots? Are you sure they¡¯re dead?¡±


    ¡°Yes, yes! Those corpses¡­ Even if the monster hadn¡¯t finished them, my brother¡¯s sphere did,¡± he grimaced. ¡°Oh, but, um¡­The first one¡­I didn¡¯t actually see how he died¡­ I just heard.¡±


    ¡°I know. The noises¡ªyou¡¯ve mentioned them already,¡± she replied coldly, her hand gesturing toward the destroyed path Kurt had emerged from¡ªthe same path where Zamian now hid. ¡°And where is this monster? Why didn¡¯t it chase you?¡±


    The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.


    Kurt¡¯s eyes darted nervously, and he quickly made up an answer, nodding as if to reassure himself. ¡°It must still be trapped! My brother used every drop of his essence to cast Linked Protection and trap the monster between two walls!¡±


    Clarice placed a hand on her chin, biting her lip thoughtfully. Her gaze flickered between Bohlo, Lakea, and the shattered path. After a moment, she shook her head. ¡°If they were alive, they would¡¯ve come out by now. I don¡¯t know if any of the Chosen here can create monsters or similar creatures, but I¡¯m inclined to trust you, lowly sandworm. The vortex of essence was indeed peculiar, and we must not be careless again.¡±


    Kurt bowed quickly, several times. ¡°Yes, yes. I¡¯m sure if we bring more people, we can go back and kill that horrendous¡ª¡±


    Clarice silenced him with a raised hand, shaking her head. ¡°No need. If the monster killed the Sanctuary¡¯s Zealots and Toran, it probably killed the kid too.¡± She shrugged, pointing at Lakea. ¡°We have her, at least. It¡¯s said her mother is one of the missing Chosen. That¡¯s enough.¡±


    Zamian, listening while hiding, tilted his head slightly, thinking, ¡®Did Yokki already recover and flee from father?¡¯


    His gaze shifted to Lakea, whose eyes burned with cold fury as she struggled against her bonds, the gag in her mouth keeping her silent.


    Meanwhile, Bohlo, who had been chewing on the vine gag in his mouth, finally tore it free and screamed, ¡°Let me find Zamian! His mortal cycle didn¡¯t end! It didn¡¯t, you blighted¡ª¡±


    One of the outsiders struck Bohlo across the face, the force of the slap turning the muscular cultivator¡¯s head and sending him sprawling to the ground.


    Blood sprayed from his mouth as he landed.


    Zamian¡¯s eyes narrowed as he focused on the outsider who had struck Bohlo, noting the bruises on the man¡¯s forearms.


    ¡°What should we do with this one?¡± the outsider asked, nudging Bohlo with his foot. ¡°It¡¯ll be hard to make this brute behave.¡±


    Clarice dismissed her companion''s question with a casual wave. ¡°A commoner¡¯s child. He¡¯d just be a nuisance,¡± she said, turning toward Yokki¡¯s abode and the garden¡¯s exit. ¡°Kill him and bury this monkey in the garden. He wanted to stay with his friend, didn¡¯t he?¡±


    That phrase was all Zamian needed to act.


    Though his gaze was calm, flashing green and white, his mind was racing.


    He dismissed his current technique, leaving his frail, pale body naked and unprotected¡ªa side effect of his new ability, which had torn his clothes. ¡®Maybe that¡¯s why Zealots are always wearing armor,¡¯ he thought while shifting his position on the branch. He clasped both hands in front of his chest, steadying his breathing.


    One thing became clear as Zamian observed the outsiders and listened to their exchanges: his previous victory had been a stroke of luck.


    The Sanctuary¡¯s Zealots were accustomed to peace, but these outsiders lived in harsh, resource-scarce lands, fighting not just for essence but for water and food.


    Zamian realized how fortunate he had been during his first encounter. One of the outsiders he fought had been an idiot with barely any fighting instincts or experience. And while Zamian himself lacked formal combat training, he discovered he had a natural knack for it.


    But this situation was different. Now, the outsiders were alert. Even as they appeared relaxed, their brown eyes gleamed with essence, scanning their surroundings, their feet and hands subtly swirling with tiny stones.


    Charging head-on wouldn¡¯t work. Bohlo and Lakea¡¯s chances in a fight were slim at best¡ªthough, naturally, Zamian cared more about his friend than the girl.


    And then there was the biggest problem: he was almost out of essence.


    Gathering essence for even a few moments would expose his location; the flux would light up his hiding spot to any Zealot or cultivator with similar power like a purple flower in a green field.


    Besides, with his current reserves, he couldn¡¯t afford a full transformation after dismissing his technique.


    Keeping all this in mind, Zamian crafted a plan.


    Smirking as he gauged the essence he had left, he muttered, ¡°Six.¡±


    Slamming a hand against his chest, the force was strong enough to make him vomit blood.


    Turning around, he kicked the branch beneath him, launching himself toward the outsiders, spinning violently.


    ¡°!!!¡±


    As one of the outsiders approached Bohlo, all of them, except Kurt, turned toward the sound of destruction.


    Zamian crashed to the ground with a thunderous impact, tumbling as grass and dust exploded into the air.


    The outsider¡¯s instincts screamed at each of them.


    ¡°Get ready for an attack!¡± Clarice barked.


    ¡°Mistress, th-that is Zamian! He seems hurt, but alive,¡± stuttered one of the Enlightened, the brunette one, a former masked Cleric.


    Clarice glanced at Zamian¡¯s body, then made a series of quick hand movements and whistled sharply before fleeing the garden without hesitation.


    The other three outsiders reacted immediately. They cast Linked Protection, but not in Zamian''s direction.


    Instead, they conjured six walls to block the path between them and the rest of the garden. One stayed back, using his essence to fuse and reinforce the barriers.


    Another outsider rushed to Zamian, hoisting his limp, naked body onto his shoulder and running toward the garden¡¯s exit.


    The third grabbed Lakea and followed, joined by the two Enlightened women.


    Kurt, a moment too late, stumbled to his feet, grabbing Bohlo and almost collapsing under the weight. He blanched in terror, avoiding any glance behind him, and ran in his companion¡¯s direction.


    They were fleeing!


    Clarice had judged the situation swiftly. For her, it was better to retreat while on the winning side than to face a creature that had already killed four Zealots, including a skilled warrior from the Oasis.


    And while not part of Zamian¡¯s plan, their retreat worked just fine!


    As the group left Yokki¡¯s abode and reached the edge of the Sanctuary, surrounded by giant trees and colossal roots, the outsider carrying Zamian heard a low mutter:


    ¡°Five.¡±


    Before he could react, his head flew.


    ¡°Enemy attack!¡± Clarice shouted, spinning around and conjuring six Bonded Spheres. Her eyes flared as she scanned for the spike of essence she had felt.


    One of her followers fell lifeless to the ground, blood pooling around his headless body. Standing with his back to her, facing the third outsider in line, was Zamian¡ªstill naked.


    His right arm, from fingertips to shoulder, appeared as wood, slowly dissolving into green essence and smeared with blood.


    With a sharp glare, Clarice hurled her spheres at him, rushing forward to engage.


    The outsider carrying Lakea, froze for a moment as Zamian decapitated his companion. His instincts and mind scrambled for a solution. Lakea was a valuable captive¡ªcritical for negotiations with the Sanctuary¡¯s Chosen. He couldn¡¯t use her as a shield, nor could he throw her carelessly. Desperation drove him to attempt a retreat, hoping to reassess.


    Zamian, however, was indifferent to his enemy¡¯s conundrum. As Clarice¡¯s spheres were about to hit him, he whispered, ¡°Four.¡±


    His right foot flashed green, and he leaped higher, dodging the spheres as they obliterated the ground where he had stood. The burst of strength sent him soaring above the outsider holding Lakea, whose eyes widened in shock.


    Zamian¡¯s left foot glowed green next, and he delivered a powerful kick to the man¡¯s head. ¡°Three,¡± he muttered as the outsider¡¯s head exploded and the man¡¯s body collapsed, Lakea tumbling to the ground in Clarice''s direction.


    Landing on the ground and turning quickly, Zamian activated Beginning of The Cycle on his right arm again, meeting a rigid wall hurled by Clarice with a crushing punch, making it crumble.


    ¡°Two,¡± he muttered, his gaze darting to Kurt, now trembling and clutching Bohlo tightly, and the two Enlightened women frozen in shock.


    In fact, it looked like Kurt was hugging his big-eared friend.


    Clarice watched Zamian warily, her hands and feet glowing with a steady brown hue.


    While they faced off, another outsider sprinted out from Yokki¡¯s home¡ªthe last of their group, who was fortifying the walls.


    Zamian¡¯s body tensed as Clarice whistled and conjured a hardened earth wall, sending it hurtling toward him and obscuring his view of her and Lakea.


    At the same time, his instincts screamed.


    Turning, Zamian saw the outsider conjuring two earth walls on either side of Bohlo and Kurt, willing them to crash against both men.


    Kurt¡¯s eyes bulged in panic, already aware of his companion¡¯s intentions. He frantically channeled earth essence to hold the walls, trying to prevent himself and Bohlo from being crushed.


    Zamian didn¡¯t have time to think.


    As Clarice¡¯s wall closed in, he leaped again, letting it strike his foot to propel himself forward. The force sent him flying toward the last outsider.


    Pain flared through his foot and leg, but Zamian pushed through, his right hand glowing green again as he drove a devastating punch into the outsider¡¯s face, smashing it into his neck.


    Tumbling to the ground, Zamian spat out grass and dirt, forcing himself upright despite the throbbing pain in his leg. ¡°And that was one,¡± he muttered, his voice hoarse as he struggled to steady himself.


    To his far left, an earth wall was slowly crumbling. ¡®That woman is smart and merciless,¡¯ he thought, glancing at the ruined battlefield.


    To his right, two Enlightened women huddled together, paralyzed with fear.


    Ahead of him, beyond the headless corpses, Kurt had managed to push aside the two earth walls, his body shaking like a leaf. The man¡¯s headpiece had fallen, revealing his bronze, full-bearded face etched with terror.


    Bohlo lay unconscious on the ground from the earlier blow, still motionless and unresponsive.


    Zamian¡¯s body ached all over, mainly his right leg. As his eyes fell on the crumbling wall created by Clarice, he let out a wry smile.


    He had no essence left to spend.

 Chapter 17 - The Plot Thickens

    Zamian willed the White Dot to show his information.


    PERSONAL INFORMATION


    Name: Zamian Greenfield


    Level: 3 [00%]


    Tier: Mortal


    Main Pathway: Creation


    Title: None


    STATS POINTS


    Body: 300/600


    Mind: 400/600


    Soul: 280/600


    Quickly reading the notifications, Zamian frowned. ¡®How did I spend so much Mind and Soul Points?¡¯


    As for his body condition, the stats seemed to capture it accurately enough.


    Not wanting to waste more time, he dismissed the texts. Before the earth wall made by Clarice could crumble, he darted toward it, mostly putting his weight on his left foot. ¡®She¡¯s probably expecting me from above,¡¯ he thought, controlling his body to fall backward, sliding along the ground to the right of the wall and extending his left leg to kick up a cloud of dust in his wake.


    Using his right leg¡ªdespite the pain¡ªhe kicked the ground again, propelling himself in the opposite direction and rolling to the wall¡¯s left side. Crouching, Zamian prepared to leap at the woman, hoping the sudden dust cloud had distracted her.


    ¡®Where is she?!¡¯ Failing to spot her and with his instincts ominously silent, Zamian decided against staying in one place. He rolled and jumped back, positioning himself behind a tree. His chest heaved as he caught his breath, glancing quickly around the battlefield.


    As Zamian had hidden on branches before, maybe she could have done the same!


    But above the trees, there was nothing.


    Looking at the others, he saw the two frightened Enlightened, his big-eared friend Bohlo, and the black-bearded outsider, Kurt. The outsider¡¯s wide eyes darted frantically from side to side, his neck jerking awkwardly with each motion.


    He was looking for that woman too.


    Zamian¡¯s eyes stopped glowing, returning to their usual dark brown color. Sweeping the hair out of his face, he started walking toward Bohlo, planning to check on him, when a sudden realization struck.


    ¡°Oh, blighted thing!¡± he cursed, punching the side of a tree, causing the trunk to shake slightly.


    ¡°Lakea!¡± he shouted, hoping¡ªthough he already knew otherwise¡ªthat she had escaped during the fight.


    But the answer was obvious.


    ¡°Blighted outsider,¡± Zamian muttered, his expression hardening as he turned toward Kurt and Bohlo.


    ¡°Wait! Wait¡ª¡± Kurt stammered, trying to stand as Zamian approached.


    Kurt¡¯s words were cut off by a fist to his nose.


    ¡°Where is she?¡± Zamian demanded, grabbing Kurt by the upper part of his vest and yanking him forward.


    Before Kurt could answer, another punch landed¡ªnot as hard, but enough to make his already swollen nose bleed further.


    ¡°Wai¡ªwait! Please! You didn¡¯t even give me a chance to talk!¡± Kurt begged, tears already forming as he raised his hands defensively.


    ¡°Then talk,¡± Zamian said, his tone cold and clipped. ¡°Quickly.¡±


    ¡°Mistress Clarice took your friend!¡± Kurt blurted out, his voice shaky. ¡°She gave us the order using a hidden code¡ªwhistles¡ªto attack this short-haired guy here while she went for you, but¡­¡± He glanced nervously at the headless corpses. ¡°I think¡­ she lied.¡±


    Zamian clenched his jaw, frustration simmering under his skin. ¡®Blighted woman. More ruthless than I thought.¡¯


    ¡°What¡¯s your name, what¡¯s hers, and what are you all doing here?¡± he asked, still holding Kurt firmly. ¡®If he does something while this close, I can handle it,¡¯ Zamian thought, his eyes scanning Kurt¡¯s frightened face. ¡®Not that he seems brave enough to try.¡¯


    ¡°Kurt¡ªKurt Sandblock! I¡¯m from the Oasis¡ª¡± Kurt stammered, but Zamian¡¯s glare made him skip to the point. ¡°Mistress Clarice is one of the Sultan¡¯s concubines! She came to capture people¡ªespecially your friend¡ªfor political leverage. She wants to become the Sultan¡¯s main wife!¡±


    Zamian frowned. ¡°Are you all insane? Kidnapping a Chosen¡¯s daughter? Do you want an army of Zealots and Chosen marching on your so-called Oasis? Or worse, the Verdant God¡¯s wrath?¡±


    Kurt froze, his gaze darting nervously, his mouth opening as if to answer, but no sound came out.


    ¡°Answer me,¡± Zamian demanded through gritted teeth.


    ¡°Ah! There is no way for the Sanctuary to send an army, sir!¡± Kurt exclaimed, hurriedly switching how he addressed Zamian. ¡°Not when they¡¯re dealing with inner fights, a full invasion, and the absence of your God.¡± He slowed down toward the end, as if he feared a wrong word might earn him another bruise.


    Zamian pulled him closer, his face inches away. ¡°What in that blighted Verdant God¡¯s name are you talking about, vermin?¡± he shouted, his heart pounding. His instincts whispered to him, urging him to believe Kurt¡¯s words.


    ¡°It¡¯s true, sir!¡± Kurt stammered. ¡°Two days ago, an army from the Oasis invaded the Sanctuary! My brother¡ªthat foul-mouthed brute¡ªand I came here as part of Mistress Clarice¡¯s followers. After the usual¡­ tasks¡­ we discovered a couple of Chosen¡¯s children were here, and, well, you know the rest of the story.¡±


    Zamian¡¯s mind raced as he recalled the conversation he overheard while hiding when Clarice mentioned Lakea¡¯s mother was one of the missing Chosen.


    ¡°You will explain everything to me,¡± Zamian commanded. Then, turning his gaze behind him, he addressed the two Enlightened women, who were inching away, flinching. ¡°And you two, untie this dumb oak here,¡± he said, gesturing toward Bohlo. ¡°If you try anything, well,¡± he shrugged, nodding toward the headless corpses. His focus then shifted back to Kurt.


    The two Enlightened rushed to Bohlo, fumbling to untie and ungag him.


    ¡°Of course, sir! I¡¯ll explain,¡± Kurt smiled nervously, his lips trembling. ¡°As a valued advisor in the Sultan¡¯s army¡ª¡±


    This story has been unlawfully obtained without the author''s consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.


    ¡°You¡¯re lying,¡± Zamian said flatly, cocking an eyebrow, curiosity mingling with his annoyance. His instincts whispered angrily, confirming the lie.


    ¡°Uh¡­I know I might not look like one, but I¡¯m a high-level advisor¡ª¡± Kurt tried again, but Zamian interrupted.


    ¡°You. Are. Lying. If you value your life, speak the truth,¡± Zamian growled.


    ¡°Of course, of course! I¡¯m, maybe, a middle-level¡ª¡±


    ¡°Lying.¡±


    ¡°Low-level¡ª¡±


    ¡°Are you testing me?¡± Zamian¡¯s voice turned sharp, his frustration evident.


    Finally, Kurt blurted in exasperation, ¡°Okay! Okay! As one of the guards who patrolled the Sultan¡¯s castle, I heard some rumors, which led me to convince my brother to bring me along for this invasion.¡± He shook his head, his tone bitter. ¡°I curse the day I made that decision.¡±


    Zamian heard Kurt and glanced at Bohlo and the two women now sitting by his friend¡¯s side.


    ¡°What rumors? And be quick. Don¡¯t stall for time, and if you lie, I¡¯ll just blow your head and find someone else to talk to,¡± he said, his patience thinning. Tired of dealing with such a coward, he made his point clear.


    Kurt, nervously moving his tongue inside his mouth, smacked his lips and began his story.


    ¡°Sir, there were rumors about the Verdant God¡¯s presence growing faint for a while, then disappearing completely a few days ago. Some of the Oasis¡¯s spies and turncoats from the Sanctuary met here, found an excuse to entrap the Chosen, while the rest of our warriors plundered your fields for food and cultivator resources¡ªarmors, weapons, scriptures, anything they could take,¡± Kurt spoke swiftly, his focus seemingly on recalling details he deemed important.


    Zamian surprised himself by consciously controlling his heartbeat and breathing, keeping his temper in check.


    Meanwhile, a single string of thoughts passed through his mind, ¡®What!? What!? What!?¡¯


    Releasing Kurt¡¯s shirt, he walked over to Bohlo. ¡°You seem okay, sleephead,¡± he muttered, clicking his tongue. His cold gaze shifted to the two women, who now hugged their knees, their bodies covered in bruises and scars.


    Kurt wisely stayed on the ground, sighing in relief as Zamian¡¯s attention moved away from him.


    ¡°I suppose Lakea did that to you both,¡± Zamian said, pointing at their battered bodies. ¡°You were part of the traitors, weren¡¯t you? Explain what happened, and be quick about it.¡±


    The blonde woman hugged her knees tighter, trembling, while the brunette began to speak hurriedly. ¡°Young Lord, she was the one who attacked us first¡ª¡±


    Before she could finish, Zamian grabbed her throat, cutting off her words.


    Squeezing her neck tighter, he didn¡¯t look at the brunette struggling in his grip but instead fixed his cold gaze on the wide-eyed blonde. ¡°If you talk fast enough, she might live,¡± he said calmly as the brunette clawed at his hand, her futile attempts to scratch his skin with the Everbark technique doing nothing.


    Alarmed and knowing she would be next, the blonde spoke quickly. ¡°The Lord Chosen sent us! We were raised by a couple who secretly served him before he became the Lord Chosen. For years, we¡¯ve been tasked with following Lakea,¡± she bit her lip nervously. ¡°Four days ago, we were told to never leave her side because the time to act was near. When the outsiders appeared, the three Zealots also sent by the Lord Chosen sent a signal throughout the garden to seize her¡­ but she wasn¡¯t exactly fond of the idea.¡±


    ¡°Yeah, I bet. But how did you hear them?¡± Zamian¡¯s brow furrowed as he remembered the earlier soundproofed walls. ¡°I mean, didn¡¯t the soundproof vines hinder your communication?¡±


    ¡°There was no such thing,¡± she said, her eyes darting nervously to her companion, who was turning purple, her feet kicking against the ground in desperation.


    Throwing the brunette to the floor, Zamian furrowed his brow deeper. ¡®So father only enclosed my space with soundproofed vines? Why? What was he planning?¡¯ he wondered.


    ¡°Great Sir! The only place with a barrier of some kind was at the origin of the vortex, where the horrendous monster who attacked both you and I came from!¡± Kurt stood up, a sleazy smile on his bruised face, which, combined with his swollen nose, made him look almost comically absurd.


    Ignoring Kurt, Zamian crouched to lift Bohlo. He realized he could easily carry his friend with one hand but chose to place him over his right shoulder, securing him with his arm.


    ¡°Let¡¯s head to Yokki¡¯s abode,¡± he ordered, his tone firm. ¡°As I understand it, the Sanctuary has been under invasion for two days now. My father fell into a trap, and his situation ranged from bad to worse. An army of outsiders could be killing and hurting everyone I care about, besides this guy here, all while searching for me. Is that about right?¡±


    Kurt avoided answering, as did the two Enlightened women.


    Smirking, Zamian muttered under his breath, ¡°And the quest you gave me was only about saving Bohlo and Lakea, you blighted thing? What is this, going easy on me, White Dot?¡±


    Willing the White Dot to display his last quest, he quickly read it.


    Side Quest: Save Bohlo and Lakea


    Reward: 01 Book from White Tower''s First Floor


    Status: Ongoing (less than 1 hour left)


    Shaking his head, Zamian dismissed the text and began walking toward Yokki¡¯s house.


    ¡°Uh, Sir, wouldn¡¯t it be better to find a safer place? Mistress Clarice already knows about that one, and, uh, there¡¯s a monster inside,¡± Kurt said hurriedly, keeping pace just behind Zamian and nervously rubbing his hands.


    ¡°That woman would avoid it because of the threat of the monster, wouldn¡¯t she?¡± Zamian shot back without missing a step.


    As they walked, the blonde Enlightened helped her friend to her feet. They chose to follow Zamian¡¯s orders, though the brunette kept coughing, her gaze flicking nervously between Zamian¡¯s back and the path behind them.


    ¡°Uh, yes, but¡ªuh, I know how powerful Sir is, and you can clearly w¡ª¡± Kurt abruptly changed his words mid-sentence, clearly recalling Zamian¡¯s ability to detect lies. ¡°¡ªfight against the monster, but your friend doesn¡¯t look to be in good shape for such an adventure.¡±


    Zamian laughed in exasperation, glancing at Kurt. ¡°You have a punchable face, you know that?¡±


    Kurt simply smiled, but before he could respond, Zamian added, ¡°Don¡¯t worry, I¡¯m the monster you saw. Oh, and should I call you Zealot, or do you have some other fancy title?¡±


    Kurt chuckled nervously. ¡°I see Sir has a sense of humor. Yes, yes. Some call us Zealots, others call us Great Warriors. But mostly, we just go by our names or professions.¡± He scratched his beard awkwardly. ¡°Of course, Sir can call me whatever you like.¡±


    Zamian shook his head. ¡°I¡¯m not joking. One wall, numerous spheres, then two more walls hit me. And before those last ones, that other cultivator saved you from being grabbed by me by shooting a sphere at you, if I remember correctly.¡±


    Kurt smacked his lips, nervously laughing as his thoughts raced.


    ¡°Bring those corpses, you two. I want to see what they brought with them,¡± Zamian commanded to the women at the back.


    The blonde Enlightened made a disgusted face but grabbed one of the corpses by the legs and started dragging him. Meanwhile, the brunette, noticing Zamian¡¯s distance, bolted away, fleeing into the woods.


    Zamian¡¯s instincts flared. He kicked a root with his left foot, snapping off a large splinter, and hurled it at the fleeing woman.


    With a booming noise, the splinter destroyed part of a bush far away from the running traitor.


    ¡°...¡±


    As Zamian prepared to give chase, he felt a spike of essence beside him. Bracing for an attack, he was surprised to see two balls of dirt fly past him, smashing into the woman¡¯s back with a loud crunch.


    Wiping his sweat, Kurt smiled at Zamian. ¡°You don¡¯t need to bother, Sir. I can take care of these lowly cultivators.¡±


    Walking over, Kurt grabbed two of his fallen comrades¡¯ bodies, dragging them through the dirt. He whistled at the blonde Enlightened. ¡°Come on, pretty thing, go check on your friend and come back to us.¡±


    Shooting him a glare, she snapped, ¡°My name is Tulip!¡±


    Tulip dropped the body she was carrying and walked toward her friend.


    ¡°You know you already killed her friend, right?¡± Zamian asked, watching Kurt with a curious expression.


    ¡°Of course, Sir,¡± the outsider replied with a sly grin. ¡°If little Tulip tries to run, I can just kill her too.¡± He winked.


    As Zamian and Kurt observed Tulip, they both flinched when she used the Everbark technique on her left hand and punched her friend¡ªonce, twice, three times¡ªstopping only when a loud crack echoed through the air.


    Returning, she grabbed the body¡¯s legs again and shot Kurt a hard look before turning to Zamian.


    ¡°I checked on her,¡± Tulip said, her voice weary. ¡°Anything else?¡±


    Kurt whistled. ¡°Well, well, well. What else could we expect from a traitor, right?¡±


    ¡°Let¡¯s go,¡± Zamian ordered, heading toward the entrance of Yokki¡¯s abode. ¡°I still have questions for both of you.¡±


    ¡°Yes, Sir!¡± Kurt nodded, hauling two bodies as he followed Zamian. Tulip trailed behind, dragging the last corpse.


    In silence, the three of them walked, their heads heavy with hidden thoughts, toward a place none of them had good memories of.


    Bohlo, still groggy, woke up and realized he was being carried by Zamian. Barely registering his surroundings, he didn¡¯t cry out in surprise at seeing Zamian safe or at being effortlessly lifted.


    Instead, in a confused, sleepy voice, he asked, ¡°Why are you naked, Z?¡±

 Chapter 18 - A Perspective From Outside

    Surrounded by a terrain of trampled grass and with a reinforced wall of earth, hastily erected by the outsiders to block the deeper entrance into the garden, Zamian sat shirtless alongside two other men in the same state.


    His gaze drifted to the three headless bodies with torn and missing clothes, then to the blonde girl keeping her distance, hugging her knees.


    For a moment, he was dumbfounded.


    ¡®The situation is bad, yes, but how did I end up looking like the villain here?¡¯ he thought, rubbing his forehead as green essence, thin and faint, swirled lazily around him.


    When Bohlo had woken almost an hour earlier, groggy but alive, Zamian had been reminded of the glaring need for clothes. After entering Yokki¡¯s home, he¡¯d tried to wear the pants of the deceased outsiders, but a hard truth hit him¡ªwhile lean and packed with strength, his body wasn¡¯t as large as theirs.


    So, he had to improvise, ripping and adjusting the fabric to make it fit. The shirts, however, were another problem. They were an amalgamation of reinforced materials, more suited for full-body protection than allowing mobility. In the end, he remained shirtless, as did Bohlo, whose shirt had been lost long ago in the chaos.


    Kurt, ever the opportunist, had taken off his shirt as well, keeping his sly smile as he diligently answered every question Zamian posed¡ªdetailed when required, concise when ordered.


    Tulip, on the other hand, had initially sat with them but chose to keep her distance after she had relayed everything she knew. She now stayed at the edge of the clearing, hugging her knees, avoiding eye contact.


    ¡°Z, my parents¡­¡± Bohlo¡¯s voice broke the silence, hoarse and laden with emotion. His muscled body was bruised, his ribs likely cracked, and his swollen face shimmered with tears as he stared at the glowing white-leaf ceiling above.


    Sighing, Zamian patted his friend¡¯s shoulder. ¡°We¡¯ll find and protect them. I promise,¡± he muttered. His face darkened as he silently added on his thoughts, ¡®And if they¡¯re not alive, we¡¯ll avenge them.¡¯


    His breathing steady, Zamian partly wanted to scream, to rush out of this cursed place, to search for his father and Bohlo¡¯s parents, and leave this garden behind forever.


    But he couldn¡¯t.


    ¡®I¡¯d just be marching us both to an early death¡­ or worse,¡¯ he thought, smacking his lips as his gaze fell to his left hand.


    He flexed his fingers, watching how easily the essence flowed around him, how effortlessly he could control his heartbeat and fine muscle movements.


    Most of all, he could cultivate without visualization¡ªjust by understanding and controlling his own body!


    Fighting and pushing his body to its limits had taught Zamian a great deal about what he could and couldn¡¯t do. When he reflected on how he jumped, the way he positioned his legs, how he shifted his body, or how he used his back to empower his punches, essence would slowly gather around him.


    It was thin, of course¡ªthis garden had barely any Nature¡¯s essence left after his breakthrough¡ªbut it was enough to recover a tiny fraction of his cultivation.


    Besides, he wasn¡¯t just staying here to cultivate or better grasp his current situation.


    He was waiting.


    ¡®It should be time,¡¯ he thought, bracing himself as a white text appeared in his vision.


    Incomplete Side Quest: Save Bohlo and Lakea


    Reward: 01 Book from White Tower''s First Floor


    Status: Incomplete


    Sighing in frustration, he thought, ¡®If I tried to find and save her, Bohlo wouldn¡¯t be safe¡­ Yes, I made the right choice¡­¡¯


    Amidst his thoughts, a new stream of white letters appeared.


    Calculating Reward and Punishment of Incomplete Side Quest


    Accessing Information


    Level: 3 [02%]


    Tier: Mortal


    Main Pathway: Creation


    Assembling Available Techniques from Previous Books


    02 Techniques Found


    White Leaf Sect - One Amongst Myriad Beings


    Description: Creation is a cycle occupied by a myriad of beings, each one has a role, and each role is part of nature.


    White Leaf Sect - Order of the Cycle


    Description: Creation demands all living beings to follow a natural order; whoever fights against it is fighting against themselves.


    Choose one technique to destroy and one technique to learn


    ¡°What?¡± Zamian jerked his head, speaking aloud. Realizing the others were now looking at him, he quickly clarified, ¡°I¡¯m just surprised about a stupid plan I made. Forget it.¡±


    The others, either lost in their own thoughts or too afraid to bother him, didn¡¯t respond, allowing Zamian to return his focus to the white text.


    ¡®Reward and Punishment?¡¯ Zamian¡¯s mind raced, and he shot a quick glance at Bohlo, realization dawning on him. I see.


    He hadn¡¯t completely failed the quest because of Bohlo!


    ¡®So, along with failing and completing these quests, there¡¯s also a middle ground,¡¯ he pondered. ¡®But I doubt it works for every type of quest.¡¯


    Zamian read the last line of text once more.


    Choose one technique to destroy and one technique to learn


    ¡®Maybe I could¡¯ve learned both with time, but now I¡¯ll permanently lose one,¡¯ he thought, his gaze sharpening as his eyes briefly flashed white. ¡®This won¡¯t be so easy.¡¯


    Now a Zealot, his mind analyzed the techniques as new understandings bloomed within him.


    ¡®Both of these techniques emphasize putting nature above oneself¡ªthey talk about either our role in the grand cycle or the need to follow the natural order,¡¯ he thought, annoyance flickering across his features.


    For some reason, Zamian couldn¡¯t stand for that.


    After his enlightenment about death and the struggle to be born and keep growing, he couldn¡¯t simply accept the natural order¡ªhe didn¡¯t want to decline and then die!


    ¡®But denying knowledge would be stupid,¡¯ he suddenly smiled dangerously. ¡®Besides, I still have fourteen tries to learn the Seed of Creation technique while listening to more of Lin Zhi¡¯s teachings. If I can gain sixteen more tries, making it thirty in total, forget about just learning those techniques¡ªI could gain insights into other cultivation methods, what it means to be a Farmer, and so much more.¡¯


    While his first visit to Lin Zhi¡¯s domain had been a harrowing experience filled with pain and disdain for the teacher and his disciples, the second visit had been invaluable. He had learned how to cultivate by imitating a Farmer, better understood the Cycle, and uncovered the truth behind the ¡°end of the mortal cycle.¡±


    Stolen novel; please report.


    Inwardly nodding, he made his decision.


    Without hesitation, he focused his thoughts, commanding the White Dot: ¡®Destroy Order of the Cycle.¡¯


    ¡®My cycle had a beginning, but I refuse to follow the natural order until its end,¡¯ he decided inwardly.


    White text filled his vision:


    You chose to destroy a technique


    White Leaf Sect - Order of the Cycle


    Description: Creation demands all living beings to follow a natural order; whoever fights against it is fighting against themselves.


    Selecting remaining technique


    White Leaf Sect - One Amongst Myriad Beings


    Description: Creation is a cycle occupied by a myriad of beings, each one has a role, and each role is part of nature.


    Feeling a piercing pain in his head, followed by a dull ache, Zamian massaged his temples. ¡®Better than last time, I guess,¡¯ he thought.


    Glancing at the people gathered around him and seeing no other reason to wait, he lightly punched the ground, creating a sound to grab their attention.


    When Kurt, Bohlo, and Tulip turned to look at him, Zamian began to speak.


    ¡°I¡¯ve had enough time to think, and I¡¯d like to confirm our blighted situation with all of you,¡± he said, the green essence still swirling faintly around him. ¡°If I¡¯ve misunderstood any of the facts you mentioned earlier, speak up and correct me.¡± His gaze shifted between Kurt and Tulip.


    Receiving their nods, he continued.


    ¡°The current Lord Chosen, along with some Chosen and Zealots, has been in contact with outsiders from the Oasis¡ªa subterranean keep akin to a bastion in the cold, dark desert lands far from the Sanctuary,¡± he said, briefly shooting a look at Kurt.


    When Kurt responded with a sad smile, Zamian pressed on.


    ¡°He did this because of some vague information about Verdant God¡¯s presence waning. Neither of you knows the source of this information, and my father, the previous Lord Chosen, either didn¡¯t know about it or didn¡¯t bother to tell me,¡± he said with a sigh, shaking his head.


    ¡°Anyway, while the blighted current Lord Chosen gathered forces here, the Sultan¡ªwho is the Oasis¡¯s ruler¡ªrallied outsiders from across the desert. He trained them for war and subjugated anyone who wouldn¡¯t willingly follow his lead,¡± Zamian explained, pausing briefly to allow for any corrections.


    Kurt raised his voice eagerly.


    ¡°Great Sir, don¡¯t forget that most of our forces gathered willingly! Our numbers are greater than I could ever hope to count. The changes in the sky played an important role in the Sultan¡¯s actions.¡±


    ¡°Yes, Kurt,¡± Zamian replied, nodding. ¡°The stars, right?¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s right, Sir! For about two years now, the moving stars in the dark sky have visibly slowed down. At the same time, the Sultan¡¯s forces have grown in power. Most people preferred to live in the underground Oasis rather than¡­¡± Kurt hesitated before continuing with a nervous laugh, ¡°You know, try their luck with stars that might fall.¡±


    Zamian had already asked Kurt to describe the outside world in detail since the man had spent most of his life underground.


    ¡°A cold, barren land, dotted with crystallized craters said to be where stars once fell. Thick roots, even thicker than the Colossal Trees of the Sanctuary, stretch across the land, draining essence and any remaining nutrients. They¡¯re connected to an enormous tree visible from anywhere in the desert, its brilliant white leaves drawing all the warmth from the skies. And legend says that at the top of the tree lies a paradise, with unlimited food and water,¡± Kurt had recounted a few moments ago.


    And this helped Zamian paint a vivid scene in his mind: a place forever cold and dark, where a giant tree struggled to grow, pulling light and warmth to itself and those inside.


    Of course, the tree was utterly uncaring about anyone left outside.


    The Oasis, on the other hand, was built as close as possible to the underground fire source. Kurt had mentioned that their elders taught them the desert was part of a planet, which was a sphere, and at its center was a ball of fire and metal. Some of this warmth could be harnessed to make their lives a little less miserable.


    ¡®Why do I remember reading about that in a book?¡¯ Zamian wondered, recalling Kurt¡¯s story.


    Gathering his thoughts, Zamian returned to the main subject.


    ¡°Okay, so a few days ago, the Sultan¡¯s army marched on the Sanctuary, spurred by rumors that the Verdant God was absent and that turncoats would help them infiltrate,¡± he said.


    ¡°He promised us a better life,¡± Tulip muttered, interrupting Zamian. ¡°The Lord Chosen said that outside we could see the blue sky, feel a true breeze, eat all kinds of food, and play in the ocean¡­ That being trapped in this wooden cage wasn¡¯t natural.¡±


    ¡°You! The Verdant God blessed us with this life, away from that forsaken land, and you¡­¡± Bohlo suddenly spoke, his voice hoarse as tears continued streaming down his face.


    Zamian placed a steadying hand on his friend¡¯s shoulder. ¡°B, keep calm,¡± he said gently.


    The muscle-headed man turned his gaze to the ground, falling silent.


    Apparently, Bohlo¡¯s mother, who had once been an outsider, had never shared much about the harsh world beyond the Sanctuary.


    Kurt had also revealed that every decade, some of his people¡ªmainly children and young teens¡ªwere taken by the Chosen and Zealots from the Sanctuary.


    They claimed it was done under the Verdant God¡¯s command.


    ¡®That must be why Aunt Misandra was always so thankful and faithful to that blighted God,¡¯ Zamian thought, patting Bohlo¡¯s shoulder to calm him. His gaze shifted to Tulip, whose lifeless eyes held back the urge to call Kurt a liar about his descriptions of the outside world.


    Zamian chose to let Tulip finish her vent before continuing.


    ¡°To sum it up: after arriving, the Sultan¡¯s concubine Clarice, along with other concubines and Great Warriors, plundered the Sanctuary¡¯s resources. The inhabitants either fled or died, as most of the Zealots and Chosen had been summoned to the Stargazing Tree, falling into a trap set by the current Lord Chosen, his allies, and a dozen of the Sultan¡¯s Warlords¡ªwho are outsiders with strength akin to Chosen¡ªwho were waiting,¡± Zamian said somberly.


    His serious expression softened slightly into a faint smile, though his visage remained dark. ¡°And soon after, a message spread, explaining that four Chosen didn¡¯t submit and fled the scene. One of them being my father, who is said to have been seen with the Cleric Chosen. The other two are the Warrior Chosen and a blind elder.¡±


    ¡°Yes, Sir. And you¡¯re already aware of the rest,¡± Kurt suddenly spoke, almost as if he didn¡¯t want Zamian to recall how a group of outsiders¡ªincluding him¡ªhad come here to hunt and capture Zamian and his companions.


    Shooting an amused look at Kurt, Zamian asked evenly, ¡°Kurt, if I leave with Bohlo, what would you do?¡±


    ¡°Follow you, Sir,¡± Kurt answered, stroking his beard with his usual sly smile.


    ¡°Why?¡± Zamian¡¯s tone was sharp.


    ¡°...¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t be afraid. If I thought you were a danger to me, you¡¯d already be lying with your companions over there,¡± Zamian motioned with his chin to the headless corpses.


    Chuckling nervously, Kurt finally answered, ¡°Great Sir, I believe your next course of action is to find your father¡ªnot only a previous Lord Chosen but one of the most infamous ones, who also just managed to escape a trap set by more than two dozen Chosen, right?¡±


    Nodding, Zamian let him continue.


    ¡°Well,¡± Kurt spread his hands, ¡°Mistress Clarice will never accept me again, and I have no shame in admitting I¡¯m one of the least talented Warriors from the Oasis. Besides, I don¡¯t think it¡¯s beneath her to try to kill me again. As the saying goes, between a dark cave you¡¯ve never entered and one with deadly sandworms¡­¡± He shrugged.


    ¡°What about your friends? Your family?¡±


    ¡°Toran was the last of my family. And in the Oasis, besides people commanding me, I only had people competing with me for food and water,¡± Kurt spat on the ground. ¡°Those bastards.¡±


    ¡°...You do know I¡¯m the one who killed your brother.¡± Zamian raised an eyebrow. ¡°Don¡¯t you want revenge?¡±


    Kurt laughed, waving his hand in dismissal. ¡°Great Sir Zamian, I did like Toran, as we went through several trials together, but,¡± he chuckled, ¡°Toran and I killed our own family members simply to save resources and not die in that forsaken land before we even reached the Oasis. He tried several times to kill me, and I did the same to him. Honestly, in these last few years, if he hadn¡¯t been so hot-headed and continuously brought problems onto himself for me to solve, I would¡¯ve been dead already. That bastard got stronger and stronger, but I couldn¡¯t keep up.¡±


    Zamian was surprised when his instincts didn¡¯t flare up to warn him that Kurt was lying. Amazed by how a coward could have such a cutthroat personality, he thought, ¡®All cultivators are crazy, indeed.¡¯


    Thinking about Kurt¡¯s answer, Zamian made his final query, ¡°If you were capable of doing all this with your family, then if given the chance, would you betray me?¡±


    Silence.


    And then Kurt nodded.


    Zamian gripped Bohlo¡¯s arm, stopping his friend from trying to lunge at the sleazy guy. Despite being weaker than most Zealots and Great Warriors, Kurt was still a formidable opponent for someone like Bohlo¡ªan Enlightened.


    Holding his hands up in mock surrender, Kurt spoke, ¡°Sir, I¡¯ll only say this because I know you can sense lies. While I would betray you if I could, at this moment, I don¡¯t think it¡¯s beneficial to me. I¡¯d rather kiss your feet¡ªand soon your father¡¯s feet¡ªand secure a place for myself in this paradise than risk fighting you just to end up eating sand and stones outside.¡± His gaze remained steady, fixed on Zamian.


    Zamian stared at Kurt, paying close attention to his instincts, which remained silent. Finally, he stood and clapped his hands together once.


    ¡°Well, now that I have a better perspective, let me ask you all a question,¡± he said, limping slightly as he walked to a nearby tree. With a sharp tug, he ripped a hand-sized piece of bark from the trunk.


    ¡®Third time¡¯s the charm, right?¡¯ he thought, recalling how his last two written plans had been destroyed. One had turned into a crater on the ground, while the other had crumbled along with his clothes during his transformation using the Beginning of the Cycle technique.


    Using his finger, Zamian began to write and draw on the bark. He spoke to Bohlo, Kurt, and Tulip, a dangerous glint in his eyes, ¡°Are you all ready to struggle against death?¡±

 Chapter 19 - Are you a bug?

    ¡°Isn¡¯t it amazing, Sir? We live in endless nights, be it in the deserts or in the Oasis, while you people from the Sanctuary live in endless days, even inside your homes,¡± Kurt whispered, crawling on all fours through the wooden tunnel, his body covered in grass and dirt.


    In front of him were Zamian and Bohlo, and behind him was Tulip, all similarly covered in leaves, grass, and dirt.


    Above them, white, bright leaves shone intermittently, casting faint light through the tunnel.


    ¡°At least you guys get to see the true sky and what night really looks like,¡± Zamian whispered back. ¡°Here, we¡¯ve only got this fake sky and these blighted leaves, shining that greenish-white light.¡±


    ¡°Uh, Z, I like the white sky,¡± Bohlo whispered, clearly putting extra effort into keeping his voice down, which wasn¡¯t natural for him.


    ¡°Just keep going, you oak. And if you dare to fart¡­¡± Zamian teased.


    ¡°No worries, I¡¯m not in the mood for that,¡± Bohlo replied seriously, his strong forearms helping him move faster.


    ¡°...¡±


    ¡°Is there a mood to fart?¡± Tulip suddenly asked.


    Everyone froze and turned to look at her. It was the first thing she¡¯d said since they entered the root tunnel.


    ¡°What?¡± she asked, looking back at them and trying to appear confident, though her trembling lips betrayed her nerves.


    Shaking his head, Zamian simply said, ¡°Keep going, big guy.¡±


    As Bohlo resumed moving, the others followed. Reflecting on the earlier topic, Zamian asked, ¡°Kurt, how do you keep track of time?¡±


    ¡°Err¡­ Great Sir, the Earth¡¯s essence tells me,¡± Kurt said, his tone and expression showing doubt even as he spoke.


    ¡°What about you, Tulip?¡± Zamian asked.


    ¡°I¡­ By the meals? First meal, middle meal, last meal,¡± Tulip answered, sounding as unsure as Kurt.


    ¡°It¡¯s the same for me, Z!¡± Bohlo almost shouted but managed to control himself again. Unlike the others, he seemed pleased with his answer.


    Zamian chuckled. ¡®It¡¯s good to have this guy around.¡¯ Smacking his lips, he said, ¡°Humor me, the three of you. When I say ¡®go,¡¯ tell me what time you think it is, okay?¡±


    ¡°Yes, Sir!¡±


    ¡°Okay.¡±


    ¡°Uh¡­ ok!¡±


    Concentrating for a moment, Zamian then said, ¡°Go.¡±


    ¡°One hour and ten minutes past midday.¡±


    ¡°One hour past the middle meal.¡±


    ¡°One hour past middle meal!¡±


    Bewildered, Tulip asked, ¡°What is a minute?¡±


    ¡°How come you don¡¯t know what a minute is, you grassling, but understand the concept of hours?¡± Kurt whispered back.


    ¡°I don¡¯t know either,¡± Zamian said.


    ¡°Great Sir, a minute is¡­ a slice of time,¡± Kurt replied in an unusually uncertain tone. ¡°I can feel when a minute passes. And I know that, after a fixed number of minutes, it makes an hour.¡± Kurt shook his head. ¡°Anyway, it¡¯s said our world has twenty-four hours, each with sixty minutes.¡±


    ¡°It is said, or do you know?¡± Zamian asked.


    ¡°I never stayed awake long enough, concentrating on counting that, Sir,¡± Kurt shrugged.


    ¡°Is this concept common for outsiders?¡±


    ¡°For Great Warriors, it is,¡± Kurt mumbled. ¡°But Warriors have a hard time grasping the concept of minutes. I remember struggling to understand it at first.¡±


    ¡°Uh, Z, why does it matter?¡± Bohlo asked.


    ¡°Because I feel like I have a stronger grasp of time now than when I was an Enlightened, but I don¡¯t know why. I never spent time pondering¡­ time or whatnot,¡± Zamian answered.


    ¡°Z, but you are an Enlightened?¡± Bohlo looked back, confused.


    Zamian smirked and signaled with his hand for his friend to keep moving.


    Soon, voices echoed from an opening above the tunnel, just ahead.


    Zamian¡¯s expression grew cold, and he stopped, tapping Bohlo to do the same. The two behind them naturally froze in place as well.


    ¡°Do you have the signal ready?¡± a trembling young male voice asked.


    ¡°I do,¡± a hoarse, older voice replied.


    ¡°Are you sure you¡¯ll have time to use it before he attacks us?¡±


    ¡°Yes.¡±


    ¡°But what if he cuts your hand off before you can¡ª¡±


    ¡°Shut up.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m just¡ª¡±


    ¡°Kevin. Just. Shut. Up.¡±


    Adjusting Bohlo slightly to position himself just below the opening, Zamian glanced upward. To his relief¡ªand annoyance¡ªbranches heavy with purple fruit came into view.


    He was in one of his father¡¯s secret gardens!


    Long ago, Dante had connected his house with hundreds of roots, creating tunnels beneath the Sanctuary that led to hidden places. He had also drained these tunnels of essence, making them invisible to cultivators relying on sensory techniques. Zamian had even used one of these tunnels to reach the Colossal Tree Erasmus a few days ago before everything had spiraled into chaos.


    Back at Yokki¡¯s garden, Zamian had sketched a rough map of the root tunnels onto the piece of wood now stored in his bag¡ªgraciously "acquired" from one of the outsider corpses.


    The only thing he¡¯d taken from them.


    The outsiders'' bags had only contained food and books¡ªmostly food. According to Kurt, returning to the Oasis with empty bags or bags filled with just food was a death sentence.


    For now, Zamian avoided making long-term plans. His only priority was finding his father and, if unsuccessful by day¡¯s end, searching for Bohlo¡¯s parents, Soho and Misandra¡ªeven if he had no clue where they might be.


    Peeking through the bushes, he saw two pairs of feet standing nearby. Raising an eyebrow, he noticed something new: brown text materializing above their feet.


    ¡®Nice,¡¯ Zamian thought, reading the floating text. ¡®I thought I¡¯d need to see their heads for it to appear.¡¯


    Both figures were Level 2 cultivators from the Attached Pathway. Or, as Kurt called it, the Earth Pathway.


    Zamian crouched back, tapping Bohlo to signal him to keep moving. The others followed in silence.


    After a few more turns in the tunnel, Bohlo mumbled, ¡°Uh, Z, why didn¡¯t we check that out?¡±


    ¡°No need,¡± Zamian replied. ¡°My father wasn¡¯t there.¡±


    ¡°Ah, so we just wasted time. Great,¡± Bohlo muttered.


    ¡°That¡¯s not true, B.¡± Zamian smiled faintly. ¡°We gained a lot of information. Hey, Kurt, can earth cultivators feel everything beneath the ground? Inside the soil?¡±


    Kurt chuckled, spitting out a stray piece of grass. ¡°No, Sir. Unless we¡¯re cultivating and connected with the earth, we can only sense big movements nearby.¡±


    This story has been taken without authorization. Report any sightings.


    ¡°And if you¡¯re cultivating?¡±


    ¡°Then our range expands, Sir¡ªfrom tens of paces to more than a hundred.¡±


    ¡°Good.¡± Zamian tapped Bohlo again. ¡°Take the left up ahead.¡±


    They continued through the winding tunnels, passing five more hideouts in over eight hours. Each time, Zamian silently confirmed that Level 2 Earth Cultivators¡ªoutsiders'' Warriors¡ª were stationed nearby, quietly observing.


    After leaving the sixth hideout, Bohlo groaned, ¡°How long will this take, Z? My back¡¯s killing me.¡±


    ¡°I hope you¡¯ll be resting soon, big guy,¡± Zamian replied, smiling, his tone light.


    ¡°You seem happier.¡±


    Once more, everyone shot the ever-silent Tulip a surprised glance before looking ahead.


    ¡°Yeah,¡± Zamian whispered. ¡°My father is alive, and while these vermin know his hideouts, they don¡¯t have a clue where he actually is. I¡¯m almost sure their Chosen and Warlords are scared, dealing with something.¡±


    ¡°Scared, Sir?¡± Kurt asked, his cultivator instincts silent, but his cowardly mind screaming for a better grasp of the situation. After all, whatever could scare a Warlord might just give Kurt a heart attack.


    ¡°I¡¯m not completely sure, but I think so,¡± Zamian continued smiling. ¡°Otherwise, we wouldn¡¯t only be finding Warriors at these hideouts.¡±


    Zamian¡¯s theory was simple.


    ¡®Father must be alive, or they wouldn¡¯t still be searching for him this long,¡¯ he thought, burying darker thoughts¡ªlike his father being dead, his body unfound, or the news being suppressed.


    ¡®And if they knew where he was, they¡¯d be concentrating their forces in that direction,¡¯ he reasoned. He had planned to examine hideouts far apart to pinpoint his father¡¯s last known location, but every single one had the same number of people stationed. Beyond the small talk at the first hideout, every other group had stayed silent for more than ten minutes¡ªKurt had been counting, at Zamian¡¯s request.


    ¡®Besides that, we haven¡¯t come across a single Great Warrior or Zealot,¡¯ Zamian thought with a gleeful glint in his eye. ¡®And if the dogs aren¡¯t hunting, they¡¯re guarding the house, right, mom?¡¯ He smiled, recalling one of his mother¡¯s oddly phrased sayings.


    He had never seen a dog, though.


    ¡°But Sir, scared of who? Or what? From what I heard, everyone who didn¡¯t submit or flee died in the Sultan¡¯s and the Lord Chosen¡¯s trap.¡±


    ¡°Kurt, my best guess is that they either miscalculated, or the current Lord Chosen has hidden some valuable information from the Sultan¡¯s army¡ªabout a powerful group of cultivators still in the Sanctuary.¡±


    ¡°Who? Does your father have followers or some kind of rebel army?¡±


    ¡°No, not that,¡± Zamian replied, his tone amused as he delivered his next words. ¡°I¡¯m talking about the Children of Verdant.¡±


    ¡°And who are those? Sir? Please, Great Sir! Who are those?¡±


    Even with Kurt¡¯s persistent questions, Zamian chose not to elaborate further.


    After two more hours, nearing what Kurt claimed was midnight, Zamian and the rest found a hideout with no cultivators patrolling or keeping watch.


    After a quick scan, Zamian walked around, his gaze occasionally darting to Bohlo¡¯s head¡ªhe¡¯d instructed his friend to keep his face toward the tunnel¡¯s entrance at all times. Finding nothing suspicious, he called the others over, using this opportunity to take a brief rest.


    ¡°Uh, Z¡­¡± Bohlo, now sitting with the others and holding a handful of purple grapes, started to speak.


    Nodding, Zamian interrupted, already knowing what his friend was going to say. ¡°Don¡¯t worry, we¡¯ll rest for a few hours and then look for survivors,¡± he said, winking at Bohlo. ¡°The downside of using these tunnels is we can¡¯t see or hear what¡¯s happening on the surface, but I¡¯m sure your parents are out there, with other people.¡±


    Zamian suddenly felt nature¡¯s essence stir and turned to hiss at Tulip. ¡°Stop. We couldn¡¯t cultivate in the tunnels, and we can¡¯t cultivate here either. If someone comes close enough, they¡¯ll feel it.¡±


    Tulip froze, her fatigued expression softening into guilt. ¡°I¡¯m sorry¡­ my body aches, and I wanted to send some essence to ease it.¡±


    Kurt, lying down and stuffing the bags he carried beneath his head like a pillow, closed his eyes and spoke casually. ¡°These little worms always find ways to annoy us, right, Sir?¡±


    Tulip chose not to engage, instead lying down and covering her face with some leaves.


    Turning to Bohlo, Zamian asked, ¡°You good, dumb oak?¡±


    Bohlo shrugged, forcing a small smile. ¡°As good as I can be, Z,¡± he said, gesturing to his bruised ribs and arms. ¡°Everything just went downhill so fast. One moment I was cultivating, the next the essence thinned out, and then a bunch of weirdos started throwing dirt balls at me.¡±


    Sighing, he added, ¡°But the worst part is this nonsense invasion and¡­ dad and mom¡­ I¡¯m worried about them.¡± Looking at Zamian, he lightly punched his friend¡¯s arm. ¡°But I trust you. You¡¯re the brains, right?¡±


    Blinking, Zamian felt his chest ache at seeing his usually cheerful friend so downcast.


    Punching Bohlo back, he smirked. ¡°Right. And you¡¯re the no-brains.¡±


    ¡°Ouch,¡± Bohlo muttered, rubbing his arm. ¡°You¡¯re stronger than before the trial, Z,¡± he noted, shaking his head. ¡°Want me to keep watch while you sleep?¡±


    ¡°No need. You need the rest more than I do. Believe me.¡±


    Bohlo eventually lay down beside Zamian to rest, leaving the pale cultivator staring up at the wooden ceiling of their hideout. A single white leaf glowed softly, its greenish-white light illuminating the space.


    At the corner of his eyes, a different shade of white kept him company while the others slept.


    ¡®Let¡¯s check you out, you blighted mute,¡¯ Zamian thought, willing the White Dot to display his information.


    PERSONAL INFORMATION


    Name: Zamian Greenfield


    Level: 3 [02%]


    Tier: Mortal


    Main Pathway: Creation


    Title: None


    STATS POINTS


    Body: 288/600


    Mind: 390/600


    Soul: 280/600


    REWARDS


    Ancient Astral Seal


    Description: A Star Seal guarding your Astral Self.


    Ancient Identify Technique (Passive)


    Description: See the secrets beyond the limitations of time


    QUEST LOG


    Last Quest: Save Bohlo and Lakea


    Reward: 01 Book from White Tower''s First Floor


    Status: Incomplete


    Main Quest:  Destroy an Unholy Sapling before the end of the month


    Reward: Special Physique (??)


    Status: Ongoing (10 days left)


    Reading everything three times, Zamian didn¡¯t dismiss the information. Instead, he waited longer, muttering under his breath, ¡°Why aren¡¯t you giving me a quest to find my father?¡±


    Taking a deep breath and hardening his emotions, he analyzed his stats and cultivation progression before finally dismissing the white text.


    ¡®If I try to look at my dark space or enter Lin Zhi¡¯s world, I don¡¯t know what might happen,¡¯ he thought, clenching his fists.


    Hearing movement, he glanced at Tulip, who was hastily wiping away tears.


    Curiosity piqued, Zamian walked over and sat beside her, keeping just an arm¡¯s distance.


    ¡°Sorry to disturb you,¡± she whispered, flinching slightly as Zamian sat down.


    Zamian stared at her, his expression unreadable. Meanwhile, Tulip adjusted her position, tucking a strand of her blonde hair behind her ear and sitting down.


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry about what happened to your friend,¡± Zamian whispered, turning his gaze away from her.


    Startled, Tulip glanced at him, then gave a faint smile. ¡°Thank you. And¡­ you didn¡¯t kill her. You don¡¯t need to apologize.¡±


    ¡°Kurt killed her because I tried to,¡± Zamian clarified, his tone even as his eyes remained fixed on the white leaf glowing above. ¡°I¡¯m not sorry for what I did. I¡¯m sorry it had to happen.¡±


    Humming softly, Tulip nodded, turning her head.


    After a few quiet moments, she asked, ¡°Why were you pretending to be an Enlightened during the trial?¡±


    ¡°I wasn¡¯t pretending,¡± Zamian replied, a small smirk tugging at his lips. ¡°I became a Zealot yesterday.¡±


    Tulip stared at him, taking in the sharpness of his features. His pale complexion seemed more defined now, his face subtly chiseled. A quick glance at his bare chest revealed small, compact muscles¡ªmuscles she wasn¡¯t sure had been there three days ago.


    ¡°I understand you, somehow, even if I don¡¯t agree with your choices,¡± Zamian said softly, his gaze drifting past her as if reflecting on something distant. ¡°Don¡¯t think I wouldn¡¯t kill you if you tried to escape, hurt Bohlo, or harm me, my father, or his parents. But¡­¡± He met her eyes, noting their dark blue hue, ¡°I sympathize with your plight.¡±


    For the first time since they met, Zamian heard Tulip chuckle softly.


    ¡°You¡¯re terrible at this,¡± she said, shaking her head.


    ¡°At what?¡± Zamian scratched his head, confused.


    ¡°Talking. Comforting people. Or whatever it is you were trying to do,¡± she said with a faint chuckle, her expression softening.


    ¡°Well, you¡¯re not exactly the most talkative person I¡¯ve met either, so there¡¯s that,¡± Zamian shrugged, opening his hands in mock defeat.


    ¡°It¡¯s hard to be talkative when you¡¯ve had to break your dead friend¡¯s head just to make sure she was gone, are constantly worried about being killed, and just found out your hope for a better life was a big lie,¡± she replied, her voice faltering at times.


    Zamian opened and closed his mouth, searching for words but finding none.


    A few more moments passed, the two of them sitting in silence, each lost in their own thoughts.


    ¡°It was amazing, now that I think of it,¡± Tulip said softly, her voice lighter and sweeter than Zamian had heard before.


    ¡°What was?¡± he asked.


    ¡°You,¡± she looked at him. ¡°Fighting those outsiders¡¯ Zealots¡ªno, Great Warriors¡ªit was almost like an adult bullying children.¡±


    Finding his instincts silent, not accusing her of lying, Zamian blushed and waved his hand dismissively. ¡°No, you must have been scared. It wasn¡¯t that amazing.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re right.¡±


    ¡°Wh¡ª¡±


    ¡°I was scared, of course,¡± she interrupted, blowing a stray strand of hair from her forehead. ¡°I thought I was going to die like the rest of them.¡±


    Zamian shook his head. ¡°I wouldn¡¯t kill you for no reason.¡±


    ¡°Why, then?¡± Her dark blue eyes seemed to glimmer, tears forming. ¡°Why are you letting me live? I¡¯m not your friend, nor am I useful to you, like Kurt is.¡±


    Staring at her, Zamian¡¯s gaze turned serious. ¡°Because you¡¯re a fellow cultivator who was deceived by those stronger than you, someone struggling against death, doing whatever you can to survive¡­ And because I can. I can let you live and deal with the consequences.¡±


    Tulip stared at him for a long moment. Then, she smiled. ¡°I¡¯m almost eighteen, Zamian,¡± she said, shaking her head. ¡°I didn¡¯t peg you as someone who likes older women.¡±


    ¡°Wh-what?¡± Jerking back, he was about to deny it when he noticed her mischievous smile. ¡°Oh, I see, your true personality is that of a flytrap.¡±


    ¡°A what?¡±


    ¡°A plant that eats bugs.¡±


    ¡°Are you a bug?¡±


    ¡°Do you want to eat me?¡± Zamian asked, shaking his head.


    Smiling, they both laughed.


    ¡°I¡¯ll try to sleep,¡± Tulip said, lying down. ¡°And I was wrong¡ªyou¡¯re not so bad at talking.¡± Turning her back to him, she covered her face once more.


    Lost in thought, Zamian kept observing Bohlo, Tulip, and Kurt, letting time pass as he rested his body without sleeping or cultivating.


    Two hours later, as he was pondering where to search for his father next, he heard a chorus of screams from outside and thunderous noises, like falling trees, in the distance. The ground trembled slightly at first, but the frequency increased as the sound came closer.


    Kurt was the first to stand, followed by a groggy Bohlo and a tired Tulip.


    Zamian walked to one of the hideout¡¯s walls and punched a small hole with his finger to peer outside in the direction of the noise.


    Amidst the forest far away, rushing closer, a red fog loomed.


    It seemed harmless, not disturbing a single leaf or raising any dust.


    But the giant vines and walls of earth moving behind it, nearly covering the white-leafed sky in the distance, surely were causing a ruckus.


    ¡°Oh, give me a blighting break,¡± Zamian cursed.

 Chapter 20 - Love You Kiddo

    As the noise outside grew, akin to the world¡¯s collapse, Zamian¡¯s and the others¡¯ instincts finally reacted to the looming threat. Each of them used essence to empower their bodies¡ªexcept for Zamian.


    Kurt¡¯s mind was overtaken by panic, and he bolted toward the tunnel¡¯s entrance, his steps glowing with a brown hue. Tulip, on the other hand, froze after briefly flashing a green light, her thoughts unable to fully process the danger.


    Meanwhile, Bohlo rushed to Zamian, his gaze filled with fear but unshaken. ¡°Z, let¡¯s get out of here!¡±


    Zamian¡¯s eyes flashed white as a memory surfaced¡ªthe first time he met Lin Zhi, that monstrous being, and was struck by a tiny green ball that brought him to the brink of death¡ªor perhaps even beyond it. ¡®My instincts weren¡¯t this scared back then, or in any of my other battles.¡¯


    Calmly analyzing the situation, time seemed to slow for him. He activated the Beginning of the Cycle technique, fusing Nature¡¯s Embrace and Everbark.


    As his body began to shine with a green hue, his skin, muscles, hair, and nails transformed into a wooden texture. Tendrils of green light coated him like sap, forming a stronger, bulkier, and more flexible wood-like material. His size expanded, his body reshaping into a bald, muscled creature, with only his eyes visible¡ªand even those alternated between flashing green and white.


    ¡®My instincts aren¡¯t reacting to the threat of life¡ªthey¡¯re being influenced,¡¯ he realized, finishing his transformation. ¡®Maybe it¡¯s the same for the others.¡¯


    Once his thoughts settled, Zamian moved.


    Kicking the ground with explosive force, he destroyed the hideout¡¯s wall, grabbing Bohlo with his left arm and tucking him securely under his armpit. His friend didn¡¯t even have time to react.


    Without slowing down, Zamian charged toward Tulip, scooping her up under his right arm and holding her firmly in place.


    Leaving a trail of destruction behind him, he dashed toward Kurt, shouting in a rough, stuffy voice, ¡°Hold on to me if you want to live!¡±


    Seeing Zamian¡¯s wooden form barreling toward him, just as he was about to enter the tunnel, Kurt hesitated, scowling. Then, he screamed in frustration, ¡°Arrrghh!¡±


    Fueled by self-directed anger, Kurt leaped onto Zamian, climbing onto his back and clinging to the wooden creature¡¯s neck as if his life depended on it¡ªwhich it did.


    ¡°I don¡¯t want to die!¡± Kurt kept screaming.


    And Zamian kept running, crashing through the forest. ¡®My leg doesn¡¯t hurt anymore,¡¯ he thought with relief, his pace relentless.


    Kicking through another of the hideout¡¯s walls, Zamian didn¡¯t even glance at the tunnel¡¯s entrance¡ªit was far too small for his current form to fit, and he didn¡¯t dare risk crawling while racing against the fog, vines, and mountains of moving earth.


    ¡®I won¡¯t outrun it,¡¯ Zamian realized as he left the hideout. The booming sound of falling trees and shifting earth grew deafening. ¡®I need to get out of its range.¡¯


    Taking a sharp turn to the right, Zamian leaped, using trees as leverage to propel himself forward, breaking their trunks in the process. Splinters scratched Kurt, Tulip, and Bohlo as he carried them, but he couldn¡¯t afford to slow down.


    Even without the support of his arms, Zamian¡¯s body moved faster than ever, each step and jump accelerating him further. He focused on minimizing harm to his "passengers", pushing stray thoughts aside to refine his movements.


    Just like during the battle from the day before, the more he ran, the more his body adapted. He instinctively learned how to run faster, how to subtly shift his muscled wooden form for maximum speed, and how to step on the ground or trees to increase momentum. The flashing of white and green light in his eyes became more frequent.


    ¡®Did it work?¡¯ As he had been focused on fleeing on a diagonal line, not only to run away from the wave of vines and earth but also to leave its range, he checked behind for the first time.


    And Zamian felt a chill running up his spine, even with his wooden muscles.


    The red fog, closely followed by vines as big as Colossal Tree¡¯s roots and mountains of moving earth, was still coming in his direction.


    ¡®Blighted thing, why did you take a turn!¡¯ Zamian cursed inwardly, readying himself to sprint again when something caught his eye¡ªa flash of green amidst the red fog. One of the massive vines coiled and hurled a green dot in his direction.


    When the dot shot out from the fog, a red text materialized above it:


    [LEVEL 4 - MORTAL TIER - ?? PATHWAY (IMPURE)]


    Frozen, Zamian¡¯s breath caught as he stared, his instincts flaring. Then, as the green dot drew closer, it began to take shape.


    His heart raced, filled with both hope and dread as he recognized the figure.


    The green light revealed a man¡ªDante, his father.


    Shining with a dark green hue, Dante was covered in intricate wooden armor that left his hands, feet, and head exposed. His long white hair danced wildly in the wind as he soared toward Zamian.


    With a swift motion, Dante punched the air, summoning a massive vine from the ground far below. It shot up and coiled beneath his feet, holding him aloft for a brief moment before hurling him toward Zamian and the others.


    While happiness and concern flooded Zamian¡¯s heart, he forced himself to stay composed, the red fog and wave of destruction still looming behind his father.


    As Dante drew closer, Zamian felt the ground beneath him shift.


    His overwhelmed instincts weren¡¯t enough to guide him, forcing Zamian to rely on his newfound control over his body to keep from falling as a massive vine surged up from the earth beneath him.


    When father and son were finally close enough to see each other clearly, Zamian¡¯s heart sank. Dante¡¯s lips twitched, alternating between a crazed, bestial grin and a serene, almost unnatural smile. His eyes flickered lifelessly one moment, then burned with unhinged ferocity the next.


    ¡°Dad! Are you okay?¡± Zamian shouted, his stuffy, hoarse voice tinged with worry.


    Dante didn¡¯t answer. Instead, he moved his hands in strange, deliberate motions, stepping onto the same massive vine that now supported Zamian.


    Thin tendrils sprouted from the vine, reaching out like grasping fingers to ensnare Dante, Zamian, Tulip, Bohlo, and Kurt.


    Zamian felt his stomach lurch as the giant vine suddenly plunged downward, burrowing into the ground with terrifying speed.


    ¡°Ahhhh!¡± Kurt screamed, his voice breaking with raw panic.


    Unauthorized reproduction: this story has been taken without approval. Report sightings.


    Tulip¡¯s face was streaked with blood, her eyes squeezed shut as she clung desperately to Zamian¡¯s arm.


    Bohlo, in stark contrast, was silent, his wide eyes taking in the chaos around them. He didn¡¯t make a sound, letting Zamian carry him as he had from the beginning.


    Another wave of dark green light radiated from Dante, and countless smaller vines sprouted from the central one, weaving together to form a protective cocoon around the group just before they hit the earth.


    Feeling like he was moving faster than ever before, with only the green glow emanating from his father¡¯s body to illuminate the enclosed space, Zamian forced his emotions to steady once again.


    He turned his head to the still-screaming Kurt. ¡°Shut up.¡±


    Kurt, trembling all over, immediately clamped his mouth shut. He kept hugging Zamian¡¯s neck tightly, his fear almost palpable in the dim, greenish light.


    In the ensuing silence, Zamian¡¯s gaze locked onto Dante¡¯s, whose own eyes bore into him despite the erratic twitching of his face.


    ¡°Are you... okay?¡± Zamian managed to ask, his wooden body tense.


    Dante nodded, then immediately shook his head in denial.


    The white-haired cultivator didn¡¯t break eye contact, staring at Zamian as his son¡¯s blinking eyes¡ªalternating between white and green¡ªslowed and settled to the usual dark brown color.


    After a few moments, Zamian gently set Bohlo and Tulip down. Kurt, though visibly terrified, was sharp enough to let go of Zamian¡¯s neck and collapse onto the ground. Vines still held them all loosely, subtly adjusting to ensure no one was jostled or thrown off by the rapid burrowing and shifting movements of the giant vine.


    As the tendrils held them in place, everyone¡¯s heightened instincts began to calm. Bohlo, Tulip, and Kurt stayed on the ground, trying to collect themselves in the quiet.


    Zamian, meanwhile, ended his transformation. As soon as the vines allowed, he stepped toward his father and gave the man a tight hug.


    Dante hugged him back with his left arm.


    Pulling away, Zamian shook his head and gave a wry smile. ¡°I was worried about you, old man.¡±


    When Dante didn¡¯t respond verbally, Zamian bit his lip, stealing a glance at the trio behind him before focusing on his father again. His gaze turned serious.


    ¡°Can you understand me?¡±


    Dante nodded.


    ¡°Do you know who I am?¡±


    Another nod.


    ¡°Even in that wooden form, you recognized me?¡±


    Dante nodded once more.


    Zamian clenched his fists, letting a small smile creep onto his face. ¡°Do you think you¡¯re ugly?¡±


    Dante shook his head.


    ¡°Did you have another child?¡±


    Dante¡¯s expression continued to shift, but he shook his head once more.


    Sighing in relief, Zamian thought, ¡®Communication is possible!¡¯


    If his father had only nodded without reason or failed to grasp the full meaning of Zamian¡¯s words, then Zamian¡¯s next actions would have been fruitless.


    ¡°Dad, I don¡¯t know how much time we have, but are you aware of the invasion?¡±


    A nod.


    ¡°Did you fall and flee from their trap?¡±


    A shake, then a nod.


    ¡°Wh¡ªYou didn¡¯t fall into the trap?¡±


    A nod.


    ¡°Wait, wait,¡± Zamian massaged his temples. ¡°Did you know about the trap?¡±


    Another nod.


    ¡°Why did you¡ª¡± Remembering his father¡¯s condition, Zamian paused and changed his words. ¡°Were you involved in planning this trap?¡±


    Dante shook his head.


    ¡°Dad¡­ Ah, I have an idea! Can you somehow write using these vines? Or on the floor?¡±


    Dante shook his head and, to prove his point, the tendrils moved, forming letters and words that, when put together, made no sense.


    Looking at his father with a concerned expression, Zamian realized his father couldn¡¯t control the intricate intent behind the vine¡¯s movements¡ªhis mind was dealing with far more than anyone could see.


    ¡°I could write for you, based on your head¡¯s nodding and shaking, but¡­¡± Zamian concluded silently, ¡®I don¡¯t know when something might happen, and I have more urgent questions¡ªand so much more to say.¡¯


    ¡°Could you¡­ make those soundproof vines again? We need to talk in private,¡± Zamian asked.


    A green light moved from Dante¡¯s feet, and long vines filled with flowers emerged. The space between them grew tight, but it would have to do.


    ¡°Was the red fog following you¡­ the one from below our house?¡± Zamian muttered, not wasting time. He knew his father would be the only one to recognize it.


    Dante nodded.


    Scratching his head, Zamian stopped himself from asking a dozen more questions all at once. ¡®Yeah, things are never so simple.¡¯


    ¡°Dad, that gift of mine allowed me to discover some things,¡± he said, pausing. ¡°I¡¯ll share everything I know with you now. If there¡¯s anything that catches your attention, let me know.¡±


    After seeing Dante nodding once more, Zamian began recounting everything he could about his recent revelations.


    He told his father about learning the cycle of nature, his insights into death and the birth of his own body, and the external visualization method.


    Zamian shared his belief that the Verdant God somehow blocked the concept of death, his creation of the Beginning of the Cycle technique, and his breakthrough to becoming a Zealot through actions inspired by farmers.


    Finally, he mentioned the existence of white and red essence and his theory that he could cultivate dual pathways without becoming tainted.


    Out of respect for his father¡¯s previous wishes, Zamian avoided discussing the White Tower, Lin Zhi, his stats, or other aspects directly tied to the White Dot¡ªbesides topics like the Red World, which he deemed too dangerous given his father¡¯s current condition. ¡®There¡¯s no way I can talk about mom right now,¡¯ Zamian thought.


    Even though he tried to summarize, his shortened version still took time. Yet, Dante never nodded or shook his head to interrupt.


    When Zamian finally stopped, he stared at his wordless father and suddenly laughed. ¡°Don¡¯t worry, old man, you¡¯re more responsive than the other mute I have to deal with.¡±


    Dante¡¯s eyes flickered, and for a fleeting moment, Zamian thought he saw relief in them.


    Placing a hand on his father¡¯s shoulder, Zamian whispered, ¡°Love you, Dad.¡±


    Dante nodded three times.


    Love. You. Kiddo. Zamian smiled, imagining his father¡¯s unspoken message.


    Glancing at the giant vine they were standing on, Zamian prepared to carve an alphabet into the bark to try another form of communication in the dim greenish light when he felt the vine suddenly lurch upward.


    Before he could react, the soundproof vines and cocoon crumbled, and the group of five was thrust back onto the surface.


    The tiny tendrils holding Zamian and the others in place fell away as well. Squinting against the sudden brightness, Zamian barely adjusted his vision before a powerful force slammed into his chest.


    Dante had struck him with an open palm.


    A gale of green essence surged from his father, pushing Zamian, Bohlo, Kurt, and Tulip away from the giant vine.


    ¡°Father! What are you doing?¡± Zamian shouted, watching in disbelief as Dante began to sink the vine back into the ground.


    Falling to the ground, Zamian rolled instinctively. The grass beneath cushioned his fall, preventing any injuries. Uncaring about his condition, he hastily moved essence through his body, intent on following the man.


    But then his instincts screamed at him. Without hesitation, Zamian rolled again, narrowly avoiding a palm that passed above the spot where he had been moments before!


    ¡°Ohohoho, this little friend¡¯s instincts and movements are even better than that lunatic bragged about,¡± said a bald laughing man, covered by wooden thick armor and with a wooden halberd at his back.


    But then his instincts screamed at him. Without hesitation, Zamian rolled again, narrowly avoiding a palm that swept through the spot where he had just been moments before.


    ¡°Ohohoho, this little friend¡¯s instincts and movements are even better than that lunatic bragged about,¡± said a bald, laughing man, covered in thick wooden armor and carrying a wooden halberd strapped to his back.


    Recognizing that his instincts weren¡¯t warning him of any immediate danger, and still more concerned with his father, Zamian was about to rush to the hole made by the giant vine when his eyes caught sight of the text floating above the bald man¡¯s head.


    [LEVEL 4 - MORTAL TIER - CREATION PATHWAY]


    ¡°A blighting Chosen?¡± he blurted out, surprised at encountering an unknown Chosen.


    ¡°Oho, impressive perception,¡± the bald man praised, smiling as he stroked his white beard. His gaze flitted from Zamian to the trio behind him, sharp despite his jovial tone.


    Following the man¡¯s gaze, Zamian turned to look at Bohlo and the others, scowling as he thought, ¡®I can¡¯t leave them alone with this guy.¡¯


    ¡°What do you want? Who are you?¡± Zamian barked, gathering Nature¡¯s essence as he prepared to move at the first sign of danger.


    ¡°Little friend, I was just patrolling. Seeing that lunatic throw you here, I had to check. Sorry to startle you,¡± the man said, still smiling. He extended a hand for a handshake. ¡°I¡¯m Marlos, and you must be Zamian Greenfield, right?¡±


    Unwilling to take the offered hand, Zamian nodded cautiously. ¡°Yes. How do you know me?¡± Warily, he glanced past the man, noticing giant blades of grass reaching their knees and a distant, round wooden structure.


    Glancing up, he saw the Sanctuary¡¯s familiar white leaves and frowned. ¡®Do they look bigger? Closer?¡¯ he wondered briefly, puzzled.


    As Zamian returned his eyes to the smiling bald man, he heard Bohlo speak. ¡°Uh¡­ Z, the outsider and the girl don¡¯t look so good.¡±


    Without letting Marlos leave his field of vision, Zamian stepped back until he was beside Bohlo. A glance at his friend and the duo made him pause.


    Tulip was pale, her body trembling as she stared ahead with wide, frightened eyes. Beyond her, Kurt knelt on the ground, hands over his mouth, shaking uncontrollably.


    ¡°Wh¡ª¡± Zamian began, but his words were cut off by Tulip¡¯s sudden, terrified cry.


    ¡°The Warrior Chosen!¡± she exclaimed, her voice laced with fear.


    ¡°Ohohoho,¡± Marlos laughed, his tone as casual as ever. ¡°It seems these little ones recognize me.¡±


    ¡°Urgh,¡± Kurt vomited.


    And while Zamian was momentarily stunned, Bohlo approached and whispered, ¡°Z, why are you naked again?¡±


    ¡°...¡±

 Chapter 21 - Camp of Salvation

    With a downcast expression and wearing wooden pants thinner and more delicate than other Zealots¡¯ armor, Zamian strode alongside Marlos and Bohlo, who wore cheerful expressions, toward a wooden dome-like structure. Tulip and Kurt trailed a few steps behind, their heads bowed.


    Back at the hideout, Kurt had managed to bring the bags while fleeing to the tunnels. Zamian, however, hadn¡¯t had the time¡ªor the mood¡ªto make proper pants, so he resorted to using Nature¡¯s Embrace to create a pair. He had been momentarily surprised by how thin and delicate they turned out, unlike the bulkier wooden armor typical for Zealots.


    Lost in thought, Zamian suddenly felt a heavy slap on his back, sending him stumbling forward.


    ¡°Come on, little man!¡± Marlos said cheerfully. ¡°No need to meet the others looking like you¡¯ve lost your whole family, right? Ohohoho!¡±


    Zamian shot him a deadly glare but held his tongue. This time, he chose not to suppress his emotions, letting the anger and sorrow churn freely within him.


    Before he could spiral too deeply into his thoughts, a firm but gentle hand rested on his shoulder.


    ¡°Don¡¯t worry, Z. Your father will be back,¡± Bohlo said, smiling with a warmth that reached his eyes. ¡°The Sanctuary needs its hero, like the Warrior Chosen said.¡±


    Zamian gave a wry smile, nodding while thinking, ¡®Yes, but I need my father.¡¯


    His expression remained sorrowful as he recalled the Warrior Chosen introducing himself and explaining the dire situation. His instincts had confirmed there was no deception, yet it didn¡¯t ease the weight in his chest.


    Back at the Stargazing Tree, his father had arrived carrying Yokki, though her followers had mysteriously disappeared. After the Stargazing Brothers began the meeting, discussing what Marlos had called "boring topics," an explosion erupted. The current Lord Chosen had launched an attack with his allies and the outsiders¡¯ Warlords.


    Even Marlos had been preoccupied with planning an escape. Meanwhile, Dante and one of the Stargazing Brothers unleashed a staggering amount of Nature¡¯s essence, toppling the Stargazing Tree itself and allowing four Chosen to escape: Dante, Marlos, Yokki¡ªstill carried by Dante¡ªand one of the Stargazing Brothers.


    Following this, Dante had rushed to town, rescuing as many commoners as he could with Marlos assisting him. Eventually, Marlos had brought those they could trust to this hidden outpost¡ªperched in the uppermost part of the Sanctuary, difficult to locate.


    While the commoners and cultivators regrouped here, Dante had ventured into the desert, causing widespread destruction to scatter the Oasis¡¯s forces.


    Dante had briefly come to retrieve Zamian but had to leave again. Now, biting his lip, Zamian looked at the tall Warrior Chosen beside him. ¡°How did he know when and where to find me?¡±


    Caressing his bald head, Marlos answered, ¡°He didn¡¯t.¡± Pausing to gather his thoughts, he continued, ¡°Yesterday, the remaining Stargazing Brother came here, barely alive, speaking in his cryptic way about how he failed to save you. So, I sent a group of Zealots to find your father. How was I supposed to know that lunatic would rush back so quickly?¡±


    ¡°And why would he save me?¡± Zamian asked mechanically.


    ¡°A deal with your father,¡± Marlos responded, laughing. ¡°Ohoho, and don¡¯t ask me what kind of deal. Whatever passes through the minds of an old creep and a lunatic isn¡¯t my concern.¡±


    After a few moments, they arrived at a giant wooden dome, windowless and either soundproof or devoid of people, because even at five arm-lengths from it, they couldn¡¯t hear a single sound from inside.


    ¡°Uh¡­ Where¡¯s the door?¡± Bohlo asked, the only one excited to enter.


    Laughing, Marlos stepped ahead and lightly punched the wooden structure. A green wave of essence flowed from his fist along the walls. After a breath, the wood caved in on itself, opening a hole the size of Marlos, revealing a space filled with wooden houses. People were walking everywhere, eating, and tending to the injured.


    ¡°Here, little ones,¡± Marlos beamed, pointing inside. ¡°Welcome to the Camp of Salvation.¡±


    Bohlo rushed ahead, trembling with excitement. Zamian followed behind him, while Tulip and Kurt hushed close to his back, barely daring to breathe too loudly.


    Glancing at Kurt, Zamian noticed the man had put his shirt back on, hiding his features.


    ¡°Just head to the center. You¡¯ll see some familiar faces!¡± Marlos shouted after them as the hole closed behind them. None of them were surprised; the Warrior Chosen had made it clear he was responsible for patrolling the perimeter¡ªwithout rest.


    Walking shirtless beside Bohlo, Zamian took a deep breath, willing himself to calm down as his eyes briefly flickered green and white. Shaking his head in disbelief, he conjured a wooden armor that left his hands, face, and feet exposed.


    ¡°Get it together, Zamian,¡± he muttered under his breath. ¡°You didn¡¯t even realize you were walking around shirtless like some monkey!¡± He hissed the last part aloud.


    ¡°Hey,¡± Bohlo called out, feigning hurt. ¡°Not everyone hates the feel of it, okay?¡± He pointed at his own bare chest.


    Zamian waved his hand dismissively and chuckled, keeping his pace. ¡°Alright, big guy,¡± he said, then turned to look behind him. ¡°What about you two? Are you scared?¡± He smirked.


    Kurt nodded silently, while Tulip was lost in thought, her gaze fixed on the wounded lying in the street, waiting for care.


    Noticing her expression, Zamian chose not to make any jokes.


    While the dome was full of wooden houses and bustling people, Zamian and his group moved undeterred, mostly due to the pale cultivator¡¯s wooden armor, a clear sign of his status as a Zealot.


    Soon, they arrived at what Zamian assumed was the center of the camp. ¡°You must be joking,¡± he muttered, shaking his head.


    As they continued, two Enlightened guards stood watch by a familiar vined door, stopping them in their tracks.


    ¡°Identify yourself before entering, Zealot!¡± one of the guards demanded, his gaze sharp and unwavering.


    ¡°Zamian Greenfield,¡± Zamian replied, massaging his temples. ¡®Please let me be wrong about who¡¯s inside,¡¯ he thought grimly.


    To his surprise, both guards immediately knelt on both knees, shouting in unison, ¡°This Enlightened greets the soil stepped on by Zealot Zamian and his followers, wishing for the sacred light of Verdant to shine through your families'' leaves forever."


    Stunned for a moment, Zamian smiled bitterly. ¡®I would have been happy to receive their greetings a few days ago, but now¡­¡¯ Shaking off the thought, he waved his hand and said, ¡°This Zealot hears the sound leaving your mouths. Rise to the light of Verdant, both of you.¡±


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    The guards stood and one of them knocked on the door behind them in a distinct rhythm. A moment later, the vines coiled and opened. The same guard rushed ahead.


    Zamian entered, followed closely by Bohlo, Kurt, and Tulip.


    As he stepped inside, he felt the weight of dozens of eyes on him.


    The room, much like the rest of the dome, was illuminated by white leaves, casting a clear, almost serene light over the space. Zamian found himself in a circular house with numerous vined doors lining the walls. At the center, like a waiting room, were several wooden tables and chairs.


    ¡°Bohlo!¡± an old man shouted, rising quickly from his seat and rushing toward them¡ªor rather, toward Bohlo.


    ¡°Dad!¡± Bohlo cried, his voice breaking with relief and joy as he embraced his father, the shopkeeper Soho. Tears streamed freely down his face.


    Also relieved to see his Uncle Soho, Zamian chose not to interrupt the heartfelt reunion. Around the room, a few others sighed in relief, with some clapping quietly. Most, however, looked downcast, adjusting their seats uneasily.


    ¡®Now, what should we do?¡¯ Zamian wondered. Turning to Kurt to ask for one of the bags, he noticed the bearded outsider staring at the ground, while Tulip scanned the room, her fists clenched and eyes trembling.


    Wryly smiling, Zamian stepped behind them and gently pushed them aside before moving to face them directly. Placing a hand on each of their shoulders, he whispered, ¡°Look at me.¡±


    They flinched but slowly raised their eyes to meet his.


    ¡°You¡¯re both older than me,¡± he began softly. ¡°Yes, you¡¯re weaker now, but you¡¯ve lived longer. You¡¯ve seen more of life than I have, had more experiences. Right?¡±


    Kurt and Tulip exchanged a confused glance but nodded hesitantly.


    ¡°Then let me tell you this: I may not understand your guilt, pain, or shame¡ªwhatever it is you¡¯re feeling when you look at the people you¡¯ve hurt¡ªbut if you don¡¯t find a way to deal with it and forgive yourselves, you¡¯ll live blighted lives forever,¡± he said, his voice steady but firm. Patting their shoulders, he turned and walked away.


    What Zamian didn¡¯t share in his short speech was the deeper reason behind it. Watching them reminded him of someone with even greater guilt and an even more lost gaze: his father.


    ¡®Well, I hope it helped,¡¯ Zamian thought, glancing at Bohlo and Soho speaking animatedly. ¡®Where is Aunt Misandra¡­¡¯ He noticed that while Bohlo spoke excitedly, tears of joy streaming down his face, his father nodded along, though a glint of sadness lingered in his eyes.


    As his instincts warned of approaching presences, Zamian turned to see two Zealots accompanied by the Enlightened guard from earlier hastily making their way toward him.


    When they reached him, they paused, and Zamian immediately shook his head.


    ¡°We¡¯re at war; there¡¯s no need to waste time with these greetings,¡± Zamian said as they began to kneel. ¡®The less I hear or speak about that blighted Verdant God, the better,¡¯ he thought.


    Stunned, the Zealots exchanged glances before nodding. ¡°As you wish, Zealot Zamian,¡± one of them said. ¡°We¡¯ve been tasked to escort you to the War Room.¡±


    Nodding, Zamian gestured with his thumb over his shoulder. ¡°They¡¯re coming too. They both have valuable information to share.¡±


    Even if Kurt and Tulip had thoughts of refusing, Zamian was confident he could convince them.


    ¡°Zealot, this¡­¡± one of the Zealots began, wearing a troubled expression.


    ¡®Whoever commands this place is but a sapling compared to my father¡¯s prestige,¡¯ Zamian thought, fully aware of the duo¡¯s hesitation.


    What War Room? What Camp of Salvation? If the Warrior Chosen hadn¡¯t misunderstood or exaggerated, most people here wouldn¡¯t even be alive without Dante.


    ¡°You can check with your superiors,¡± Zamian said, and one of the Zealots quickly excused himself, disappearing behind a nearby vined door.


    The Enlightened guard bowed before stepping outside to resume his post at the main entrance.


    Shaking his head, Zamian noticed Soho looking in his direction. Smiling, he waved, and Soho began walking toward him.


    Concerned about the older man¡¯s age, Zamian rushed forward to meet him, wrapping him in a tight hug.


    ¡°Uncle Soho, it¡¯s good to see you!¡± Zamian said warmly.


    Soho gazed at him with wet eyes, Bohlo standing behind, beaming. ¡°You seem more mature,¡± Soho said, patting Zamian¡¯s shoulders. ¡°A Zealot, so young.¡± His voice quivered as though holding back tears. ¡°War¡­ It¡¯s never good. It makes the young suffer and grow up too fast, stealing the best years of their lives.¡±


    As the old man tapped on Zamian¡¯s wooden armor, the young cultivator had to control himself, fighting the ache in his chest. Seeing his uncle, another fatherly figure in his life, so concerned only deepened his sorrow.


    Looking between Soho and Bohlo, Zamian hesitated for a moment before asking softly, ¡°Where¡­ Where is Aunt Misandra?¡±


    Bohlo, who had been dumbly smiling behind Soho, suddenly looked as if he had been struck by a falling tree. Stumbling, his eyes shook as he first glanced at his father and then frantically scanned the surroundings. ¡°Mom!¡± he shouted.


    Soho¡¯s gaze faltered, his expression heavy with sorrow. He didn¡¯t respond immediately, clearly struggling to gather his thoughts. When he finally spoke, his voice was choked. ¡°Walls of earth emerged on our street. Destroyed so many houses. So many people were caught.¡±


    Zamian moved his mouth to speak, but Bohlo interrupted him, rushing to his father¡¯s side. Grabbing Soho by the shoulders, Bohlo shook him, his voice breaking with desperation. ¡°Where is Mom, Dad?¡±


    Soho¡¯s trembling hands reached up to hold Bohlo¡¯s face. His lips moved silently for a moment before he finally managed to whisper, ¡°She loved you, Bohlo. More than anything.¡±


    ¡°Where is she?¡± Bohlo cried again, his voice cracking as tears streamed down his face.


    Soho¡¯s hands trembled harder. His voice, low and dispirited, finally broke the silence. ¡°Her mortal cycle¡­ ended days ago.¡±


    Bohlo let go of his father, staggering two steps before dropping to his knees. His voice, now hollow, murmured, ¡°Mom¡­ Mom¡­¡± as dazed tears fell silently to the ground beneath him.


    Listening to Soho, Zamian felt his heart drop, the world spinning around him.


    Then, as his gaze shifted to Bohlo, he was struck by a painful reminder of himself¡ªhow he had once clung to denial over his mother¡¯s situation, unable to accept that he would never see her again.


    Fury quickly overtook his grief.


    Zamian turned sharply, his wet eyes locking onto Kurt, who had once again lowered his gaze to the floor.


    Seeing Zamian approach, Kurt stammered, ¡°Great Sir, wait¡ª¡± but his plea was cut off as Zamian¡¯s hand shot forward, grabbing him by the neck and forcing him to his knees.


    The surrounding people, accustomed to cries and outbursts in the Camp of Salvation, froze at the sight. Fear rippled through them, and they cautiously backed away, wary of the wrath of an uncontrolled Zealot.


    Squeezing Kurt¡¯s neck, Zamian¡¯s grip was like a vice, and his trembling wooden arm betrayed the weight of his emotions. Tears fell, one from each eye, splattering against his wooden armor.


    His voice was hoarse, raw, and filled with rage as he shouted, ¡°Listen to me! If you don¡¯t tell me, right now, who the vermin responsible for this is, I will tear you apart, slowly, a finger at a time.¡±


    ¡°I-I can¡¯t b-bre¡ª¡± Kurt gasped, his hands clawing at Zamian¡¯s arm. He tried to gather essence into his neck and hands, but each attempt failed as his instincts screamed at him not to resist.


    As Zamian seriously considered killing Kurt to appease his anger, five Zealots rushed toward him, one of them barking an order. ¡°Zealot! We can¡¯t allow fights here. Release the man at once!¡±


    Each of the five Zealots held a wooden spear, encircling Zamian with their weapons drawn and pointed.


    Meanwhile, Tulip stood far off, watching fearfully. Soho knelt beside Bohlo, but it looked like he was ready to rise and intervene.


    Zamian smirked, tears streaming down his face. Shouting, he declared, ¡°There won¡¯t be a fight here.¡± He turned sharply, and the Zealots flinched, stepping back as their instincts screamed in alarm. ¡°But if you try to stop me, there will be a massacre.¡±


    The Zealots exchanged uneasy glances. No matter what their instincts told them, they couldn¡¯t back down while inside the heart of the Camp. It was unthinkable¡ªa single Zealot, young and unknown, threatening five of them? How could they fail to subdue him if necessary?


    As the tense standoff continued, and Kurt¡¯s face turned purple, another group approached. Four Zealots surrounded a veiled woman with orange hair.


    Zamian glanced at the newcomers, his gaze narrowing as he read the texts above their heads, confirming the four were indeed Zealots. But it was the text above the woman at the center, whose hands were uncovered, that made his scowl deepen, as he already recognized her orange hair.


    [LEVEL 1 - MORTAL TIER - CREATION PATHWAY]


    With a commanding yet gentle voice, the veiled woman spoke. ¡°Lower your weapons.¡± She waved a hand, her motion calm but authoritative, and gestured toward Zamian. ¡°That is your savior¡¯s child, Zamian Greenfield.¡±


    The Zealots hesitated but began to lower their weapons. The woman stepped forward, instructing the four accompanying her to stay back.


    Zamian, meanwhile, released Kurt¡¯s neck. The outsider collapsed to the ground, coughing and clutching at his neck and chest.


    Turning toward the woman, Zamian¡¯s gaze burned with anger as she stopped just an arm¡¯s length away.


    ¡°Come here to have another look at my soul, you blighted woman?¡± Zamian spat, his voice venomous as he moved essence through his body.


    The woman shook her head, her hand slowly lifting her veil.


    Even in his anger, Zamian flinched.


    Though still beautiful, her skin was cracked, her lips bruised, and¡ªmost shockingly¡ªwhere her eyes should have been, there were only two hollow sockets covered by green sap.


    Letting her veil fall again, she answered calmly, ¡°Neither at your soul nor anything else.¡±


    Pausing, Zamian¡¯s voice burned with hatred. ¡°I fail to see why my father saved you, blighted thing.¡± He exhaled sharply. ¡°You should be dead, not my aunt Misandra.¡±


    Sighing, the former Cleric Chosen, Yokki Duskpeach, replied, ¡°It wasn¡¯t time for my mortal cycle to end¡­ yet.¡±

 Chapter 22 - Vipers and Insects

    ¡°¡­And you¡¯re speaking like an outsider, Zamian Greenfield,¡± Yokki muttered, slipping her hands into the sleeves of her green robe.


    Zamian noticed her attire had changed along with her cultivation, but he wasn¡¯t in the mood to comment on either.


    ¡°I¡¯ll deal with you later,¡± he said, his tone edged with anger. Turning sharply, he glared at Kurt, still coughing on his knees. ¡°First, I want some answers from this coward about who killed my aunt.¡±


    Taking a half-step forward, Zamian was stopped by Yokki¡¯s calm, sweet voice.


    ¡°It was one of the Sultan¡¯s sons, Ruen,¡± she stated matter-of-factly.


    Zamian paused mid-motion, turning his face slightly, though his body remained directed at Kurt. His eyes gleamed dangerously.


    Yokki took his silence as permission to continue. Sighing, she said, ¡°He led the attack on the market and nearby areas. The outsiders deemed that part of the Sanctuary worthless, so it became the playground for the more¡­ wicked of them.¡±


    ¡°And he was alone?¡± Zamian asked through clenched teeth, grinding them audibly.


    ¡°Maybe, maybe not,¡± Yokki answered, shaking her head. ¡°We¡¯d need to investigate to know for certain.¡±


    Zamian¡¯s glare lingered on Yokki for a moment before he shifted his gaze to Bohlo, still kneeling on the ground, with Soho holding him tightly, concern etched on the older man¡¯s face.


    Then his eyes moved to Tulip, pale as death, her back pressed firmly against the wall, wide-eyed and trembling. ¡®She¡¯s afraid of me¡­ again,¡¯ he thought.


    Finally, his gaze settled on Kurt, still kneeling, avoiding Zamian¡¯s eyes as he rubbed his bruised neck, coughing intermittently.


    The oppressive tension in the room was palpable. The group of Zealots, all nine of them, exchanged uneasy glances, ready to act at the slightest provocation.


    Zamian moved.


    Kurt flinched, covering his face and squeezing his eyes shut, expecting the worst. But when no blow came, he hesitantly peeked through his fingers. Zamian¡¯s outstretched hand was in front of him.


    Blinking in surprise, Kurt met Zamian¡¯s gaze, the young man''s sad eyes unexpectedly soft. Hesitantly, Kurt took the offered hand, and Zamian helped him stand.


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry,¡± Zamian said quietly, patting Kurt¡¯s shoulder.


    Turning to face the tense, watching crowd, Zamian raised his voice slightly.


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry,¡± he said again, looking at each of them. Then, he walked to Bohlo¡¯s side, knelt beside him and Soho, and pulled them both into a tight embrace.


    His voice cracked as he whispered, ¡°I¡¯m sorry.¡±


    For the first time since the invasion began, the main hall¡ªthe waiting room¡ªfell completely silent. No one, not even Yokki or the Zealots, dared to move or speak.


    After a few moments, Zamian stood, tear tracks still visible on his face. He turned to Yokki, his voice even.


    ¡°Is the Sanctuary planning to fight back, or are you just going to let all of this happen without consequences?¡±


    Behind her veil, Yokki smiled. ¡°Why do you think we have a War Room?¡±


    Nodding, Zamian spoke in a lower tone. ¡°Besides everything, these people are Verdant God¡¯s believers.¡± He pointed toward Bohlo and Soho. ¡°Could you please take¡­ Aunt Misandra¡¯s body and bury her, so they can plant a seed?¡±


    Before Yokki could respond, Soho answered instead. ¡°Lord Chosen Dante already did it,¡± he kissed Bohlo¡¯s head gently. ¡°I was waiting for my son to arrive, so I could conclude the ritual.¡± The ex-shopkeeper smiled and looked up at Zamian, who met his gaze. ¡°Would you like to come with us?¡±


    Zamian froze, the moment etching itself into his mind as a single doubt resonated within him. ¡®What if I had been there? Could I have stopped it?¡¯ He stared at Soho.


    ¡°N¡ª¡± Zamian began to answer but was interrupted by another voice.


    ¡°Yes, Z will come. He is family,¡± Bohlo said, standing with a distant gaze and helping his father off the ground. The muscled, shirtless cultivator looked at Zamian with pleading, grief-stricken eyes that brimmed with sorrow and despair.


    Blinking, Zamian nodded.


    Yokki gestured to one of the Zealots to guide them. Before Zamian fully registered it, they passed through two vined doors inside the building and stopped at a garden filled with saplings. They stood before a patch of grassless earth covered in dirt.


    Soho took a seed from his pocket and handed it to Bohlo, who knelt and whispered his prayers.


    ¡°Z, can you help me dig?¡± Bohlo asked in a broken voice, his eyes wet with tears.


    Nodding, Zamian knelt mechanically and dug a hole. Once Bohlo placed the seed inside, they covered it together. Soho sprinkled water from a wooden bowl and prayed aloud, finishing with, ¡°My Misandra, may the Verdant God allow us to meet in the next cycle, proving our love is never-ending.¡±


    When Soho finished, both he and Bohlo looked expectantly at Zamian, waiting for his prayers.


    Instead of speaking, Zamian touched the ground, sending his essence into the buried seed. He muttered softly, ¡°Thank you for taking care of me when my parents were busy. Thank you for giving birth to my best friend. And¡­¡± His voice dropped to a whisper. ¡°Rest in peace, knowing I¡¯ll avenge you and take care of your husband and son.¡±


    A sapling slowly sprouted from the ground as Zamian continued channeling his essence into it. He gave it everything, down to the last drop, ignoring the toll it took on his cultivation.


    ¡°Zamian, there are Zealots here who would have done that for you,¡± Soho said, patting Zamian¡¯s back, though the gratitude in his eyes betrayed the weight behind his words.


    Zamian knew that if Bohlo could, he would have poured his essence into his mother¡¯s sprout. But the bigger man had nothing left to give, and waiting for him to cultivate enough would have taken far too long.


    Smiling, Zamian stood, his gaze fixed on the sapling¡ªthe most beautiful and vibrant in the garden. ¡°As Bohlo said, I¡¯m family.¡±


    Pulling Soho and Bohlo into a gentle hug, Zamian said, ¡°Now, you both should rest and talk. Bohlo hasn¡¯t had a proper sleep, and by the looks of it, neither have you, Uncle Soho.¡±


    ¡°What about you, Z?¡± Bohlo muttered, not denying the truth.


    ¡°I¡¯ll rest,¡± Zamian said, his eyes gleaming. ¡°But not now.¡±


    <hr>


    Inside a room with a single vined door, Zamian sat on cushioned foliage, subtly moving his muscles to gather green essence while half-concentrating on his birth visualization, without success in getting the same feeling as when he closed his eyes or acted like a Farmer.


    Three others were present, sipping tea.


    ¡°Cleric Chosen, I know he¡¯s Dante¡¯s son, but why should he be here?¡± asked a man who appeared to be in his forties. He wore wooden armor, had a clean-shaven face, long black hair, and the striking absence of his right arm.


    If you discover this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.


    Zamian glanced at the green text above the speaker¡¯s head.


    [LEVEL 4 - MORTAL TIER - CREATION PATHWAY]


    ¡°Chosen Fern, as I¡¯ve said before, I¡¯m not the Cleric Chosen anymore. You can call me by my name,¡± Yokki replied, graciously covering her face with her dress sleeves as she sipped her tea. ¡°And he is here representing Dante. The man himself said so. Don¡¯t you remember?¡±


    Scowling, Fern glared at Zamian but shook his head and stayed silent.


    ¡°I don¡¯t believe the young one will leak our secrets or plans,¡± the third figure, an older woman, said slowly. ¡°But it wouldn¡¯t be the first time we¡¯ve been betrayed, hm.¡± Her eyes glowed green as she gazed at Zamian.


    Noticing her stare, Zamian glanced at the text above her head.


    [LEVEL 4 - MORTAL TIER - CREATION PATHWAY]


    ¡°Lady Cella, we can, of course, remove Zamian from this meeting,¡± Yokki said sweetly, her voice unshaken. ¡°But who would like to explain that to his father?¡±


    Chuckling, Cella waved her hand dismissively. ¡°No one respects us elders anymore.¡±


    As the tension eased and the two Chosen waited for the meeting to begin, Yokki opened her mouth to speak, only to be interrupted by Zamian.


    ¡°Where is the Stargazing Brother who fled and later came here?¡± Zamian asked, his eyes scanning the room for potential hiding spots.


    Fern¡¯s eyes glowed green as he slapped the ground with his remaining hand. ¡°And why does that matter to you, Zealot?¡±


    Meeting Fern¡¯s glare, Zamian responded evenly. ¡°I need to know what happened to him and why he didn¡¯t arrive to collect me as my father arranged.¡±


    Fern scowled, shifting his gaze to Yokki, who raised her hand to calm him.


    ¡°There¡¯s no reason to keep that hidden,¡± Yokki said, shaking her head before lowering her hand. ¡°That elder is seriously injured and still receiving treatment from Lady Cella here. You might not know, Zamian, but she was the Cleric Chosen before I took her place after her¡­ disappearance.¡±


    ¡°And just in time,¡± Cella cackled. ¡°Or I¡¯d be one of those outsiders¡¯ slaves by now.¡±


    ¡°When he wakes, we can tell you more,¡± Yokki offered. ¡°Is that acceptable?¡±


    ¡°It is,¡± Zamian nodded, his instincts affirming her words¡ªexcept for the part about Cella¡¯s disappearance.


    ¡°Well, now that¡¯s resolved¡ª¡± Yokki began, only to be interrupted again.


    ¡°I want a place to cultivate,¡± Zamian stated firmly. ¡°The quietest spot with the most essence you can find. I also need it close to Bohlo and Uncle Soho, while Tulip and Kurt can be placed farther away. They should only access my space with my permission.¡±


    The room fell silent.


    Calla cackled again, while Fern¡¯s eyes seemed on the verge of popping out.


    Before anyone could shout at him, Zamian continued. ¡°Kurt is an outsider, and he has valuable information about the Sultan¡¯s motives and one of the Sultan¡¯s concubines, Clarice.¡± He then fixed his gaze on Yokki, his expression hard as if staring into her eyeless face.


    Yokki remained silent, her fingers lightly tracing the rim of her wooden cup.


    ¡°The reason you¡¯re helping is because you want to know about your daughter,¡± Zamian stated, standing up. ¡°Clarice is the one who abducted her.¡±


    Cella and Fern turned their attention to Yokki, but she stayed silent, her fingers now still.


    ¡°I don¡¯t like you,¡± Zamian said evenly. ¡°And I never will. No matter how much good you¡¯re trying to do or how many times you pretend to take my side.¡± Walking toward the vined door, he glanced back at Yokki. ¡°Instead of staying here and playing mind games with all of you, I¡¯ll cultivate, get stronger, and listen to your plans. If they¡¯re good enough, I¡¯ll follow. If not¡­¡± he shrugged.


    Fern¡¯s eyes grew colder, and Cella sipped her tea without a word. Yokki, lost in thought, caressed her hair absentmindedly.


    After a moment, she turned to Cella and gave a slight nod.


    Cella¡¯s eyes glowed green, and the vined door opened. Two Zealots stepped inside.


    ¡°Munike, bring Zamian¡¯s friends, Tulip and Kurt, here. They¡¯re the man and woman who came with him. Ask the other Zealots for their descriptions, but know that Kurt is an outsider and Tulip was once a Cleric,¡± Yokki instructed.


    One of the Zealots moved to leave, while Yokki gestured to the remaining one. ¡°Wallace, take Zamian to the underground building and let him choose a cultivation room. After his friends Bohlo and Soho wake up, take them there as well.¡±


    The Zealot nodded but smirked at Yokki. ¡°Doesn¡¯t seem like you¡¯re blind,¡± he remarked.


    Yokki smiled beneath her veil but chose not to respond.


    Zamian followed the Zealot out of the room, the vined door closing behind them.


    Fern broke the silence first, sipping his tea with a now-cold tone. ¡°He¡¯s dangerous.¡±


    Cella nodded, turning to Yokki. ¡°Now I understand how you¡¯ve become like this. His soul¡­ there¡¯s something inside. It¡¯s terrifying.¡± She shuddered.


    Yokki sighed, her fingers tapping lightly on the tea cutlery beside her. ¡°I should¡¯ve asked him about Lakea. That might¡¯ve been what tipped him off.¡±


    Fern rose, walking to the spot where Zamian had been seated. He plucked a single leaf from the cushions, which gleamed faintly in his hand.


    ¡°He didn¡¯t notice when it entered his armor,¡± Fern murmured, studying the leaf, ¡°but his body wasn¡¯t even scratched.¡± Crushing the leaf in his palm, he absorbed it into his body.


    ¡°We know he¡¯s intelligent and that his body is far stronger than expected,¡± Cella mused, humming softly. ¡°But we can¡¯t be sure about his instincts or his true limits.¡±


    Fern turned to Yokki. ¡°Do you want me to test him? Or should we just spy on him for now?¡±


    Yokki shook her head. ¡°No. He¡¯s becoming more and more mysterious. We should avoid antagonizing him further. Besides, he isn¡¯t our true enemy. Like it or not, we¡¯re on the same side.¡±


    ¡°He¡¯s here,¡± Cella said suddenly, her eyes glowing as the vined door opened.


    Fern reverted to his angry demeanor as the door parted, while Cella cackled softly. Yokki, smiling faintly under her veil, asked, ¡°What happened?¡±


    Stepping into the room and slowly observing each Chosen, Zamian offered a slight smile. ¡°Nothing. I just realized I forgot to ask about the Sanctuary¡¯s current situation. Have the Children of Verdant appeared?¡±


    Clicking his tongue, Fern muttered just loud enough for Zamian to hear, ¡°Such a cheeky brat.¡±


    Zamian¡¯s smile remained, his eyes narrowing slightly as he turned his gaze to Yokki, silently waiting for an answer.


    Sighing, the veiled woman began to speak, detailing the current situation outside the Camp of Salvation.


    ¡°Thank you,¡± Zamian said, dismissing the Zealot who had escorted him to the room. As the door closed behind him, he let out a long sigh.


    ¡®It seems a common door,¡¯ he thought and then made sure it was locked.


    Inspecting the underground space, Zamian immediately noticed the abundance of green essence. It was almost as dense as the energy in Yokki¡¯s garden after his father¡¯s modifications¡ªwhich made it better than anything Zamian had ever experienced. Unlike before, this energy was sustainable, not a fleeting miracle made by his father¡¯s might.


    He walked to the center of the garden. A few white leaves clung to the wooden ceiling above, their faint light casting a tranquil glow over the surrounding plants and a gentle stream of water. Without hesitation, Zamian let himself fall onto the grass, lying flat as he gazed at the ceiling.


    Reaching into one of the bags he had ¡°kindly¡± requested from Kurt before the War Room meeting, he pulled out a carved piece of bark. Along with fruits and scraps of fabric, this map of the underground tunnels had been their lifeline. Now, he had updated it, ensuring it was precise enough should he need it again.


    Tracing the lines with his fingers, Zamian suddenly clenched his fist. The bark crumbled in his grip, splintering into fragments until nothing remained.


    ¡°Now it¡¯s time to leave the vipers and check on the insects,¡± he muttered to himself. Stretching his body, he reflexively began gathering essence, the process calming his mind.


    Judging he had gathered enough, Zamian willed the wooden armor on his body to dissolve, leaving him naked. Chuckling, he observed his own form, momentarily distracted by how his lean muscles moved beneath his skin.


    ¡°It¡¯s almost like there are dozens of roots under my flesh, always shifting,¡± he murmured, marveling at the subtle changes in his physique.


    Shaking his head to refocus, his gaze shifted to the white dot hovering at the edge of his vision.


    ¡°Maybe you¡¯re done giving me quests, but there¡¯s still plenty I need to do on my own,¡± he said.


    Closing his eyes, Zamian willed himself into the dark space within his mind.


    To his surprise, the humanoid form made of countless specks of light appeared unchanged, but for the fact that the balance of colors was significantly altered. The white and green lights now vastly outnumbered the red, with other colors almost imperceptible.


    Above the figure¡¯s head, two crystals floated, their intricate patterns drawing Zamian¡¯s attention.


    ¡®Not as drastic a change as I expected,¡¯ he thought. Willing his vision to move closer, he studied the crystals, noticing subtle differences in their designs.


    ¡®These markings¡­ they¡¯re different. The one with fourteen characters isn¡¯t like the one with sixteen,¡¯ he mused.


    As he stared, his vision abruptly filled with white light.


    ¡®Of course,¡¯ Zamian thought, unsurprised as the familiar scene of the White Tower materialized before him, accompanied by the sprawling buildings below and the endless sky above.


    As before, he found himself standing at the base of the tower, watching as disciples in white robes entered through countless doors.


    He turned to observe the scene everyone else was focused on. Within moments, a green leaf appeared in the air, and from it, Lin Zhi materialized, his form as monstrous and unsettling as ever.


    A phantom pain flared in Zamian¡¯s left shoulder as he recalled their previous encounter.


    ¡°Greetings,¡± Lin Zhi said, his buzzing voice echoing unnaturally as his four green eyes blinked in sequence. The insect-like entities composing his face moved faster with every word.


    ¡°Sit,¡± Lin Zhi commanded, his root-like legs extending to elevate him above the seated disciples.


    Zamian obeyed, sitting with the others as Lin Zhi loomed above them.


    ¡°Rejoice,¡± the creature buzzed, its voice reverberating in the space. ¡°Today, you learn.¡±


    The air around Lin Zhi thickened with green essence as he spoke.


    ¡°Lin Zhi shall teach you.¡±


    Gasps, murmurs, and cries filled the room¡ªsome disciples surprised, others dismayed, fearful, or mournful.


    But Zamian smiled, unlike the others, and thought to himself, ¡®Yes, today I will learn from you. But someday¡­¡¯


    ¡°To learn, we must first struggle,¡± Lin Zhi began, the green essence around him pulsating.


    Zamian¡¯s eyes gleamed, his expression cold. ¡®I¡¯ll be the one making you struggle, blighted thing.¡¯

 Chapter 23 - Cultivators are Crazy

    Zamian soon found himself staring at the external visualizations of Lin Zhi¡¯s disciples.


    The last time he attempted this, he experienced enlightenment¡ªand, by his own assumption, death. But this time, he was determined to focus entirely on learning how these people managed such intricate visualizations.


    Time passed as he observed each green projection. Humans, lizards, wolves, birds, insects¡ªwhile there were some variations, none of the visualizations depicted other animals entirely new, like tigers, elephants, or cows.


    ¡®Where did I read about so many other animals?¡¯ he wondered, adjusting his position to study a new human visualization.


    This one showed a person frantically climbing a mountain, fleeing from a group of indistinct shadows chasing them. While the climber¡¯s face was blurred, their fear was palpable through their panicked movements.


    Zamian frowned as the visualization abruptly shattered and restarted. This time, the climber¡¯s movements were calm, measured, and precise, as if the fear had never existed.


    Confused, Zamian shifted his focus, searching for similar anomalies in the other human visualizations. Yet, none of them displayed the same sudden breakdown or reset.


    Noticing how he couldn¡¯t grasp the secret behind the external visualization method, he thought, ¡®Let¡¯s at least use this time to cultivate.¡¯


    Biting his lip, he attempted to gather essence, feeling it enter his body. Yet, somehow, he instinctively knew it wasn¡¯t enhancing his true cultivation. ¡°How do I even know this isn¡¯t working¡­?¡± he muttered, unsure.


    Suddenly, all the external visualizations vanished as a wave of dark green light swept across the room, obliterating them. The energy expanded outward, reaching the tower¡¯s edges, before rushing back to the center¡ªstraight into Lin Zhi¡¯s hand.


    The monstrous teacher clenched the glowing green mass in his six-clawed bony fist, extinguishing it in an instant.


    ¡°Now,¡± Lin Zhi¡¯s buzzing voice echoed, the scales on his right arm shifting as he extended his open hand toward the crowd, waving it slowly. ¡°I shall teach you the seed of struggle. The seed of the beginning. The Seed¡­ of Creation.¡±


    Zamian¡¯s eyes widened, and his fists clenched tightly. A sudden concern passed through his mind. ¡®If I learn this, will I still be able to return? I haven¡¯t even fully grasped the external visualization method yet!¡¯


    Conflicted between the potential of losing this chance and his unpreparedness, Zamian gritted his teeth, his glare fixed on Lin Zhi as he waited.


    The other disciples were similarly transfixed, though hushed whispers and murmurs rippled through the group.


    Unable to decipher what was being said, Zamian dismissed the noise, shoving it to the back of his mind as he focused on what was to come.


    Then, Lin Zhi¡¯s buzzing voice returned. ¡°As usual, this one needs a disciple to struggle against my technique.¡±


    The room fell silent.


    ¡®These blighted monsters are scared,¡¯ Zamian thought, glancing around before fixing his gaze back on the ever-calm Lin Zhi. ¡®Good. It means I didn¡¯t die for a pushover.¡¯


    After a few breaths, Lin Zhi spoke again. ¡°And, as usual, this one will choose a disciple if nobody volunteers.¡±


    The silence persisted.


    Just as Zamian thought Lin Zhi would select someone, a bird-headed disciple stood up and cupped his hands, speaking in the incomprehensible language the others used.


    Lin Zhi nodded, his tone unusually cheerful. ¡°Disciple Tian is brave. Falling three times to form a Core, yet still struggling to prove your worth to advance in the Nature Pathway.¡± He gestured. ¡°Please, come forward.¡±


    Meanwhile, Zamian was baffled. ¡®Core? What¡¯s that? Nature Pathway? Shouldn¡¯t it be called the Creation Pathway here?¡¯


    Rather than dwell on his confusion, he grinned. ¡®More things to learn¡ªgood!¡¯


    After Tian approached, Lin Zhi formed a wooden platform in the center, reminiscent of a tree trunk cut in half. Tian stepped onto it and cupped his hands toward Lin Zhi in a sign of respect.


    ¡°Struggle and learn,¡± Lin Zhi said loudly, raising his right hand. Between his sharp claws appeared a familiar green orb, no larger than a fingernail, pulsing with a soft green glow.


    Zamian¡¯s eyes widened at the sight. ¡®I don¡¯t feel any essence when he casts this technique! And to think he¡¯s been using the Seed of Creation all this time.¡¯


    But one detail gnawed at him. ¡®Where¡¯s the baby¡¯s cry? I swear I heard it glow the first time I was here.¡¯


    His musings were interrupted as Tian let out a sharp cry. The bird-headed disciple¡¯s feathers shimmered and began to transform, turning into green, leaf-like structures that shone brilliantly and swayed as if caught in a gentle breeze.


    The orb¡¯s glow dimmed slightly as it came into contact with the radiant essence emanating from Tian¡¯s leafy feathers.


    Lin Zhi nodded approvingly. ¡°Good. Your soul seems powerful enough to become a Warden.¡± After praising Tian, Lin Zhi flicked the tiny green orb toward him.


    ¡®Warden,¡¯ Zamian noted the term, saving it for later contemplation. At the same time, he reflected while accompanying the orb¡¯s trajectory with his gaze, ¡®I faced that technique as an Enlightened. At that time it felt impossible to escape¡­ But now¡­ Isn¡¯t it too slow?¡¯


    As if to prove his point, Tian moved far more quickly than Zamian had during his encounter. The birdman leaped into the air, forming a shield of glowing leaves behind him as he rushed toward Lin Zhi.


    Zamian watched intently as the green orb struck the invisible barrier around the arena.


    ¡®Tian was expecting the orb to follow him,¡¯ Zamian pondered, glancing at Tian¡¯s shield.


    Lin Zhi remained unmoving, his claw already forming another glowing orb.


    The moment the second orb materialized, for just a single breath, Tian seemed to freeze¡ªnow only two arms¡¯ lengths away from Lin Zhi.


    And that single moment was all the teacher needed.


    The creature with a face composed of a myriad of insects and a disgusting smell flicked the ball once more while it still glowed, burying it in the center of the birdman¡¯s chest.


    Tian¡¯s white robe was destroyed, but for another single breath, the green-leafed feathers that covered him held the tiny green ball.


    Sadly, before he could take another step, the tiny ball entered his body.


    Hastily dismissing his technique, he knelt down, a green glow radiating from his chest, and the tiny hole in his body closed on its own.


    Unlike Zamian, Tian didn¡¯t thrash around, nor did his body begin to break apart. Instead, he seemed to be feeding the green orb a ridiculous amount of essence.


    ¡®He has a lot of essence,¡¯ Zamian thought grimly. ¡®Way more than I ever had.¡¯


    Zamian didn¡¯t understand what Tian was doing, but the other disciples seemed to. They began whispering among themselves, some even shouting at Tian. Whether they were cheering him on, giving advice, or cursing him, Zamian couldn¡¯t tell.


    From his position, Zamian could see the profiles of both Lin Zhi and Tian, and he soon noticed Tian¡¯s body glowing green as spikes of essence radiated from him, shredding the remnants of his white robes.


    Once more, the sky turned green, Nature¡¯s essence surging from all directions. A gale accompanied it this time, and to his astonishment, Zamian saw Tian¡¯s body begin to float!


    Still in a kneeling position, the birdman floated above Lin Zhi, his entire body glowing with green light until only his silhouette remained.


    He was now a green figure, seemingly made entirely of glowing essence, and nothing more.


    As Zamian stared in amazement, a buzzing noise pulled him back to the moment.


    ¡°What a shame. But it was a good struggle. Farewell, Disciple Tian,¡± Lin Zhi said suddenly.


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    Before anyone could react, Tian¡¯s figure shone with a green blinding light¡ªand exploded without a sound!


    The ground trembled, and if not for the invisible barrier surrounding the area, Zamian was certain no one would have escaped unscathed.


    And the reason was simple.


    Lin Zhi, who had remained motionless until now, summoned a myriad of roots to shield himself, each one resisting the explosion¡¯s force.


    But as fast as Lin Zhi created them, they crumbled.


    And Zamian was sure of one thing: those roots were the most resilient material he had ever encountered. He could feel it in his bones, still shaking with the explosion.


    After a few breaths, the explosion subsided, and where Tian had once been, there was nothing but hundreds of roots covering the platform.


    Lin Zhi stood above it all, gazing silently at the white-robed disciples.


    Zamian then noticed that all of those roots originated from Lin Zhi¡¯s legs¡ªhe had been expanding his own body, letting it be destroyed to protect himself, if that makes sense.


    Still shaken by the scene, and as Nature¡¯s essence dispersed, Zamian heard Lin Zhi¡¯s buzzing voice once more:


    ¡°Today¡¯s lesson is over.¡±


    The world seemed to pause once more, and as all color disappeared, the white light materialized into a crystal with sixteen sides within Zamian¡¯s soul space. He quickly exited, avoiding being pulled back at Lin Zhi¡¯s tower, and opened his eyes in the garden.


    His hands were trembling, but not out of fear.


    He was excited!


    ¡°That power¡­ It can kill a Chosen, I¡¯m sure,¡± he muttered, clenching his fists. Even if he couldn¡¯t use that technique while still a Zealot, he didn¡¯t care! ¡°That can be my hidden thorn for when I become a Chosen,¡± he said.


    ¡°I need to get stronger,¡± he whispered, focusing his mind on controlling his body¡ªhis heart rate, breathing, even the trembling. Taking deep, measured breaths, he continued, ¡°Core¡­ Warden¡­ I need to know more about those. Blighted Lin Zhi, should I start asking questions to that thing?¡± He paused, unsure if the teacher, who casually killed his students and called it a day, would entertain him.


    Though he knew he couldn¡¯t die in that place, a troubling thought entered his mind. ¡°Now that I think about it¡­ I learned nothing from that demonstration,¡± he grumbled.


    If before the last session, he knew nothing about the Seed of Creation technique, now he at least understood what it was, though he still couldn¡¯t grasp how to cast it.


    Standing up, Zamian resolved not to return there without a clear plan in mind.


    ¡°Let¡¯s cultivate,¡± he said, walking to his bag, picking fruits, and eating them.


    Before starting his visualization, he willed the White Dot to show his stats.


    PERSONAL INFORMATION


    Name: Zamian Greenfield


    Level: 3 [00%]


    Tier: Mortal


    Main Pathway: Creation


    Title: None


    STATS POINTS


    Body: 200/600


    Mind: 200/600


    Soul: 370/600


    Glaring at it, he grumbled again, ¡°Come on, I¡¯m sure I have some essence inside me. Are you saying anything too little doesn¡¯t even count? You only show me whatever you want, you blighted thing.¡±


    Shaking his head and dismissing the text, Zamian reflected on his stats. ¡®I spent hours crawling through tunnels, then I had to run from my father and whatever was chasing him¡­ Yes, my right leg is better, but overall, I feel like a tree fell on me.¡¯


    Massaging his head, he walked to one of the streams of water and started to clean himself, tossing the fruit he had been eating to the side. ¡°I need to relax, but can I afford to?¡± he asked himself, smirking.


    Drinking water and playing with it for a few moments, he stepped out of the stream, picked up the fruit, and retrieved its seeds.


    ¡°Can¡¯t save Father by resting too much, right?¡± he muttered, planting one of the seeds and sending a small trickle of essence into it.


    His eyes flashed green and then white as he started walking around, visualizing himself being born once more. Little by little, he refined the image in his mind of how he looked before birth. Meanwhile, in the physical world, strands of essence connected him to each seed he planted.


    His pace slowed, and on the ground beneath Zamian¡¯s feet¡ªwhere dozens of seeds had been planted¡ªan outline of a larger image began to form.


    It resembled a fetus.


    Inside the pale cultivator¡¯s mind, he was finally satisfied with the appearance of the unborn baby¡¯s body and proceeded to visualize its birth.


    Last time, because of his breakthrough, he had to stop. But this time, nothing held him back.


    As the white light of birth shone upon him, Zamian was startled to experience the perspective of the newborn baby. Crying, he felt dirty, and the pressure in his lungs was greater than anything he had ever known.


    His head began to ache as Nature¡¯s essence surged through him, correcting countless flaws. Though he couldn¡¯t yet see his surroundings, there was one thing with far too many flaws that demanded immediate attention¡ªhimself!


    The first flaws he corrected weren¡¯t even after birth but during the process itself. He felt the world squeezing against his fragile skin, bones, and muscles. His tiny structure, too delicate to withstand such force, seemed on the verge of shattering at any moment.


    Zamian visualized the baby as if it were filled with green sap. With each contraction, this sap was forced out through its lungs, only for essence to rush in through its nose. It burned¡ªharsh and unrelenting¡ªtearing through him before finally settling within.


    When the baby was finally born, the pressure didn¡¯t ease. On the contrary, it grew worse. Other particles of different essences¡ªlike a relentless, foreign force¡ªpushed their way into his body, invading through his pores, eyes, nose, mouth, ears¡ªeverywhere.


    Breathing¡ªno, cultivating¡ªthis multitude of essences was not just painful. It felt wrong. His fragile body resisted, instinctively trying to block it out, allowing only a small amount to settle inside as his system struggled to stabilize.


    Light pierced his still-forming eyes, burrowing deep into his unprepared senses. Sounds, sharp and overwhelming, slammed into his awareness¡ªthe harsh breathing, the air moving around him. The breeze brushed against his raw, delicate skin like sandpaper.


    And most intensely, the call for severance¡ªthe natural order to break his connection to the root that tied him to his mother¡¯s womb.


    Fear overwhelmed him.


    As much as Zamian controlled the visualization and knew what was meant to happen next, he suddenly caught himself not wanting to follow nature¡¯s knowledge.


    ¡®I don¡¯t want to,¡¯ he thought, understanding by the whispers what he was supposed to do. ¡®I don¡¯t want to lose her again.¡¯


    Zamian forced his eyes to open and saw a vortex of green essence above his head¡ªflowing into him not only from above but also from below.


    Slowly, the energy settled inside him, and the strands of essence connecting him to the new saplings below his feet dispersed.


    Taking a deep breath and sighing, Zamian swept the sweat from his forehead and muttered, ¡°Is this the only way forward¡­¡±


    And then, a notification appeared in front of him.


    Your cultivation level capped


    Level: 3 [100%]


    Tier: Mortal


    Main Pathway: Creation


    Do you want to force a Level Up?


    Zamian stared at the screen.


    And waited.


    A few moments passed.


    He then chuckled. ¡°My instincts aren¡¯t useful for everything, as it seems.¡±


    With a calm tone, he answered the White Dot. ¡°No.¡±


    As the screen faded away, he sat down, ripping a blade of grass from the ground and putting it in his mouth.


    ¡°Are you insane?¡± he asked himself.


    ¡°Yes, I am,¡± Zamian answered, shaking his head once more.


    ¡°There is no way this would be the right move,¡± he muttered, staring at the white dot at the corner of his vision. ¡°But why would you want me to fall for this?¡±


    At his previous level up, he had capped his stats.


    Not only that, but he was sure Zealots weren¡¯t supposed to be this strong so soon after breaking through. Truth be told, most Zealots he¡¯d met were far weaker than him!


    The White Dot assisted him, of course, accelerating the final process, but it didn¡¯t force him to become a Zealot either. And that was the final clue¡ªthe question at the end, indicating this was all a bad idea.


    ¡°I should cap my stats before leveling up,¡± he sighed heavily. He was tempted to become a Chosen, for a moment, but it didn¡¯t feel right. It wasn¡¯t dangerous, as his instincts didn¡¯t react, but he knew he would regret taking such a shortcut.


    ¡°Anyway, at least I learned once again to not depend on my instinct,¡± he shrugged and willed the White Dot to show all his information.


    PERSONAL INFORMATION


    Name: Zamian Greenfield


    Level: 3 [100%]


    Tier: Mortal


    Main Pathway: Creation


    Title: None


    STATS POINTS


    Body: 700/700


    Mind: 400/600


    Soul: 100/600


    REWARDS


    Ancient Astral Seal


    Description: A Star Seal guarding your Astral Self.


    Ancient Identify Technique (Passive)


    Description: See the secrets beyond the limitations of time


    QUEST LOG


    Last Quest: Save Bohlo and Lakea


    Reward: 01 Book from White Tower''s First Floor


    Status: Incomplete


    Main Quest:  Destroy an Unholy Sapling before the end of the month


    Reward: Special Physique (??)


    Status: Ongoing (09 days left)


    After reading the text and staring at it, Zamian dismissed it with a chuckle. His head hurt, as he stared at his cultivation level.


    ¡®I gathered so much power in so little time¡­¡¯ he thought, laughing.


    Holding his belly, he kept laughing.


    Tears streamed down his face, and the laugh turned into a cry¡ªtinged with rage.


    ¡°Why!¡± Struggling to control himself, he held his head, squeezing it. His muscles bulged. ¡°Why didn¡¯t you come sooner, you blighted thing.¡±


    Two years.


    It had been two years since Zamian received the White Dot.


    He knew he wouldn¡¯t have had time to save his mother, of course. But¡­


    ¡°If only¡­ If only I had this power four days ago¡­¡±


    It took more or less a day of cultivation to fully recover his physical condition and gather all the essence he could currently store inside him.


    And at most, he would need to rest a little longer to restore his soul points.


    ¡°This strength, this recovery¡­ How many people could I have saved¡­ Aunt Misandra¡­ She didn¡¯t have to die¡­¡±


    He punched his face and saw blood splatter from his nose onto the ground below.


    Looking at the crimson stain, Zamian ground his teeth. Once more, he had to focus to regain control of himself.


    ¡°All cultivators are crazy,¡± he muttered, his eyes wild, red, and shaking.


    ¡°But I need to become stronger. I have people to protect. People to avenge. People to save!¡±


    He gazed at the White Dot, steeling himself, his voice a shout. ¡°So I can¡¯t go crazy!¡±


    Noticing movement, Zamian turned toward the garden¡¯s door. Someone had knocked and was waiting outside.


    Breathing deeply, he walked to the door, closing and opening his eyes to gather his thoughts.


    Opening the door, he found Tulip standing there. She looked noticeably cleaner than before, dressed in a simple green dress. Her blonde hair was tied back in a ponytail, and a faint citrus-like scent wafted from her¡ªa subtle, calming fragrance.


    As a slight frown formed on her face, Zamian sighed.


    ¡°I know,¡± he said, flashing a green glow as light wooden armor covered his body. ¡°Happy now?¡±


    ¡°No,¡± she replied, licking her thumb and brushing it beneath his nose. ¡°You have blood on you. What happened?¡±


    Zamian stared into her dark blue eyes and blinked.


    Tulip smiled at him.


    ¡°Anyway, you¡¯ve been in there for more than a day. Do you want to eat? It¡¯s last meal time,¡± she asked gently.


    ¡°Am I the meal?¡± he asked. His mind, which had just begun to cool, heated up again. ¡°I mean, what is the meal?¡±


    Chuckling, Tulip answered, pointing at herself. ¡°Me.¡±


    ¡°...¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m joking,¡± she said, turning around and motioning for him to follow. ¡°It¡¯s vegetable soup, grapes, cereals, and peach tea.¡±


    Sighing, Zamian thought, ¡®Maybe I need to take a rest to not go insane.¡¯


    Closing the door behind him, he followed Tulip.

 Chapter 24 - Taking Initiative

    Sipping a steaming cup of peach tea, Zamian sat quietly, his mind wandering over his cultivation progress as the conversations around the room continued. The lively chatter was interrupted by a nudge on his arm.


    ¡°Uh, Z, what do you think?¡± Bohlo asked, balancing two wooden cups of tea in his hands, the right one still steaming. ¡°Hot tea or cold tea?¡±


    Zamian looked at his friend¡¯s clear eyes and smirked, noting Bohlo was actually wearing a shirt this time. ¡°It depends,¡± he replied. ¡°How cold are we talking about?¡±


    ¡°Uh¡­ like water cold,¡± Bohlo mumbled, shifting his weight.


    ¡°Yeah, then I¡¯d rather drink hot tea,¡± Zamian decided, taking another sip from his own cup.


    Looking around the room, Zamian observed Soho and Tulip deep in conversation, animatedly sharing tales of their favorite forms of entertainment in the Sanctuary¡ªtree climbing, woodcarving, throwing games, and more. Kurt, ever curious, chimed in occasionally, asking for clarification on what these activities involved.


    Zamian¡¯s gaze lingered briefly on Kurt¡¯s neck, the faint memory of his earlier outburst flashing through his mind. Clearing his throat, he drew everyone¡¯s attention.


    Sitting at the rectangular table in the small, cozy room, the others quieted at the noise. Zamian tapped the table lightly and looked directly at Kurt. ¡°I¡¯m sorry about that,¡± he said, pointing at the outsider¡¯s neck.


    Kurt scratched his beard, which almost reached his neck, and smiled disarmingly. ¡°Great Sir, don¡¯t worry about it. This? It¡¯s nothing¡ªnot even a mark remained. It was¡ª¡±


    ¡°No,¡± Zamian interrupted. ¡°I was angry and attacked you without justification.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m sure Sir wouldn¡¯t have done¡ª¡± Kurt started, his smile faltering, but Zamian cut him off again.


    ¡°Listen to me, Kurt.¡± Zamian sighed, his tone heavy. ¡°If those people hadn¡¯t stopped me, I would¡¯ve broken your neck.¡±


    The room fell silent, and Kurt¡¯s eyes shook for a moment under Zamian¡¯s unwavering gaze. Slowly, the outsider licked his lips, picked up his cup, and stood. Moving to Zamian¡¯s side, he placed his cup down and sat beside him.


    ¡°Too bad you don¡¯t have alcohol here, Great Sir. We could be toasting and forgetting all about this right now,¡± Kurt said, his smile slowly returning as he nodded toward Zamian¡¯s cup.


    ¡°What?¡± Zamian asked, puzzled.


    ¡°Come, come. Take your cup, Sir. Let¡¯s toast and leave the past where it belongs,¡± Kurt said with a wink. ¡°Please, don¡¯t forget my own brother tried to kill me over and over. I was already starting to miss the feeling of near death.¡±


    The casual jest earned a chuckle from Soho and a small smile from Tulip, easing the tension in the room. Zamian stared at Kurt for a moment before his lips twitched into a reluctant grin.


    Chuckling and shaking his head in disbelief, Zamian took his cup and clinked it with Kurt¡¯s. The outsider shouted with a wide smile, ¡°Cheers!¡±


    Zamian replied, his lips curving into a slight smile, ¡°Cheers.¡±


    Kurt then threw his arm around Zamian¡¯s shoulder and turned to talk with Soho. ¡°On the Oasis, we drink to have fun and also warm each other¡¯s beds. It gets really cold down there. We even call this juice rare,¡± he added, pointing at the tea.


    Zamian shot the man a glare.


    Feeling the intensity of Zamian¡¯s gaze, Kurt chuckled nervously and slowly removed his arm. ¡°I meant women¡¯s beds, Great Sir. Warm women¡¯s beds.¡±


    Before Zamian could respond, another muscled arm slung around his shoulder. Turning, he saw Bohlo grinning.


    ¡°Kurt! Z knows nothing about women! He has to peep like a creep,¡± Bohlo teased, shaking his head before taking a sip of his tea. ¡°Now, as a Zealot, I guess he understands that, with just one order, he could have dozens of women!¡±


    ¡°Great Sir could have much more than that!¡± Kurt chimed in. ¡°I¡¯d say a hundred!¡±


    ¡°A thousand!¡± Bohlo shouted.


    ¡°A hundred thousand!¡± Kurt countered, raising his cup triumphantly.


    As Kurt and Bohlo escalated their absurd competition, with Zamian stuck between them, the pale cultivator thought, ¡®Crazy, all of them.¡¯


    ¡°This reminds me of something,¡± Tulip interjected, drawing the trio¡¯s attention, while Soho calmly spooned another mouthful of soup. ¡°Yokki sent scouts to look for her daughter, and she expects that when they find Lakea, you will lead the rescue, Zamian.¡±


    The room fell silent for a moment before Bohlo broke it cheerfully. ¡°Z! Is this her way of saying she approves of your marriage? Finally!¡±


    ¡®If I punch him, he might die. Stay calm,¡¯ Zamian thought, a headache forming¡ªnot from soul damage this time.


    Standing, Zamian peeled Bohlo¡¯s arm off and strode toward the door. Opening it and peering outside¡ªgrateful it wasn¡¯t one of the strange vined doors¡ªhe scanned for signs of anyone nearby. Finding none, he stepped back inside and leaned against the wall.


    ¡°So, what did you guys talk about?¡± Zamian asked, crossing his arms.


    Kurt turned to him and answered, ¡°Sir, we discussed almost the same topics as when you questioned us back then.¡±


    ¡°Almost?¡± Zamian raised an eyebrow.


    ¡°Yes,¡± Kurt said with a casual shrug. ¡°Because of her daughter, I suppose. She asked a lot more questions about Mistress Clarice.¡±


    Noticing Tulip nodding in agreement, Zamian felt compelled to probe further. ¡°What kind of questions?¡±


    ¡°Well¡­ Her favorite dishes, favorite colors, who she talked to, if she was in good form, if she liked to walk, what she used to carry with her, if she spent a lot of time alone¡­ Sir, a lot of questions,¡± Kurt said, shaking his head.


    Frowning, Zamian shifted his gaze to Tulip. ¡°What about you? Did she ask about the current Lord¡¯s Chosen scheme?¡±


    Tulip nodded. ¡°Yes, and I told her everything. That guy, Chosen Fern, seemed like he wanted to attack me, but Yokki didn¡¯t let him.¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t focus on that,¡± Zamian replied, catching her confused look and elaborating. ¡°He tried to attack me too¡­ Or better yet, he faked it. Just think of the three of them as a group of pretenders.¡±


    Tulip hesitated but nodded slowly. Zamian couldn¡¯t shake the memory of Fern''s theatrics, and how his instincts hadn¡¯t flared up during the confrontation¡ªa troubling thought.


    ¡°Anyway,¡± Tulip added, ¡°I barely spoke. Most of the talking was done by Kurt.¡±


    Crossing his arms, Zamian couldn¡¯t help feeling uneasy. ¡°Did they ask about me?¡±


    ¡°No, Sir,¡± Kurt answered quickly. ¡°And even if they had, I would¡¯ve lied for you.¡±


    Curiously, Zamian¡¯s instincts didn¡¯t signal deceit. Kurt was telling the truth.


    ¡°They didn¡¯t ask anything,¡± Tulip confirmed, frowning slightly. ¡°Not even how we met.¡±


    ¡°They didn¡¯t talk to me or Dad either¡ªnot about you or anything else,¡± Bohlo added, eager to chime in.


    Soho remained quiet, focused on his meal.


    ¡®They aren¡¯t lying,¡¯ Zamian thought. ¡®Maybe those three already expected me to check and avoided asking questions about me altogether.¡¯ He furrowed his brow, choosing to set the concern aside for now.


    This story has been unlawfully obtained without the author''s consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.


    Looking at Tulip again, he asked, ¡°And when will Lakea¡¯s rescue happen?¡±


    Tulip shrugged, popping a grape into her mouth. ¡°Don¡¯t know. Depends on when they find her location.¡±


    A sudden noise interrupted them¡ªSoho¡¯s spoon clattering to the floor.


    ¡°Sorry, sorry,¡± the older man said, his hands trembling. ¡°These old hands are tired.¡±


    ¡°Uh¡ªbetter for us to get some rest, Dad,¡± Bohlo said, standing to help his father. He shot Zamian an apologetic glance. ¡°Hope to see you more often, Z. We¡¯ll be meeting at every mealtime.¡±


    Zamian patted his friend¡¯s shoulder with a nod. ¡°I¡¯ll try,¡± he said with a smile. ¡°Now go rest. And take that shirt off¡ªit¡¯s weird seeing you with it.¡±


    He then laughed and laughed, but it quickly faded as the room grew silent.


    ¡°Mom made it for me,¡± Bohlo murmured with a sad smile. ¡°I¡¯ll wear it a little longer.¡±


    Zamian opened his mouth to respond, but no words came out.


    Bohlo patted Zamian¡¯s wooden armor and whispered, ¡°She made a few extras. I can give you one if you get tired of walking around like that, Z.¡±


    Meeting Bohlo¡¯s clear, earnest gaze, Zamian shook his head. ¡°Go on. Bring me one tomorrow.¡±


    Bohlo nodded. ¡°Good rest, everyone. See you tomorrow.¡± With that, he guided Soho to their room, closing the door softly behind them.


    Zamian sat down again, shooting a glance at Kurt. ¡°We should steal some alcohol from outside,¡± he said, sipping his tea.


    Kurt chuckled. ¡°Of course, Great Sir.¡± The man then stretched, feigned a yawn, and stood up. ¡°Anyway, I¡¯m tired. There¡¯s barely any Earth essence to cultivate here, so I need some sleep. Good to see you, Great Sir. And bye to you too, Tulip.¡±


    Without waiting for a response, Kurt hastily left the room, shutting the door behind him.


    Frowning, Zamian took another sip of his tea and looked around.


    He realized he and Tulip were now alone in the room.


    As he stared at her, Tulip spoke, ¡°How are you feeling?¡±


    Surprised by the question, he took a moment to answer, mumbling, ¡°Agitated, I guess. I¡¯m a little better now, seeing how Bohlo and Uncle Soho are dealing with everything.¡±


    Humming, Tulip locked eyes with Zamian, propping her elbow on the table and resting her chin in the palm of her hand. ¡°Weird,¡± she said. ¡°I thought you¡¯d be depressed, anxious, sad, and sorrowful.¡±


    Seeing her little smile, Zamian shook his head, chuckling. ¡°Your sense of humor is one of the most unique I¡¯ve ever encountered.¡±


    Biting her lips, she shrugged. ¡°As far as I know, you don¡¯t know a lot of people with any sense of humor.¡±


    ¡°Dealing with my parents¡¯ sense of humor was already enough, thank you very much,¡± he replied, noticing how Tulip¡¯s blue eyes seemed particularly striking in the dim light.


    After a moment of silence, Tulip asked, ¡°What¡¯s your dream?¡±


    ¡°What?¡± Zamian blinked, caught off guard.


    ¡°Your dream,¡± she repeated, gesturing toward him with her free hand. ¡°What¡¯s your life¡¯s goal?¡±


    ¡°What kind of question is that?¡± he asked, raising an eyebrow.


    ¡°Just making conversation,¡± she shrugged again.


    Thinking for a moment, Zamian hesitated. He wasn¡¯t sure if he wanted to answer, but Tulip simply sat there, waiting, her gaze warm.


    After a few breaths, Zamian muttered, ¡°Saving my father from himself.¡±


    He braced himself for questions, expecting her to ask for an explanation, but instead, she surprised him by asking, ¡°And after that?¡±


    ¡°Wh-What?¡± Zamian stammered.


    ¡°After saving your father, what do you want to do?¡± she asked, her dark blue eyes fixed on him.


    Momentarily lost in her gaze, Zamian found himself grappling with the thought. ¡®After¡­saving my father?¡¯ He had never considered what might come next. Why would he? Saving his father seemed monumental enough¡ªa mission that could consume a lifetime.


    ¡®But¡­¡¯ he tapped the table lightly, thinking, before finally answering. ¡°I want to learn more about cultivation.¡±


    She tilted her head, smiling. ¡°Now I¡¯m lost,¡± she said. ¡°Your dream, after saving your father, is to learn about something you do daily?¡±


    Zamian scratched the back of his head awkwardly. ¡°Kind of,¡± he admitted, smacking his lips. ¡°I believe we know almost nothing about cultivation. So I want to learn, become stronger, and discover more about it.¡±


    ¡°What for?¡± Tulip asked, leaning forward slightly. ¡°Power? To rule over commoners? To create a better Sanctuary?¡±


    Zamian shook his head firmly. ¡°No,¡± he said, meeting her gaze with clarity in his eyes. ¡°Just to cultivate. I discovered that I like it.¡±


    ¡®I don¡¯t want to simply get stronger,¡¯ he thought. ¡®I want to enjoy my journey¡ªmy path of cultivation.¡¯


    As those words settled in his mind, a notification appeared before him:


    +50 Mind Points


    Zamian¡¯s smile broadened.


    ¡°Good for you, then,¡± Tulip said, mirroring his smile.


    ¡°What about your dream?¡± Zamian asked.


    ¡°To kill the Lord Chosen and find a better place to live,¡± she spoke calmly.


    Zamian felt goosebumps. Only now, staring at her, he noticed the deep hatred she harbored for the Lord Chosen.


    ¡°What do you dislike about here?¡± he asked, avoiding direct queries about her plans and expectations regarding her dream.


    ¡°Everything,¡± she said, then smiled. ¡°Well, almost everything.¡± She winked. ¡°I feel trapped and controlled, and I hate this feeling. It¡¯s¡­suffocating. The worst part is that I don¡¯t think it¡¯ll change anytime soon.¡±


    Noticing Tulip¡¯s sudden downcast tone, Zamian forced a laugh. ¡°I¡¯m happy you don¡¯t hate everything, or I wouldn¡¯t have a good sleep.¡±


    Smiling again, Tulip shot Zamian a knowing look. ¡°Do you want me to make sure you have a good sleep?¡±


    ¡°Wh-what!¡± Zamian stammered.


    Chuckling, Tulip stood up, prompting Zamian to do the same.


    ¡°Calm down,¡± she said, stepping closer and placing her hands on his armored shoulders. She caressed the wood armor lightly while staring at him.


    Tulip was about Zamian¡¯s height, a fact that only now struck him, making her tall for a woman. Thinking about this only made Zamian notice her dress, and how it hinted at her curves.


    He gulped. ¡®I¡¯m grateful for wearing a wooden armor,¡¯ he thought.


    Tulip leaned closer to Zamian¡¯s head and gave him a small peck on the cheek.


    As Zamian blushed furiously, she walked past him, laughing. ¡°Sleep well, Zamian,¡± she said, leaving the room and closing the door.


    Touching his cheek, Zamian shook his head, sitting back down.


    Lost in thought, Zamian watched as his tea grew cold, and he finally took a sip. ¡°Yep, it¡¯s better hot.¡±


    Standing up again, he left the room, heading not toward his cultivation garden but to the main hall.


    <hr>


    After knocking on a few vined doors that opened briefly to let him through, Zamian exited the central building. As usual, even after the last meal, a throng of people moved up and down the place.


    ¡®Too little space for too many people,¡¯ Zamian thought, noting how most gave him a wide berth, avoiding his path.


    He also consciously avoided them. He remembered one anecdote his mother had told him about a cultivator accidentally stepping on a commoner¡¯s foot, only for the crowd to beat the commoner to death out of fear the cultivator might retaliate.


    ¡®I¡¯ve never seen anything like that, but well, I¡¯m on a streak of seeing incredible things lately,¡¯ he thought, chuckling inwardly.


    Less than an hour later, Zamian arrived at the edge of the Camp and touched the smooth wood of the dome. The entire structure had no doors or windows, and once people entered, they rarely left.


    Zamian knew there weren¡¯t enough cultivators to watch the walls¡ªbut why would they need to? Most Zealots couldn¡¯t even make a dent in this wood! They¡¯d have to actively expend essence just to hope for an opening.


    Well, most of them.


    Scanning for signs of people and finding none, Zamian clenched his right fist. ¡°Time to stop going with the flow,¡± he muttered, smiling.


    He punched the wall.


    It dented, but it didn¡¯t break.


    ¡°We¡¯re just getting started, my wooden friend,¡± he said, muttering as he delivered another punch.


    And another!


    After four more punches, his fist broke through the wall, creating a hole the size of his torso. Zamian noticed how the broken parts fused with the floor, the wall slowly regenerating.


    Laughing, he took a fighting stance, his eyes flashing white and green as he began testing the best ways to move his body for maximum destruction.


    A punch.


    A kick.


    Another punch.


    After dozens of rapid attacks, a section larger than Zamian opened in the wall, and before it could regenerate, the pale cultivator dashed through.


    Outside, knee-high blades of grass and giant white leaves surrounded him. Without stopping to rest, Zamian began to sprint.


    During the meal earlier, Zamian¡¯s thoughts had calmed, granting him an insight.


    ¡®My father has no clue about my true strength,¡¯ he recalled. ¡®He left me here because he thought I wouldn¡¯t be of any help.¡¯


    ¡°But, old man,¡± he muttered as he ran in the direction his father had come from, ¡°I have my own ways to help you!¡±


    And no matter what, Zamian had realized something while speaking with Tulip¡ªa hard truth about himself.


    ¡°I like it!¡± he shouted to the wind. ¡°I like to cultivate! I like to grow stronger! I like this thrill!¡±


    Like Tulip, he didn¡¯t want to feel trapped.


    As Zamian sprinted forward, he spotted a hole in the ground up ahead and sensed a familiar presence.


    ¡®Got you,¡¯ Zamian thought, laughing as his eyes glowed white and green. His wooden armor crumbled, and a dark green light enveloped his body.


    Marlos¡¯ eyes widened as he sensed the spike in essence. Stomping his right foot into the ground, he punched forward, sending a green essence pulse through the earth. A shockwave erupted, flattening the surrounding grass.


    A rectangular wooden wall emerged between them.


    ¡®Maybe he¡¯s called the Warrior Chosen because he used to be an outsider,¡¯ Zamian mused, completing his transformation as he leaped over the wall.


    Midair, he spotted Marlos¡¯ fist emerging from behind the wall, summoning a squarish wooden pillar aimed at him.


    But Zamian wasn¡¯t surprised.


    Instead, Marlos was the one caught off guard.


    Above him, for the first time, he saw Zamian¡¯s enhanced transformation¡ªone that no one, not even Zamian, had seen before.


    This one was an enhanced version!


    While Zamian¡¯s eyes still alternated between green and white, his understanding of the human body had deepened¡ªits limitations, its inner workings, its fragility.


    This time, Zamian hadn¡¯t merely turned his skin and muscles into wood; his bones and some of his organs had transformed as well. Even his blood had changed into a glowing green sap, forming visible paths beneath his skin.


    With these changes, Zamian¡¯s size nearly doubled, making him three times his original stature¡ªalmost twice as large as Marlos.


    His essence burned faster, emitting a radiant green hue. Unbeknownst to Zamian, the glowing sap formed patterns across his face, giving him the appearance of a monstrous grin.


    As Marlos gathered his wits and reached for his halberd, Zamian used the wooden pillar as a springboard, propelling himself over Marlos and landing inside the hole in a single bound.


    Slowly letting go of the halberd, Marlos closed his mouth and looked at the crumbling pillar in disbelief.


    Shaking his head, he scratched his beard and laughed.


    ¡°Ohohoho, what kind of monster did that lunatic give birth to?¡±

 Chapter 25 - Toothy Grin

    Zamian moved down the hole, following the path carved by his father¡¯s vine¡ªbut not to leave the Sanctuary. Instead, he intended to trace back where his father had come from!


    Burning essence to sustain his current form, he rushed deeper into the earth, the tunnel collapsing behind him. Apart from the green hue radiating from his body, the passage was pitch dark, the light from the entrance long gone.


    ¡°There¡¯s no way you left this tunnel intact, old man,¡± Zamian growled. His voice, now hoarse and rough, echoed unnervingly, completely different from his usual tone.


    His eyes, glowing with alternating green and white light, illuminated the shattered vines scattered along the path. After running for several breaths, he abruptly stopped, sending dust and shards of vines flying as he skidded to a halt.


    There was no path ahead.


    Chuckling aloud, Zamian startled himself for a moment. The sound of his own laughter, harsh and wild, reverberated through the confined space. ¡®That laugh¡­ it sounds terrifying,¡¯ he thought, shaking his head. ¡®But no time to dwell on it. Time is essence, and I can¡¯t waste either.¡¯


    With a sudden burst of power, he punched the earth in front of him, causing the ground to tremble violently. However, the blow failed to create an opening. Then, his instincts screamed a warning. The trembling above him didn¡¯t stop¡ªit intensified.


    ¡°This place is going to collapse,¡± Zamian realized, a grin forming across his wooden face as the green glow from his body flared brighter.


    Shoving both hands into the mound of earth before him, he roared with excitement, ¡°I know nothing about digging¡ªbut I can do my best!¡±


    Without hesitation, he threw his entire strength into the task, using every muscle in his body to push through the compacted dirt.


    At first, his movements were uncoordinated and erratic, but soon he adjusted. His instincts didn¡¯t teach him how to dig¡ªthey didn¡¯t have to. Instead, they guided him, whispering how to move his body as if he were under attack. Enemies seemed to surround him: above, below, to the sides, and behind. The only way to survive was forward.


    So, he struggled.


    With each movement, his rhythm improved. His pace quickened, outstripping the speed of the collapsing tunnel. Though his digging lacked elegance and precision, Zamian¡¯s raw power was enough to keep him ahead of the falling earth¡ªand he kept following the path with broken pieces of vines and bark!


    Time blurred as he worked tirelessly, essence burning through his body like gray leaves in the Sanctuary¡¯s winter. He kept following the broken vines, his form began to shift, his massive frame becoming leaner. While his height was reduced to just one and a half times his usual size¡ªthe same as his first transformation¡ªhis movements became faster, more precise, and more powerful.


    Suddenly, he didn¡¯t feel the ground beneath his hands anymore. Laughing, he pushed through with a final burst of strength, digging himself upward before leaping out of the hole and emerging above ground.


    ¡°I did it!¡± Zamian exclaimed, the exhilaration of breaking through the earth itself surpassing anything he could have imagined.


    There was no despair, no anxiety, no fear! Breathing heavily, he glanced around¡ªand froze.


    ¡°Wh-what,¡± he muttered, his hoarse and echoing voice tinged with disbelief.


    Adjusting himself, he turned in a full circle, scanning his surroundings again. He repeated the process over and over, until he suddenly stopped, shaking his head.


    ¡°How¡­¡± His voice trailed off as he dismissed the Beginning of the Cycle technique. His body seemed to absorb the remnants of the transformation as his muscles and skin returned to their usual pale hue.


    As his eyes lost their green and white glow, his skin flashed green for a moment, and he covered his bare body with a wooden armor.


    All around him, where a lush forest was supposed to be, there was nothing but brown and yellow earth, littered with broken vines. On the horizon to his left and in front of him, he saw a half-circle of forest line with the peaks of four Colossal Trees towering above.


    To his right and behind him, a distant, moving line of dark brown color, reminding him of wood, undulated up and down¡ªfarther from him than the Colossal Trees


    ¡°The wave of earth,¡± he muttered, recalling the moving mountain and the giant vines that had followed the red fog¡ªor rather, the force pursuing his father. ¡°Yeah, I wasn¡¯t expecting this.¡±


    Shaking his head once more, he wanted to blame Yokki and the other two Chosen for withholding this critical information¡ªthat a massive portion of the Sanctuary had been destroyed by a wave of earth. But, he admitted to himself, they likely hadn¡¯t received the news when he¡¯d questioned them¡ªit had only been a few hours after the incident.


    Sighing, Zamian began walking toward the ominous line of brown on the horizon.


    ¡°Let¡¯s hope the Children of Verdant don¡¯t decide my mortal cycle needs to end on sight,¡± he muttered. Then, he glanced at the White Dot hovering in the corner of his vision.


    ¡°You better start doing your job and give me some quests, or I might just die out here,¡± he jested, then willed the White Dot to display his information.


    PERSONAL INFORMATION


    Name: Zamian Greenfield


    Level: 3 [60%]


    Tier: Mortal


    Main Pathway: Creation


    Title: None


    STATS POINTS


    Body: 650/700


    Mind: 350/600


    Soul: 300/600


    Zamian smiled and dismissed the text, muttering, ¡°If I learned correctly from Kurt, and if I¡¯m feeling the passage of time right, didn¡¯t I just spend almost two percent of my total essence per minute?¡± Chuckling, he adjusted his pace, walking calmly.


    Remembering his stats and the sensations from the past minutes, he realized something new. ¡°I used up my body points during that last transformation because it hurt me as much as it helped,¡± he smirked. ¡°And while resting with Tulip and the others restored my soul, learning from instincts seems to drain my mind.¡±


    Satisfied with these insights, Zamian accelerated his pace, splitting his focus between the surroundings and his own body.


    ¡®What if I use only the tips of my toes...?¡¯ Zamian began experimenting, adjusting his gait. ¡®In every fight, and even while digging that blighted hole, I learned about my body. Where is the limit?¡¯


    He flexed and adjusted his muscles beneath his armor, green essence faintly gathering around him. Narrowing his eyes, he muttered, ¡°It¡¯s too faint... There¡¯s less essence here than usual.¡±


    Having lived almost sixteen years in the Sanctuary, with the last few as a cultivator, Zamian immediately noticed the anomaly. Something was wrong.


    This content has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.


    The rumor that had sparked this invasion echoed in his mind. ¡°Did the Verdant God really disappear?¡± he asked aloud before shaking his head. ¡°No way that blighted thing would abandon its Children here, right?¡±


    As his concerns grew, Zamian decided to push himself again. Rested enough, he started running.


    Though not as fast as when fully transformed, his pace sent gusts of wind through the desolate land.


    After an hour, while his speed remained constant, the tremors caused by his steps lessened.


    After two hours, Zamian¡¯s form and technique had improved dramatically¡ªhis midfoot strike became precise, his knees remained slightly bent, and his steps quickened, creating almost no noise.


    Finally, he stopped, breathing heavily¡ªnot from exhaustion, but from focusing so intently on refining his movements.


    ¡®Why do I keep trying to improve my movements¡­¡¯ Zamian thought, slightly unsettled.


    He forced his breathing and heartbeat to stabilize, pondering, ¡®Maybe all Zealots have such precise control over their bodies, and want to adjust themselves?¡¯


    Putting this concern to the back of his mind, he focused.


    Ahead of him, a massive structure loomed: a barrier of giant, living vines sprouting from the ground. Each vine moved as if alive, forming a towering circle half the height of a Colossal Tree, covering whatever was inside.


    Luckily for Zamian, Chosen Fern had shared the information he needed.


    ¡°Children of Verdant,¡± he approached, tapping the moving vine with his fingers. ¡°And they must be fighting against half of the enemy forces.¡±


    The other half, of course, was chasing his father outside the Sanctuary, unwilling to leave the man alone, fearing the destruction he could cause.


    ¡°My old man¡¯s essence isn¡¯t endless,¡± Zamian clicked his tongue. ¡°The Warlords chasing him can simply recover their cultivation by eating that desert¡¯s sand.¡±


    This war¡ªif it could even be called that¡ªhad a huge disadvantage for the people of the Sanctuary, in Zamian¡¯s opinion: the traitors.


    While their side had no Warlord capable of recovering essence in the desert lands, the Oasis had a few Chosen who could stay here and fight while gathering more and more of nature¡¯s essence.


    Looking at the wasteland behind him, a thought suddenly struck Zamian, and he chuckled. ¡°Old man, if you planned to let those Warlords chase you here just to destroy these trees and delay the traitors'' recovery speed¡­ You¡¯re nuts.¡±


    He began walking along the vine wall¡¯s perimeter, lightly knocking on it as he moved.


    An hour later, having completed his circuit, he stopped and nodded. ¡°No opening, and they¡¯re soundproofed.¡±


    Waiting for his instincts to alert him to danger, he heard nothing. Smirking, he muttered, ¡°Nobody left out of this blighted mess? Really? I even spent an hour here, waiting for you guys to make a move.¡±


    After a few moments without reaction, he shrugged.


    Then he bolted, enhancing his body with essence but refraining from casting any technique.


    With even greater speed, and having just checked for anyone trying to stop him, Zamian rushed forward.


    Then, he willed the White Dot to display a piece of specific information:


    Main Quest: Destroy an Unholy Sapling before the end of the month


    Reward: Special Physique (??)


    Status: Ongoing (09 days left)


    ¡°It¡¯s time to finish this blighted quest!¡± Zamian shouted.


    <hr>


    (Lakea¡¯s POV)


    ¡°You¡¯re nothing but a who¡ª¡± I choked on my words, vomiting blood as a sudden force slammed into my stomach.


    Glaring with my remaining eye at the outsider in front of me, I couldn¡¯t help but smile when I caught the irritated look on her face.


    ¡°Listen here!¡± she shouted, her sweat and spit hitting my skin. ¡°I only need you to stay alive, girl.¡± Her voice cut sharply as she gestured for one of her followers to hand her a soft cloth. She used it to wipe my blood off her hands with practiced disgust. ¡°But unless you start talking, I¡¯ll make sure you understand just how little a human needs to survive.¡±


    Huffing, I said, ¡°Clarice, right?¡± Without waiting for a response, I took a deep breath and spat at her face, blood and saliva marking her bronze skin. ¡°Here¡¯s some advice¡ªlearn not to spit on people when you¡¯re talking, okay?¡±


    Another punch on my gut, followed by a strong hand pulling my head, my vision blurring.


    ¡°Where is your mother?¡± she demanded her tone the same as it had been for nearly a day now. The same question was repeated endlessly since they dragged me to this underground hideout.


    If not for the dozens of tiny roots crawling along the floor and the shimmering green essence occasionally flickering in the air, I might have believed they¡¯d taken me out of the Sanctuary entirely.


    Not that it mattered.


    A sharp sting on my cheek brought my attention back to her, the slap snapping my head to the side.


    For a moment, my left eye could see my right arm.


    Or what had remained from it.


    I learned earlier that these savages were used to torture and quickly escalated from slapping to removing parts of my body. Permanently.


    At the beginning, I was scared.


    But now?


    Seeing her furious glare and how the other four people in the room seemed almost as exhausted as me¡ªalways tense, always on edge¡ªI whispered, ¡°He will¡­¡±


    Clarice furrowed her brows, clearly not understanding. She leaned closer¡ªnot close enough for me to bite, but enough to hear me.


    Smirking through my bloody lips, I repeated, ¡°He will kill you.¡±


    She punched me again.


    But I saw it. She was afraid. She feared him. She feared the man I once called a friend¡ªthe man I had almost hated for what he did to my mother.


    Clarice punched another time.


    But I couldn¡¯t hate him anymore. These outsiders, in their taunts and whispers, ended up revealing to me that his father had saved my mother. That they were now searching for her.


    Clarice¡¯s hand shot out, gripping my throat, and she slapped me hard across the face with her free hand.


    I think I blacked out for a moment because when I looked up, Clarice and her four goons were glowing faintly with a brown hue, their essence flaring as they looked around nervously.


    The earth above us trembled, sending dust raining down on them¡ªand on my battered body.


    ¡°What¡¯s going on? Did they send scouts somehow?¡± Clarice barked, her voice mixed with tension, concern, and controlled fury.


    ¡°Mistress, these grasslands wouldn¡¯t come here,¡± one of the outsiders answered, his face obscured by a cloth mask. ¡°This is a sacred place for them.¡±


    The ground quaked again, and the tiny roots lining the cave walls trembled violently.


    I knew they were earth cultivators. Even if this cave collapsed, they¡¯d survive.


    But for a fleeting moment, I hoped they¡¯d all be buried here with me.


    ¡°You,¡± Clarice pointed at another of her goons. ¡°Leave the cave and check what¡¯s causing this.¡±


    The masked outsider froze for a moment before stammering, ¡°Mistress¡­ What¡­what if it¡¯s one of their Chosen?¡±


    ¡°Sandworm,¡± she cursed at him with their unique slur, glaring daggers. ¡°If a Chosen was up there, we¡¯d all be dead by now.¡± Clarice frowned, her eyes narrowing as if piecing something together. Then, barking orders, she snapped, ¡°But be stealthy. Our reinforcements are already late, but they should arrive by tomorrow. We can¡¯t afford to be discovered. Do you understand?¡±


    ¡°Yes, Mistress,¡± the man stammered, his voice trembling just as much as the ground above us.


    He moved to the edge of the cave, summoning his brown essence to dig upward, creating a small hole to scout the surface. Meanwhile, I could only pray silently for the Verdant God to keep my mother safe.


    And then, the trembling stopped.


    ¡°Aargh!¡± A scream tore through the silence. My gaze darted to the outsider who had just peered above ground, now rushing back down, wide-eyed and pale. ¡°A monster!¡± he shrieked.


    Three of his companions exchanged confused glances, but not Clarice.


    Her scowl deepened. ¡°Disperse!¡± she commanded, her voice cutting through the chaos. She lunged toward me as the others snapped out of their stupor, slapping the walls near them to summon Earth¡¯s essence and dig escape routes.


    And then, it happened.


    A deafening explosion erupted from my side, a shockwave of dust rushing through the cave and enveloping everything.


    Through the haze, I felt it before I saw it¡ªa spike of Nature¡¯s essence, more powerful than any other cultivator technique I ever felt. A green blur flashed by me, faster than I could follow.


    Screams followed.


    Through the swirling dust, I caught sight of half a body¡ªan outsider¡¯s¡ªhurtling through the air.


    ¡°Let me go!¡± Clarice¡¯s voice rang out, desperate. But after a sickening crunch, her protests stopped abruptly.


    My heart pounded in my chest, each beat growing louder as the green glow stilled for a moment. Then, it moved¡ªtoward me.


    My left eye locked onto the figure emerging from the dust, and I was unable to even breathe.


    It was monstrous, like something from the old bedtime stories my parents used to tell. Its body rippled with muscle, its form grotesque, a parody of a big human body, exuding raw power.


    Its skin glowed with dark green lines that twisted and pulsed beneath the surface, like veins filled with pure essence.


    But its face¡­


    On its oval-shaped head, glowing eyes flickered between green and white, and those lines¡ªthose cursed veins¡ªformed a twisted, unnatural smile, like the crude drawing of a toothy grin.


    With a single touch, its enormous hand crushed the earth belt pinning me to the wall, the restraint crumbling like brittle bark.


    I looked up at it with my remaining eye, dazed and trembling.


    ¡°Lakea?¡± it said, my name rolling out in a rough voice, echoing, and unnatural. It was like a sound bouncing inside the hollow trunk of a tree.


    A chill ran down my spine. My dizziness grew, the edges of my vision blurring. Whatever this thing was, whatever it wanted, I knew one thing: I didn¡¯t want to be awake to see it.


    And so, I let the darkness take me.

 Chapter 26 - Leather Parchment

    Crouching down, Zamian gnashed his teeth, glaring at his surroundings. It was a scene of destruction¡ªeven in a place untouched by the wave of earth and vines, most of the trees were toppled or scarred by battle. On his way here, he had already noticed how every wooden building had crumbled, reduced to rubble by cultivators¡¯ techniques, and only sections of the Colossal Tree¡¯s roots remained.


    His gaze traveled upward, following the trunk of a familiar giant tree. Unlike the rest of the area, it stood unscathed¡ªa Colossal Tree he had climbed just days ago, the Erasmus Colossal Tree.


    Then his glare shifted to the only plant that didn¡¯t show even a broken twig. ¡°This blighted sapling will be the end of me,¡± he muttered.


    Scratching his head with both hands, his wooden armor creaking faintly, Zamian approached the sapling again. He delivered a strong hook with his right fist.


    The plant trembled. That was all.


    ¡°Oh, come on!¡± he shouted, throwing his arms up in frustration before turning away.


    This wasn¡¯t the first punch he had thrown at the sapling. Earlier, he had even used the Beginning of the Cycle technique. Each attack shook the ground with its power, but the sapling remained pristine, not even scratched.


    ¡°I don¡¯t even think you qualify as a consolation prize,¡± he muttered, kicking the bronze-skinned woman lying nearby. Her once beautiful body was filthy, covered in dirt and grime.


    Clarice.


    She was one of the Sultan¡¯s concubines¡ªthe outsider responsible for kidnapping Lakea yesterday, costing Zamian his last side quest.


    He gave her another kick. ¡°I lost a technique because of you,¡± he said. But most of his anger wasn¡¯t about losing the technique¡ªit was about his inability to harm the sapling.


    His gaze shifted to his right, landing on another woman, younger than Clarice. Her body was riddled with scars and dried blood. Her legs were mangled, her right eye destroyed, and her right arm was nothing more than a bloody stump.


    Frowning, Zamian crouched beside her. Memories of his childhood flickered through his mind as he poked her cheek. ¡°Wake up, Lakea.¡±


    She didn¡¯t respond, still unconscious from when he¡¯d freed her from her shackles.


    ¡°You¡¯re lucky, you know that?¡± he said. ¡°I don¡¯t think any of your mother¡¯s scouts would¡¯ve looked for you beneath this cursed sapling.¡± He let out a bitter chuckle. ¡°In fact, I wouldn¡¯t have looked either if that vermin hadn¡¯t used essence to leave that underground cave.¡±


    Brushing his hands off, Zamian stood and looked down at Lakea.


    After a few moments of silence, Zamian sighed and muttered, ¡°I¡¯m sorry.¡± He shook his head, his expression a mix of regret and exhaustion. ¡°I¡¯m just¡­ I don¡¯t even know. Frustrated, I guess? You have your own struggles, I¡¯m sure. Surviving all this,¡± he said, gesturing toward Lakea¡¯s battered body. ¡°That¡¯s impressive.¡±


    Lakea remained unconscious.


    Zamian sat beside her, letting out another sigh. ¡°It simply doesn¡¯t make sense, you know?¡± he said, exasperated, pointing at the sapling. ¡°That blighted thing¡ªhow is it so sturdy? We could be building houses out of its bark or something. Making weapons? Armors? I don¡¯t know.¡± He shook his head again, his frustration bubbling.


    Staring at the bark, his gaze flickered to the corner of his vision, where the White Dot lingered.


    ¡°And you,¡± he growled. ¡°End of the month? Are you insane? How was I supposed to destroy that thing by the end of the month? Why don¡¯t you come here and show me how to do it?¡±


    Standing abruptly, Zamian punched the air in the direction of the White Dot. Not satisfied, he scanned the ground, grabbed a twig, and hurled it at the invisible entity.


    The twig arced poorly through the air, spinning off course and smacking Clarice instead.


    Pausing, he stared at her prone form, shrugged nonchalantly, and turned back toward the White Dot.


    He kicked the ground lightly. ¡°But do you care? Of course not. You don¡¯t care about anything except your hidden goals. Do this, Zamian. Do that, Zamian. Oh, here¡¯s a treat if you behave. And if you don¡¯t? Punishment!¡± His voice grew high, with a mocking tone.


    Pointing a finger at the corner of his vision, he added, ¡°Your luck is that I¡¯m dumb enough to follow your commands¡­ and that I need you.¡±


    Taking a deep breath, Zamian stretched his shoulders and nodded. ¡°Yeah, that was nice,¡± he muttered.


    Then, he went to Clarice, and held her hair with his left hand, dragging her through the ground.


    Walking over to Lakea, he scooped her up with his right arm, draping her limp body over his shoulder. Then, with a casual stride, he approached Clarice. Grabbing her by the hair with his left hand, he began dragging her across the ground.


    Whistling a soft tune, he paused mid-step, a thought crossing his mind. ¡®Was my temper always like this?¡¯


    He shrugged and resumed walking. The rough ground tore at Clarice¡¯s clothing as she was dragged along, leaving a trail of fabric and dirt in their wake.


    After traversing a familiar yet utterly ravaged path through the woods, Zamian spotted a wooden abode up ahead. Glancing at the unconscious Lakea slumped over his shoulder, he muttered, ¡°You know, when we were kids, I didn¡¯t visit your home that often. But now? It almost feels like something is always dragging me here.¡±


    Shifting his gaze to Clarice, who was now covered in dirt, twigs, leaves, and grass, he smirked. ¡°Don¡¯t you feel it too, Mistress Clarice? This weird force dragging you?¡±


    Chuckling at his jest, Zamian entered the Lakea¡¯s abode, tossing both women unceremoniously onto the wooden floor. Their bodies landed with dull thuds, both remaining unresponsive.


    ¡°Well, this doesn¡¯t seem as pretty as before, but it¡¯ll suffice,¡± he said to himself, walking around the destroyed main room, the overturned bedrooms, and the crumbled garden.


    Zamian then turned his attention to the bags he had confiscated from the outsiders in the cave. Sitting cross-legged, he rummaged through them with mild curiosity.


    ¡°Food¡­ food¡­ book about¡­¡± he flipped it over, unimpressed, ¡°food¡­ more food¡­ food,¡± he muttered, tossing each item onto the floor. His gaze flickered to Clarice, a mocking grin forming on his face. ¡°Do you outsiders eat rocks or something? You seem to care a lot about food.¡±


    After rifling through another bag, his hand brushed against something different. The texture was unlike the rough fabric or hardened materials he¡¯d handled so far. Lifting it carefully, his eyes scanned the object.


    ¡°Is this¡­ leather?¡± he whispered, running his fingers over the material before reading the letters inscribed on it. His expression shifted rapidly¡ªfrom indifference to intrigue, then to barely-contained fury, before finally settling on a feral grin.


    ¡°As mother used to say, you¡¯re a gift that keeps on giving, Clarice,¡± he muttered, his tone dark. ¡°I was thinking about handing you over to Yokki¡¯s scouts, but now¡­¡±


    This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it


    He trailed off, his grin widening as he stared at the contents of the leather-bound document. ¡°I believe we have much, much more to talk about.¡±


    ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------


    After a few hours, as a new day began¡ªand Zamian only knew this because of his instincts¡ª neither of the women had woken up. Zamian, cultivating in the garden and training new movements, felt a sudden spike of essence near the abode¡¯s entrance.


    Rushing to investigate, he stopped abruptly upon seeing three figures clad in wooden armor. One of them was familiar. Clapping lightly, Zamian smiled. ¡°A little late to the party, but I¡¯m glad you came.¡±


    Two of the Zealots immediately aimed their spears at him, but the third¡ªa middle-aged man¡ªsighed heavily. ¡°Wait, this is Dante¡¯s son, Zamian, he¡¯s not an enemy,¡± Wallace said, his eyes shifting to the dirt-covered women lying on the floor. One, an outsider in tattered clothes with dried blood on her head, and the other, a battered figure he instantly recognized, missing part of her arm and riddled with wounds.


    ¡°At least I don¡¯t think he¡¯s our enemy,¡± Wallace added cautiously.


    As the atmosphere grew tense, Zamian strolled casually toward Clarice, pointing at Lakea. ¡°That¡¯s the one you¡¯re looking for, right? She passed out a few hours ago. I¡¯d like to say you shouldn¡¯t worry, but let¡¯s be real¡ªevery one of you is probably imagining what Yokki will do to you if her daughter dies shortly after being found.¡±


    Zamian pressed his foot firmly on Clarice¡¯s face, his gaze calm but unnervingly sharp as it flicked between the three Zealots.


    The Zealots exchanged uncertain glances before Wallace asked, ¡°Where did you find her? Who is this one with you? And how did you know we¡¯d come here?¡±


    Zamian shook his head, smirking. ¡°Bringing all the answers for Mommy, huh? Good boy.¡± Not waiting for a response, he continued. ¡°I found her in a cave underground. This,¡± he gestured toward Clarice, ¡°is my new house-flower. And as for how I knew you¡¯d show up¡ªsimple. If Lakea escaped and found the Sanctuary in its current state, she¡¯d come straight home. Her captors wouldn¡¯t be dumb enough to look for her here.¡±


    He clicked his tongue, adding dryly, ¡°Not that she¡¯s always the brightest, but you all would surely think of checking here from time to time.¡±


    Wallace opened his mouth to press further, but Zamian raised a hand to stop him. ¡°Come on, now. I¡¯m either insane, stronger than all of you combined, or both. Do you really want to keep playing with me and find out which option is the right one?¡±


    Grinding his teeth, Wallace finally stepped forward, carefully picking up Lakea. The other two Zealots remained tense, positioning themselves between Zamian and Wallace, spears poised.


    Zamian maintained an outwardly calm demeanor, but his muscles grew tense, ready to attack at the first sign of danger.


    Once Lakea was secured, Wallace nodded curtly, and without another word, the three Zealots retreated, carrying her with them.


    Zamian stood still, his half-smile fading into a cold expression as he watched them disappear. After a few breaths, he exhaled slowly, removing his foot from Clarice¡¯s face.


    Grabbing the outsider by her neck, he hoisted her up effortlessly.


    His grip tightened gradually.


    There was a reason Zamian had remained so close to Clarice while the Zealots were there¡ªhe didn¡¯t trust them to leave her unharmed. From past experiences, he knew that a Zealot¡¯s instincts would scream when faced with imminent danger.


    ¡°And for you outsiders who¡¯ve lived so long in that blighted land,¡± Zamian muttered, his voice low and venomous, ¡°your instincts must be sharp enough to wake you up.¡±


    As if on cue, Clarice¡¯s eyes flew open, her body glowing faintly with a brown hue. Her hands clawed frantically at Zamian¡¯s armored arm while she unleashed a barrage of punches and desperate kicks against him.


    ¡°Le¡­ Let¡­ Me¡­ Go¡­¡± she muttered, her breath coming in short gasps. She wanted to focus, to cast a technique, but her thoughts faltered every time she met Zamian¡¯s cold, unflinching eyes and that unsettling half-smile.


    He was daring her. Taunting her to use her techniques.


    To struggle.


    ¡°I-I have¡­ information,¡± Clarice rasped through gritted teeth, her vision blurring as she faltered in her attempt to enhance her body with Earth¡¯s essence.


    Tightening his grip, Zamian¡¯s cold voice cut through her panic. ¡°Keep wasting your essence.¡±


    Her instincts screamed, and she hastily resumed channeling essence into her body, her mind racing with fragmented plans for escape.


    ¡°Cast your techniques,¡± he urged, his tone mocking. ¡°The faster you deplete your essence, the sooner we can leave here.¡±


    Clarice knew her body could survive without breathing longer than most¡ªyears of training in subterranean conditions had ensured that. But the pressure on her neck was concerning, forcing her to pour more and more of her essence into her defenses just to prevent her spine from snapping!


    Desperation clawed at her thoughts. She considered pleading, offering Zamian her secrets, even bargaining with her body.


    But each time she lingered on such ideas, her instincts rebelled, urging her to do the only thing that might appease the monster in front of her¡ªsurvive by expending every drop of essence she had.


    More than anything, the fact that her instincts only behaved like that in the presence of Warlords or the Sultan himself forced Clarice to stay quiet. She funneled every drop of her essence through her body, wasting it as the brown hue around her expanded and flickered.


    Seeing her compliance, Zamian released his grip, watching coldly as her body crumpled to the ground.


    His attention didn¡¯t linger on her pitiful form¡ªface smeared with grass, mud, and fragments of broken twigs¡ªor her tattered clothing that revealed more than it concealed. None of that mattered to him.


    What held his focus was the faint brown essence she continued to expend, dissipating into the air around her.


    For half an hour, Zamian stood still, his cold eyes locked on her as the glow surrounding her body began to fade away. Clarice lay trembling, her breaths shallow, until finally, she lifted her gaze and met Zamian¡¯s stare.


    Breaking the silence, Zamian¡¯s voice cut through the tension. ¡°Did you use all of your essence?¡±


    Clarice nodded weakly, her body trembling.


    A faint smile curled at the corner of Zamian¡¯s lips. Without hesitation, he drove his foot into her face, sending her sprawling to the ground. Blood sprayed onto the wooden floor, and a pained cry escaped her lips as she clutched at her face with shaking hands.


    ¡°Be smarter,¡± Zamian said, his tone eerily calm. ¡°Next time, don¡¯t lie.¡±


    As he noticed the faint brown glow of her essence flickering back to life, his frown deepened. ¡®Was I always this cruel? When did it become so easy to hurt and kill? The thought gnawed at him as images of the battles, the blood, and the lives he had taken flitted through his mind. Was it after seeing father killing that Zealot? Or was it after understanding that all life ends in death?¡¯


    He sighed heavily, recalling something his father had once said: that their souls would make it easier to deal with these situations.


    The sound of his sigh made Clarice flinch, her brown glow intensifying in response.


    ¡°...¡± Zamian blinked, shrugged, and kept watching her struggle and burn through the remnants of her essence.


    Another half hour passed before Clarice let out a strained grunt, her glow flickering violently before vanishing entirely. Unlike before, when it faded gradually, this time it extinguished all at once. Her body sagged, trembling as she gasped for air.


    ¡°I¡¯m out of essence now,¡± she managed to mutter, her voice hoarse and weak.


    Zamian nodded.


    Breathing heavily, her chest rising and falling with effort, Clarice pushed herself to her knees. Her lips trembled, and her eyes darted between Zamian and the ground as she whispered, ¡°What will you do to me now?¡±


    Zamian chuckled, his tone mocking and sharp. ¡°I¡¯m sad your plan didn¡¯t work.¡±


    Clarice looked at him, her confusion evident.


    He shrugged nonchalantly, pointing toward the entrance of the room. ¡°Taking an hour to burn through that much essence, hoping someone would feel it and come to check. That was clever.¡± He patted her shoulder lightly, a mocking gesture. ¡°I¡¯ll admit, it took me a while to figure it out. But guess what? No one came. You got me excited for nothing.¡±


    Her lips quivered, and her eyes filled with a mixture of fear and frustration. Just as she opened her mouth to speak, Zamian raised his hand, pressing a single finger to her lips to silence her.


    ¡°I ask, you answer. If you lie, I beat you.¡± His tone was flat. ¡°Now, sit.¡±


    Clarice hesitated but sat down, turning her face toward Zamian while hugging her knees, her movements slow and delicate. ¡°Okay,¡± she said, her voice trembling slightly.


    ¡°You¡¯re dangerous and smart,¡± Zamian said, his brows furrowing as he observed her attempt to look pitiful. ¡°I hope I don¡¯t regret keeping you alive.¡±


    Clarice remained silent, her eyes flickering with unease.


    ¡°First, what is this?¡± Zamian cut to the chase, pulling the leather parchment from his waist and holding it up.


    ¡°It¡¯s an order from the Sultan, brought by one of the Great Warriors under my command,¡± she replied cautiously.


    ¡°Explain it,¡± Zamian demanded.


    Clarice¡¯s lips pressed into a thin line. She doubted Zamian couldn¡¯t read the letter, so she spoke carefully. ¡°It says the Sultan recalled most of his Warlords to chase a dangerous Chosen who¡¯s wreaking havoc in the Oasis. Only three Warlords remained in the Sanctuary, and they¡¯re currently entangled in a fight with an unknown group of Chosen, alongside our allies here. Finally, it assures me that one of his sons would come with a group of Great Warriors to rescue me and that I was to continue pursuing the children I claimed to be after¡­¡± She paused. ¡°I mean kids, not the Children. And, I was waiting for this rescue team, planning to take that girl to the Sultan personally.¡±


    Zamian nodded along with her explanation. As soon as she finished, he asked, ¡°And who is this Clarice hesitated, biting her lower lip.


    Seeing her falter, Zamian moved his leg slightly, readying himself for a kick.


    ¡°Wait!¡± Clarice shouted, panic flashing across her face. ¡°He¡¯s a Warlord!¡±


    Crouching down to her eye level, Zamian¡¯s gaze bore into her. ¡°And what is his name?¡±


    ¡°...Ruen,¡± she said after a brief silence, her voice uncertain. ¡°He¡¯s one of the Sultan¡¯s most talented sons, despite his temper.¡±


    A dry chuckle escaped Zamian¡¯s lips. Grabbing her hair, he yanked her face closer to his, their eyes locking. His voice turned icily calm as he said, ¡°Then, Mistress Clarice, it¡¯s time we have a long conversation about Ruen, his siblings, the Sultan, his concubines, his wives, and everyone else responsible for destroying my home.¡±

 Chapter 27 - Vermin Ruen

    Zamian laughed as he sat cross-legged in front of Clarice, green essence gathering around and inside him as he cultivated, controlling the subtle movements of his body.


    The bronze-skinned outsider, now bearing more bruises than before, hugged herself tightly. Pressing her back against the wooden wall behind her, she glared at him with wide, shaken eyes.


    ¡°You are a monster!¡± she shouted, her voice breaking.


    Zamian waved his hand dismissively, pointing at the spot in front of him. ¡°Coming from you, that should be a compliment,¡± he said, smiling. ¡°Now sit.¡±


    Trembling, Clarice obeyed, lowering herself to the floor. Her gaze was far more fearful than before. ¡°How¡­ how do you do it?¡± she asked, her voice strained.


    ¡°Stop wasting time. I have some things to confirm,¡± Zamian said cheerfully.


    ¡°How do you always know when I¡¯m lying?¡± she shrieked, clutching her stomach¡ªthe primary target of most of Zamian¡¯s punches over the past hours.


    Clicking his tongue, Zamian tilted his head. ¡°Did I hit you too hard? Why are you asking such a stupid question?¡±


    Clarice felt like she was living in a nightmare.


    The young man in front of her was undoubtedly strong. He had dealt with a handful of Great Warriors far too easily for a mere Zealot. Yet, she was no stranger to power. As a concubine of the Oasis¡¯ Sultan¡ªa man who had Warlords at his beck and call¡ªClarice had seen many powerful cultivators and witnessed their devastating techniques


    Even though Zamian¡¯s strength and skill were undeniable, placing him among the top Zealots and Great Warriors she had encountered, he wouldn¡¯t have made her top three. And that didn¡¯t even factor in the Warlords, who stood leagues above such ranks.


    But none of that mattered.


    Over the past couple of hours, during his relentless interrogation, Clarice had come to fear Zamian almost as much as the Sultan himself. There was something about him¡ªsomething she couldn¡¯t explain.


    ¡°This doesn¡¯t make sense!¡± she muttered, her lips trembling. ¡°My expressions, my tone, my timing¡­ everything¡­ it was always perfect¡­ How¡­¡±


    When Zamian had started questioning her about the Oasis and its secrets, she¡¯d tried to reveal just enough to satisfy him, without exposing anything critical. When she omitted information, he seemed indifferent. But whenever she outright lied, he caught her every time.


    Not only did he catch her, but he pressed even harder. He asked sharper, broader questions, like the sand slowly but surely devouring someone¡¯s body.


    Each time she tried to conceal something¡ªbe it about the Sultan, Ruen, the other Warlord children, or anything else¡ªhe found the cracks in her words.


    Not only that, but it seemed he was learning as he interrogated her. What began as the fumblings of an untrained rookie had turned into calculated questions of someone who was quickly gaining practice.


    She had seen cunning interrogators before, but this¡­ this was different.


    ¡°Let me confirm this first,¡± Zamian said sharply, clapping his hands once. The sudden sound made Clarice flinch and look at him, wide-eyed. ¡°You¡¯re just a pretty plaything, one of the dozens of the Sultan¡¯s concubines. Nowhere near the prestige of his three official wives. That¡¯s right?¡±


    Clarice nodded. Any anger or shame she might have felt had long since been buried under hours of fear.


    ¡°Besides information, your use as a captive is¡­ very limited,¡± Zamian said with a nod, moving quickly to his next question. ¡°The Sultan has one child from each wife, and he personally trained them alongside his trusted Warlords. This Ruen acts like he owns the Oasis, so his powerful father let him join the invasion to see if the boy would learn something. Hey, pay attention.¡±


    Clarice¡¯s eyes, which had started to glaze over, snapped back into focus as she nodded hastily. ¡°Yes, Ruen is powerful, but his brother and sister are more talented than him.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ve got everything you know about the other Warlords and important personnel,¡± Zamian said, waving his hand dismissively. ¡°You don¡¯t know much about the Sultan¡¯s secrets, but tell me again¡ªhe doesn¡¯t cultivate the Earth Pathway?¡± His tone was uncertain, even as he confirmed before she wasn¡¯t lying about this.


    Clarice slowly shook her head. ¡°No, he doesn¡¯t. I saw him deal with a few leaders of other underground camps while he was unifying the desert people under the Oasis, and¡­¡± She paused, biting her lips nervously. ¡°A wave of gray color left him, and they just stood frozen before dropping dead¡­¡±


    Zamian abruptly stood, his sudden movement causing Clarice to cower. She threw her hands over her bruised face, her voice trembling as she exclaimed, ¡°It¡¯s the truth! You know it!¡±


    Halting his cultivation, Zamian shot her a puzzled look before willing the White Dot to display his information.


    PERSONAL INFORMATION


    Name: Zamian Greenfield


    Level: 3 [50%]


    Tier: Mortal


    Main Pathway: Creation


    Title: None


    STATS POINTS


    Body: 700/700


    Mind: 350/600


    Soul: 200/600


    Dismissing the white text, Zamian thought, ¡®My body seems to recover to a top condition as easily as I breathe, but¡­ every time I use the Beginning of the Cycle technique, I lose body and mind points, along with the usual soul points. If I rest, I recover soul points, but not body points; if I cultivate, I recover body points, but then I spend soul points¡­ Did they follow any pattern before I became a Zealot? It sure seemed like they went up and down whenever they wanted¡­¡¯


    Becoming confused by his straying thoughts, he lightly slapped his face. ¡®Focus. Aunt Misandra¡¯s killer can arrive at any moment, and he¡¯s as strong as a Chosen. Last time, I managed to flee from the Warrior Chosen, but that¡¯s because he wasn¡¯t taking me seriously.¡¯


    Glancing at Clarice, who was staring at him, Zamian waved dismissively. She flinched.


    ¡®Yep, I¡¯m becoming cruel,¡¯ Zamian frowned. ¡®Should I consider this a problem?¡¯


    After reflecting for a moment, he shook his head. ¡®No, it¡¯s a blessing in disguise,¡¯ he concluded.


    ¡°Will he arrive in less than seven days?¡± Zamian asked.


    ¡°He¡­ he should be here already. I don¡¯t know why he hasn¡¯t arrived yet,¡± she answered, her voice trembling.


    Humming, Zamian nodded and approached her, grabbing her by the waist and lifting her onto his shoulder, her face turned toward his back. Clarice didn¡¯t resist, simply closing her eyes.


    ¡°Let¡¯s go to that hidden cave of yours and see what kind of surprises we can prepare for the Sultan¡¯s son, okay?¡± Zamian said. ¡°In the meantime, we¡¯re going to talk about Ruen. The things you¡¯ve seen him do, what he cares about, the tales about him, nasty rumors, his techniques¡­ everything.¡±


    Clarice whimpered her agreement as a wall of white text appeared in front of Zamian:


    New Side Quest: Kill a Level 4 Mortal


    Reward: +400 free stat points


    Status: Ongoing (3 days left)


    Zamian grinned and muttered at the White Dot, ¡°If I¡¯d known a little hard talk and punch-throwing would make you my friend, I should make you call me daddy to see what you give me.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll call you daddy! Just don¡¯t kill me, please!¡± Clarice shouted desperately.


    ¡°¡­I was joking,¡± Zamian said awkwardly, coughing into his free hand. ¡°Anyway, tell me again about Ruen¡¯s specialty. He can make massive spheres?¡±


    As Zamian and Clarice continued their conversation, the young cultivator carried the outsider in the direction of the sapling he had only eight days left to destroy if he wanted to complete his Main Quest.


    <hr>


    Zamian perched on a thick branch of a giant tree, his body tense as he peered down with unyielding focus. When the sound of rustling came from behind him, he didn¡¯t flinch, muttering, ¡°Stop worrying. The branch is big enough to build a house on it.¡±


    ¡°Please, please. Take me to the ground. I¡¯m begging you!¡± Clarice pleaded, gripping a vine as she tried¡ªand failed¡ªto stay still.


    ¡°I¡¯ve noticed you get dumber the more out of control a situation seems,¡± Zamian said without turning. ¡°Asking me to take you to the ground? I could just push you off from here.¡±


    Clarice paled, her grip tightening on the vine.


    ¡°Don¡¯t worry,¡± Zamian said, biting into a fruit as his gaze swept over the destroyed forest ahead. He glanced briefly at the barren land below, where uprooted trees and forcibly shifted soil painted a different picture from how this place was two days ago. ¡°You need to stay alive to confirm if the Warlord coming is really Ruen.¡±


    ¡°Why does it matter? Won¡¯t you fight whoever shows up?¡± Clarice asked, her voice laced with frustration.


    Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.


    ¡°Of course, I will,¡± Zamian replied coldly, shooting her a brief glare before returning his focus to the ground below. ¡°But if it¡¯s that vermin Ruen, he¡¯ll get special treatment.¡±


    Clarice sighed heavily. ¡°Can we at least go to the ground for an hour? We¡¯ve been up here for almost a day already! Don¡¯t forget, I don¡¯t have a single drop of essence left in me, and you did all that with the cave¨C¡± Her complaint was cut short by Zamian¡¯s cold chuckle.


    ¡°They¡¯re here,¡± he muttered, his sharp eyes locked on seven black dots that appeared to be emerging from the earth itself, moving swiftly across the lands ravaged by the wave of earth and vines days ago, heading straight for the Erasmus Colossal Tree.


    As always, even in this distance, Zamian could see lines above each cultivator as soon as they came into view. These lines glowed faint brown.


    He quickly read them all. Six of the figures had the expected text.


    [LEVEL 3 - MORTAL TIER - ATTACHED PATHWAY].


    But the seventh figure¡ªthe one in the middle while the others seem to divide themselves in two groups¡ªwas different.


    [LEVEL 4 - MORTAL TIER - ATTACHED PATHWAY]


    A slow smile crept across Zamian¡¯s face as he willed the White Dot to display his information.


    PERSONAL INFORMATION


    Name: Zamian Greenfield


    Level: 3 [80%]


    Tier: Mortal


    Main Pathway: Creation


    Title: None


    STATS POINTS


    Body: 700/700


    Mind: 600/600


    Soul: 400/600


    Dismissing the text, he mused, ¡®Yep. Cultivating while focusing on being a Farmer and doing visualization might work better.¡¯ A wry smile tugged at his lips. ¡®It would be the death of me if I try to do it in the wrong place, though. I completely lose awareness of my surroundings, and this blighted woman could flee and spill everything to the others if¡­ no, when she realized my situation if I dared to cultivate like that in front of her.¡¯


    His glare shifted to Clarice¡ªwho was clutching a vine tightly while perched on the Colossal Tree¡¯s branch.


    Standing up, Zamian announced mockingly, ¡°Visitors are coming, Mistress.¡±


    Without hesitation, he grabbed her by the waist and tucked her under his arm, eliciting a startled yelp from her. ¡°We need to confirm our main guest¡¯s presence and prepare a proper reception for them.¡±


    <hr>


    Three outsiders entered the clearing, their gazes sweeping over the destroyed tree¡¯s stumps before settling on the towering sapling in the center.


    ¡°That¡¯s the one?¡± asked the tallest of the group, his face obscured by cloth like his companions. His attire left his hands and feet exposed, revealing coarse, bronze skin.


    ¡°I believe so,¡± the one on the left replied hesitantly, his tone uncertain. ¡°I¡¯ll inform the Prince. You should locate the cave.¡±


    Unlike when Zamian had been there, the area was now almost barren. Even the majority of the stumps of fallen trees had mysteriously vanished, leaving only disturbed soil and a wide path of destruction leading from the Colossal Tree¡¯s sapling toward the massive roots of the Erasmus Colossal Tree. The sapling itself stood unscathed, eerily.


    As the third outsider departed, the remaining two exchanged wary glances. Their bodies flickered with a faint brown hue as they occasionally channeled essence.


    Three outsiders entered the clearing, their gazes sweeping over the destroyed trees before settling on the towering sapling in the center.


    ¡°That¡¯s the one?¡± asked the tallest of the group, his face obscured by cloth like his companions. His attire left his hands and feet exposed, revealing coarse, sun-darkened skin.


    ¡°I believe so,¡± the one on the left replied hesitantly, his tone uncertain. ¡°I¡¯ll inform the Prince. You should locate the cave.¡±


    Unlike when Zamian had been there, the area was now almost barren. Even the stumps of fallen trees had mysteriously vanished, leaving only disturbed soil and a wide path of destruction leading from the Colossal Tree¡¯s sapling toward the massive roots of the Erasmus Colossal Tree. The sapling itself stood unscathed, an eerie monument amid the chaos.


    As the third outsider departed, the remaining two exchanged wary glances. Their bodies flickered with a faint brown hue as they occasionally channeled essence.


    ¡°Do you feel it?¡± the larger outsider asked, stomping a foot on the ground and focusing on the vibrations that echoed back.


    ¡°It¡¯s strange¡­¡± the smaller one murmured, confused. ¡°Why would they make such a large cave here? The soil¡¯s too thin for it. And where¡¯s the entrance?¡±


    As they ventured closer to the sapling¡ªnow the size of a mature tree¡ªthey noticed a figure lying beneath one of the Colossal Tree¡¯s roots far ahead. The root, blanketed in dense foliage and twigs, partially obscured the figure. It wasn¡¯t until they drew nearer that they recognized the tattered remains of Mistress Clarice¡¯s clothing, barely covering her battered body.


    ¡°Mistress Clarice!¡± they cried in unison, rushing to her side.


    The smaller outsider dropped to his knees, trembling as he gently touched her bruised, blood-streaked form. Her stomach and cheeks were mottled with shades of purple and yellow, evidence of severe beatings.


    ¡°Oh dear Sultan, please¡­ she can¡¯t be dead,¡± the smaller man whispered, his hands shaking as he inspected her condition as respectfully as he could manage.


    ¡°Is she alive?¡± the larger man asked, hovering nearby, unsure how to help.


    ¡°Yes¡­ Yes!¡± the smaller outsider stammered, his initial uncertainty giving way to relief. ¡°Thank you, my Sultan! Thank you!¡±


    ¡°Good. We¡¯ll bring her to the Prince,¡± the larger man said, scratching the back of his neck awkwardly, his gaze darting anywhere but at Clarice. ¡°But¡­¡±


    ¡°I know,¡± the smaller one muttered, rising to his feet with a self-important air. ¡°We can¡¯t leave her here. Still, as Prince Ruen¡¯s loyal followers, we must await his orders before taking action.¡±


    ¡°You idiot sandworms!¡± Both men froze and turned, startled, as Clarice¡¯s furious glare bored into them. Despite her battered state, her voice carried undeniable authority.


    ¡°Why,¡± she hissed, her fury palpable, ¡°did you say that name?¡±


    Caught between confusion, bewilderment, and a tiny trace of concern, the outsiders hesitated, preparing to ask questions when a familiar laugh echoed from behind them.


    ¡°Hehehe, you found Auntie. Neat,¡± said a handsome young man with bronze skin and short brown hair. His eyes glowed faintly with a brown light, and the earth shifted beneath him even as his feet remained stationary. Unlike the simpler attire of most Oasis inhabitants, he was adorned with metal accessories¡ªmetallic bracers, golden necklaces, silver earrings, and multicolored rings.


    Behind him, four Great Warriors followed closely, whispering among themselves and appearing puzzled by their surroundings.


    ¡°Prince,¡± the duo near Clarice nodded toward the young man. The smaller of the two began to explain, ¡°Yes, we did, but some¡ª¡± His words were cut short when an overwhelming surge of Nature¡¯s essence flared close to him. He froze, startled.


    The larger outsider, reacting instantly, summoned two Bounded Spheres glowing with brown essence and launched them toward the source of the spike.


    The Great Warriors, still grasping the situation, were a breath too slow. They began gathering essence but hadn¡¯t yet acted. Meanwhile, the handsome man, Prince Ruen, raised his hand calmly. A massive ball of earth, twice the size of an average human, emerged beside him. The ball shot out with impossible speed, leaving a deep hole in the ground as it barreled toward the target.


    With a wave of Ruen¡¯s hand, the dust cloud that followed his attack dispersed, revealing what they had hit: a section of the Colossal Tree¡¯s massive root, just to the left of Clarice¡¯s position.


    ¡°Back away!¡± Clarice screamed, her face contorted with terror as she rolled away from her spot and scrambled to her feet. ¡°He¡¯s here!¡±


    As her panicked warning rang out, Zamian emerged from a hollowed-out section of the Colossal Tree¡¯s root. He had concealed himself beneath layers of debris and had been listening to everything. His plan had been simple: wait for Clarice to confirm the outsider¡¯s identity and strike if she lied. He had promised her that she¡¯d be the first to die if she dared deceive him.


    With his Beginning of the Cycle technique active, Zamian charged forward. His wooden body, now nearly double its usual size, radiated a vivid green aura as glowing sap pulsed beneath his bark-like skin. Each thunderous step sent tremors through the ground, and his eyes flickered between the white and green hues.


    In less than a breath, he closed the distance to Ruen.


    The Great Warriors were still reacting, their bodies glowing with brown light as they hastily drew earth essence to prepare their techniques.


    But Ruen wasn¡¯t a mere Great Warrior.


    Analyzing the oncoming threat¡ªa monstrous figure made of wood and powered by Nature¡¯s essence¡ªRuen quickly deduced that it was either a construct, a beast, or a cultivator.


    Whatever it was, it wanted to close the gap between them, and he wouldn¡¯t allow that.


    Without hesitation, the ground beneath Ruen surged upward, propelling him back as his feet remained rooted to the shifting terrain. At the same time, he raised his right hand, willing a massive wall of earth to erupt between himself and Zamian.


    The wall surged upward rapidly, formed by Ruen¡¯s Linked Protection technique, but Zamian pressed on, burning essence to maintain his speed. By the time the wall reached his waist, he was already stepping onto it.


    Instead of smashing through the barrier, Zamian used its upward momentum to propel himself higher. Kicking off the wall with tremendous force, he vaulted closer to Ruen.


    The Great Warriors reacted, each launching two or three Bounded Spheres in quick succession. But they hadn¡¯t anticipated Zamian¡¯s agility, and every shot missed.


    Ruen smirked, his eyes gleaming with a stronger brown light. ¡°Come on, let¡¯s play, wooden guy!¡± he shouted, clapping his hands together. The earth around him responded immediately, forming massive walls that shifted and surged toward Zamian.


    Zamian dodged the first one with ease, but more walls appeared, each morphing into enormous spheres of earth, larger than his current size. As he chased Ruen, these spheres began chasing him, some rolling between him and the Warlord, forcing Zamian to evade and creating more distance between him and his target.


    Ruen laughed as dozens of spheres rolled across the clearing toward Zamian. Glancing at his followers, who had fortified themselves behind layers of earth walls, the Warlord nodded inwardly with satisfaction.


    Zamian, near the sapling, seemed to have slowed down, his towering wooden form glowing faintly.


    ¡°Farewell, freaky creature,¡± he muttered, snapping his fingers. More walls of earth sprang up in front of him.


    ¡°Farewell, freaky creature,¡± Ruen muttered, snapping his fingers. More walls of earth surged up in front of him as he readied his final attack.


    Zamian¡¯s instincts screamed in warning. The spheres chasing him began to glow with an intense brown hue, saturated with earth¡¯s essence. He braced himself, burning more of his own essence, and the grin carved across his wooden face widened ominously.


    Then, all at once, the spheres exploded!


    A deafening series of roars tore through the clearing as waves of blinding brown light erupted from behind Zamian. Shockwaves fused together, rippling through the air and sending chunks of soil and shattered tree trunks flying in all directions. Dust and fragments of bark filled the air like shrapnel, obscuring the battlefield.


    The reinforced walls painstakingly created by the six Great Warriors were obliterated in an instant. Even though they were farther from the blast¡¯s epicenter, the shockwaves hurled them back against the giant roots, their bodies battered and disoriented.


    Prince Ruen chuckled, waving his hand to dismiss the last remnants of his own protective earth wall. But his smirk faltered as the dust began to clear. What he saw wasn¡¯t what he expected.


    The ground, devastated and hollowed out by his technique, revealed a graveyard of uprooted and shattered tree trunks buried deep beneath the soil.


    ¡°What?¡± Ruen muttered, his brow furrowing. The sight of the buried trunks alone was strange, but what truly caught his attention was the sapling.


    Despite the devastation, the sapling¡ªtree-sized and unassuming¡ªstill stood. Its bark was cracked, and sections were broken, but it remained intact amidst the wreckage.


    And then he saw it.


    A green glow emanated from beside the sapling. Slowly, Zamian emerged from the debris, wooden bark falling from his towering frame, his glowing green sap-like blood dripping onto the churned earth.


    He was alive.


    Ruen¡¯s confidence wavered as Zamian began to move again, charging toward him with renewed speed.


    ¡°Impossible,¡± Ruen muttered under his breath, his hands moving frantically. He willed the earth¡¯s essence to form new spheres, sending them hurtling toward the oncoming figure.


    But something was wrong.


    The earth¡¯s essence responded sluggishly, as though struggling to connect Ruen¡¯s technique to the distant ground. The explosions had pulverized the land before him into dust, and any usable earth seemed buried beneath the wreckage of shattered wooden trunks.


    Someone had built¡ªor expanded¡ªan underground cave and filled it with tree trunks!


    The land was no longer connected.


    It wasn¡¯t attached, as Ruen¡¯s Pathway required.


    Zamian, now just a few arm¡¯s lengths from Ruen and closing the gap fast, laughed. His guttural echoed voice reverberated through the chaos.


    ¡°You will die here, vermin Ruen!¡±

 Chapter 28 - Always the Head

    As Ruen focused on the ground beneath and behind him to cast his techniques, a wooden hand, glowing with sap, grasped his head and yanked him violently!


    Zamian hurled Ruen into the middle of the buried trunks with such force that the Warlord stumbled and rolled, desperately trying to regain his footing. But he was too slow.


    Huffing, Zamian charged forward, seizing Ruen¡¯s ankle with a crushing grip. With a roar, he swung the Warlord like a rag doll, slamming his handsome face into the shattered wooden debris.


    Blood splattered from Ruen¡¯s face, but his body quickly glowed with a brown hue as earth¡¯s essence surged through him. He lashed out with his free leg, landing a powerful kick that cracked the wooden muscles and bark-like skin on Zamian¡¯s chest.


    Even then, Zamian didn¡¯t release his grip easily. With a snarl, he smashed Ruen¡¯s face into the debris once more. Only when the Warlord twisted his ankle to free himself and delivered a devastating kick to Zamian¡¯s grinning face did the Zealot let go, stumbling back to regain his balance.


    Ruen huffed, blood running down his forehead, as he stood shakily. His right knee was sprained, his movements uneven, but he had calmed himself.


    He had been trained. This wasn¡¯t his first fight.


    For a brief moment, both cultivators paused, taking ragged breaths before lunging at each other again.


    Zamian¡¯s green glow flared brighter, and he leaped at Ruen with blistering speed. This time, Ruen was ready. He sidestepped and drove his fist into Zamian¡¯s wooden chest.


    A loud crack echoed as Zamian¡¯s body visibly fractured. But instead of retreating, Zamian planted his feet firmly, refusing to be pushed back. He retaliated with a relentless flurry of punches, each aimed at Ruen¡¯s torso and face.


    For the first time since fighting with the Beginning of the Cycle technique activated, Zamian felt himself taking real damage. First from the explosion, and now from Ruen¡¯s bare fists.


    The Warlord¡¯s body, enhanced by essence, was as strong as Zamian¡¯s transformed form.


    Worse still, Zamian realized that Ruen¡¯s technique was superior. With each exchange, the Warlord gained the upper hand, his precise movements breaking Zamian¡¯s rhythm.


    But despite the widening cracks spreading across his wooden form, the glowing grin on Zamian¡¯s face never faltered. His eyes flickered white and green with increasing intensity, without an inch of despair.


    As the battlefield crumbled around them, the buried tree trunks were pulverized with each impact. The land itself seemed to groan under the chaos.


    Zamian laughed, thinking. ¡®This vermin is trying to reach the ground!¡¯


    Time seemed to slow as Zamian observed Ruen¡¯s movements. Each punch landed tenfold for every blow he could connect. And when Zamian¡¯s fists did strike, they hit Ruen¡¯s well-guarded arms, which protected his vital areas.


    But Zamian wasn¡¯t focusing on Ruen¡¯s skill. His instincts whispered to him, pointing out countless flaws in his own techniques: his stance, his punches, his kicks, his timing.


    He was learning.


    So he did what he could¡ªhe learned and practiced.


    Suddenly, Zamian¡¯s elbow connected with Ruen¡¯s face, sending the Warlord stumbling. Before Ruen could recover, Zamian followed up with a kick to his knee, forcing him to the ground.


    Ruen reacted quickly, rolling to the side just in time to avoid Zamian¡¯s crushing stomp. He scrambled to his feet, his eyes trembling for a fleeting moment before his brown glow intensified, and he lunged back into the fight.


    But now, both fighters noticed something peculiar.


    Ruen¡¯s movements, polished and refined, reflected years of practice and training¡ªmuscle memory he was gradually recalling and applying. Meanwhile, Zamian¡¯s attacks, which had initially resembled the frenzied strikes of a wild beast, were becoming sharper, more deliberate.


    Zamian couldn¡¯t anticipate Ruen¡¯s movements perfectly; he was still being struck, slowed down by the Warlord¡¯s precise counters. But his punches were landing more often now. And the blows he received weren¡¯t causing as much damage as before¡ªhis wooden muscles tensed and flexed at the right moments, instinctively absorbing the impact.


    Even so, time was not on Zamian¡¯s side.


    He could feel his essence burning rapidly, fueling his wooden body¡¯s regeneration. Surviving an enhanced Warlord¡¯s strikes as a Zealot was already an incredible feat. But after trading hundreds of hits, his reserves were nearing their limits.


    The battlefield itself posed another problem. Their bodies were too powerful, and the trunks Zamian had buried beneath them were nearly obliterated. Once they reached solid ground, Ruen would have the upper hand.


    Ruen likely understood this as well. He could try retreating to more stable terrain, somewhere without the treacherous remains of the wooden trap. He¡¯d take a few hits during his escape, but he could reposition himself for a more advantageous fight.


    But Ruen hesitated. He didn¡¯t know where Zamian¡¯s trap ended or whether the wooden monstrosity had other hidden techniques waiting to be unleashed. The Warlord was stalling, waiting to hit solid ground where he could dominate the battle.


    And Zamian knew that.


    This battleground, this plan¡ªeverything was crafted specifically for Ruen.


    Zamian was just lying to Clarice when he said he would fight any Warlord that appeared. If another one came instead of Ruen, he would have quietly and quickly left without hesitation and fled toward the tunnels, heading for the Camp of Salvation.


    He had anticipated Ruen¡¯s reliance on his exploding spheres and his reluctance to deviate from his preferred tactics. If a clear path was laid before him¡ªfight until he could reach the ground to have an advantage¡ªwhy would Ruen risk trying something new? He would only act if Zamian forced his hand.


    This was the personality of the Sultan¡¯s youngest child. The least talented of the Princes, who adorned himself with excessive jewelry to flaunt his status. The one who needed to demonstrate power and dominance, especially under his father¡¯s command, when tasked with accompanying other Warlords during the Sanctuary¡¯s invasion.


    He was the type who would rather slaughter thousands¡ªtens of thousands¡ªof commoners and weaker cultivators than risk himself fighting alongside his companions in a carefully laid trap for the Chosen.


    But Ruen wasn¡¯t a coward. He was insecure.


    Zamian hadn¡¯t reached this conclusion alone.


    It was Clarice who had painted this picture.


    Her insights¡ªhow Ruen fought, the rumors about his personality, his reliance on the same predictable techniques¡ªhad allowed Zamian to craft this plan.


    But no plan, no matter how clever, could carry Zamian all the way.


    This strategy could give him better odds, and give him an opening, but it wouldn¡¯t hand him victory. Instead, it wouldn¡¯t even give him a draw.


    It was simply delaying his loss.


    The rest depended on Zamian¡¯s skill and battle prowess.


    Feeling the situation worsening, Zamian resolved to gamble. As his instincts screamed at him to correct his flaws, he kicked the floor and lunged toward Ruen. The Warlord easily dodged, briefly confused, but kept his rhythm.


    When Zamian repeated this maneuver two more times, Ruen spotted an opportunity. Each of Zamian¡¯s jumps destroyed more of their battleground. Now, amidst the broken bark and scattered leaves, Ruen could see a sliver of exposed ground.


    Tired of the relentless close combat, which left him bruised and his muscles torn, Ruen bolted toward the cleared earth. He didn¡¯t care about the potential retribution from Zamian¡ªonce he connected with the ground again, the advantage would be his.


    If you come across this story on Amazon, it''s taken without permission from the author. Report it.


    As if on cue, the moment Ruen changed course, Zamian¡¯s eyes glowed fiercely. He kicked off the ground and intercepted Ruen midair. The two tumbled through the wreckage, rolling until they came to a stop near the exposed earth.


    Ruen laughed, his battered face twisting into a smug grin as his eyes shone with a brown glow. Lying on his back, his right hand touched the earth, where essence shimmered.


    ¡°I win, you fr¡ª¡±


    His words were cut off by a crushing punch to his face.


    And another.


    And another.


    Zamian had mounted Ruen, pinning the Warlord down. His thighs locked Ruen¡¯s left arm, while the right remained free, still touching the ground. Punch after punch rained down, each strike heavier and more feral.


    Zamian wasn¡¯t thinking¡ªhe had a single objective. There were no plans, no calculated maneuvers, just a pure desire to smash Ruen¡¯s head!


    The Warlord¡¯s body glowed with brown essence, but Zamian¡¯s sheer weight pinned him down. Ruen, trained to thrive on the ground, was caught in a situation he never prepared for. Earth cultivators weren¡¯t taught to avoid being grounded¡ªwhy would they? The earth was their friend''s most reliable ally!


    But bellow him, there wasn¡¯t the usual ground filled with Earth¡¯s essence¡ªbut wood!


    Desperately, Ruen focused his free hand, channeling Earth¡¯s essence by connecting it to the single spot not covered by wood.


    Dozens of Bonded Spheres erupted from the ground, shattering the wooden trunks and slamming into Zamian¡¯s torso and head. Some missed entirely, as Ruen¡¯s blurred vision and blood loss muddled his aim.


    Zamian¡¯s punches began to slow, his blows growing weaker and more erratic. Many missed Ruen¡¯s face, striking the debris and soil instead.


    Meanwhile, Ruen¡¯s spheres diminished, the few that hit failing to dislodge Zamian.


    The battlefield was reduced to a cacophony of labored breathing, the crunch of fists meeting flesh, and the thuds of earth colliding with wood.


    Zamian¡¯s body began to shrink, the wooden armor fusing back into his skin.


    Huge wounds opened where his body had cracked, his ribs visibly shifting with each breath.


    A final, sickening punch landed, accompanied by the crunch of shattered bone and the wet squelch of ruptured flesh.


    The Bonded Spheres ceased.


    ¡°Ahhhhhhhh!¡± Zamian screamed, his face a grotesque mix of red blood, green sap, and streaming tears


    He slammed his fist into Ruen¡¯s faceless head once more, his voice breaking. ¡°You blighted vermin!¡± His chest heaved as he spat on Ruen. ¡°Was it worth it? Was it worth killing my aunt?¡±


    The broken, lifeless body offered no reply.


    ¡°Answer me!¡± Zamian roared, grabbing Ruen¡¯s shoulders and shaking him violently.


    Suddenly, white text obscured Zamian¡¯s vision.


    Completed Side Quest: Kill a Level 4 Mortal


    Reward: +400 free stat points


    Status: Complete


    Blinking, realization dawned on Zamian as he rolled away from Ruen¡¯s lifeless body, collapsing onto the ground beside it.


    His chest heaved as he stared up at the distant white leaves glowing softly above him.


    He chuckled weakly, his voice barely a whisper. ¡°See, Aunt Misandra? I told you I¡¯d avenge Zamian blinked again, his vision swimming with blurs and shadows. He couldn¡¯t even twitch a finger of his battered body. Forget knowing which bones were broken¡ªhis entire form felt like a useless sack, filled with splintered fragments of bones and shredded organs.


    It wasn¡¯t pain that overwhelmed him now; it was a strange, almost detached numbness like his body had abandoned him entirely.


    He then commanded the White Dot to display his stats. The familiar text blinked into view:


    PERSONAL INFORMATION


    Name: Zamian Greenfield


    Level: 3 [00%]


    Tier: Mortal


    Main Pathway: Creation


    Title: None


    STATS POINTS (!)


    Body: 002/700


    Mind: 100/600


    Soul: 200/600


    (!) Free Points: 400


    Dismissing the text, Zamian caught the sound of voices from his right side. Unable to turn his head, he listened intently. A familiar female voice reached him first.


    ¡°Ruen? Did you kill that monster?¡±


    Footsteps followed quickly, accompanied by a gasp and the noise of broken wood being shifted.


    ¡°Oh no, Sultan, please no,¡± a male voice muttered. Though Zamian couldn¡¯t see clearly, he sensed several presences rushing to check on Ruen¡¯s body.


    ¡°Is he¡­?¡± one of them began, his voice trembling.


    ¡°We¡­ we¡¯re dead,¡± another screeched in panic.


    ¡°Idiot sandworms,¡± Clarice barked, her voice cutting through the panic. ¡°You two, gather his remains. You may be hurt, but you¡¯re not useless. And the rest of you¡ªgo check the other one.¡±


    ¡°Who is he?¡± a larger, masked outsider asked as he stepped into Zamian¡¯s field of vision, staring at the mangled body lying motionless on the ground.


    The man squinted at Zamian, his gaze passing briefly over his bloodied face. ¡°Yeah, he looks dead. His chest is a pool of blood, and I can¡¯t tell if his skull is dented or cracked.¡± Then, suddenly, the man froze. His voice rose in shock. ¡°No way! This guy is alive! Who is he?¡±


    The other three outsiders, along with Clarice, hurried to gather around Zamian, leaving the other two to take care of Ruen¡¯s remains.


    Even in his blurry vision, Zamian analyzed their faces. All of them¡ªexcept for Clarice¡ªwere bloodied, likely from the earlier explosion.


    Clarice¡¯s eyes widened for a brief moment before settling into a gleeful, sinister smile. ¡°Are you really alive, bastard?¡± she murmured, crouching down. Her gaze locked with Zamian¡¯s cold, unwavering eyes for several seconds before she shook her head. ¡°This is him. This is the wooden creature that killed Prince Ruen.¡±


    ¡°What?!¡± they all exclaimed in unison.


    ¡°Let¡¯s take his body to the Sultan,¡± Clarice said, her mind racing. ¡°Alive. Yes, alive. We¡¯ll bring him to the Sultan so he can have his revenge and spare us.¡±


    The outsiders exchanged uncertain glances but ultimately stayed silent.


    Clarice stood, waving a hand dismissively toward Zamian. ¡°But even like this, he might still be dangerous. We should cut off his arms and legs first, just to be safe.¡±


    ¡°...Mistress, but he¡¯ll die,¡± one of the outsiders protested weakly.


    ¡°Maybe,¡± Clarice admitted with a cruel smile. ¡°But we¡¯ll do it slowly. That way, we can stop just before he dies. He¡¯ll feel every moment. Yes, I like this plan. It¡¯s a good plan.¡±


    Zamian stared back at her, cold and unblinking. He could barely feel the ground beneath him, let alone the damage they¡¯d inflicted. They could slice his body with twigs, and he wouldn¡¯t even flinch.


    Of course, he had no intention of dying here.


    As Clarice began issuing commands, Zamian focused inward. ¡®Blighted White Dot, could you please put my stat points into my Body Stat? Pretty please?¡¯


    In response to his will, his body flashed with a sudden, brilliant white light, startling everyone around him.


    ¡°What¡¯s happening?!¡± one outsider yelled, recoiling.


    A wall of text filled Zamian¡¯s vision:


    +300 Body Points (!)


    (!) Your Body Stat Cap has reached a milestone ¡ú 1000/1000


    Distributing remaining stat points¡­


    +50 Mind Points


    +50 Soul Points


    As the text vanished, for the first time, Zamian truly understood what his Body Stat meant. Energy surged through him as his essence fused with his bones, muscles, organs, and blood, empowering him from within.


    But his body was still a mess. His muscles were torn, his bones broken, and his organs a mangled wreck. Moving now would only waste the essence fused with him¡ªa temporary solution at best.


    His instincts screamed and took him out of his stray thoughts.


    ¡°Kill him!¡± Clarice barked, her voice edged with fear. She had seen the glow and recognized it, comparing it to Zamian¡¯s glowing eyes. Though she didn¡¯t know exactly what it was, she wasn¡¯t about to take chances.


    The outsiders hesitated only for a moment before they charged. Their bodies glowed with Earth¡¯s essence, stomping toward Zamian with murderous intent.


    And Zamian moved.


    Without any Nature¡¯s essence to enhance himself, he relied purely on the essence infused into his battered body. With a single spin on the ground, he extended his leg outward, sweeping through the attackers with a force that knocked all four Great Warriors off their feet.


    Zamian pressed his bloodied hands against the ground, forcing himself upright. Without hesitation, he rushed toward each fallen cultivator, stomping on their heads with brutal efficiency. In the span of four breaths, four skulls burst beneath his heel.


    Grabbing one of the headless bodies, he hurled it toward two outsiders who were furiously willing walls of earth to rise in Zamian¡¯s path. The cultivators were momentarily stunned as they realized Zamian¡¯s aim was wildly off, the head landing far from their position.


    Capitalizing on their brief confusion, Zamian dodged the incoming wall and closed the distance in an instant. With each of his hands, he seized one of their wrists and slammed both of them to the ground.


    Then, with relentless ferocity, he smashed their heads against the hardened soil. Once, twice, three times¡ªuntil they burst open, painting the ground with blood and bone.


    In the process, Zamian endured a flurry of blows, including four Bounded Spheres that cracked against his body. His bleeding worsened, crimson streaking down his battered frame.


    Turning sharply, he spotted Clarice.


    Once more, she was running¡ªfleeing from him after sacrificing her companions to buy time.


    But this time, there was a difference.


    ¡°You don¡¯t have essence either, vermin,¡± Zamian muttered under his breath as he pursued her.


    Clarice glanced back, her eyes wide with terror as she saw the naked, blood-soaked figure barreling toward her. He looked less like a man and more like a monster pulled from the depths of a nightmare. Her voice cracked as she began to plead.


    ¡°Please¡ªI can give you anything¡ªno! Let¡¯s talk about this!¡±


    But Zamian didn¡¯t listen.


    Reaching her in a few breaths, he grabbed Clarice by the hair and yanked her back.


    His other hand shifted to her neck.


    Amidst her gruesome, piercing screams, he twisted her neck, the sickening crack of bone echoing in the ruined clearing.


    Without hesitation, even taking some of his time, he tore her head from her shoulders, severing it with brute strength.


    Breathing heavily, he tossed her headless body to one side, then flung her open-mouthed, once-beautiful head to the other.


    ¡°Always the head,¡± he muttered with a grim chuckle, his body swaying unsteadily from side to side. Blood dripped steadily from his wounds, pooling at his feet.


    Exhausted, he willed the White Dot to display his stats.


    STATS POINTS


    Body: 0080/1000


    Mind: 600/650


    Soul: 400/650


    Zamian chuckled, the sound ragged. ¡°I won¡¯t survive when this hits zero, right?¡±


    He knew it. The only thing keeping blood flowing through his battered body was the essence fused into him. It forcefully held him together, refusing to let him collapse.


    Maybe it was the same essence that had kept Ruen alive for a while, even after his face had been smashed to an unrecognizable pulp.


    ¡°I don¡¯t accept it,¡± Zamian growled, shaking his head. ¡°There is no time to think about death.¡±


    Ever since Lin Zhi¡¯s lecture on struggle, he¡¯d understood a harsh truth.


    He had to prove his worth to the world.


    To keep living, to avoid decline and death, he had to struggle!


    For his father, for his friends, and¡ªabove all¡ªfor himself.


    His mind raced. His instincts screamed and whispered in chaotic unison. His eyes, which had ceased their glowing, now flashed erratically with white light.


    Suddenly, he jerked his head to the side, his gaze locking onto the cracked sapling in the distance.


    A wild grin spread across his bloodied face as he staggered toward it.


    ¡°I¡¯ll struggle as much as I can,¡± he muttered through gritted teeth. ¡°So you better not disappoint me, White Dot.¡±

 Chapter 29 - No Time to Waste

    ¡®I can only think of a single way out of this blighted situation.¡¯


    Reaching the sapling, Zamian shoved his right hand¡¯s index and middle fingers into the crack created by Ruen¡¯s explosive attack. ¡®And it isn¡¯t by forcefully breaking it. Even if I had essence to use a technique, I doubt it would be enough.¡¯


    Zamian had previously assaulted the sapling with countless punches and kicks while transformed using the Beginning of the Cycle technique¡ªbut he had never left even a scratch, let alone a crack like Ruen¡¯s exploding spheres did.


    In fact, he was certain he had survived said explosion only because he had stood behind the sapling.


    ¡°I don¡¯t have time to waste,¡± Zamian muttered, closing his eyes while keeping his fingers inside the sapling¡¯s crack.


    He willed himself to enter his dark space¡ªthe void-like realm where his multicolored humanoid soul resided.


    Arriving there, he ignored everything else, commanding his vision to zoom in on the white crystal which still bore thirteen drawings.


    As bright white light overwhelmed his vision and the ethereal buildings emerged and materialized, Zamian thought, ¡®There is only one technique I¡¯ve seen that never emitted any essence while being used.¡¯


    His perspective shifted, and he found himself on the familiar rooftop. White-robed disciples rushed past, avoiding the center of the courtyard while chattering in their strange language.


    Zamian didn¡¯t move from his spot. Instead, he turned his gaze to the center.


    Soon, Lin Zhi took form. The monstrous teacher transformed from a tiny sapling to a grotesque amalgamation of roots, scaly arms, bone claws, and a swarm of insects coalescing into a twisted mocking of a human head.


    The creature¡¯s four glowing green eyes locked onto Zamian, each eye moving in eerie, independent directions. ¡°Greetings,¡± Lin Zhi said, his voice a chorus of insects whispering in unison.


    Wasting no time, Zamian cupped his hands and imitated the salute he had seen Disciple Tian perform during his previous encounter. Bowing slightly, he said, ¡°This junior wishes to struggle against Teacher Lin Zhi¡¯s technique.¡±


    ¡®My body points are draining even now, so Lin Zhi, you blighted thing, you better understand me,¡¯ Zamian thought, recalling that he had never directly spoken to anyone here before. During his enlightenment, he had only muttered and screamed, leaving before gauging any reactions.


    ¡°Sit,¡± Lin Zhi said.


    ¡®Oh no,¡¯ Zamian thought in dismay. ¡®He didn¡¯t understand.¡¯


    ¡°This one just said he will struggle against me today, so everyone else must sit,¡± Lin Zhi clarified, his four eyes glowing as they darted unnaturally, scanning Zamian¡¯s body.


    The white-robed disciples murmured amongst themselves but obediently sat, some relieved, others confused as they pointed at Zamian.


    ¡°Now, disciple,¡± Lin Zhi whispered, his eerie tone prickling Zamian¡¯s skin. ¡°Why aren¡¯t you speaking the Origin language?¡±


    ¡®Oh blight,¡¯ Zamian thought. Just as hope flickered, he realized he had no idea how to answer.


    As his mind raced, Lin Zhi asked another question. ¡°Your language¡ªit¡¯s unknown to me. Where did you learn it?¡±


    ¡®Can I even lie to this thing?¡¯ Zamian wondered, a bead of sweat forming at his temple.


    Shaking his head, he answered, ¡°I don¡¯t know what Origin is. I¡¯m just here to learn from you. Please, teach me!¡±


    Lin Zhi¡¯s four eyes glowed, and a surge of green essence flooded the surroundings, thick and oppressive. ¡°I suspected you weren¡¯t from here, which would be abnormal, but understandable. But¡­¡±


    Zamian¡¯s instincts screamed like never before. He realized that whatever was about to happen would not just threaten his form here, but his real life as well.


    ¡°For you to say you don¡¯t know Origin, that¡¯s very curious indeed,¡± Lin Zhi concluded.


    Hundreds of rotten roots materialized from the sky and the surroundings, shooting toward Zamian with terrifying speed.


    ¡®I can¡¯t be locked here,¡¯ Zamian thought, panic coursing through him as he assessed his situation. The roots left no openings, surrounding him.


    ¡®No matter what, I can¡¯t stay!¡¯ Zamian made a desperate decision. His right hand began glowing with a green light as he moved it with all the speed he could muster.


    He had activated the Beginning of the Cycle technique¡ªfocused solely on his right hand!


    Lin Zhi, observing Zamian¡¯s movements with growing curiosity, widened his four glowing eyes in disbelief.


    But it wasn¡¯t because of the technique itself. Nor was it Zamian¡¯s speed.


    It was the target of the attack.


    Zamian¡¯s hand moved with precision, slicing clean through his own neck. Blood splashed, and the pain was brief but sharp. Despite the gruesome act, Zamian managed a faint smile.


    The color drained from the surroundings, replaced by blinding white light that rushed into the crystal.


    Before the process could push him into another interaction¡ªor let him dwell on the fact that he had just slit his own throat¡ªZamian forced himself out of the dark space.


    His eyes snapped open, breath shallow and ragged.


    ¡®Show me my stats,¡¯ he commanded the White Dot.


    White text materialized before him.


    STATS POINTS


    Body: 0070/1000


    Mind: 600/650


    Soul: 390/650


    Dismissing the text, he closed his eyes once more. Entering the dark space, he commanded his vision back to the white crystal, and thought, ¡®Still ten soul points to enter there, but the concerning part is that it cost me five body points. Did I even spend five minutes in there?¡¯


    The crystal flashed, and for the fifth time, Zamian was consumed by the white light, transporting him to Lin Zhi¡¯s rooftop.


    As the other¡¯s people actions repeated, ZAmian thought about his previous interactions and formulated a plan, standing still


    ¡°Sit,¡± soon, Lin Zhi said, its gaze locking onto him.


    Zamian approached, cupped his hands, and bowed slightly, remaining silent.


    As had happened the first time he was here, the pungent, acidic odor wafted from the creature, followed by eerie whispers. ¡°Good disciple. Only through struggle can we learn.¡±


    A green light spread from Lin Zhi¡¯s roots. The floor beneath trembled, its smooth surface turning brown and roughening with the texture of bark. Moments later, it rose sharply, lifting Zamian and Lin Zhi onto the same stump he saw on his first and third time here.


    Zamian focused his full attention, instincts, and every bodily sense on Lin Zhi.


    The teacher raised his right claw, the six bony fingers cupped in Zamian¡¯s direction. From the tips of those grotesque fingers, a green, fingernail-sized orb appeared, pulsing softly.


    Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.


    ¡®Not a speck of essence,¡¯ Zamian thought, just before the green glow hit him.


    The baby¡¯s cry echoed in his mind once more. Though the wave of despair wasn¡¯t as overwhelming as before, his chest tightened. Scowling, he struggled to handle the invisible weight brought by the tiny orb.


    Soon, as he expected, a force surged within his soul, blocking the orb¡¯s glow.


    ¡°Your soul is stronger than a Farmer¡¯s should be, disciple,¡± Lin Zhi said, repeating the words from Zamian¡¯s first interaction. With a flick of his bony claw, the orb shot toward Zamian¡¯s shoulder.


    ¡®It¡¯s here,¡¯ Zamian tensed his muscles, subconsciously empowering his body with essence.


    The orb hit his shoulder, and for a moment, his body flashed a green light. He didn¡¯t budge, standing firm against the shooting force. ¡®What?¡¯ he thought, but lost focus as searing pain radiated from his shoulder, forcing him to grit his teeth.


    The green orb began to pull at his essence, draining it relentlessly. A fleeting thought crossed his mind: ¡®Do I even have essence?¡¯ But the crushing pain quickly brought him back to the moment.


    His body was more resilient than it had been the first time he was hit by the orb, as an Enlightened, and he had more essence too. Even so, his muscles contracted, desperately trying to expel the orb, but the hole it had formed kept closing.


    Despite his efforts, Zamian couldn¡¯t stop his essence from fueling the Seed of Creation.


    Slowly, the orb grew in size.


    ¡®No, this¡­ doesn¡¯t¡­ matter¡­¡¯ Zamian thought. He was far stronger than the first time he came here, but his goal remained the same. ¡®I need¡­ to¡­ learn¡­¡¯


    The pain was unbearable. It tore at him, far worse than any hits of Warlord Ruen.


    With bloodshot eyes, he shouted, ¡°I... can¡¯t¡­ give¡­ up!¡±


    Closing his eyes, he forced himself to concentrate on the orb. His essence was nearly depleted, but he didn¡¯t care. He ignored the pain, the feelings, and focused entirely on the Seed.


    The orb grew larger, swelling to the size of a fist before stabilizing. Zamian felt its weight pressing against his muscles and bones, crushing everything it touched. It consumed whatever it could, forcing his body to become a nutrient to feed it.


    Zamian laughed.


    Struggling¡­ to¡­ be¡­ born, he thought, realizing the strong intent within the orb. Unlike any other technique he had seen, the Seed had a clear purpose: to consume, grow, and prove it deserved to exist¡ªto begin its cycle.


    As Zamian grasped this concept, his muscles tore, and his bones shattered.


    ¡®No¡­ time¡­¡¯ He realized this process would take far longer than he had anticipated, not just because of his strength, but also because Lin Zhi wasn¡¯t simply targeting him¡ªhe was teaching. The other disciples were learning while he endured this agony.


    Forcing his trembling lips into a weak smile, Zamian focused. Using his peculiar control over his muscles, he alternated between relaxing and tensing them, gradually moving the Seed of Creation within his body.


    As he did so, Lin Zhi spoke, unmoving. ¡°Curious.¡±


    Slowly, as Zamian maneuvered the Seed closer to his heart, the technique consumed his muscles and then his organs. With each passing moment, the cultivator felt his strength waning. He refrained from commanding the essence infused in his bones, muscles, and blood to sustain him.


    He wanted death.


    As the edges of his vision darkened and his breaths grew shallow, the scene seemed to freeze in time.


    Everything was engulfed in white light. When the familiar white crystal reappeared before him, Zamian chose to exit his soul space.


    Opening his eyes, he immediately checked a single piece of information.


    STATS POINTS


    Body: 0050/1000


    Mind: 600/650


    Soul: 380/650


    ¡®Too much time.¡¯ Gritting his teeth, Zamian closed his eyes once more and repeated the process. ¡®And I¡¯ve learned too little.¡¯


    This would be his sixth time meeting Lin Zhi.


    I¡¯ve grasped the concept, but how can I use a technique without essence? He pondered as the scene began to take shape. I¡¯ll need to take a risk¡­ a gamble.


    This time, Zamian moved from his usual spot and waited for Lin Zhi to appear.


    After Lin Zhi¡¯s form emerged and the teacher gave his usual greeting, commanding the disciples to sit, he finally spoke the line Zamian had been waiting for.


    ¡°To learn, we must first struggle,¡± Lin Zhi said, his eerie voice echoing.


    Standing, Zamian cupped his hands and bowed deeply. ¡°Teacher Lin Zhi, I am not from Origin. I have come here struggling, seeking ways to keep growing and to fight against decline and death.¡±


    Lin Zhi nodded as the white-robed disciples murmured among themselves.


    ¡°Introduce yourself, disciple,¡± Lin Zhi said, his voice buzzing with a low, unsettling hum. ¡°It¡¯s always good to know the names of newly arrived talents.¡±


    ¡°This one is disciple... Zamian,¡± he replied, choosing honesty while remaining vague. Even he could somehow detect lies, and betting that this monster might not possess the same ability wasn¡¯t the gamble he came here to make.


    ¡°You are a Farmer at the Essence Refining Stage,¡± Lin Zhi stated, not asked. ¡°You need to advance to the Essence Merging Stage before attempting to form a Core, so coming here isn¡¯t very useful to you. However, you can help me demonstrate more about my Seed of Creation technique,¡± he whispered, his eerie buzzing voice crawling into Zamian¡¯s ears.


    ¡®I don¡¯t have time for this¡­¡¯ Zamian thought, inwardly noting the unfamiliar terms. The names piled up more questions in his mind. He had no clue about these stages, but one thing was clear¡ªif he let things proceed naturally, he¡¯d soon find himself as little more than a class prop.


    ¡°Teacher Lin Zhi,¡± Zamian interrupted, raising his voice. ¡°I have a question about that technique. How can someone use it without expending essence?¡±


    Lin Zhi¡¯s four glowing eyes brightened. ¡°Ah, so you haven¡¯t met a Warden yet? Or any other cultivator with a Core? They can use techniques like this without expending essence, relying only on the intent of their soul.¡±


    ¡°How do they do it?¡± Zamian pressed, his eyes gleaming. ¡°How can someone like me use their soul to conjure the Seed of Creation?¡±


    ¡°You can¡¯t,¡± Lin Zhi replied sharply. ¡°None of your fellow disciples can, either. We cultivate the Mind Path within the Nature Pathway. Only cultivators of the Soul Paths or Primordial Paths are capable of such feats while being a Mortal.¡±


    A chill ran down Zamian¡¯s spine. His instincts screamed at him, and he could feel Lin Zhi¡¯s intense gaze boring into him. ¡®Blighted thing¡­¡¯ he cursed inwardly.


    ¡°From which realm do you hail?¡± Lin Zhi asked, green essence flooding the space.


    Zamian¡¯s instincts roared louder. Not wanting to lose precious time or face the consequences of being kept here, he activated the Beginning of the Cycle technique on his right hand and swiftly cut his neck.


    As the scene dissolved, leaving Lin Zhi and his doubts behind, Zamian emerged from his soul space and immediately checked his stats:


    STATS POINTS


    Body: 0035/1000


    Mind: 600/650


    Soul: 370/650


    ¡°Mind Paths. Soul Paths. Primordial Paths,¡± Zamian muttered, glancing at his stats. ¡°Maybe there¡¯s also Body Paths? Whatever, no time to waste,¡± he said, closing his eyes.


    Zamian¡¯s mind raced as he prepared himself to face Lin Zhi for the seventh time.


    Following the same steps as before, he waited for Lin Zhi to speak before cupping his fists and introducing himself. ¡°Teacher Lin Zhi, this one is disciple Zamian, a Farmer at the... Essence Refining Stage. I¡¯m not from Origin and came here struggling to learn. In my realm, we weren¡¯t taught how cultivators from the Soul Paths can conjure techniques with their souls.¡±


    Lin Zhi nodded, and the disciples murmured quietly, already seated.


    ¡°Brutes, akin to ancient cultivators, must have taught you,¡± Lin Zhi said, waving his hand.


    Zamian¡¯s eyes narrowed as Lin Zhi¡¯s roots glowed with green light. The floor beneath them transformed into a wooden platform, which rose sharply.


    Lin Zhi began his lesson. ¡°While still Mortals, our souls are formed by the energy radiated from the Pathway¡¯s essence used to give us birth. Most Mortals have half a dozen essences forming their souls. This energy cannot be used, touched, or commanded. It merely outlines one¡¯s soul and replenishes itself naturally.¡±


    ¡°Our Nature Pathway is one of the four Mind Paths,¡± Lin Zhi continued. ¡°We cannot use our souls until we form a Core. Instead, we rely on our Mind Vision, simulating actions and feelings that resonate with Nature¡¯s essence.¡±


    Lin Zhi¡¯s four glowing eyes fixed on Zamian as he whispered this, and Zamian nodded along.


    ¡°The Soul Paths, however, can command their soul¡¯s essence¡ªwhat they call Soul Force¡ªto infuse their techniques with intent. This intent, however, is tainted.¡± Lin Zhi raised a hand, conjuring a glowing green orb. ¡°This Seed of Creation is pure. Its intentions are pure. But a Soul Path cultivator could use their emotions and motivations to taint it, provided they resonate with their Pathway.¡±


    Zamian observed intently, his mind racing. He was torn between appreciating and disliking how much Lin Zhi talked. ¡®Is this monster prideful? Does he just want to flaunt his superior knowledge over my unknown realm¡¯s teachers?¡¯ Pushing the thought aside, Zamian digested Lin Zhi¡¯s words.


    Suddenly, Zamian¡¯s eyes widened, a thought struck him, and he shouted, ¡°Teacher Lin Zhi! The pathway with red essence¡ª is it a Soul Path? What is its name and its feeling?¡±


    Lin Zhi¡¯s eyes glowed ominously as Nature¡¯s essence surged around them.


    Zamian¡¯s instincts screamed, and his glowing hand was already at his neck. ¡®This isn¡¯t a good reaction for me to have¡­¡¯ he thought, bracing himself.


    As the scene paused, white light consumed everything, Zamian inwardly sighed.


    Leaving the dark space, he opened his eyes once more.


    STATS POINTS


    Body: 0020/1000


    Mind: 600/650


    Soul: 360/650


    Zamian dismissed the text, coughing harshly before closing his eyes.


    Blood spilled onto the sapling and pooled on the floor beneath him.


    ¡®I need to find out by myself,¡¯ he thought, entering the dark space and searching for the red specks of light. Approaching them, he tried to grasp the emotions they evoked.


    ¡®The feeling of missing someone? Sadness?¡¯ he pondered, the memory of reading Yokki¡¯s emotions surfacing in his mind. ¡®Concern? A need to protect?¡¯


    As he focused on the red lights, a word emerged from the swirl of sensations in his thoughts.


    ¡®Love.¡¯


    But the red lights remained still, unchanging, leaving him uncertain. ¡®I need to test it¡­ But not in my real body. I don¡¯t think I can survive more than one attempt.¡¯


    Zamian commanded his vision to zoom in on the white crystals above his head. Skipping the one with sixteen drawings, he turned his focus to the other crystal, the one that still bore nine scribbles.


    A blinding white light consumed his vision.


    It was Zamian¡¯s eighth encounter with Lin Zhi, and his final attempt to master the Seed of Creation technique before his death.

 Chapter 30 - Zamians Death

    ¡°Teacher Lin Zhi, this one is disciple Zamian, a Farmer at the Essence Refining Stage. I¡¯m not from Origin and came here struggling. I need to learn your Seed of Creation technique to keep growing and avoid death,¡± Zamian said, clapping his hands in respect toward Lin Zhi.


    The teacher, with roots for legs, scaly arms, and six bone-white claws on each hand, responded in his eerie, buzzing voice, nodding slowly. ¡°Curious, curious. Learning my technique at your stage could be deadly. But I admire the sincerity and intent in your voice. You truly believe that my Seed of Creation can help you avoid death.¡±


    Zamian watched as Lin Zhi¡¯s glowing green roots transformed the floor beneath them into a wooden platform that rose sharply. He couldn¡¯t sense or comprehend how the invisible barrier surrounding the platform came into being, but he could feel its presence.


    As Lin Zhi moved his arm, Zamian activated the Beginning of the Cycle technique throughout his entire body. From his previous encounters, he knew the monster moved slowly, using their battle¡ªor beating¡ªas a lesson for the white-robed disciples below.


    Zamian¡¯s body transformed into its wooden form. His organs, muscles, and bones hardened, taking on a bark-like texture and color, while his blood turned viscous, glowing with a bright green light beneath his skin. The glowing pathways expanded, forming dozens, then hundreds of trails.


    On his oval, hairless, and smooth head, only two holes revealed his eyes, and a grin of glowing green light appeared, unchanging.


    ¡°Curious,¡± Lin Zhi remarked, his glowing green eyes scanning Zamian. ¡°You use a Primordial Path to aid you, but you do not cultivate it.¡±


    Zamian¡¯s eyes flashed white and green as he pushed Lin Zhi¡¯s observation aside for now. More pressing was the green orb forming in Lin Zhi¡¯s bony claws.


    ¡®Blighted thing,¡¯ he thought as the Seed of Creation materialized, and once again, he felt absolutely nothing. He knew what he needed to observe, but no matter how hard he concentrated, he couldn¡¯t grasp it. ¡®How does he use that Soul Force? How does he imbue intent into that tiny thing?¡¯


    ¡°Your soul is stronger than a Farmer¡¯s should be, disciple,¡± Lin Zhi said as he flicked the glowing Seed of Creation toward Zamian.


    Momentarily puzzled, Zamian thought, ¡®I didn¡¯t even hear the baby¡¯s cry this time!¡¯


    The orb struck him, and Zamian¡¯s instincts flared. ¡®Concentrate, your life depends on this, you vermin!¡¯ He berated himself, sending his essence to bolster the Beginning of the Cycle technique while the orb began its assault, devouring his essence and converting it into fuel for its ¡°birth.¡±


    Zamian¡¯s body remained rooted in place, but his muscles were anything but still. They tensed and contracted, forcing the orb to move within him.


    He noticed something: unless he intended to remove it, the orb wouldn¡¯t resist being moved inside its host.


    As he guided it through his wooden frame, Zamian felt how it relentlessly drained his strength, how it existed solely to draw enough power to be born, to exist, struggling against all odds¡ªand then it clicked.


    ¡®It isn¡¯t alive. It doesn¡¯t have self-awareness,¡¯ his eyes gleamed. ¡®It¡¯s just a technique. Lin Zhi¡¯s intention is there, yes, but it¡¯s more than that. This is literally his teaching. He imbued the Seed of Creation with what he believes in.¡¯


    Slowly, Zamian raised his right arm, pointing his middle and index fingers at Lin Zhi.


    His essence, fighting against the orb¡¯s relentless suction, moved sluggishly through the flowing sap¡¯s trails of the Beginning of the Cycle technique. Gradually, it gathered at his fingertips.


    ¡®Before I was born, I too was just a tiny orb,¡¯ the blinking glow in his eyes intensified. ¡®I struggled to become something, to form a body, to be born.¡¯


    +50 Mind Points


    ¡®This is why Lin Zhi¡¯s orb becomes a sapling!¡¯ A tiny orb, glowing green and white, began to form at the tip of Zamian¡¯s fingers. ¡®This is how Lin Zhi understands the act of being born: a sprout pushing its way through the earth¡­¡¯


    +50 Mind Points


    ¡®The cries I heard when the orb¡¯s glow struck me¡­¡¯ He felt it, the energy influenced by his intentions and the essence flowing through him. Something deeper, a force from his soul¡ªhis Soul Force¡ªentered the orb. ¡®It was my own cry.¡¯


    +50 Mind Points


    The orb in his fingers shone with an alternating green and white light. The disciples below gasped in unison, while Lin Zhi merely nodded in silence.


    As the tiny orb solidified, no white text appeared to confirm his success, but Zamian knew. He had done it. He had learned to conjure the Seed of Creation.


    Staring at the orb and its dual glow, Zamian thought, ¡®Are you helping me or plotting against me, White Dot?¡¯


    He didn¡¯t understand how he could command the white essence to aid him, but it had. ¡®What are its effects on me? Is it always helping me, somehow?¡¯


    Shaking his head, Zamian kept moving Lin Zhi¡¯s Seed of Creation within his back. Slowly, he turned his right hand and pressed his two fingers¡ªthe ones holding his tiny greenish-white orb¡ªagainst his shoulder.


    A chorus of gasps erupted from the disciples below as their murmurs grew louder. Yet, Lin Zhi remained unmoving. ¡°Curious, very curious,¡± the teacher whispered.


    Zamian used his muscles to move his Seed of Creation, even as it devastated his own body, learning from its effects. While Lin Zhi¡¯s orb sought to struggle for birth, Zamian¡¯s was different.


    ¡®It¡¯s trying to move on its own,¡¯ he analyzed. ¡®It resists when I send it toward Lin Zhi¡¯s orb¡­ Its suction is weaker, but more than being born, it¡¯s trying to survive¡­ To avoid death.¡¯


    Ignoring the pain¡ªa feat only possible due to his repeated experiences here and the strength of the Beginning of the Cycle technique¡ªZamian once again sent essence to the tips of his fingers, only to dissipate it immediately.


    He repeated the action. His fingers glowed green, only for the color to fade.


    Again.


    And again.


    ¡®Love¡­¡¯ His thoughts turned cold. ¡®I don¡¯t feel any love here¡­ I need to learn more.¡¯


    The disciples below began to stir. Many stood, shouting. A few remained calm, either making notes or whispering observations to one another.


    Lin Zhi moved for the first time, scratching his scaly arm. ¡°Curious. You seek to avoid death, yet you knowingly bring yourself closer to it by doing so. Curious, curious.¡±


    In front of Lin Zhi, Zamian was conjuring more Seeds of Creation, embedding them into his giant wooden body¡ªhis shoulder, belly, arms, and thighs.


    Over and over, he created and moved the orbs.


    ¡®I can hear the cries now,¡¯ Zamian thought, as dozens of baby-like wails echoed in his mind simultaneously. Even the Astral Seal, which protected his soul, seemed to align with his intent.


    Despite his dwindling essence, Zamian refused to stop. He kept creating more Seeds of Creation, each one consuming less essence, yet infused with more of his intent¡ªto survive.


    Zamian was not Lin Zhi. He was no natural genius, no master of the cycle. He was just beginning to grasp these concepts.


    But there was one truth where his understanding shone clear.


    Death.


    And now, struggling to avoid death, Zamian imbued this intention into the Seed of Creation¡ªalong with his desperate struggle to survive.


    Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.


    It mirrored Lin Zhi¡¯s method: infusing his teachings and beliefs into the Seed of Creation.


    But Zamian¡¯s singular belief now was clear¡ªto avoid death.


    ¡®What?¡¯ Zamian spat green sap¡ªhis blood¡ªas his mind reeled. For some reason, all his Seeds of Creation began moving to the same place, gravitating toward Lin Zhi¡¯s orb, which was rapidly growing in size.


    Sensing the shift, he chose to move Lin Zhi¡¯s Seed by himself once again, his body cracking under the strain, spilling even more glowing sap.


    The other orbs followed.


    ¡®I see,¡¯ Zamian thought, placing Lin Zhi¡¯s Seed in his right thigh. He watched as the tiny orbs he had conjured began devouring the essence flowing into the larger orb¡ªwhile simultaneously feeding on the essence inside it!


    The smaller orbs felt their impending destruction and clustered, fighting to feed off the dominant one.


    And then, while Zamian watched, another change began.


    Long before reaching the fist-sized threshold, Lin Zhi¡¯s Seed of Creation started tearing through Zamian¡¯s bones and flesh!


    ¡®These intents¡­ What are they? Zamian¡¯s mind spun. Mine aren¡¯t as strong as Lin Zhi¡¯s¡­ But they¡¯re more numerous.¡¯ He was momentarily awed by how these techniques seemed almost alive, fighting with everything they had to fulfill their purpose.


    But none of this mattered.


    ¡°Come on!¡± Zamian cried out as his right thigh began folding inward, crushed under the orb¡¯s relentless force. ¡°Where is love?¡±


    He couldn¡¯t find it.


    Zamian tried to retreat into his dark space¡ªhis soul space¡ªbut it was futile. Whether it was the growing pain breaking his focus or the nature of his current state, being partially within the soul space already, he couldn¡¯t reach it.


    ¡°Why¡­ Why!¡± he screamed, his Beginning of the Cycle technique failing, leaving scars, torn muscles, and a soup of organs in place of his once-reinforced wooden body.


    Zamian was out of essence, and he recognized that even the essence infused on his body was slowly but surely being sucked by the dozens of orbs.


    Yet, his index and middle fingers of his right hand continued pressing against his ruined body, stubbornly attempting to conjure the Seed of Creation without essence.


    He coughed blood, his eyes falling on the stump where his right leg had once been. His gaze shifted to the dead leaf above it, surrounded by tiny brown forms¡ªakin to seeds¡ªconnected to his body and devouring it piece by piece.


    ¡®They ended Lin Zhi¡¯s technique,¡¯ he thought, his body numb as the seeds crawled upward, ravaging whatever they could, sucking nutrients from Zamian and even from each other.


    As his vision dimmed, he felt no pain, only a numb curiosity as he observed the form one of his Seeds of Creation was taking. ¡®Is this¡­ a tiny wooden baby?¡¯


    The thought lingered in his fading consciousness. His vision blurred, but then, time itself seemed to stop.


    Color drained from the world around him, leaving only white. A bright light of the same color engulfed him, converging into a crystal Zamian knew all too well.


    He left the space, his mind empty as he willed the White Dot to display his stats.


    STATS POINTS


    Body: 0005/1000


    Mind: 750/800


    Soul: 380/650


    Dismissing the stats, Zamian hugged the sapling in front of him with his left arm.


    He didn¡¯t cry, didn¡¯t kneel. Even his index and middle fingers remained inside the sapling¡¯s crack.


    ¡°I don¡¯t want to die,¡± he said with a soft smile, his eyes fixed on the sapling, though his thoughts were far away. ¡°There¡¯s so much to do and so much to learn. I need to save Father, I need to check on Bohlo¡­ and Tulip,¡± he chuckled faintly. ¡°I want to grow, to learn more techniques, to discover other paths of cultivation¡­ Blighted Lin Zhi, he told me so much and so little at the same time!¡±


    Zamian lightly bumped his head against the sapling, resting it there.


    ¡°I¡¯m sad,¡± he muttered under his breath. ¡°I know nothing about the White Dot, or Mother¡¯s book, or that Red World,¡± another faint chuckle escaped his lips. ¡°I don¡¯t even know how stars really are, or how the desert feels. I know nothing beyond this greenish place.¡±


    A thought crossed his mind, and Zamian closed his eyes before speaking again.


    ¡°Now I understand why you spent so much time reading, Mom. You were chasing something more¡ªto know more, to understand more¡­ I wish I¡¯d had more time to listen to your stories.¡±


    Leaning heavily against the sapling, a wave of dizziness struck him, and numbness spread through his mind.


    He recognized the feeling¡ªLin Zhi had taught him well.


    He was dying.


    ¡°I hated you, Mom,¡± he mustered to speak, his voice faint. ¡°I hated you for leaving without a fight. Hated you for not coming back. Hated you for what happened to Father, but¡­¡± Images of Jasmines, his mother, flashed through Zamian¡¯s closed eyes. ¡°I hated you for dying, more than anything¡­ because I had no clue what to do without you.¡±


    Zamian opened his eyes, which while unfocused, seemed unusually cheerful.


    ¡°But don¡¯t worry, Mom,¡± he whispered. ¡°I¡¯m not a young boy anymore. I know what to do, and I have my own dreams. I have regrets, yes¡­ but I¡¯m happy I once told you I loved you. So let me say it again¡­ I love you, Mom. Thank you. Thank you for everything.¡±


    As Zamian¡¯s eyes lost their luster, a deep urge to avoid death, to keep growing, surged within him.


    In his soul space, the specks of light flickered incessantly. The red ones began to move, forming a vortex.


    The specks blinked, sending their energy¡ªSoul Force¡ªthrough the dark space. That force sought a way out and soon found a connection.


    Zamian¡¯s pure love for his deceased mother.


    The energy moved, but it wasn¡¯t alive. It followed the path that resonated with itself. Without guidance or any form of molding, it would never leave this dark space.


    And then, it happened.


    Zamian¡¯s urge to avoid death gave the red Soul Force an intention, and a path to follow.


    The red energy broke through an invisible barrier and, guided by Zamian¡¯s will, flowed through his destroyed body. It followed a path from his head to the tips of his right-hand fingers.


    The same fingers that were still buried in the sapling¡¯s crack.


    Sluggishly, the red essence gathered, forming a tiny, pulsating red orb.


    Zamian, who should have celebrated mastering the Seed of Creation technique, did not cheer.


    He did not breathe. His open eyes were devoid of color and life.


    Zamian had died.


    But the Seed of Creation remained.


    Slowly, it absorbed the essence within the sapling, growing larger. Soon, as it reached the size of a fist, cracking sounds echoed through the air. The Seed of Creation was destroying the sapling from within.


    However, instead of forming a sprout or a wooden baby, the orb continued to expand. Tiny lines began to form within the sapling, stretching outward and connecting to Zamian.


    If a Soul Path cultivator had witnessed this, they would have understood¡ªthe lines represented Zamian¡¯s love for his mother.


    The sapling cracked further, its structure weakening as it leaned toward Zamian. With every passing moment, more lines emerged, binding the two closer.


    Hours passed. The lines wove together, forming a cocoon around Zamian. It was as though the sapling itself had become pregnant with him.


    At last, the sapling was fully consumed by the cocoon, destroyed completely in the process.


    A flash of white light appeared in Zamian¡¯s lifeless eyes, and white text materialized within them.


    Main Quest: Destroy an Unholy Sapling before the end of the month


    Reward: Special Physique (??)


    Status: Complete


    Analyzing reward¡­


    Error¡­ Inheritor¡¯s condition decaying.


    Choosing Special Physique¡­


    Error¡­ Inheritor already possesses a Special Physique.


    Analyzing Physique¡­


    Body of Perpetual Control detected.


    Analyzing environment¡­


    Creating Unique Physique¡­


    Using Inheritor¡¯s Soul and Mind Points¡­


    Applying Reward¡­


    As the messages flashed, the bright cocoon of red lines pulsed with intensity, releasing a wave of red energy.


    Wherever it passed, the energy left behind a connection¡ªa red line to the soil, the broken trunks, and even the bodies of the outsiders scattered nearby.


    The lines then began pulling everything inward.


    The cocoon pulsed, shrinking in size as organic material meshed against it, dissolving into multicolored liquid¡ªessences from different pathways.


    Inside the cocoon, Zamian¡¯s lifeless body curled into a fetal position, glowing with alternating white and green light.


    The red lines connecting the cocoon to his body converged at his belly.


    His body started to dissolve. His torn skin peeled away, disintegrating into specks of multicolored light. His muscles and bones broke apart, and his blood evaporated.


    All that remained was a tiny white sphere surrounded by multicolored liquid.


    The red lines pumped every particle of light into the sphere. It grew rapidly, taking the form of a human fetus. In moments, the form aged into a male baby, eyes closed and pale skin blinking with a radiant white light.


    The transformation continued. The baby grew older in seconds, becoming a toddler, then a child, and then a young teen.


    Though his face resembled Zamian¡¯s, the body was different¡ªmore muscular and taller. When the body reached its late teens¡ªZamian''s current age¡ªthe black hair, no longer shoulder-length, cascaded down to his waist.


    The entire body emitted a brilliant white glow, like a coat of light enveloping it.


    As the multicolored liquid entered his still body, a powerful ripple spread through the cocoon.


    A sound akin to a war drum echoed, followed by another.


    While his blood took on a red hue, all his organs were originally white. Most of them resembled his past organs but appeared fortified, with one notable exception: his heart.


    Inside Zamian¡¯s chest, not one, but eight orbs connected with his veins, pumping blood. One rested on the left, one on the right, another at the front, one at the back, two above, and two below, forming a perfect pattern around an invisible middle point.


    His muscles twitched as the multicolored liquid seeped through his skin¡¯s pores. His cultivation, which had returned to be as weak as a commoner¡¯s, began to rise steadily. It climbed back to its peak, halting when he reached the full essence a Zealot could store.


    The remaining liquid fortified his body, and while impossible to see, the liquid also transformed into essence, flowing into his dark space and an ethereal, unknown place beyond.


    Inside Zamian¡¯s soul space, the multicolored specks poured in. Most were engulfed by the countless white specks of light. There were so many white specks that the humanoid figure of his soul space was now a being of pure white light, different from the multicolored form it had once been.


    As the cocoon completely collapsed and any trace of the liquid seemed to be absorbed, its remnants rushed to Zamian. His body greedily devoured every fragment that touched him. The young cultivator, eyes still closed, took a deep breath.


    As he lay there, sleeping naked amidst the ruins, the surroundings told the story of what had transpired.


    As far as the eye could see, there was only barren ground, resembling weathered wood, and scattered white leaves shining their faint light from above.


    The colossal roots, the Erasmus Colossal Tree itself, the saplings, the tree trunks, and even the outsiders¡¯ bodies¡ªnone of them remained.


    White lines of text flashed in front of Zamian, waiting for him to read when he woke up. Far away, where the Children of Verdant had built walls of vines and roots and were supposedly fighting against outsiders and traitors, a spike of essence surged. The walls began to wither and slowly sink back into the ground.


    The moment this essence flared, Zamian¡¯s instincts screamed at him, echoing like the cry of a newborn.


    Zamian gasped, and his eyes shot open.

 Chapter 31 - Unique Physique

    Completed Main Quest: Destroy an Unholy Sapling before the end of the month


    Reward: Special Physique (??)


    Status: Complete


    New Unique Physique created


    Nameless Physique: Breaker of the natural order, bearer of perpetual body, an unshackled lifeform.


    ¡®Not helpful,¡¯ Zamian ran across the barren, wood-like crater he had found himself in just seconds ago, furrowing his brows at the constant screaming of his instincts. ¡®What in that blighted Verdant God¡¯s name happened?¡¯


    He would have been happy if the White Dot, his instincts, or anyone else had explained how he was still alive¡ªbut he was too busy running. ¡®But from what am I running blighted instincts?¡¯


    Zamian noticed his body felt stronger, and he was taller. The long hair swaying across his back and slapping against his bare ass was a curious addition, but there were bigger issues.


    ¡®Tell me why I can¡¯t use my technique, blighted thing!¡¯ he screamed inwardly, not daring to shout aloud. The whispers he was hearing were practically yelling at him: less thinking, more stepping.


    Of course, the moment he woke up¡ªand felt his body was fine, and his instincts nearly dragging him away¡ªhe had tried to conjure the Beginning of the Cycle technique.


    But he failed.


    In fact, when he attempted to empower his body with Nature¡¯s essence, he felt absolutely nothing!


    Rushing in the opposite direction of the unknown danger rattling his senses, Zamian kept reading the White Dot¡¯s texts.


    Stats caps adjusted


    Previous cultivation level restored


    + 1000 Body Points


    + 1000 Body Points


    + 1000 Body Points


    + 1000 Mind Points


    + 1000 Mind Points


    + 1000 Mind Points


    + 1000 Soul Points


    + 1000 Soul Points


    + 1000 Soul Points


    ¡°What!¡± Zamian screamed, feeling a chill run down his spine as he did so. He swore his instincts groaned.


    ¡®White Dot, show me my blighted information, now!¡¯


    PERSONAL INFORMATION


    Name: Zamian Greenfield


    Level: 3 [100%]


    Tier: Mortal


    Main Pathway: Knowledge


    Title: None


    STATS POINTS


    Body: 3000/3000


    Mind: 3000/3000


    Soul: 3000/3000


    As he finally reached the edge of the wooden-like crater, Zamian climbed it quickly¡ªand emerged into a forest, spotting two Colossal Trees in the distance.


    Shooting a quick glance behind him, he blanched.


    What lay behind was a massive, round hole stretching as far as the eye could see, as if a giant ball had dropped from the heavens. More alarming was the absence of the Erasmus Colossal Tree and its roots.


    Worse still, a wave of green light rippled on the horizon, rushing straight toward him.


    ¡°Oh blight,¡± he muttered, flinching before turning to run again.


    Then he stopped.


    ¡°What? Knowledge Pathway? White Dot, what did you do!¡± he shouted with frustration, before breaking back into a run, as his instincts seemed to slap him.


    Dismissing the previous text, a new line appeared in his vision:


    New Main Quest: Bring destruction to a Level 8 Immortal tainted by Godhood


    Reward: Inheritor¡¯s Cave Entrance


    Status: Ongoing (100 days left)


    Zamian read the text once, narrowing his eyes.


    Then he read it twice more, a small smile creeping across his face.


    Finally, dismissing the text, his steps grew lighter. His eyes flashed white as he started leaping between the trees, using their branches to create more distance.


    Zamian laughed.


    ¡°You blighted thing, could you not even be a real God?¡± he shouted, uncaring of his instincts for a moment.


    Coming back from the dead was unexpected, sure, but for Zamian, it felt like he had merely passed out and woken up dizzy, thrust into yet another dire situation. There was no time to dwell on the miracle.


    Besides, the cultivation he had begun to cherish seemed stumped. He could neither cast his own technique nor enhance his body with Nature¡¯s essence.


    ¡®What physique, what new pathway. White Dot, had you told me sooner that blighted God was a cultivator, I¡¯d like you so much more,¡¯ Zamian thought with glee.


    How many Gods did Zamian know of?


    One!


    And who was the Unholy Sapling that the White Dot had tasked him to destroy tied to?


    The Verdant God!


    Adding that to Zamian¡¯s distaste for said mysterious being, he was nearly dancing as he fled from danger.


    Of course, he wasn¡¯t deluding himself into believing he could destroy the Verdant God. His happiness stemmed from two factors.


    ¡®He isn¡¯t a God. He can die¡­¡¯ Zamian¡¯s eyes flashed as he remembered the Quest¡¯s contents. ¡®And there is an opportunity, even if a small one, to bring destruction to him.¡¯


    The White Dot was practically telling Zamian there was a way to destroy the being responsible for his mother¡¯s death.


    ¡®Yeah, I can forgive you for being this blighted mute,¡¯ Zamian thought, glancing behind for a second. ¡®At least I think my plan worked, right?¡¯


    Thinking about his last days with Clarice and even before that, when he learned about the situation in the Sanctuary, Zamian smiled, satisfied.


    ¡®Father, I hope I helped you,¡¯ he took a deep breath. ¡®I hope you can take a breath too.¡¯


    When Zamian learned his father had been fighting for days in the desert against the Oasis Warlords, he felt compelled to act.


    Sadly, he wasn¡¯t strong enough, nor did he know how to leave the Sanctuary, so helping directly on the battlefield seemed impossible in a short time.


    That¡¯s why he devised a plan to create enough chaos to attract both outsiders and Chosen to the Sanctuary, either bringing his father here or giving the man some breathing room in the desert.


    ¡®But I didn¡¯t get Mother¡¯s book,¡¯ he thought with regret, feeling his instincts might come alive just to kill him if he dared change course.


    When leaving the Camp of Salvation, Zamian had first planned to check on the Children of Verdant to ensure they wouldn¡¯t interfere with his destruction of the sapling.


    Then, after completing the White Dot¡¯s main quest, he knew someone would react. After all, no one would dare destroy a sacred sapling¡ªa future Colossal Tree!


    Finding Clarice and Lakea, and later killing Ruen, turned out to be a nice bonus.


    ¡®And if no one made a move, I would search and hunt for remaining Great Warriors,¡¯ he recalled his earlier plan and chuckled. ¡®But that won¡¯t be necessary.¡¯


    Zamian¡¯s chest began pounding faster as he ran, and he tried to calm his heart, only to scowl.


    ¡®Blighted White Dot¡­¡¯


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


    Failing to feel his heartbeat with his otherwise precise body control, he focused on the changes in his chest.


    As his eyes briefly flashed white, he almost missed a tree branch and stumbled, his mouth falling open in disbelief as he partially examined his body.


    ¡®More running now, and grasp these changes later, Zamian,¡¯ he thought, forcing himself to calm down. It felt easier to control his emotions now than it ever had before. ¡®But eight little hearts? Really?¡¯


    As his instincts refused to settle, he growled. ¡°I can¡¯t keep going blindly like this.¡±


    Muttering, he tried to recall how to return to the Camp of Salvation.


    Then, his eyes shone a bright white, and his instincts seemed to split in two¡ªone part still screaming for him to run, while the other half started offering him directions.


    Essence moved inside him, and while it wasn¡¯t enhancing his body this time, it was helping him navigate through the forest¡¯s trees and giant roots.


    Almost like a dream, Zamian saw a fast-forward replay of his last waking days: the route he¡¯d taken from the Camp of Salvation hole to the Children of Verdant¡¯s domain, and finally to the Erasmus Colossal Tree.


    Knowledge he had but previously ignored, came rushing to him easily.


    Taking a sharp turn to the left, he continued running, now with a clear direction.


    ¡®This is a nice change,¡¯ he thought, grinning.


    <hr>


    Hours later, Zamian found himself standing above the hole he had come from.


    And as expected, it was sealed shut.


    Shrugging, he began digging.


    ¡®If not me, who?¡¯ Remembering on of his mother¡¯s weird phrases, he entered on the soggy ground.


    The farther he moved from his previous location¡ªthe crater¡ªthe quieter his instincts became.


    As he kept digging, his body flashed white, and a rush of knowledge about how to use his current form to dig through this type of soil surged into his mind.


    Zamian paused, frowning, and glanced at the White Dot.


    ¡°See, if you can shove things into my head, it¡¯ll be hard to trust you¡­ or myself,¡± he muttered. ¡°That¡¯s why I hope someday soon you¡¯ll explain this situation to me, blighted thing.¡±


    Receiving no response, Zamian scowled and resumed digging.


    The more he dug, the deeper his frown became.


    Previously, with the Beginning of the Cycle technique, he had constant protection. He didn¡¯t need to breathe or rest, as essence continuously enhanced his body.


    Now, crawling through a tunnel of his own making, not a single speck of essence enhanced him¡ªonly the traces already infused into his body remained.


    Even though he understood the basics of digging¡ªthanks to the previously infused knowledge¡ªand was learning how to control his body for faster progress, this situation should have been dire!


    He had fully prepared himself to dig upward for air or create spaces to rest.


    But he didn¡¯t need to.


    ¡®Am I dead?¡¯ he thought, a wave of concern washing over him. ¡®Why am I not breathing?¡¯


    He was certain he had been breathing in the forest moments ago¡ªhuffing and puffing as he ran, even taking deep breaths!


    But here, tunneling like some kind of pale underground critter, he hadn¡¯t drawn a single breath.


    Minutes turned into hours as Zamian tried not to think about his lack of breathing.


    Finally, when his instincts told him he had reached the exit to the Camp of Salvation, Zamian let himself be buried under the soil, closing his eyes that didn¡¯t have a speck of dust in them.


    ¡®Maybe I can¡¯t understand what¡¯s happened to me, but I¡¯ll blighting try,¡¯ he thought, focusing his mind and concentrating on his body.


    Before his death, Zamian could feel and consciously control his muscles to a remarkable extent. He mostly used that ability to calm himself down and make minute adjustments during combat. From the texts provided by the White Dot, he had learned that he was either born with or had acquired a Body of Perpetual Control physique¡ªwhatever that was.


    ¡®This is amazing,¡¯ Zamian thought, eyes closed, as he discovered a significant improvement. If before he could merely feel his muscles, now he could visualize them. It was as if he could open himself up to observe and touch every part of his body.


    As he examined everything beneath his skin, he trembled slightly, thoughts racing. ¡®This isn¡¯t how a human should be¡­ I¡¯ve read books¡­ I¡¯ve seen drawings¡­¡¯


    The more he grasped the changes within his body, the more his emotions fluctuated between awe and fear.


    First, as he¡¯d already noticed, he no longer had a single fist-sized heart. Instead, there were eight muscle-like spheres pumping blood through a dense network of blood vessels. Strangely, these hearts didn¡¯t seem directly connected to each other, yet every one of them had vessels attached to his other¡­ parts.


    The blood being pumped was heavier and thicker than before. It surged through his veins with such force it seemed capable of sweeping away anything foreign. Even more unsettling, this same blood also flowed into his bones.


    His bones themselves were no longer singular rigid structures. They resembled plates, held together by a viscous, glue-like substance. When Zamian focused, this substance hardened, pressing the plates tightly together.


    Surrounding these bones were muscles interwoven with tinier fibers that, when observed closely, appeared to interlock like cords he could control individually!


    He even noticed an intricate web of nerves spreading throughout his body, originating from his back, neck, and head.


    And that¡¯s where things got even stranger.


    His brain was gone.


    In its place was a muscle-like tissue, wrapped in veins and nerves, encased by the same viscous, glue-like substance covering his bones. Aside from his eyes, tongue, and a certain friend below his waist, every major organ that had once inhabited his body¡ªlungs, kidneys, intestines¡ªwas gone. They had all been replaced.


    What remained were tubes¡ªfinger-thick conduits that formed his internal system. These tubes connected his mouth, ears, nose, and other openings to the outside world, constantly moving and functioning in ways he couldn¡¯t yet fully understand.


    ¡®I died,¡¯ he thought grimly, yet with a sense of finality. ¡®This is the new me.¡¯


    Buried in the earth, he smiled faintly, savoring the soggy, earthy smell and taste.


    ¡®I can still smile, feel the taste and smell of earth¡­ I have my feelings, my dreams, my friends, and family,¡¯ he chuckled inwardly, digging upward. ¡®So let¡¯s enjoy this new life.¡¯


    Soil and grass sprayed outward as he emerged from the ground, dirt clinging to him.


    Opening his eyes and shaking his head, Zamian barely had time to recover his vision before his instincts screamed at him.


    Failing to enhance his body once more, Zamian hastily crossed his arms, bracing himself against a powerful strike that bent his bones with ease.


    As his body was thrown like a leaf in the wind, Zamian glared at his attacker. Rushing toward him was a bald man, his body packed with muscles, clad in wooden armor, and sporting a long white beard.


    ¡°What are you doing, blighted bald man?¡± Zamian shouted, rolling across the ground before managing to stabilize himself.


    In response, the man launched another punch. Zamian blocked it with his left arm, only to be flung back once again by the sheer force of the blow.


    Staring at the Warrior Chosen, Zamian¡¯s alarm grew as the man reached behind his back to retrieve a massive wooden halberd.


    As his instincts screamed louder than ever, Zamian¡¯s eyes turned cold. He didn¡¯t understand why he was being attacked, but one thing was clear: this Warrior Chosen wasn¡¯t weaker than Ruen¡ªthe Warlord he had barely managed to defeat.


    In fact, he was stronger.


    ¡®Father once said that in the Sanctuary, only the Warrior Chosen and the Children of Verdant could hope to stop him,¡¯ Zamian thought, his eyes glowing white¡ªnot blinking intermittently, but constantly emitting light. ¡®And my old man is blighted strong.¡¯


    Marlos, the Warrior Chosen, pulled his halberd free from his back. The gale of green essence that followed swept the waist-high grass, flattening it to the ground.


    Zamian¡¯s instincts abruptly went silent, and time seemed to slow.


    In one moment, Marlos was only a few steps away, gripping the halberd with both hands.


    In the next, Zamian ducked low, kicking off the ground and darting between the man¡¯s legs with a flash of white light.


    The Warrior Chosen was now on the same spot that Zamian previously were, his gaze series, and his halberd being held only bys his left hand.


    When Marlos turned to look, Zamian was already standing where he had been moments ago, his long hair now noticeably shorter. Marlos¡¯s right hand clutched strands of black hair, his expression serious as he shook his halberd in frustration.


    The young cultivator, now with his hair cut back to shoulder-length, used his refined control over his body to flee. He also felt essence enhancing his speed, pushing him forward. To a commoner, Zamian might have appeared faster than light for a fleeting moment.


    Sadly, he wasn¡¯t.


    Once again, the instincts that had been screaming at him fell silent, and time seemed to slow.


    A wooden wall materialized before him, and Zamian smirked inwardly. ¡®Trying to bait me, bald man?¡¯


    Rather than jumping over it, he stepped onto the wall, lightly kicking off its surface and using it to run briefly sideways.


    Above the wooden construct, a flash of green light appeared, materializing into a wooden halberd held by the Warrior Chosen.


    As Zamian fled, more wooden columns and walls emerged, most targeting him directly, while others blocked his path toward the hole he had come from.


    He could feel Marlos¡¯s unrelenting gaze on him. The Warrior Chosen hadn¡¯t uttered a single word, but Zamian knew he was being observed carefully, his every move analyzed. It wasn¡¯t just about stopping him¡ªit was about keeping him from getting closer to the Camp.


    Marlos was here to protect.


    The bald Chosen maintained his composure, his instincts sharp, his attention scanning the surroundings for anything unusual. It was clear to Zamian that Marlos wasn¡¯t giving his all in this chasing.


    ¡®This blighted bald man¡­¡¯ Realization struck Zamian, his eyes widening. ¡®He¡¯s searching for other intruders.¡¯


    The thought sent a chill down his spine.


    The old him, before dying and being reborn, might also have been able to flee from Marlos¡¯s attacks if he used the Beginning of the Cycle technique. But now, with the trembling air and the overwhelming essence rushing across the battlefield, Zamian was certain his body wouldn¡¯t endure even a single hit!


    If Ruen¡¯s explosion had been a wide-range attack capable of harming him despite the protection of the Colossal Tree¡¯s sapling, then Marlos¡¯s slashes were concentrated melee strikes¡ªprecise, devastating, and impossible to block without being split in two.


    And the bald man wasn¡¯t even using his full strength, reserving essence in case Zamian had companions. That terrified him.


    ¡®Wait, this means when he doesn¡¯t find anyone¡­¡¯ Zamian stopped running, turned around, and shouted as loudly as he could.


    ¡°I¡¯m Zamian Greenfield! I fled here a few days ago using my woo¡ª¡± He froze mid-sentence, his eyes widening as blood trickled down his forehead.


    An arm¡¯s length away, Marlos¡¯s halberd hovered in midair, held casually in the Warrior Chosen¡¯s right hand.


    Zamian stared at the halberd, his breath catching as his eyes returned to their normal color. ¡®It didn¡¯t touch me, but I was still cut!¡¯


    A few tense seconds passed. Then, Marlos spoke in a serious tone, his deep voice breaking the silence. ¡°What happened to your essence and your body?¡±


    Zamian opened his mouth to respond but hesitated, his thoughts racing. Remembering his past encounters with Marlos, he decided to give a crazy answer.


    ¡°My dad left some arrangements¡­ They didn¡¯t go as he thought, and¡ª¡± Zamian suddenly paused, realizing he¡¯d forgotten that Marlos could also have the ability to detect lies. ¡°Wait, I mean¡ª¡±


    Marlos moved the halberd slightly.


    Zamian¡¯s eyes widened, but instead of attacking, the Warrior Chosen placed the halberd back on his back and laughed heartily.


    ¡°Ohohoho, little lunatic. I knew it was you as soon as you said your name. But truly, what a father-and-son crazy duo¡­Changing so much¡­ That lunatic always had curious techniques indeed,¡± the Warrior Chosen said happily.


    Sighing, Zamian plopped onto the ground.


    ¡°What are you cultivating? It isn¡¯t Earth or Nature essence empowering you,¡± Marlos asked, scratching his beard as he glanced around, the wooden walls and columns crumbling away.


    ¡°...No clue,¡± Zamian muttered.


    ¡°Can¡¯t you make clothes with it? Or armor?¡±


    ¡°...I don¡¯t know,¡± he admitted flatly.


    Shrugging, Marlos laughed again. ¡°Ohoho, good that you came back, by the way. Those two nagging women didn¡¯t stop showing up every day asking about you.¡±


    ¡°Who?¡± Zamian stood abruptly, his gaze snapping toward the Camp¡¯s wooden dome.


    ¡°The blind Cleric Chosen and that friend who came with you, the blonde one.¡±


    Zamian scratched the back of his head. ¡°Yeah, I left without telling Tulip¡­ Wait, Bohlo didn¡¯t come looking for me?¡± he asked, perplexed.


    ¡°Ohoho, and who¡¯s that?¡±


    ¡°The shirtless guy with big ears who came with me,¡± Zamian replied, sighing.


    ¡°Oh, him? No. He got locked up a few days ago after trying to leave and find you.¡±


    ¡°What?¡±

 Chapter 32 - Scholar

    Zamian, wearing borrowed clothes, sat inside a wooden room with a single vined door. Green leaves covered the walls, and larger ones served as cushioned seats. Vines intertwined, reinforcing the structure.


    He took a sip of the orange tea in his hands, focusing on how the liquid passed down his throat, only to enter a tube inside him. It was swiftly transported to another of these organic structures within his body, and then absorbed.


    ¡°At least it tastes good and is warm,¡± he muttered, shrugging before taking another sip.


    Zamian glanced at the door. A moment later, the vines contracted, and three cultivators stepped inside.


    The first was a commoner¡ªLevel 1 cultivator¡ªwoman with familiar orange hair and a veiled face. Accompanying her were two Chosen¡ªone was a long-haired man wearing wooden armor, missing his right arm, while the other was an old woman who kept smacking her lips.


    As the three sat down on the leaf-covered seats, Fern scowled at Zamian, speaking with unhidden disgust. ¡°Why did you come?¡±


    Zamian took another sip of tea, met Fern¡¯s glare with a smirk, then turned to Yokki. ¡°How¡¯s Lakea?¡±


    Yokki, who seemed to be smiling beneath her veil, answered calmly. ¡°She¡¯s being treated by Cleric Chosen Calla, along with the Stargazing Brother. Both of them are recuperating.¡±


    She paused for a moment, then bowed deeply, her forehead touching the leaf-covered floor. ¡°Thank you for saving her,¡± she murmured before sitting back up with practiced elegance.


    Zamian nodded, then shifted his gaze to Calla. ¡°And you?¡±


    ¡°Hihihi, what about me?¡± the old woman cackled, her eyes flashing green as she stared at him.


    ¡°I see, the same as usual,¡± Zamian nodded once more. ¡°Where¡¯s Bohlo?¡±


    Fern slammed his palm against the floor, sending a wave of green essence sweeping across the room. Leaves scattered, and the cutlery clattered, spilling tea across the surface.


    Zamian, still holding his wooden cup, took another sip.


    ¡°Are you out of your mind, boy?¡± Fern barked at him. ¡°You leave whenever you want. You come back whenever you want. You demand to see us, then demand answers. Who do you think you are?¡±


    ¡°I noticed something,¡± Zamian ignored Fern, staring at the wooden ceiling adorned with a few white leaves. ¡°I don¡¯t like being weak. It makes dealing with people like you too tiring,¡± he muttered, glancing at Fern.


    Then, he took another sip of his tea.


    Fern stood up, his eyes glowing with a green hue. He stomped the floor, and a wooden spear emerged, its tip gleaming with a leaf-like edge that looked almost metallic.


    Gripping the spear with his left hand, he pointed it at Zamian. ¡°Leave. Or I¡¯ll take one of your eyes for being such a brat,¡± Fern said, the veins in his hands bulging as he tightened his grip.


    Zamian remained still for a moment before finishing his tea and standing up.


    The pale cultivator looked at Yokki. ¡°Bohlo?¡± he asked simply.


    The room fell silent.


    Yokki sighed before answering. ¡°Underground. We locked him in a cultivation room. His father and friends can come and go, but he¡¯s been there ever since his repeated attempts to follow you. The Zealot outside can guide you there.¡±


    Nodding, Zamian turned to Calla and gestured toward the door with his chin.


    Calla¡¯s eyes gleamed with green light, and the vined door creaked open. Without another word, Zamian walked out with measured steps, signaling for a Zealot.


    As the door closed behind him, the trio inside remained in silence.


    ¡°What is he cultivating?¡± Fern asked coldly, watching his spear crumble, the green leaf merging back into his open palm.


    ¡°I¡¯ve never felt it before,¡± Calla shook her head. ¡°I need to research. It didn¡¯t feel like Earth¡¯s essence, nor any other essence I¡¯ve encountered in cultivators from either the Sanctuary or the Oasis.¡±


    Nodding to Calla and then turning to Yokki, Fern said. ¡°I believe he¡¯s more dangerous than I thought. He disappeared for a few days, and when he returned, both his body and essence had changed. Either he¡¯s cultivating a new pathway, or he found a way to cultivate another type of essence without being tainted.¡±


    Yokki sighed, massaging her temples. ¡°We can¡¯t kill him, and you know that.¡±


    ¡°But we can find someone who can. An outsider,¡± Fern spoke.


    Calla chuckled. ¡°I believe if we communicate with the Lord¡¯s Tree, we can arrange for it to happen.¡±


    Yokki waved her hand dismissively. ¡°The Children are there. All four of them. You know they won¡¯t leave, nor will they let anyone leave without a proper reason.¡±


    ¡°Killing that man¡¯s son isn¡¯t a proper reason?¡± Fern pressed.


    ¡°That man isn¡¯t our priority,¡± Yokki turned her gaze to him, her voice sharp. ¡°Don¡¯t let your personal grudges interfere with our real goals.¡±


    Fern¡¯s face remained cold as he stared at her.


    ¡°Hihi, both of them would laugh if they knew you two were arguing over them,¡± Calla said, her eyes flashing green. ¡°Yokki, be honest¡ªdoes the boy saving your daughter influence your decisions?¡±


    ¡°No,¡± Yokki answered quickly, shaking her head.


    Silence fell over the room once more.


    Yokki clenched her fists and muttered, ¡°Okay,¡± before sighing. ¡°He is dangerous. He was able to hurt me and managed to deal with a group of Zealots without anyone knowing how.¡±


    Fern nodded, showing neither satisfaction nor other emotion. ¡°I¡¯ll go myself,¡± he said, standing. ¡°It¡¯s better if you avoid meeting him. Maybe his instincts are sharp enough to sense your intentions.¡±


    Calla raised an eyebrow. ¡°What makes you say that?¡±


    ¡°I won¡¯t underestimate him,¡± Fern replied, walking toward the door. He paused briefly and muttered, ¡°He acts like someone who¡¯s used to the pressure of death. Just like his father¡­¡±


    Saying that, Fern conjured a finger-sized green leaf, and threw it in front of Calla, who picked it up.


    ¡°And as his father, his feelings must be his main weakness. Use it well.¡±


    As Calla¡¯s eyes glowed green, the door opened, and Fern stepped out.


    The two women remained still for a few minutes before Yokki stood up. ¡°I want to stay with Lakea. Would you mind joining me?¡± she asked.


    Calla chuckled, took Yokki¡¯s hand, and the two left the room together.


    <hr>


    Zamian found himself frozen, unsure of what to do.


    Not even when fighting Ruen had he felt such danger.


    And worse¡ªhis instincts were silent.


    ¡®Is this a deadly situation? As dangerous as being hit by the Warrior Chosen?¡¯ he thought, staring at the blonde-haired woman with crossed arms, glaring at him furiously.


    Zamian had been on his way to find Bohlo when he ran into the Enlightened, who seemed to be waiting for someone in the corridor just before Bohlo¡¯s entrance.


    Unauthorized tale usage: if you spot this story on Amazon, report the violation.


    Funnily enough, the Zealot who should have been guarding Bohlo was nowhere to be found.


    ¡°Explain,¡± Tulip demanded, squeezing her arms tight as she glared at him.


    ¡®Why are all my eight hearts beating so fast!?¡¯ he thought in dismay, clearing his throat with a cough before answering, ¡°I came here to find Bohlo.¡±


    Tulip growled and took strong steps toward him.


    She was shorter than him now, but not once did she hesitate in recognizing who he was. Zamian was sure of it because as she approached, she tapped his chest with her right index finger, her glare sharp as she hissed, ¡°Where. Were. You?¡±


    Zamian was bewildered.


    He barely knew this woman. They hadn¡¯t talked much, and they had only met a few days ago.


    ¡®So why am I feeling like this?¡¯


    Scratching the back of his head, he forced a laugh. ¡°I had to go to the Sanctuary and deal with unfinished¡­ things.¡±


    ¡°Why didn¡¯t you tell us? Why did you disappear like that? Why does your body look so different? Why did you take so long to come back?¡± Tulip shot question after question, her taps turning into light punches.


    Zamian remained unmoving, opening and closing his mouth.


    He didn¡¯t know what to say.


    And then, he noticed Tulip¡¯s eyes.


    They were wet and red. Her fists were trembling, and she looked thinner than before.


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry,¡± Zamian said, giving a wry smile. ¡°I should have told you guys.¡±


    Tulip punched his chest. ¡°Do you know how worried I was¡­ how lonely this place is for me¡­¡± Her grip tightened on his shirt, her teeth sinking into her lip.


    And Zamian understood¡ªa little¡ªwhy she behaved like that.


    She was a traitor to her people.


    Even if cultivators from the Camp spoke to her, guilt would eat at her. She had betrayed Yokki¡¯s daughter, who had been kidnapped and tortured; and that certainly didn¡¯t make her new friends.


    Besides Kurt, the imprisoned Bohlo, and maybe Soho, there wasn¡¯t anyone here, at least in Zamian¡¯s opinion, who was a good fit to even talk to Tulip.


    ¡°I¡¯m¡­ sorry,¡± he mumbled again, moving his arms and embracing her, pulling her into a hug.


    They stayed like that for a few minutes as Tulip hugged him back.


    And then, she muttered something.


    ¡°What?¡± Zamian held her shoulders and pushed her slightly away. ¡°Repeat that, please.¡±


    Gazing at him with soft eyes, she repeated her question.


    ¡°This is the moment you take me to your room? While I¡¯m helpless?¡±


    Zamian eyes widened. ¡°What? No, no,¡± he shook his head.


    Tulip blinked, then laughed, lightly pushing him away. ¡°Your loss,¡± she shrugged with a smile.


    The pale cultivator forced a laugh. ¡°Good to see you don¡¯t fear me anymore, making these jokes and all.¡±


    ¡°I can pretend to fear you if it helps¡­¡± she whispered, winking.


    Zamian opened and closed his mouth before chuckling. ¡°One day, I won¡¯t be so polite to hold back.¡±


    She tapped his shoulder. ¡°Let¡¯s hope it¡¯s sooner rather than later.¡±


    Seeing Zamian get flustered, Tulip laughed softly and pointed with her thumb to the door a little ways behind her. ¡°You should probably talk with your friend. He was more concerned than me, and maybe a hug and a few apologies won¡¯t be enough.¡±


    Hearing that, Zamian laughed and walked past Tulip, saying, ¡°Maybe I don¡¯t know how to deal with you, but that monkey head has been my friend since before I was born.¡±


    As he approached the door, he turned back to wave at Tulip, who waved back at him. By her posture, Zamian knew she¡¯d be waiting for him after he caught up with Bohlo.


    Knocking on the door, Zamian shouted, ¡°I came looking for my shirt. The one they gave me feels like it¡¯s made from bark.¡±


    Hearing no answer after a while, he tried to open the door, finding it locked.


    Shrugging, he pushed it, slowly increasing his strength until the wooden lock broke.


    When he finally opened it, he saw a garden similar to the one he had been cultivating a few days ago here at the camp.


    In the middle of its trees, close to a small stream, Bohlo sat cross-legged, bare-chested, his eyes closed, hands moving in the air as green essence flowed into his body.


    Smiling, Zamian closed the door behind him and approached his friend with light steps.


    When he was just a few arm¡¯s lengths away, he sat down cross-legged.


    Looking at his friend¡¯s serene face, watching his ears twitch from time to time, Zamian chuckled.


    The peacefulness of the moment, along with his previous interaction with Tulip, resonated deeply with his mood.


    ¡®Being alive is good, White Dot,¡¯ he thought, glancing at the corner of his vision. ¡®I know you¡¯re plotting something, but thank you. And I mean it.¡¯


    Looking at Bohlo and the flow of Nature¡¯s essence, Zamian shook his head. ¡®I won¡¯t stop your cultivation.¡¯


    Standing up, he turned around and walked toward the door. Midway, he smiled, stopping and turning back.


    Bohlo waved his arm and muttered, his eyes still closed. ¡°Z, I tried to get to you, but the bald man didn¡¯t let me.¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t worry, B. How are you feeling, though?¡± Zamian asked.


    Seeing that Bohlo remained silent, likely having returned to his cultivation, Zamian shook his head and whispered, ¡°Keep cultivating. I¡¯ll meet the others and come back later, I promise.¡±


    As Zamian continued toward the door, he heard Bohlo shouting, ¡°One day, I¡¯ll be stronger than you again, Z! And then you won¡¯t need to leave without me.¡±


    Holding the door, Zamian stood still for a moment, realizing that Bohlo saw him the same way he saw his father, who was fighting on the Oasis for days.


    ¡°I¡¯ll be waiting, big guy,¡± Zamian muttered before leaving the room and closing the door behind him.


    In the hallway, he found Tulip once more. Stepping closer to her, he asked in a curious tone, ¡°Where¡¯s the coward?¡±


    The blonde woman chuckled and pointed to the ceiling. ¡°Kurt can¡¯t cultivate here, so he¡¯s doing what he loves.¡±


    ¡°And what does he love to do?¡±


    ¡°Drinking and telling stories,¡± Tulip shrugged, then locked her arm around Zamian¡¯s and pulled him along. ¡°Come on. I feel like you won¡¯t tell me what you did, but I want to tell you about this place. Did you know they have a woodcarving competition here?¡±


    Zamian let himself be pulled, observing Tulip¡¯s face while she kept talking with a smile.


    ¡®I can let myself rest a little until the last meal, and then¡­¡¯ His eyes flashed with a white light. ¡®It will be time to learn.¡¯


    <hr>


    After having the last meal with everybody and drinking tea with Soho and Kurt, while Tulip kept teasing him, Zamian went back to his cultivation room.


    Locking the door and smiling to himself, he went to a tree, grabbed a fruit, and took a bite.


    ¡°It was fun,¡± he whispered, remembering the meal with his friends. He had even gone to check on Bohlo since the guy had skipped his meal, bringing his friend some food before coming to his room.


    Crouching down, he dug a hole while muttering, ¡°I wish things were always fun and light. Instead, I have to deal with those vipers and all this nonsense.¡± He placed the seed inside the hole, pressing the soil back over it before attempting to feel Nature¡¯s essence.


    Clicking his tongue, he sat cross-legged and closed his eyes.


    As he tried to visualize himself being born, a clash erupted in his mind, forcing him to stop before the visualization could even begin.


    After four other attempts, Zamian opened his eyes in frustration and willed the White Dot to show his information.


    PERSONAL INFORMATION


    Name: Zamian Greenfield


    Level: 3 [90%]


    Tier: Mortal


    Main Pathway: Knowledge


    Title: None


    STATS POINTS


    Body: 1500/3000


    Mind: 2600/3000


    Soul: 3000/3000


    REWARDS


    Ancient Astral Seal


    Description: A Star Seal guarding your Astral Self.


    Ancient Identify Technique (Passive)


    Description: See the secrets beyond the limitations of time.


    Nameless Physique


    Description: Breaker of the natural order, bearer of perpetual body, an unshackled lifeform.


    QUEST LOG


    Last Quest: Destroy an Unholy Sapling before the end of the month


    Reward: Special Physique (??)


    Status: Complete


    New Main Quest: Bring destruction to a Level 8 Immortal tainted by Godhood


    Reward: Inheritor¡¯s Cave Entrance


    Status: Ongoing (99 days left)


    Dismissing the white text, Zamian muttered, ¡°Knowledge Pathway, huh? Sure doesn¡¯t feel like I know more than before.¡±


    He exhaled, leaning back against the tree behind him. ¡°At least I know that digging and fighting cost me a lot without using essence to enhance me¡­ but even essence I ended up losing¡­And those mind points were because of me learning how to dig?¡± He clicked his tongue, rubbing his temples.


    Closing his eyes, he willed himself into his dark space¡ªand observed the humanoid figure composed mostly of white light.


    ¡®Nice. As if I wasn¡¯t pale enough,¡¯ he jested, zooming in on the humanoid¡¯s head and spotting two white crystals that stood out above it.


    Zamian smiled inwardly, noting that one of the crystals still had eight of its sixteen drawings. A part of him feared the crystal would disappear after he learned the Seed of Creation technique¡ªeven if he had no clue what happened, he knew he learned it before dying.


    ¡®Here I go, Teacher Lin Zhi.¡¯ As white light spread through his vision, he watched the familiar buildings and the enormous white tower materialize.


    Glancing briefly at the blue sky and drifting clouds, he moved with the other disciples who were entering the rooftop, waiting for Lin Zhi.


    As the monstrous teacher emerged from the ground as a sprout before quickly morphing into his grotesque form, Zamian allowed the creature to deliver its usual greetings, waiting for the expected line.


    ¡°To learn, we must first struggle,¡± Lin Zhi¡¯s eerie voice echoed.


    Zamian stood up with trained movements, cupped his hands, and bowed. ¡°Teacher Lin Zhi, this one is disciple Zamian, a¡ª¡±


    Before he could continue, Lin Zhi¡¯s buzzing voice cut him off.


    ¡°What is a Scholar at the Essence Refining Stage doing here?¡± Lin Zhi¡¯s four green eyes glowed.


    Zamian¡¯s instincts remained calm, and he sighed inwardly in relief. ¡®Scholar? Good, keep talking, you ugly thing.¡¯


    ¡°I came here to learn. I¡¯m not from Origin and seek your guidance,¡± Zamian said while keeping his head bowed.


    Lin Zhi waved a clawed arm dismissively. ¡°Nonsense,¡± he buzzed. ¡°I am a teacher, not a Sage. Just go look for your field of study and learn from it, Scholar.¡±


    ¡®A soup of new words, nice. As expected from this insect,¡¯ Zamian jested inwardly. ¡®Still, I feel like this monster is trying to push me away as politely as he can¡­¡¯


    Smiling, Zamian asked, ¡°Teacher Lin Zhi, how can I learn from my field of study?¡±


    As he observed Lin Zhi, he thought, ¡®I¡¯m prepared to kill myself if needed¡­¡¯ Then, he shook his head. ¡®Wait, no. I¡¯m not dying in the real world, and I can¡¯t conjure my Beginning of the Cycle technique either. There is no need or way for me to quickly kill myself.¡¯


    His musings were interrupted by Lin Zhi¡¯s eerie tone.


    ¡°Curious,¡± the monster said, scratching his scaly arm. ¡°You believe this to be the truth, but how does a Scholar reach the Essence Refining Stage without a field of study? The Light Pathway¡¯s essence should reveal knowledge tied to your field while you cultivate or focus on it¡­ Curious.¡±


    As Zamian listened, a sudden thought passed through his mind, and he scowled.


    ¡®Is my field of study¡­ digging holes?¡¯

 Chapter 33 - New Discoveries

    ¡°You have my interest,¡± Lin Zhi said, interrupting Zamian¡¯s train of thought. ¡°After concluding my teachings on the Seed of Creation technique, I shall observe you cultivating.¡±


    ¡®Blighted monster, that won¡¯t work,¡¯ Zamian cursed inwardly, knowing that after the lesson concluded¡ªprobably with the birdman disciple Tian or some other unlucky fellow dying¡ªhe would be forced to leave this place.


    Still cupping his hands, Zamian raised his voice. ¡°Teacher Lin Zhi, I¡¯ve heard of your Seed of Creation. I believe this technique is powerful enough to save my life someday! I even feel like I already understand part of it. Sadly, I can¡¯t use it now, but if I understood my field of study better¡ª¡±


    He was attempting to bullshit Lin Zhi into helping him, but the buzzing voice interrupted him.


    ¡°Show me, disciple,¡± Lin Zhi spoke eerily. ¡°Show me what part of my technique you understand.¡±


    ¡®Me and my loud mouth,¡¯ Zamian flinched. ¡°Teacher, sadly¡­ I don¡¯t even have Nature¡¯s essence inside me and can¡¯t conjure the Seed of Creation.¡±


    ¡°What are you saying? Use your Light¡¯s essence,¡± Lin Zhi waved his right claw, and a green glow spread across the floor, transforming it into a massive tree stump with both of them atop it.


    ¡®That¡­ is possible?¡¯ Zamian furrowed his brows. He had tried using Everbark, Nature¡¯s Embrace, and Beginning of the Cycle techniques before and failed. ¡®But I never attempted the Seed of Creation after waking up.¡¯


    There were a few ways to use essence that Zamian was aware of.


    The first, and most obvious, was to gather essence¡ªwhether by visualizing his cycle or acting like a farmer. He knew that through this, he could improve his cultivation.


    The second was by moving the essence inside his body, using the connection previously established while cultivating. Gathering it would allow him to enhance his body or release it outward.


    The third was through techniques. Previously, Zamian had acquired techniques either through what he called Nature¡¯s Knowledge or with Lin Zhi¡¯s ¡°help¡±.


    Zamian had been failing to manipulate his essence in all ways, mostly because he felt no connection to it. His known techniques refused to activate, like trying to make tea without water.


    But now, Lin Zhi had given him a sliver of hope.


    Glancing at the creature, who was patiently waiting, and the murmuring white-robed disciples, Zamian grinned.


    He extended his right arm, pointing his index finger at Lin Zhi, and focused on his concept of birth.


    Tiny white strands emerged from his fingertip, sluggishly taking on a round shape.


    ¡®It lacks intent,¡¯ he realized while conjuring the technique.


    Previously, he had learned to infuse his intent¡ªthe desperate struggle to avoid death¡ªinto the Seed of Creation. But now, that same despair wasn¡¯t so easily replicated.


    As he hesitated, trying to find the right intention to embed into the forming seed, the technique failed.


    Lin Zhi said nothing, merely observing, while the disciples remained silent. A few whispered among themselves, but their voices were barely audible.


    Closing his eyes, Zamian organized everything he had learned about the Seed of Creation.


    ¡®It carries a strong intent of birth¡­ It uses external nutrients to be born¡­ It doesn¡¯t need much essence¡­ It gives back what it takes¡­ By initiating a new cycle¡­ A new beginning¡­¡¯


    A series of images flashed through his mind, and his perception of the world shifted slightly, white specks of light surrounding him.


    +100 Mind Points


    Still pointing his finger at Lin Zhi, Zamian concentrated on the concepts of birth, and when the strands of white essence reformed, he infused them with intent.


    ¡®Begin a new cycle,¡¯ he thought, his eyes flashing white.


    From within his dark space, specks of white light pulsed, sending forth a strong wave of Soul Force that stabilized the Seed of Creation, allowing it to fully take shape.


    As the seed shone with a weak white light, Zamian observed it.


    Then, almost mechanically, he moved his hand, pressing the tiny orb against his left shoulder.


    Silence fell.


    Then, the disciples erupted into murmurs.


    Lin Zhi scratched his scaly arm.


    The moment the white orb touched his shoulder, Zamian screamed.


    It tore through his skin, shredded his muscles, and hungrily devoured his essence.


    He collapsed to the ground, gritting his teeth to suppress his cries. His hands clamped over the gaping wound on his shoulder as his body instinctively fought against his own technique.


    ¡®You¡­ blighted¡­ idiot¡­¡¯ Zamian cursed inwardly, fully aware that he had, in fact, completely messed up.


    The last time he had been here, he had conjured half a hundred of these orbs while in his transformed wooden form.


    This time, he had used it on his flesh-and-blood body.


    Luckily for him, it wasn¡¯t a simple body.


    As the Seed of Creation pulsed inside him, draining his essence, he started to hear whispers.


    ¡®Wh¡ª¡¯


    Unable to fully focus on them, he recognized what they were¡ªhis instincts, attempting to guide him, urging him to act.


    Whatever action they wanted to do, however, Zamian didn¡¯t know.


    ¡®I¡­ Can¡¯t¡­ Fail¡­ Here.¡¯


    His eyes shone with white light as he forced himself to endure the pain.


    Having so much of his essence drawn into the growing orb, which now pressed against his muscles and bones, was anything but pleasant.


    ¡®Move¡­¡¯


    He forced his body into action, shifting his muscles and bones, pushing the white orb further¡ªtoward his back.


    And then, due to his lack of understanding of his new body, the orb touched one of the tubes that were now his organs.


    A spike of pain unlike anything he had ever experienced tore through him, forcing a scream so guttural he didn¡¯t even recognize it as his own.


    And then, it was over.


    His eight tiny hearts pounded furiously as he fought to regain control, hastily trying to understand what had just happened.


    ¡®How¡­?¡¯


    Perplexed, he tapped into his new awareness¡ªthe natural control over his body that allowed him to see his insides perfectly.


    He located the white Seed of Creation.


    It was encased in organic tissue¡ªa strange mixture of viscous white liquid, bloodied muscle, and tubes.


    Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.


    Slowly but surely, the seed continued to consume his essence and his body. But for an instant¡ªjust an instant¡ªit had paused.


    And that instant was all Zamian needed to listen to his instincts.


    His eyes burned with an even stronger white light.


    ¡°This orb¡­ has too little essence¡­ To destroy it¡­ I just need to¡­,¡± Zamian muttered, caught in a silent debate with his own instincts.


    Swiftly, he moved his right hand and slammed an open palm against his chest, shouting. ¡°Argh!¡±


    And again.


    And again.


    White strands of essence sluggishly seeped from his palm, sinking into his chest.


    He continued to strike himself, even as Lin Zhi¡¯s four eyes gleamed with green light.


    On the tenth strike, Zamian felt his tubes rupture, his muscles tear, his bones splinter, and three of his eight hearts explode.


    Blood burst from his lips.


    Grinning, his teeth slick with red, he laughed.


    ¡°So this is how it is! This is my field of study!¡± he shouted, completely unconcerned about his wounds.


    +100 Mind Points


    ¡°Congratulations, disciple,¡± Lin Zhi whispered, his eerie voice carrying through the murmuring crowd. ¡°Conjuring the Seed of Creation, even with so little essence and a pitiful intent, is a matter to be proud of.¡±


    Zamian¡¯s instincts screamed at him, snapping him out of his cheerful mood.


    ¡°Oh, blight,¡± he muttered through gritted teeth, his eyes widening as green essence flooded the surroundings.


    Hundreds of rotten roots materialized behind and above Lin Zhi, twisting and writhing before surging toward him.


    Zamian had to stop himself from instinctively reaching for his own neck. ¡®Bad habit, bad habit,¡¯ he reminded himself as his instincts blared about the incoming attack.


    Despite his tense and focused state, he wasn¡¯t particularly concerned.


    ¡®This isn¡¯t a death threat¡­¡¯ He recognized the difference immediately¡ªhis instincts reacted far more violently when his life was truly at stake.


    He didn¡¯t have time to analyze it further, though. The roots didn¡¯t slam into him but instead coiled around his body, encasing him in a massive cocoon.


    A moment later, the cocoon was violently lifted and flung through the air before abruptly coming to a stop.


    Tumbling inside, Zamian steadied himself, adjusting to his new confinement.


    His instincts were quiet¡ªno warnings, no dangers.


    Shrugging, he smirked and said with glee, ¡°You can trap me, ugly thing. I already got what I wanted.¡±


    Sitting cross-legged, Zamian took a deep breath and reflected on his actions, his insights.


    And then he smiled again.


    ¡°Who would¡¯ve thought¡­ That my field of study, the thing Lin Zhi spoke of¡­¡± He chuckled to himself. ¡°Was myself.¡±


    Focusing inward, he observed his damaged body.


    Beneath his skin and bones, in his chest, was a hollow space where three of his tiny hearts and several organic tubes were supposed to be.


    For a brief moment, Zamian had considered that his field of study might simply be his body. But after paying close attention to his instincts¡ªafter truly reasoning through the situation¡ªhe understood that it wasn¡¯t just his body.


    It was himself.


    Not just how to move his body, but how to control himself, how to calm his mind, and how to better act. After becoming a Zealot, the Light¡¯s essence was helping him here and there, but now that he was cultivating its path it became even more active.


    So active, that his instincts helped him find a flaw in his body and in his technique!


    He had put so little Light¡¯s essence into the Seed that it became fragile¡ªbreakable by any strong enough pulse of essence.


    Of course, he wasn¡¯t able to send this pulse of essence¡ªhe couldn¡¯t even gather it to cultivate!


    That¡¯s why he had struck himself.


    He had been trying to recreate something he had done before¡ªwhen he was purging his body of the red essence by forcefully expelling green essence.


    And with this action, his white essence recognized what it should do!


    He, himself, was the connection¡ªhis memories about his past and his actions toward himself served as a way to control the white essence.


    Zamian looked at his right hand, channeling what he had learned, of other surfaces he touched with his hand, how he threw punches or plucked fruits, and how he turned it into bark a few times.


    A moment later, white light coated his right hand¡¯s skin.


    ¡°This is how my enhanced body looks?¡± He marveled at the sight. The light wasn¡¯t just glowing¡ªit was like a semi-transparent white liquid flowing over his skin. ¡°This is so different from Nature¡¯s essence.¡±


    Chuckling, he leaned back against the rotten roots and sighed in relief.


    ¡°Finally, I think I can cultivate again¡­¡± His brows furrowed in thought. ¡°But does this mean I need to study myself? What was it that Mother called that¡­ Narcissism?¡±


    A few moments passed in silence.


    Then he shrugged.


    ¡°Who cares? I had to die just to get this far,¡± he muttered, smacking his lips. ¡°Even if I have to cut my belly open to study myself better, it won¡¯t be an issue.¡±


    Zamian then glared at the roots caging him.


    ¡°But,¡± he whispered. ¡°I should avoid coming here. I have seven more entrances, and Lin Zhi¡¯s knowledge is too precious to waste.¡±


    He didn¡¯t know when¡ªor if¡ªthe White Dot would give him another side quest with a technique as a reward. So, he couldn¡¯t come here just to look at Lin Zhi¡¯s handsome eyes.


    In fact, he had been avoiding being pulled into the other crystal, the one containing the One Amongst Myriad Beings technique, simply because he didn¡¯t want to waste an entrance.


    He needed a plan!


    ¡°And not just techniques,¡± Zamian muttered, recalling Lin Zhi¡¯s attack. ¡°This place is offering me ways to learn about other paths¡­ to expand my horizons about cultivation.¡±


    Seeing as he was still locked on his place, he sighed once more.


    ¡°I should practice a cultivation method here,¡± he muttered. ¡°However, I can¡¯t just try to visualize my body, right? There should be better ways.¡±


    After thinking for a moment, he remembered that gathering essence was much easier when acting according to that strange title Lin Zhi had called him: a Farmer.


    But now¡­


    ¡°Am I a Scholar?¡±


    He scratched his head, trying to remember what Scholars were supposed to do.


    ¡°They study, I guess. They learn. They read books¡ª¡±


    He stopped.


    His eyes snapped open as realization struck him.


    Slowly, he turned his gaze toward the corner of his vision.


    Staring.


    Staring.


    Then, he scoffed.


    ¡°Come on, White Dot,¡± he said mockingly. ¡°You could do better. What did it take me? A bit of knowledge to grasp at your little plot? You used to be more mysterious, you blighted mute.¡±


    Zamian waited for a response.


    Minutes passed.


    Nothing.


    He shook his head.


    ¡°What if I don¡¯t cultivate this path? I could just try to cultivate the Nature or Creation or Whatever-Name Pathway again. That wouldn¡¯t be very good for you, would it?¡± he spoke, his expression akin to a shameless merchant.


    Silence.


    Again, no answer.


    ¡°Don¡¯t be like that,¡± Zamian clicked his tongue, waving his index finger side to side. ¡°It¡¯s your fault for giving me that first main quest about reading one hundred blighted books. Too on the nose, you see? Like red grass in a green field¡ªimpossible to miss once you spot it.¡±


    Still, nothing.


    Zamian shrugged.


    ¡°Well, too bad for you. After leaving here, I¡¯ll try my utmost to cultivate another path,¡± he said, laying down and closing his eyes.


    Minutes of silence passed.


    Then, suddenly, he stood up and pointed at the corner of his vision.


    ¡°Come on!¡± he shouted. ¡°You want me to believe this pathway is the one that fits me the most? That I cultivated it on my own and deserve this strength? I¡¯m not some dumb oak!¡±


    He scowled.


    ¡°Now, listen to me, blighted mute,¡± he gritted his teeth. ¡°Right now, maybe, I don¡¯t have much of a choice but to keep it. I must get stronger. And yes, whatever this pathway is, it gives me a few advantages. It seems to be connected to me, lets me grow stronger faster, and it¡¯s a mystery not only to me but probably to my enemies too.


    ¡°But!¡±


    Zamian paused dramatically and grinned.


    ¡°When I solve my issues, I will be the one to decide how I cultivate and which pathway I choose. Maybe I can cultivate more than one!¡±


    He pointed at himself with his thumb while speaking, then at the corner of his vision.


    ¡°You¡¯re powerful? Sure. Mysterious? Yes. A creepy little stalker? Definitely.


    ¡°But no matter what, I¡¯ll die before I let you control me and my path.¡±


    Satisfied with his monologue, Zamian nodded and sat back down.


    And just as he was about to continue his previous line of thinking, time seemed to stop, and the color drained from the wood.


    Only now did Zamian notice something peculiar.


    ¡®How can I even see that dark root-prison?¡¯


    As he pondered, a white light flashed, rushing back to form a white crystal.


    Finding himself in his dark space, Zamian hastily left before causing any accidents and opened his eyes to the real world.


    He was back in the beautiful garden, the peaceful sound of a stream¡¯s current filling the air¡­ along with snoring.


    Looking down at his thigh, he saw a blonde woman using him as a pillow.


    Bewildered, he muttered, ¡°Tulip?¡±


    Then, he noticed a presence behind him.


    His eyes flashed white as he turned sharply, his arms unconsciously moving to protect Tulip¡¯s head, his skin gleaming in a white hue.


    ¡°Ohohoho, you¡¯re finally back,¡± a deep, amused voice said.


    Zamian¡¯s gaze landed on a bald cultivator, a giant of a man clad in thick wooden armor, eating a green fruit the size of his head.


    His instincts didn¡¯t signal danger, but he didn¡¯t relax. Instead, he surveyed the area before carefully settling Tulip on the ground and turning to the Warrior Chosen.


    ¡°What are you doing here, Marlos? This is my cultivation room,¡± he asked.


    ¡°Oho, little lunatic, this was also my cultivation room,¡± Marlos answered with a laugh.


    ¡°...Shouldn¡¯t you be protecting the perimeter of the Camp or something?¡± Zamian questioned, attempting to change the subject.


    ¡°I have one hour of rest per day, picked out at random by me,¡± Marlos shrugged. ¡°I¡¯m not a lunatic like your father¡ªI need my moments of peace.¡±


    Sighing, Zamian pointed at Tulip. ¡°And her?¡±


    ¡°Oho, she was outside and wouldn¡¯t let me in unless she could come along,¡± Marlos chuckled. ¡°Poor girl was so tired she passed out faster than an old man!¡±


    Zamian wryly smiled as he glanced at Tulip.


    ¡°Well, I must go deal with other matters, little lunatic,¡± Marlos said, stretching his massive arms. ¡°But I was waiting for you to come out of your trance or whatever that was to make a proposition.¡±


    Zamian¡¯s frown deepened as he studied the man.


    ¡°And what would that be?¡±


    ¡°Let¡¯s spar tomorrow,¡± Marlos said, a dangerous glint in his eyes. ¡°I want to see more of that essence of yours. It¡¯s way more entertaining than fighting those monotonous Warlords or the pampered Chosen.¡±


    Zamian looked at the man as if he had just declared himself a Colossal Tree.


    Seeing his expression, Marlos laughed. ¡°Ohoho, don¡¯t worry. I won¡¯t use my halberd. In fact, let me remake my proposition! How about I train you while we spar? I know you and your lunatic of a father must have talked about cultivation, but I have more experience in single combat and close-quarters fighting!¡±


    Waiting for his instincts to detect any deception, Zamian was relieved when they remained silent.


    Weighing the situation, he quickly answered, ¡°I agree, but only if you promise to teach Bohlo and me about cultivation. I want to learn how to become a Chosen, too.¡±


    ¡®Let¡¯s see how much I can squeeze out of this bald man,¡¯ he thought.


    ¡°Done! Ohoho,¡± Marlos answered, scratching his beard. ¡°However, I have a question, little lunatic.¡±


    ¡°What is it?¡±


    ¡°Who is Bohlo?¡±


    ¡°...¡±

 Interlude 1 - Unique Lifeforms

    Inside a silver palace floating within black clouds and surrounded by golden lightning, thousands of golden-armored figures patrolled its halls.


    Thunderous, loud noises from outside seemed to be blocked by an invisible barrier, while the lightning coiled around the palace like snakes guarding their nest.


    In the middle of this monumental palace, on the middle floor, there was a room that lacked doors. Inside, faint, delicate notes could be heard¡ªa calm melody, relaxing and engaging, making the listener recall flashes of a lover caressing their hair.


    There, sitting on a massive silver throne, was a creature that could be mistaken for a female human. She wore no cloth, only hundreds of silver bracelets, rings, and necklaces, letting anyone who gazed upon her take in her silver skin, silver hair, and silver eyes.


    Her hands moved, touching the air as if playing an invisible harp. Each time she stroked, a silver cord would appear and produce a note before vanishing.


    Beside her stood a human clad in golden armor, without a helmet, nodding along to the music.


    His skin was bronze and healthy, his short black hair neat. However, his golden eyes flickered with sparks of electricity from time to time, crackling softly.


    Suddenly, this peaceful scene was interrupted by the sharp sound of a metallic twang cutting through the air.


    For a split second, there was a high-pitched whine, followed by a vibrating echo before the room fell into silence.


    One of the silver strings had just broken.


    The woman on the throne stopped playing, her silver eyes flashing with light, while the armored man stood still.


    Hours passed. Neither of them moved.


    Then, finally, the woman¡¯s eyes returned to normal, and she spoke in a metallic voice.


    ¡°A few Unique Lifeforms were born, Jin Rong. But their Fate Lines are difficult to grasp.¡±


    The man in golden armor, Jin Rong, raised his hand, and a spear of golden lightning surged into existence. Smiling, he asked, ¡°Empress, should I bring them here for your inspection?¡±


    As the naked silver woman nodded, a flash of white light appeared in the room, lingering only for a moment before vanishing.


    Both she and Jin Rong watched it, their gazes lingering there but for a moment before glancing at each other.


    The Empress reclined on her throne, once again playing the invisible harp.


    ¡°Do you think it was Her doing? Or maybe one of His plans?¡± Jin Rong asked, his lightning spear dissipating.


    ¡°Neither. Both. I can find out later. What matters is that She promised they wouldn¡¯t be a problem and that we could get a better piece of Origin if we didn¡¯t interfere,¡± the Empress said in her mechanical tone, her voice breaking in places.


    Jin Rong nodded. ¡°So does this mean we won¡¯t interfere?¡±


    The Empress closed her eyes and smiled softly.


    Jin Rong smiled back.


    And both returned to their rhythm: one playing notes, the other nodding along.


    <hr>


    In a pitch-black space, no sound could be heard, and not a single speck of dust could be seen.


    Endless darkness stretched as far as the eye could see¡ªformless, tasteless, and without a scent.


    Then, a scarlet dot appeared.


    Slowly, it stretched into a scarlet line before stabilizing at an unknown size.


    From the center of the scarlet line, a bulge formed, expanding outward.


    Fingers emerged, pressing against the line, stretching it until it widened into an oval form.


    A portal.


    From the scarlet portal, a figure resembling a male human stepped through. He carried the scent of blood, yet his face exuded beauty and calmness. His skin was beige, and he wore a pair of blue jeans, a cotton pink shirt, and a black plastic band on his wrist.


    But most striking of all were the scarlet horns protruding from his forehead, paired with long, silk-like blonde hair.


    His lean build and casual clothing clashed, creating an eerie sense of wrongness.


    As the scarlet portal closed behind him, the glow in his scarlet eyes dimmed. He remained floating in the dark space, a thin smile on his lips.


    His mouth moved, but no sound escaped.


    Scowling, his entire body flashed scarlet, and a bubble of the same color expanded around him. Then, he spoke.


    ¡°What are you planning?¡±


    His gaze was fixed on the darkness beyond his bubble. When nothing responded, he smirked.


    ¡°In the past few universal days, millions of Unique Lifeforms have appeared, most of them dying shortly after. But! My Clones detected a few interesting ones with shrouded Fate Lines. So? What¡¯s the plan?¡±


    Still, the darkness remained still.


    The horned man raised an eyebrow.


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


    A second later, a pompous cushioned chair appeared behind him, and he sat down. Casually, he rested his right leg over his left knee, supporting his chin with one hand on the chair¡¯s armrest.


    His long blonde hair moved on its own, as if a breeze were passing through.


    He started whistling.


    Slowly, the scarlet bubble around him expanded, growing brighter and less transparent.


    It stretched wider and wider¡ªfirst the size of a mountain, then a nation.


    The horned man smirked.


    Yet, without his notice, a white figure sat in front of him, starkly contrasting the surrounding darkness.


    It was a perfect copy of him, but completely white, except for the black voids where its eyes should be.


    The horned man leaned back and gave a thumbs-up. ¡°We¡¯re on the same side. I¡¯d appreciate it if you included me in your plans.¡±


    Suddenly, the scarlet bubble shrank, collapsing around them.


    From the void, black tentacles emerged, shifting between a gaseous and liquid state, slithering against the bubble, aki to starving beasts licking their meal.


    The horned man scoffed.


    ¡°What do you mean ¡®focus on my next stage¡¯? You two freaks never share how to advance.¡±


    He jabbed a thumb at his own chest.


    ¡°I shared my discoveries, didn¡¯t I? The Cloned Core, the Artificial World, even the Rune Circle! And let¡¯s not forget the lesser techniques.¡±


    The tentacles outside the bubble stirred calmly.


    In response, the blonde man slammed his fist on the armchair, making it dissolve into scarlet light as he stood up.


    ¡°Don¡¯t give me that bullshit! I¡¯m the strongest in the Heavenly Field Stage. People call me the Heavenly Demon! I came here to your little game as a player, not as another shitty piece.¡±


    The white figure smirked, tilting its chin up.


    The tentacles coiled tighter.


    ¡°Arrogance?¡± The Heavenly Demon¡¯s scarlet eyes flared. ¡°I¡¯m trying to find my own path forward, just like you old freaks did. Am I not the youngest Star Being? I¡¯m a genius! If you keep gatekeeping me, I¡¯ll ask Her to help me!¡±


    The tentacles tightened further, pressing against the scarlet bubble.


    The Heavenly Demon frowned. He glanced at his clothes, sighed, and shook his head.


    ¡°Did you know,¡± he muttered, ¡°that after creating billions of artificial races, I found only one Pathway that¡¯s impossible to cultivate? Your Darkness Pathway.¡±


    The white figure stared at him.


    The Heavenly Demon smiled.


    ¡°I believe if I combine all sixteen Pathways, something will happen.¡±


    The white figure shook its head. Then, with those black, hollow eyes, it locked its gaze onto him.


    Time passed.


    The Heavenly Demon¡¯s grin widened.


    ¡°That¡¯s a deal! I won¡¯t ask about those Unique Lifeforms, then.¡±


    Cheerfully, he touched the bubble¡¯s surface, making it pop. Glancing up, darkness greeted him.


    No tentacles.


    No white copy of himself.


    His scarlet eyes gleamed, and a scarlet dot appeared before him. He pressed his hands against it, dragging them downward to form a scarlet line, then pulled it apart into an oval portal.


    The Heavenly Demon stepped through and vanished, as the portal itself dissipated.


    Once more, the dark space fell silent.


    <hr>


    On the peak of a mountain larger than a planet, a tiny brown speck of dust floated swiftly and alone. A second later, another appeared, and the two began to dance together.


    Soon, three more emerged from the mountain¡¯s peak, joining the silent rhythm. Five became ten, then twenty, multiplying rapidly until they numbered in the hundreds.


    Hours passed, and soon the entire peak shone with a brown glow, as millions upon millions of dust specks floated and danced, swaying from one side to another.


    But the rhythm changed.


    The specks began to rotate on their own, colliding into each other. Each impact sent out powerful shockwaves, and fleeting images flickered in the bursts of energy.


    The movement continued, their numbers dwindling while the energy they created gathered at the center.


    After years, only energy remained, and it had taken shape¡ªa humanoid brown silhouette.


    It drifted weightlessly above the mountain¡¯s peak, uncontrolled and aimless until it suddenly stopped.


    Three holes opened on its face, there were two for eyes and one for a mouth.


    The creature laughed.


    "I''m alive! I''m alive!" it cried, its voice like the crackling of raw energy, given meaning by the powerful intent behind it.


    As it danced, the mountain shook beneath it.


    Joy overflowed from its being as it called out to the mountain. "Join me! Join me!"


    The ground trembled, glowing with a deep brown hue.


    "Let''s dance! Let¡¯s d¡ª"


    Its words were cut short as a colossal palm made of earth erupted from the mountain and slammed the entity into the ground, sending a deafening shockwave across the peak.


    A second palm struck.


    Another followed.


    And another.


    Hundreds of massive hands of stone descended with crushing force, flattening the peak.


    Silence fell.


    A moment passed.


    From the dust, the brown entity emerged, trembling. Its energy was nearly depleted, and it desperately absorbed the essence seeping from the mountain to restore itself.


    It said nothing. Every bit of its will was focused on survival.


    But survival was impossible.


    The mountain shifted.


    Slowly, it tilted downward, revealing an incomprehensibly vast eye staring back at the struggling entity.


    From an outsider¡¯s perspective, the mountain was not a mountain at all¡ªit was a horn. A single horn of an earth-formed colossus, sitting in an endless desert. Both the giant and the desert itself were impossibilities made real, for the horn alone dwarfed planets.


    The brown eye blinked, and rage filled its gaze. A powerful intent boomed through the silence.


    "A Spirit? A new kind of Spirit? Don¡¯t care. Die!"


    Without a single movement, without a technique, without the use of essence, the energy-born being¡ªno, the Spirit, still in its early stages, formed purely from Soul Force and being a unique lifeform itself ceased to exist.


    The giant moved its horn back to its forehead and kept cultivating on this galactic-sized desert, gathering Earth¡¯s essence and making more and more sand with it, expanding its domain.


    <hr>


    A bright orange star stood alone in the dark expanse¡ªother stars, similar to it, were mere dots, far, far away.


    Powerful flares pulsed across its surface as catastrophic, yet soundless, explosions erupted around it.


    For thousands of years, it burned like this.


    Until suddenly, millions of explosions ignited at once.


    The star shrank rapidly, the space around it seeming to cry out as multicolored cracks tore into existence, only to close hastily as if sealing a wound.


    Then, in the place of the vanished star, a colossal being emerged.


    It had a human-like body, muscular and masculine, with long, fiery wings stretching behind it and a bird-like head. The creature¡¯s entire form was made of orange fire, burning intensely yet leaving no sound in the endless void.


    As it remained suspended in the starfield, the firebird-man turned its head from side to side before sharply fixing its gaze downward and to the left.


    Space rippled, bubbling as if molten metal were reaching its limits. The void warped into an orange hue, curling inward before finally it ruptured


    And an orange hole opened on it.


    Through this tear, the firebird-man saw a tiny lone rock hurtling through space.


    At first, he nodded, muttering, "Origin¡¯s convergence," and was about to close the hole, bu then, his instincts screamed at him.


    His entire being flared, burning hotter as he focused on the flying rock.


    Time passed, but he couldn¡¯t discern what had drawn his Astral Self¡¯s attention.


    Concerned about wasting any more time in his cultivation but unwilling to leave unfinished business, he came up with an idea.


    Opening his beak, the firebird-man vomited three blazing spheres into the orange passage.


    The fiery orbs grew larger and larger as they passed through, each expanding until they formed three massive stars.


    Satisfied, he waved his hand, and the hole in space sealed shut.


    Then, his body exploded on a final calamitous, soundless eruption, before reforming into an orange star, drifting once more in the solitude of the starfield.


    On the other side of the starfield, the three newborn stars continued their slow pursuit of the flying rock


    They were weaker and smaller than the birdman¡¯s star, but still colossal compared to any planet.


    Though it would take days to reach their target, each star¡¯s consciousness had already recognized what the rock was:


    A world overflowing with Earth¡¯s essence, where some cultivator had used a technique to transform most of its surface into a colossal tree, flooding it with Nature¡¯s essence.

 Chapter 34 - What am I missing

    Coughing blood, Bohlo tumbled through the knee-high grass. The field was already full of battle marks, and the shirtless cultivator had bruises and visible scratches on his arms and chest.


    Approaching his friend, Zamian grabbed Bohlo¡¯s arm and hoisted him up, slapping the dust off his back. ¡°That wasn¡¯t bad at all, B!¡±


    Bohlo grunted, wiping his lips with the back of his hand before staring ahead.


    Not far from them, a bronze-skinned bald man stood motionless, wearing wooden armor with a wooden halberd strapped to his back. He scratched his long, curly white beard, silently appraising the duo.


    Zamian and Bohlo heard footsteps rushing from behind and turned to see another bronze-skinned man approaching. He had black hair and a beard and was dressed in a pair of Sanctuary¡¯s green shorts and a long shirt.


    In his hand was a poorly carved wooden canteen.


    Kurt, an outsider and Great Warrior, handed the canteen to Bohlo with a grin. ¡°Monkey, you take a beating like a true Warrior!¡±


    Bohlo scowled, taking the canteen and drinking deeply before using some of the water to clean himself.


    Zamian wryly smiled, flicking his finger at Kurt and sending a strand of white light to the man¡¯s forehead.


    ¡°Ouch, Great Sir!¡± Kurt feigned pain, looking at Zamian pitifully.


    Shaking his head, Zamian patted Bohlo¡¯s shoulder. ¡°Come on, big guy. You wait for me to get his attention while you go for his back. Maybe we should try to take the halberd?¡±


    Bohlo shook his head, a half-smile on his face. ¡°Uh¡ªZ, no. I¡¯d rather come back after improving my cultivation. These last three days have been great, but¡­¡± He met Zamian¡¯s gaze. ¡°I¡¯m just getting in your way.¡±


    ¡°No, no. It¡¯s great for me to¡ª¡± Zamian objected, but Bohlo cut him off.


    ¡°Don¡¯t worry, Z.¡± The shirtless cultivator patted Zamian¡¯s shoulder. ¡°I¡¯ll come back tomorrow to watch you take a beating.¡±


    Seeing that his friend had made his decision, Zamian chuckled and hugged him, patting his back. He watched as Bohlo grabbed his shirt from Kurt¡¯s bag and put it on before heading toward the Camp of Salvation.


    Marlos didn¡¯t need to escort him, as he had already left an open hole for them to exit once the training was over.


    The Warrior Chosen approached Zamian, laughing. ¡°Ohoho, you didn¡¯t tell him?¡±


    ¡°He knows,¡± Zamian answered, his eyes shining white. ¡°That¡¯s why he left.¡±


    Three days ago, Zamian, Bohlo, and Marlos had started their daily training. After the first meal, Bohlo and Zamian would wait at the dome¡¯s border for the Warrior Chosen to open a hole for them to pass.


    Marlos had mentioned that he typically opened a passage three times a day to receive his meals, which was how Bohlo, Tulip, and previously Yokki had managed to leave and ask about Zamian.


    After spending the morning beating them up, Marlos would explain cultivation, mainly answering Bohlo¡¯s questions about what a Zealot could do before addressing Zamian¡¯s questions about how to become a Chosen and what they were capable of.


    This continued until the last meal when Zamian and Bohlo would return to the Camp of Salvation and eat with the others. Afterward, Zamian would spend time teaching Bohlo how to cultivate by acting like a Farmer.


    Bohlo never questioned him, and his cultivation had skyrocketed. Unfortunately, his soul didn¡¯t gather essence as fast as Zamian¡¯s, forcing him to rest periodically. They estimated that it would take four to seven days for him to advance.


    Compared to the few years that it would commonly take, this estimation nearly brought Bohlo to tears of joy. Of course, he also lamented that his mother, a farmer, hadn¡¯t been blessed by the Verdant God to cultivate.


    Zamian didn¡¯t comment on that, only begging Bohlo to not tell anyone¡ªonly Tulip, whose soul was even weaker than Bohlo¡¯s, and was still grasping the method.


    However, after leaving Bohlo to rest, Zamian wouldn¡¯t return to his cultivation room.


    Neither he would go to Tulip¡¯s cultivation room.


    Instead, he would go right back to the dome¡¯s border, waiting for the Warrior Chosen to open a passage for their meeting.


    That was when Zamian¡¯s real training began.


    ¡°Kurt, you can leave,¡± Zamian ordered.


    ¡°Yes, Great Sir!¡± Not daring to question him, Kurt bowed and ran off.


    As Zamian shook his head in exasperation at Kurt¡¯s behavior, the Warrior Chosen waited for him to pass through the dome¡¯s hole before swiftly moving to close it.


    By the time Marlos returned, Zamian was already shirtless and cross-legged, his body covered in a semi-transparent layer that shone white from time to time.


    With practiced ease, Marlos retrieved his halberd while Zamian closed his eyes.


    ¡°Little lunatic, are you sure about this?¡± Marlos asked, his grip on the halberd shaft tightening as his eyes gleamed green.


    Zamian nodded, thinking inwardly, ¡®These past few days, I¡¯ve discovered ways to handle essence, enhance my body, and even finely control strands of it. But¡­¡¯ He gritted his teeth. ¡®Until now, I still haven¡¯t managed to gather more essence and cultivate.¡¯


    Seeing Zamian¡¯s nod, Marlos smiled and moved his halberd toward the pale cultivator in slow motion, using only his right hand.


    Zamian braced himself, shifting the essence covering his body.


    And sure enough, what he expected happened.


    His instincts went crazy.


    For a moment, they screamed like a wailing baby, urging him to flee. The next, they fell silent, and time seemed to slow. Then, they whispered, teaching him how to better coat his skin, bones, and muscles with essence to withstand the incoming attack.


    The cycle repeated, and Zamian frowned.


    ¡®What am I missing?¡¯


    Ever since leaving Lin Zhi¡¯s world, he had tried everything to cultivate as a Scholar and advance on the Knowledge Pathway.


    He had learned to control his muscles, bones, and even his essence. His instincts constantly guided him¡ªteaching him how to move efficiently, how to eat properly, even how to comb his hair and dress himself.


    Zamian followed every whisper, corrected every flaw they found, but no matter what he did, he only spent essence. Not once in these past days had he gathered even a single speck of white essence.


    His frown deepened.


    ¡®Am I wrong?¡¯ He pondered again. ¡®Maybe my field of study, the thing Lin Zhi talked about, isn¡¯t really myself?¡¯


    Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.


    Lost in self-doubt for a moment, Zamian felt a sharp tap on his forehead.


    Opening his eyes, he saw Marlos¡¯ halberd hovering two arms'' length away from him.


    ¡°Ohoho, I remember hitting you there a few times already,¡± the Warrior Chosen said, laughing. ¡°But you heal fast. There¡¯s not even a scar.¡±


    Zamian scowled.


    ¡°And you lost focus again,¡± Marlos added.


    ¡°I¡¯m going crazy,¡± Zamian admitted, stopping the flow of essence enhancing his body. ¡°I don¡¯t see a path forward.¡±


    ¡°You and most of the Zealots,¡± Marlos said, resting his halberd on his back.


    ¡°I¡¯m not like the other Zealots,¡± Zamian hissed.


    Shrugging, Marlos murmured, ¡°Sure, but at least they can gather essence.¡±


    Zamian¡¯s scowl deepened.


    ¡°Ohoho, you need to rest,¡± Marlos laughed, tapping Zamian¡¯s forehead using his halberd, but causing no harm. ¡°Your mind isn¡¯t here.¡±


    Watching the Warrior Chosen walk away, Zamian muttered, ¡°He noticed¡­¡±


    Then, he turned his gaze to the tiny White Dot hovering in the corner of his vision, thinking, ¡®Show me my blighted stats, mute thing.¡¯


    PERSONAL INFORMATION


    Name: Zamian Greenfield


    Level: 3 [30%]


    Tier: Mortal


    Main Pathway: Knowledge


    Title: None


    STATS POINTS


    Body: 2800/3000


    Mind: 2400/3200


    Soul: 3000/3000


    REWARDS


    Ancient Astral Seal


    Description: A Star Seal guarding your Astral Self.


    Ancient Identify Technique (Passive)


    Description: See the secrets beyond the limitations of time.


    Nameless Physique


    Description: Breaker of the natural order, bearer of perpetual body, an unshackled lifeform.


    QUEST LOG


    Last Quest: Destroy an Unholy Sapling before the end of the month


    Reward: Special Physique (??)


    Status: Complete


    New Main Quest: Bring destruction to a Level 8 Immortal tainted by Godhood


    Reward: Inheritor¡¯s Cave Entrance


    Status: Ongoing (96 days left)


    Massaging his temples, Zamian dismissed the white text and sighed.


    ¡®Will I have to go to Lin Zhi?¡¯ He bit his lip, his mind racing. ¡®If I don¡¯t find an answer by tomorrow¡¯s last meal, I¡¯ll go there.¡¯


    He reflected on the past few days. ¡®I have more control over my body and essence than before, but the only technique I can use is the Seed of Creation. And besides cultivating, I need to become a Chosen as soon as possible¡­ but Marlos¡¯ teachings¡­¡¯


    Zamian sighed again.


    ¡®He¡¯s a great fighter, for sure. And I suppose he¡¯s an outsider¡­ but the man will turn into a tree before he can teach about cultivation,¡¯ he thought, shaking his head as he recalled Marlos¡¯ previous explanations.


    To sum it up, Marlos kept talking about moving essence inside one¡¯s body, finding what you truly desire, and listening to nature. Besides, he said when one became a Chosen, they would choose a technique that suited them best.


    But what did he mean by moving essence inside your body? He couldn¡¯t explain it properly, only that it wasn¡¯t as simple as shifting it around.


    True desires? He had no clue because Marlos only wanted to fight and eat.


    Listening to nature was the only thing Zamian could grasp. This was about instincts and the knowledge given by essence.


    And about becoming a Chosen? Well, funnily enough, as the days passed, Zamian was farther and farther from his goal, by expending essence and gathering none.


    Besides, he had a hidden goal. ¡®My stats didn¡¯t cap at one thousand, and even three thousand doesn¡¯t seem like a limit¡­ I need to pump those numbers up before becoming a Chosen!¡¯


    Zamian had a strong belief that advancing with higher stats would make him a stronger Chosen. After bullying so many Zealots and witnessing the difference between Marlos and Ruen, he was absolutely sure that cultivators at the same stage could have vastly different levels of prowess.


    Lying down on the grass, he gazed at the white leaves glowing high above. A chuckle escaped his lips. ¡°Shades of white, shades of white.¡±


    The White Dot, the white leaves, his white essence¡ªthey were all different shades. More importantly, he felt no connection between the bright light shining from those leaves and the essence of the Knowledge Pathway.


    ¡®I should call it the Light Pathway. That¡¯s how that ugly thing called it,¡¯ Zamian noted inwardly.


    Closing his eyes, he willed himself into his dark space.


    The humanoid figure composed mostly of specks of white light stood before him. Avoiding its head, Zamian focused on the rest of its form, observing.


    He tried to move the specks, to will them to do something¡ªanything. But nothing happened.


    Staring at it, he pondered, ¡®What am I missing?¡¯


    A stray idea crossed his mind, and he thought, ¡®Maybe I actually need to cut myself open to study me better?¡¯


    Zamian left the dark space, seriously considering doing it if Lin Zhi didn¡¯t show him any path forward.


    ¡°Come eat, little lunatic,¡± Marlos¡¯ strong voice rang out as the bald man shouted near the hole, receiving a tray of food from an Enlightened on the other side.


    Zamian stood up, walking quickly with nimble movements to Marlos. He glanced at the wooden tray of food and shook his head. ¡°I think I¡¯ll eat with Bohlo and the others, thanks.¡±


    Marlos shrugged, and Zamian made his way into the Camp of Salvation.


    As he passed through the streets, he observed commoners, Enlightened, and even Zealots moving about.


    Every day, the Camp seemed more alive and colorful. What was once just wooden housing and wounded people taking care of each other was slowly transforming into a small city.


    Merchants had appeared, trading wooden utensils, food, and clothing. Some families scheduled their sleeping times, alternating their stays in rented wooden houses.


    Farms had been built inside the Camp, creating a growing need for workers. People also started looking for entertainment, better teas, and tastier food.


    Slowly but surely, both commoners and cultivators were finding their place in this new cycle.


    However, as he watched it all, Zamian frowned. ¡®But it isn¡¯t the same.¡¯


    He noticed that some people, mostly children and elderly, still slept on the streets.


    While grown men and women who had lost their families in the invasion could work and start new lives, those with lesser strength and no family to rely on could only beg.


    And anyone who dared to cause trouble, even out of desperation, was swiftly dealt with by the Enlightened and Zealots patrolling the streets.


    Zamian felt a presence approaching him cautiously, making him turn his head to the right.


    There stood a little boy, dirty and dressed in tattered clothes, clenching his fists and looking at Zamian with pitiful eyes.


    Behind the boy was an alley, where two other children huddled together, watching.


    Zamian knew that because he wasn¡¯t wearing wooden armor or the usual cultivator¡¯s clothes, the boy had assumed he was a commoner, which gave him just enough courage to come closer.


    ¡°In Ver-Verdant God¡¯s name, could-could you spare us some fo-food?¡± the boy whispered, stuttering. Zamian was sure he only understood the sentence because of his heightened senses¡ªhis vision and hearing were sharper than before.


    As he looked at the boy and the other children, he felt a pang in his heart. Or better yet, hearts.


    ¡®If my father hadn¡¯t saved them¡ªif he wasn¡¯t out there fighting those outsiders alone¡ªhow many of them would have survived?¡¯ His gaze grew cold. ¡®Blighted Sultan. Blighted Lord Chosen. Blighted traitors.¡¯


    The kid yelped and flinched when he saw Zamian¡¯s eyes, quickly muttering, ¡°We can-can tra-trade!¡±


    Zamian was about to shake his head and say he would get them some food when another little boy, smaller than the one in front of him, stumbled out of the alley, coughing and clutching a book with his left arm.


    His only arm.


    The one-armed boy whispered to the bigger one, ¡°We only have the schoolbooks.¡±


    Zamian''s gaze landed on the boy¡¯s right stump, barely healed, and his pale, sickly appearance.


    This boy was dying.


    ¡®How is he still moving?¡¯ Zamian thought, watching as, even through his shivering and coughing, the boy leaned on his friend for support, whispering which books could be traded for food.


    ¡°We ha-have woodcarving books, books about farming, and, and¡­¡± the bigger boy started but hesitated, glancing at his friend.


    ¡°Housebuilding,¡± the frail boy whispered.


    ¡°And housebuilding,¡± the other boy quickly added.


    Zamian watched the scene with a saddened gaze and asked, ¡°What are your names? Yours and the girl¡¯s.¡±


    The older boy flinched, and the smaller one paled even more, the book slipping from his grasp.


    The dome had fewer white leaves above, casting deeper shadows in some places, especially between buildings.


    The girl, curled up and hugging her knees, was deep inside the alley, almost invisible from this distance.


    They were hiding her.


    ¡°Don¡¯t hurt her, please!¡± the frail boy coughed, his eyes shaking as he pleaded. ¡°I¡¯m Elm! Take me instead!¡±


    Zamian frowned. ¡°Did somebody hurt you kids in this camp?¡±


    Then, the bigger boy moved, wrapping his arms around Zamian¡¯s legs as tears streamed down his face. ¡°Elm, Ren, run!¡±


    ¡°No!¡± the young girl, Ren, rushed to Zamian, shouting, and started hitting him with her small hands. She had scratches on her arms and a purple mark on her neck. ¡°Don¡¯t hurt Bud!¡±


    The frail boy, Elm, trembled, his free left hand desperately trying to pull Ren away from Zamian. ¡°Stop it! Stop it! Guys, stop it!¡± he screamed.


    One kid tried to hold him down, another hit him, and the last one tried to stop the fight.


    Zamian¡¯s eyes grew cold.


    ¡®Who dared to hurt the kids my father saved?¡¯


    As he looked at each of them, noticing their bruises and scratches, his eyes caught on the book lying on the dirty ground.


    It was about medicinal herbs.


    ¡®Was he reading it? To treat their wounds?¡¯ Zamian thought, memories of his own childhood flashing through his mind. ¡®They must be six to eight years old. I hated books at that age, I could never sit still and study¡­¡¯


    Then, his eyes widened.


    ¡°Books!¡± he muttered. ¡°A student, a scholar¡­ they need books!¡±


    His mind shook, and his instincts seemed to cheer. Just as Zamian was about to rush off to test his new idea, he felt another weak hit on his waist.


    Looking down at the three kids, he grinned.


    ¡°For a moment, I almost forgot about you guys,¡± he said, his eyes shining with white light. ¡°Don¡¯t worry, I¡¯ll help you.¡±


    Elm looked up and screamed, falling to the ground. Bud and Ren also stared at Zamian¡¯s wide grin and clung to each other, crying.


    ¡°Please don¡¯t kill us!¡± they pleaded in unison.


    Zamian¡¯s eyebrow twitched.

 Chapter 35 - People need to eat

    ¡°I thought you were single? How come you already have three kids? I feel so betrayed,¡± Tulip said softly, wiping fake tears from her eyes.


    Zamian sighed, reading the scripture he was writing using green ink, a leaf, and commoner¡¯s paper.


    He and Tulip were sitting at a rectangular table inside the Camp of Salvation¡¯s main building. The table was covered with leftover fruit, cereal, juice, and pasta, most of which had been eaten by the three kids Zamian had found earlier.


    Ren, the young girl, was only eight years old. She barely spoke and only let Tulip apply special herbs on her after Elm checked each of them.


    Bud, the oldest at nine, didn¡¯t know how to read and was a little shy. He ate quickly, but Zamian noticed he kept glancing at the doors from time to time.


    Elm, the other eight-year-old, insisted on eating with his friends, and Zamian had already instructed a few Zealots to take him to Calla or Yokki to deal with his condition. He was sure that whatever had cured Yokki and could heal Lakea would work for this commoner child.


    The two little boys and the little girl had already left with Kurt, at Zamian¡¯s orders.


    ¡®I bet he only held on this long because of his friends¡­ Is this the power of friendship mother talked about? It doesn¡¯t look so funny in real life¡­ Poor kid¡­¡¯ Zamian thought grimly, continuing to write.


    ¡°What are you doing, young father?¡± Tulip asked, resting her head sideways on Zamian¡¯s shoulder while hugging his free arm.


    ¡°You are becoming more and more daring, aren¡¯t you?¡± he said, half-smiling.


    ¡°Not my fault. You¡¯re all talk and no action,¡± she shrugged, reading what he was writing and making a puzzled face. ¡°Are you writing a novel? Is this a monster? So scary. Eight hearts and no organs? Be more realistic.¡±


    Zamian¡¯s hand trembled, and he gave a forced laugh. ¡°¡­ Something like that, yes,¡± he muttered.


    ¡°This makes me relieved,¡± Tulip said, pressing his arm. ¡°I only see you relaxing at mealtimes, so it¡¯s good you¡¯re finding new hobbies and not just cultivating, training, or whatever.¡±


    ¡°About that, how¡¯s your cultivation going?¡± Zamian changed the subject as he kept detailing his inner structure. ¡°Anything to tell me?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not like you freaks,¡± Tulip sighed. ¡°I¡¯m planting seeds and even watering them, but I have to constantly chant to send my essence, and it takes sooooo long. But,¡± she paused, her tone turning serious. ¡°I¡¯m cultivating whenever I have the essence to do it¡­ I won¡¯t disappoint you, okay?¡±


    Zamian paused and looked at her.


    He had some thoughts and guesses about how and why she got attached to him so fast, but since his instincts never detected a lie, he felt no need to say what was inside his head.


    But now, seeing how she was curiously reading his writings to better understand him and how she squeezed herself into his arms more and more, Zamian wanted to say something.


    ¡°Tulip,¡± he began, making her look at him with her big blue eyes. ¡°I¡ª¡± He closed his mouth and looked at the door, sensing a presence outside.


    Then, there was a knock.


    ¡°Come in, Kurt,¡± Zamian said, avoiding looking at Tulip, who was staring at him.


    Receiving permission, Kurt opened the door, with two Zealots and an Enlightened following him.


    While the outsider was smiling, the trio behind him wore puzzled expressions.


    ¡°Great Sir, it took me a while to find them, but these are the ones responsible for patrolling that area,¡± he said, scratching his beard. ¡°I haven¡¯t seen that Yokki yet, but the ones she put in command helped me a lot, and the kids are being taken care of.¡± Kurt chuckled, glancing at Tulip.


    Zamian moved, prompting Tulip to let go of him.


    ¡°I¡¯ll be waiting for you,¡± she said, waving at Zamian.


    He glanced at her, nodded, and went to the door, prompting Kurt and the other three to leave.


    Zamian followed them out, and after closing the door, he stared coldly at the Enlightened and the two Zealots.


    They gulped.


    ¡°Kurt,¡± Zamian said, without taking his eyes off one of the Zealots who was sweating cold. ¡°Tell Yokki¡¯s representatives that if any of the kids I brought die, I¡¯ll personally kill the ones I find responsible.¡±


    ¡°Okay, Great Sir,¡± Kurt nodded, smiling. Just as he was turning around to find the representatives, he heard Zamian clear his throat, prompting Kurt to look back.


    ¡°Also, tell them that I¡¯m as stupid as an oak tree,¡± the pale cultivator grinned. ¡°It¡¯s totally possible that I kill the wrong people at first and need to kill others until I find the true culprit.¡±


    Kurt chuckled, avoiding giving an answer and hastily walking away.


    No matter what, he was an outsider! He would pass Zamian¡¯s message, but never letter by letter.


    The only reason Kurt could live here was because Dante¡¯s son allowed him to; but if he angered enough Zealots or a Chosen and they killed him without a second thought, what would it matter if Zamian or the elusive Dante avenged poor Kurt?


    The man himself would be dead!


    Seeing Kurt rush away, Zamian returned his focus to the three cultivators in front of him.


    As the Enlightened was about to kneel and greet him formally, Zamian held the man¡¯s shoulder.


    ¡°Don¡¯t worry, I believe you won¡¯t stay here long enough to need to greet me,¡± Zamian said, grinning. ¡°Now, answer with a yes or no: are you allowing commoners to get hurt, be it through laziness, incompetence, or any other reason?¡±


    ¡°What? No!¡± one of the Zealots said, scowling.


    ¡°No, never!¡± the Enlightened denied, shaking his head.


    ¡°Of course not. Why are you saying that?¡± the other Zealot asked, frowning.


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    Zamian listened to his instincts and chuckled.


    ¡°The smartest of you is also the dumbest, what an amazing irony,¡± he said, tightening his grip on the Enlightened¡¯s shoulder, making the middle-aged man slowly kneel.


    ¡°Arrgh!¡± The Zealots heard the man scream and conjured a spear each, jumping away from Zamian.


    ¡°What are you doing?!¡± one of them barked.


    ¡°Tell me what happened with the kids in your territory while you were patrolling,¡± Zamian ignored the Zealot¡¯s questions and actions, his cold eyes fixed on the Enlightened. ¡°And believe me when I say this, but killing you would give me neither pain nor pleasure. You, and you alone, decide if I need to do it.¡±


    Zamian¡¯s eyes flashed white as he glanced at each Zealot when saying the word ¡°killing¡±, then tilted his head to the side, narrowly avoiding a spear¡¯s thrust.


    Glancing at the sweating Zealot glowing with green light, Zamian smirked. His feet gleamed with white light as he kicked to his other side, blocking a sweeping strike from the other Zealot¡¯s spear.


    Looking at the Enlightened still in his grasp, he said, ¡°See? You¡¯re smart enough to behave and answer me, but dumb enough to be blind to what those two were up to.¡±


    As he spoke, the Zealots kept thrusting and sweeping their spears, leaping onto the ceiling and switching attack patterns. First aiming to cut Zamian¡¯s neck, then, when failing, trying to wound him in any way.


    The pale cultivator kept dodging most of the attacks while speaking to the Enlightened, only blocking when necessary, all without wasting too much essence to enhance his body.


    Sadly for the Zealots, the wooden hallway they found themselves in wasn¡¯t big enough for them to fully demonstrate their skill with spears.


    Even worse, their target kept talking and dodging, unfazed by their attacks.


    ¡°I bet these two have their instincts going crazy. They felt they were about to die, and now they¡¯re attacking me without any retaliation,¡± Zamian continued, addressing the trembling man. ¡°I guess the training with the Warrior Chosen wasn¡¯t a waste of time.¡±


    One thing Zamian learned while training with Marlos was that a person¡¯s intention could mess up a target¡¯s instincts pretty badly!


    Marlos had him practice by closing his eyes and waiting for an incoming attack, relying only on his instincts.


    Through this, Zamian learned that instincts could be deceived when not supported by other senses!


    When he glanced at the Zealots after they had already drawn their spears, he looked for an opening and had the full intention of killing them!


    At that moment, both reacted!


    However, Zamian completely focused on speaking with the Enlightened, dodging their attacks without giving them attention


    He had to fully ignore the Zealots since he wasn¡¯t as skilled as the Warrior Chosen at manipulating his instincts at will.


    Still, his level of control was enough to confuse his attackers.


    ¡®Good enough,¡¯ Zamian thought, his eyes glowing white once more. ¡®Time to stop playing. Tulip could get heart even inside there, and I still have to test my book theory.¡¯


    As both Zealots pulled back their spears for another attack, Zamian¡¯s body flashed white, and a moment later, both attackers were on the floor, passed out, their wooden armor covered in cracks.


    The Enlightened¡¯s eyes shook as Zamian helped him stand and patted his shoulder. ¡°Sorry about that. When I realized both of them were involved, I was surprised and had to deal with them right away.¡±


    ¡°A-are their¡­ their mortal cycle finished?¡± the Enlightened asked, his eyes darting between the fallen men and Zamian.


    ¡°You mean dead, right? No,¡± Zamian answered, raising an eyebrow.


    ¡°I mean¡­ dead? No¡­ I mean¡­ their mortal cycle ended?¡± the Enlightened repeated, his voice trembling.


    Zamian stared into the man¡¯s eyes before sighing. ¡°Don¡¯t worry, they¡¯re fine,¡± he paused. ¡°For now.¡±


    Walking past the Zealots¡¯ bodies, Zamian opened the door, only to find Tulip standing with one arm crossed, the other holding his manuscript.


    Slowly picking it up, he offered an apology. ¡°Sorry, I¡¯ll have to deal with this. Can we talk more later?¡±


    Clicking her tongue, she crossed both arms and looked away, not answering him.


    Zamian was once more in a rare situation: his instincts didn¡¯t tell him what to do, and he had no clue what he had done to deserve this reaction.


    ¡®Mother¡­ why didn¡¯t you teach me how to deal with women¡­¡¯ he lamented inwardly.


    ¡°See you later, Tulip,¡± he said, closing the door.


    As the door clicked shut and Zamian turned around, his eyes changed, and any trace of kindness disappeared as he looked at the unconscious Zealots.


    ¡°I really, really hope you two can give me some answers because I have a lot to do,¡± he muttered, grabbing each man by the ankles and dragging them.


    ¡°Come on, I can¡¯t have you walking around everywhere without me resolving this.¡±


    The Enlightened yelped and followed as Zamian dragged the men underground.


    ¡°I swear! That¡¯s everything I¡ª¡± A bruised man was speaking when a punch cut him off, sending him to the ground, bleeding.


    He was a commoner, lying inside a small building at the edge of the Camp of Salvation.


    Surrounding him were dozens of others, just as bruised¡ªif not worse¡ªand broken furniture stained with blood.


    Some stains were fresh, but many were old.


    At least a few days old.


    A kick to the head knocked the commoner unconscious. The one who kicked him, a middle-aged man, looked toward the corner of the room, trembling but keeping his voice low. ¡°Zealot, are you satisfied?¡±


    From the shadows, a young man with pale skin, shoulder-length black hair, and cold brown eyes held a wooden cup, sipping from it before speaking. ¡°Yes, now all commoners and Enlightened involved have been dealt with. You can call the cultivators on patrol to clean this mess.¡±


    ¡°And¡­ what about the other Zealots?¡± the middle-aged man asked, his voice shaking.


    ¡°You¡¯re too soft,¡± the young cultivator said, stepping forward, revealing his full face and a wild grin. ¡°You held back and avoided hurting anyone too badly. I bet you don¡¯t want to be involved in what comes next, so no need to worry about it.¡±


    Zamian chuckled as he watched the Enlightened slowly nod, trembling.


    Finishing his tea, he stepped over the unconscious bodies and left the building.


    As he walked to his last destination, he pulled a paper from his inner pocket, reading while occasionally sipping his tea.


    ¡®To think something like this would happen here,¡¯ he thought coldly, his eyes darkening. ¡®Did this used to happen in the Sanctuary too?¡¯


    When Zamian rescued the kids, he thought he would just have to beat up some commoners and be done with it.


    Never did he imagine he would waste an entire day walking through the Camp, piecing together the situation and tracking down the culprits. Worst of all, the ones in command were even cultivators!


    ¡®Five more Zealots, making seven in total,¡¯ he clicked his tongue. ¡®Along with ten Enlightened and half a hundred commoners¡­ No way those vipers didn¡¯t know this blighted thing was happening.¡¯


    At first, he couldn¡¯t understand their reasons, but slowly, it became clear: the invasion had left more than just physical damage and lost loved ones.


    A strong contributor to the current situation, of course, there was a taboo connected with the Verdant God¡¯s sacred rules: food could only be farmed by commoners. While Zealots could help occasionally, it also meant that most crops would take too long to grow and be harvested.


    But people needed to eat.


    And there wasn¡¯t enough food for everyone.


    Zamian understood that.


    Holding the paper, he thought, ¡®However¡­ to target kids like that¡­¡¯


    The scheme was poorly thought out, only working because it targeted people no one was looking for while benefiting a select few.


    As time passed and the food initially taken by commoners and cultivators dwindled, a few Zealots took it upon themselves to manage the supplies.


    At first, they controlled the food in storage, distributing it to their families and friends. Then, they started handing it out only to those who could afford it¡ªwhether through clothes, carvings, imbued items, or their bodies.


    After all, food had to be given out while the plantations weren¡¯t producing. But who got to eat? That was a decision left to the cultivators.


    People who resisted or tried to speak out disappeared, and soon, the rest learned to accept things as they were.


    Then, as the Camp grew and more people arrived¡ªeither from scout groups or after the wounded recovered enough to start working¡ªthe economy of the Camp of Salvation started to take shape.


    And along with it, a few Zealots, seven of them, saw an opportunity.


    ¡®Those blighted, arrogant pieces of rotten root¡­ Did they really think that by hoarding lowly resources, they could become Chosen or something?¡¯ Zamian thought, stashing his manuscript, throwing the wooden cup away, and slipping into a hidden door in an alley, descending a staircase.


    He entered a corridor without white leaves, swallowed by darkness, and paused.


    ''I can still see here,'' he realized, glancing at the hand holding a pipe just a few steps away. As he stared, green text floated above it.


    [LEVEL 3 - MORTAL TIER - CREATION PATHWAY]


    Zamian blinked and crouched slowly, avoiding making a sound.


    ¡®Let¡¯s try to kill the culprits without hurting the commoners,¡¯ he thought, his eyes flashing white as he rushed forward to break the Zealot¡¯s hand. ¡®These people suffered enough by becoming slaves.¡¯

 Chapter 36 - Life is like a stream

    The Zealot guarding the entrance to the Underground Farm was cultivating in darkness when he heard hushed steps from his left side.


    A second later, his instincts screamed, alerting him of the incoming attack.


    Hastily, he moved his arm, intending to bring the pipe he was holding to his mouth and alert the others before dealing with the intruders.


    But when he tried to blow the pipe, he found only a bloody stump.


    The color drained from his face as his brain finally processed the pain of having his hand cut off.


    Before he could scream, a sharp white light burrowed into his eye, and a small explosion turned his brain into mush.


    Zamian pulled his essence-coated finger from the dead Zealot¡¯s eye and shook off the blood.


    ¡®I gained speed and control¡­ but lost strength,¡¯ he frowned, glancing at the Zealot¡¯s head and the bloody stump where the man¡¯s hand had been.


    Zamian had already killed a few Zealots, but most of them when he used the Beginning of the Cycle technique. His strength in that form was so ridiculous that he had even used it to fight against a Chosen.


    It was even a draw, kind of.


    The point was, now that he had better control over the white essence, even without cultivating it, he was learning something concerning.


    ¡®It will be difficult to fight a Chosen like this,¡¯ he scowled, moving along the dark corridor while listening to his instincts for how to stay stealthy and lessen the noises he made.


    As he pressed forward, he smelled a musty, almost sharp scent, which he quickly recognized.


    ¡®Blood,¡¯ he scowled. ¡®Even when killing those Great Warriors underground or beating that vermin Ruen, I didn¡¯t smell blood this strongly.¡¯


    Without needing his instincts to tell him, Zamian tapped a wall on the right side, where the smell was coming from.


    He kept tapping.


    And tapping.


    ¡®Oh, blighted thing,¡¯ he cursed inwardly. ¡®Didn¡¯t those books tell about hidden doors? Where is it?¡¯


    As he kept searching for a hidden entrance, he sensed a presence at the end of the hallway, coming from the opposite direction of the stairway he had used to enter.


    Zamian scanned for a place to hide, but there was none.


    ¡®I can¡¯t cause a mess,¡¯ his mind raced as he hastily backed toward the dead Zealot¡¯s position. ¡®If I fight like I usually do, there¡¯s a great chance a lot of commoners are going to die.¡¯


    Not once did Zamian think he was in danger.


    It wasn¡¯t just ego or arrogance. It was simply the fact that no Zealot he had met so far could even make his instincts yawn, let alone scream in warning. At best, they whispered about twigs in his path.


    However, he wasn¡¯t delusional. He knew his fighting style was gruesome, and his surroundings were always left in ruin after a battle.


    Zamian grabbed the Zealot¡¯s body and dragged him aside. The man¡¯s armor hadn¡¯t decomposed, as the dead held no Nature¡¯s essence to dismiss the technique.


    Then, as he took the guard¡¯s position, he finally saw the owner of the presence he had been sensing.


    Guiding herself along the walls, a woman clad in wooden armor walked with her eyes shining a green light.


    Zamian glanced at the green text above her head:


    [LEVEL 3 - MORTAL TIER - CREATION PATHWAY]


    Observing her slow pace, Zamian widened his eyes, remembering something. ¡®There is no light here, idiot. They can¡¯t see you easily.¡¯


    ¡°Mark, time to wake up,¡± the woman called out. ¡°You and Brick need to go up. The ones responsible for receiving today¡¯s batches didn¡¯t show.¡±


    As she approached her friend¡¯s usual spot, Zamian silently sent white essence to his index finger and jabbed it into her left eye.


    She immediately flared green, her eyes searching for the attacker as she stumbled back, attempting to summon a wooden weapon.


    But she reacted too late.


    Zamian had ultimate control of his body.


    There had been no breathing. No heartbeat. No essence gathering.


    No trace at all until he decided to strike.


    As his finger pierced her eye, he condensed the essence in a similar way to when he conjured the Seed of Creation but hastily let it go, causing a small explosion that destroyed her brain.


    This way, he didn¡¯t have to use too much essence and could also practice the unhinged technique.


    As the Zealot woman dropped dead to the ground, Zamian hastily moved in the direction she had come from.


    Sure enough, he soon found a wooden door.


    ¡®No secret entrance, just a room on the other side,¡¯ he thought, a little embarrassed.


    Approaching the door, he opened it cautiously.


    A stairway led further down. Silently, he followed it and soon saw scattered white leaves embedded in the ceilings and walls.


    Then, reaching an opening to the next room, he finally got a full view of it.


    ¡®This can¡¯t be called a room¡­¡¯


    It was high enough to occupy two floors¡ªthe one he had just left and this one.


    And wide enough to fit dozens of gardens.


    A strong mix of vegetables, mush, earth, and blood filled his nose.


    Hundreds of commoners were tirelessly moving around, planting seeds, harvesting crops, and carrying buckets of water and food.


    A few Enlightened walked among them, kicking those who didn¡¯t move fast enough or appeared to be resting.


    Far away, Zamian spotted a wooden house, where buckets and boxes of food were stacked by the door. A Zealot stood guard, barking commands as other commoners hauled the supplies inside.


    ¡®More people than I can count,¡¯ he thought, his gaze coldly analyzing the situation. ¡®But fewer people than what should be.¡¯


    At least two more Zealots were here according to his findings, but he didn¡¯t care too much about the number of cultivators outside.


    ¡°Too few commoners¡­ Did the rest die?¡± he whispered under his breath, crouching down.


    Zamian then saw a few Enlightened talking amongst themselves, forming a small circle. There were maybe five or seven, and he guessed at least one of them would notice him if he left the entrance.


    For now, he was simply too far and in a poorly lit place, making it impossible for a commoner or most cultivators to spot him easily if he stayed still.


    ¡®White Dot,¡¯ Zamian thought. ¡®Any quests to spice the moment?¡¯


    Receiving no response, he clicked his tongue.


    Unauthorized use: this story is on Amazon without permission from the author. Report any sightings.


    ¡®Then show me my stats, blighted thing.¡¯


    PERSONAL INFORMATION


    Name: Zamian Greenfield


    Level: 3 [25%]


    Tier: Mortal


    Main Pathway: Knowledge


    Title: None


    STATS


    Body: 2700/3000


    Mind: 2300/3200


    Soul: 3000/3000


    Dismissing the white text, he complained inwardly. ¡®One day, I¡¯ll force you to give me better explanations. Like, couldn¡¯t you tell me every time I spend one percent of cultivation? Or when I lose my points? Come on, we should be a team. I¡¯m almost as pale as you. Like a cousin.¡¯


    As Zamian continued to jest with his own thoughts, he scanned the place from his current position and arrived at a conclusion. ¡®Being a blighted hero isn¡¯t as easy or as good as in mother¡¯s stories¡­ There¡¯s no way all these people will leave here safe and well.¡¯


    He could leave, gather more people, maybe talk with Yokki and the other Chosen, and set up a better ambush to capture or kill the culprits while reducing the odds of a battle breaking out.


    But he didn¡¯t want to.


    ¡®No time to waste. These people are already dying,¡¯ he concluded. ¡®I might owe the kids a favor because of that book coincidentally giving me an idea, but no way am I some good guy who saves strangers. These slavers didn¡¯t even catch them at the end of the day, so their grudge isn¡¯t all that big.¡¯


    Smirking, he left his crouched position, stood up, and walked inside.


    As he expected, the group of Enlightened near the entrance noticed him, and one of them shouted, ¡°Hey, who are you? Are you with Mark?¡±


    Zamian could lie and pretend to be on their side.


    But he didn¡¯t want to waste more cultivation time on this.


    With his eyes shining white, he ignored the Enlightened and rushed toward the wooden house at the center of the underground farm!


    Dodging commoners, trampling crops, and knocking out a few Enlightened along the way, Zamian reached his destination in five seconds.


    It was enough time for the Zealot guarding the place to shout for help and conjure a wooden spear, thrusting it at Zamian.


    The young cultivator easily dodged the spear and struck the Zealot with a palm attack to the nose. Then, he grabbed his head, twisted his neck, and threw the body to the ground before kicking the door to the deposit open.


    Zamian sighed, his eyes shifting between sadness, cold rage, and indifference, as his emotions clashed heavily.


    He saw two Zealots staring at him, eyes wide with shock. One of them was sweating and panting, green essence surrounding him as his wooden armor was still forming.


    On the floor, dozens of women huddled together. Some were crying, some frozen in confusion, but all wearing either tattered clothes or nothing.


    Both Zealots held spears, their tips pressing against the necks of two women, drawing thin lines of blood.


    ¡°What are you doing here?¡± the panting Zealot asked, still catching his breath from his previous activities.


    ¡°Keep your spear on her, Chuck!¡± the other snapped, glancing at his friend before turning his furious, fearful gaze back to Zamian. ¡°You! Don¡¯t come any closer, or we will kill them!¡±


    Zamian barely spared him a glance, instead scanning each woman.


    Misunderstanding his silence, the fearful Zealot grinned. ¡°Yes, let¡¯s talk. You¡¯re Dante¡¯s son, right? I heard you were a Zealot too. These people here are just lowly commoners, and we have Chosen Fern¡¯s permission to¡ª¡±


    His words cut off the moment he saw Zamian shine with white light and rush at him.


    Panicked, the Zealot moved his spear, slicing the woman¡¯s neck as he tried to block the incoming attack.


    But he failed.


    Realizing his instincts weren¡¯t warning him of any attack, he jumped to the side, only to see Zamian had kicked his friend¡¯s spear away and was jabbing two fingers at the man¡¯s eyes.


    Seeing Chuck¡¯s condition, the Zealot surged with green essence, reinforcing his body, as Zamian¡¯s body flashed with white light once more.


    This time, the Zealot¡¯s instincts screamed at him.


    Zamian rushed his remaining enemy, easily dodging the man¡¯s spear before gripping his throat with his right hand and slamming him to the ground.


    With his left fist, Zamian struck the Zealot¡¯s face.


    And again.


    And again.


    With the fourth punch, the Zealot¡¯s head cracked the floor beneath them.


    Wiping his bloodstained hands on his already bloodied brown shirt, Zamian stood and looked behind him.


    Zealot Chuck was trying to flee.


    Zamian grabbed the fallen wooden spear beside him and hurled it at his target.


    It zoomed through the air, missing, smashing through the wall, and burying itself deep in the ground outside.


    Clicking his tongue, Zamian rushed after his fleeing target.


    ¡°Don¡¯t kill me! Please! Please!¡± the man pleaded, sensing Zamian closing in from behind.


    Uncaring, Zamian grabbed the man¡¯s head and threw a punch at his ear, making him dizzy.


    He controlled his strength, however, avoiding damaging the man¡¯s brain too much.


    Seeing the Enlightened rushing toward the scene and a few commoners getting trampled, he scowled and shouted, ¡°This place is surrounded! Get on your knees, or you will die like the traitorous Zealots!¡±


    The Enlightened, seeing Zamian holding one of their leaders, hesitated before a few bolted toward the exit.


    After the first made their move, the rest followed.


    Zamian chuckled coldly. ¡°Making me waste so much essence¡­ I¡¯ll kill you all.¡±


    He threw the Zealot he was holding to the ground and stomped on the man¡¯s neck, making him pass out face-first in the dirt.


    Then, the chase began.


    The Enlightened¡¯s bodies were far more fragile than a Zealot¡¯s, and they couldn¡¯t run nearly as fast.


    Zamian reached the first two, jumped, kicked each of their heads, and kept moving.


    Behind him, two bodies collapsed, their skulls shattered and spilling blood.


    ¡®There are dozens of them,¡¯ Zamian thought, punching another Enlightened¡¯s head while continuing toward the exit. ¡®I don¡¯t know if I can catch them all¡­¡¯


    Reaching another fleeing group, he saw an Enlightened woman holding a child as a hostage.


    As she opened her mouth to say something, Zamian simply slapped her face, snapping her head sideways.


    Before dying, she unconsciously moved her arm with enough strength to break the child¡¯s shoulder. The little one screamed.


    Zamian barely spared the boy a glance before moving on to his next target.


    One by one, he cut them down as they fled through the dark hallway, now in shambles from the frantic escape. The Enlightened crashed into walls, shattering them. Some trampled over each other, while others abandoned the commoners they had been dragging for whatever nefarious reasons.


    The pale cultivator chased them all the way to the entrance above, watching as a handful managed to escape.


    ¡®Those rotten fruits are going back to their tree, for sure,¡¯ he thought grimly, walking back toward the underground farm, kicking dead bodies out of his way. ¡®I need to get stronger before that viper Fern makes a move against me.¡¯


    Arriving at the previous battlefield, now filled with bodies and trampled crops, Zamian saw a group of commoners gathered in small clusters, mostly crying and tending to wounded companions.


    They avoided the bodies of the Enlightened and Zealots like a plague.


    As a few noticed Zamian, they fell silent and instinctively stepped back, shielding the small children behind them.


    Most of the commoners were elderly and children, and a small amount out here were young or middle-aged women.


    The pale cultivator walked to the Zealot Chuck he had left alive and dragged the man by the hair toward the wooden house.


    There, he saw the women weeping silently, none of them having moved from their place.


    His cold gaze went to the dead one, then to the other hostage, who clutched her scratched neck.


    Looking back at the dead woman, Zamian approached and closed her eyes.


    The others flinched, not daring to speak or move away from him.


    Like they had been ordered to do thousands of times before.


    Zamian threw the Zealot onto the floor and stomped on his wooden armor until it cracked. As he did, the man¡¯s eyes fluttered open, but a kick to the head sent him back into unconsciousness.


    After breaking the Zealot¡¯s armor, Zamian slowly walked to retrieve the spear he had thrown earlier.


    Standing over the passed-out man once more, he played with the weapon and curiously thought, ¡®My instincts aren¡¯t teaching me how to use this blighted thing.¡¯


    Waving it through the air a few times and noticing his instincts remained silent, he made a mental note, flipped the spear downward, and drove the blade into the man¡¯s groin.


    Chuck woke up screaming, and Zamian swiftly kicked him again.


    The man¡¯s body glowed green as he enhanced himself, resisting the kick, but after another blow, he was out once more.


    Having no skill with the blade, Zamian sluggishly cut through the man¡¯s arms and legs, ripping them out of his torso.


    ¡®Good that he isn¡¯t waking up so easily anymore,¡¯ he noted, watching as the man bled on the floor, his body and essence desperately fighting to keep him alive.


    Finishing what he was doing, he stomped the man¡¯s belly a few times, bruising it badly and crushing some of his organs.


    Then, he looked at the terrified women, all deathly silent, their shaken eyes fixed on him, and offered them the spear he was holding.


    ¡°Come,¡± he said coldly. ¡°Pierce him with this, like he did to you.¡±


    None of the women moved, their gazes flickering between him and the Zealot, all trembling.


    ¡°You,¡± Zamian whispered, looking at the woman clutching her neck. ¡°He was about to kill you. Don¡¯t you want revenge? If not for that¡­ for any other reason?¡±


    The woman cried, hugging her knees but not daring to move from her place.


    Seeing that none of them had the courage to step forward, Zamian¡¯s cold eyes softened slightly.


    ¡°Every day, since you were born, you heard how cultivators were blessed by the Verdant God,¡± he muttered. ¡°How they were stronger, the protectors of the Sanctuary, the ones you should never disrespect.¡±


    They listened to his voice, but more than that, they watched his movements.


    Zamian noticed how their eyes darted from side to side, waiting for him to do something.


    Waiting for another cultivator to do whatever he wanted.


    ¡°You are weak,¡± he sighed. ¡°Of body, of mind. You don¡¯t even dare to attack this dying, blighted, nameless piece of rotten bark.¡±


    Seeing no reaction, he placed the spear on the floor.


    ¡°But it¡¯s not your fault,¡± Zamian shook his head, turning away. ¡°And it isn¡¯t my fault either. So do whatever you want, but I won¡¯t help you anymore.¡±


    Walking away, Zamian headed toward the underground farm¡¯s entrance.


    As commoners stayed out of his path, a small part of him thought, ¡®Approach me. Ask for help. Try it.¡¯


    He kept walking.


    He left the farm.


    He left the dark hallway.


    He opened the wooden door to the alley and stepped out, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath.


    As Zamian walked back to the main building, cultivators and commoners stared at his bloodied clothes in fear. Most recognized Dante¡¯s son and didn¡¯t dare to come close.


    The few who didn¡¯t recognize him were quickly stopped by others, whispering his father¡¯s name.


    From the underground farm to the main building, no one dared to approach him.


    Nodding at the Enlightened guarding the entrance while ignoring their formal greetings, Zamian grabbed a handful of paper, ink, and writing leaves, then made his way to his cultivation room.


    His mind was empty. Cultivating was his only goal.


    Entering his room, he felt both sadness and relief at not seeing Tulip waiting for him.


    Closing the door, he took off his clothes, stashed away the materials he had brought, and stepped into the stream.


    He looked at the white leaves above, then at the blood being washed away from his body.


    ¡®Maybe life is like a stream, and we are the bloodstains on nature¡¯s body,¡¯ he closed his eyes, and let himself float on the water.

 Chapter 37 - Green Leaf

    Zamian was naked, surrounded by piles of papers filled with green letters and drawings of his body.


    Luckily for him, the door to his cultivation garden was locked.


    Sitting down with a writing leaf in his mouth, he reviewed a paper in each hand, his eyes moving erratically.


    It had been a few days since he shut himself in his cultivation room, compiling everything he knew about his body, his essence, and even his past into these manuscripts. He only left to join his companions for meals three times a day and to check on Bohlo and Tulip¡¯s cultivation progress.


    ¡®The big guy is close to his breakthrough,¡¯ Zamian thought, pulling the leaf from his mouth and correcting some paragraphs. ¡®Tomorrow or the day after, he¡¯ll surely become a Zealot.¡¯


    Nodding, he put both manuscripts down and reached to his right, his hand brushing against the grass.


    ¡°Hm?¡± he muttered, glancing at the empty spot on the ground. ¡°I reviewed everything?¡±


    Dazed, he looked around, seeing the organized piles of his manuscripts, each one detailing his physical condition, the pathways he cultivated, his battles, his feelings, his friends, his dark space¡ªanything that was part of his life.


    Except, of course, the White Dot.


    ¡°Show me my status, white servant,¡± he said, clicking his tongue.


    PERSONAL INFORMATION


    Name: Zamian Greenfield


    Level: 3 [12%]


    Tier: Mortal


    Main Pathway: Knowledge


    Title: None


    STATS


    Body: 3000/3000


    Mind: 3200/3200


    Soul: 3000/3000


    REWARDS


    Ancient Astral Seal


    Description: A Star Seal guarding your Astral Self.


    Ancient Identify Technique (Passive)


    Description: See the secrets beyond the limitations of time.


    Nameless Physique


    Description: Breaker of the natural order, bearer of perpetual body, an unshackled lifeform.


    QUEST LOG


    Last Quest: Destroy an Unholy Sapling before the end of the month


    Reward: Special Physique (??)


    Status: Complete


    Main Quest: Bring destruction to a Level 8 Immortal tainted by Godhood


    Reward: Inheritor¡¯s Cave Entrance


    Status: Ongoing (91 days left)


    Reading the wall of white text three times, he dismissed it.


    Sighing, Zamian massaged his temples, muttering, ¡°Was I wrong? Books weren¡¯t the answer¡­ Maybe I should get Lin Zhi¡¯s help.¡± He shook his head. ¡°No, no. I need to try a little more.¡±


    Reaching for one manuscript, he started to read it, looking for any mistakes or additions he thought he should make.


    Reading how he described his childhood friends, he chuckled, leaning against a nearby tree and hitting it with his elbow, making a red fruit fall.


    He reflexively grabbed it and took a bite, flipping through the manuscript¡¯s pages with his thumb.


    At first, Zamian read with the intent of reviewing his material. But the truth was, he had already spent days doing that.


    So, instead of nitpicking sentence by sentence, he let himself be embraced by the story.


    His eyes became moist as he read about his mother and father¡¯s relationship, how he had been an annoying brat more than once, how he had a crush on Lakea, and how Bohlo¡¯s mother, Misandra, fed him delicious fruits whenever he went to play with the other kids at the market.


    Zamian lost his sense of the present, immersing himself in his stories. Without a second thought, he grabbed another manuscript, reading about his battles¡ªhow he felt no fear or shame about killing and how that inwardly concerned him. How he believed he was becoming a crazy person, like most cultivators.


    One by one, he read through the manuscripts. When he finished every single one of them, he grabbed more paper, threw away the fruit in his hand, and started writing again.


    ¡®Pain and death. I barely described those in my books, but I¡¯m intimate with both,¡¯ he thought, half-smiling as he wrote about his encounters with physical and mental pain and his enlightenment about death.


    ¡°Secrets and treason¡­ How could I forget about that?¡± Zamian muttered, compiling another pile of manuscripts focusing on his feelings and experiences on those subjects, avoiding only writing too much about the Verdant God out of spite.


    ¡°There¡¯s also my future, my goals. I still need to get stronger and become a Chosen and¡ª¡± he paused, his eyes trembling as he kept writing. ¡°And that I¡¯m constantly ignoring the fact that my father may already be dead.¡±


    No longer smiling, Zamian wrote about everything that crossed his mind until, suddenly, there was no more paper left.


    ¡°... I need more,¡± he stood up, his eyes bloodshot as he rushed to the exit.


    Then he stopped, feeling a piercing pain in his head.


    His instincts whispered to him, and suddenly, his body became sluggish.


    Zamian almost resisted, but there was a strong feeling of familiarity in this sensation.


    Slowly, his vision darkened, and he collapsed onto the floor.


    In front of him, a humanoid figure composed of uncountable specks of white light appeared.


    The specks shone brightly, whispering as white essence from the dark space itself gathered and entered the figure.


    Wave after wave of white essence entered Zamian¡¯s soul.


    ¡®My soul is still evolving along with my cultivation base,¡¯ he deciphered his instinct¡¯s whispers. ¡®It''s just a bunch of Soul Force that needs intent to take its final form¡­ A Spirit.¡¯


    Then Zamian non-existent eyes widened as he saw the humanoid figure moving for the first time!


    ¡®It can move?!¡¯ he thought in awe


    He relied on his blabbering instincts to tell him what had happened, then laughed in disbelief a moment later.


    ¡®The first technique of the Light Pathway? Soul Tome?¡¯


    He watched as his soul¡¯s hand moved, and a great surge of Light¡¯s essence formed a giant open book.


    This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.


    Zamian shifted his point of view, but as he guessed, the book was also filled with white light. ¡®I can¡¯t see a blight thing in there. No surprise that it¡¯s blank,¡¯ he frowned inwardly.


    As the Soul Tome took shape, a rush of knowledge flooded Zamian¡¯s mind, similar to when he first learned the Everbark technique upon becoming an Enlightened.


    ¡®This¡­¡¯ He thought in incredulity. ¡®It¡¯s the worst technique I¡¯ve ever heard of!¡¯


    The Soul Tome was a simple and direct technique.


    Zamian could enter his dark space and write whatever he wanted in the Soul Tome, and it would be stored inside his soul.


    Glaring at the White Dot always hovering in the corner of his vision, Zamian cursed inwardly.


    ¡®You blighted mute, I could become a giant monster with the Nature Pathway, and you gave me this rotten thing?¡¯


    Zamian was about to leave in anger when another chorus of whispers reached him.


    This time, he felt dizzy, as if the voices were coming from everywhere. Be it inside the dark space, from the outside, or some other ethereal place, they grew louder and louder.


    Not understanding how he could feel like this while still inside his soul space, Zamian realized that the Light¡¯s essence was imbuing him with another technique.


    ¡®Could it be¡­¡¯ Remembering that he was a Zealot, and therefore someone who had received two techniques from Nature¡¯s knowledge in the past¡ªEverbark and Nature¡¯s Embrace¡ªhe inwardly smiled.


    ¡®Yes, give me my other technique, thank you,¡¯ he thought in glee.


    But as the knowledge of the new technique entered his mind, he wanted to vomit blood.


    ¡®Luminous Senses!? White Dot, I¡¯ll chew you up and spill your remains on old Calla¡¯s tits!¡¯


    This technique was one he could activate just like Nature¡¯s Embrace, but instead of creating armor, it would enhance his senses. As Zamian understood, it would allow him to read faster, listen to lessons more clearly, and sharpen his reflexes to write without losing focus.


    ¡®This can¡¯t be all. Give me my Beginning of the Cycle back, give me¡­ I deserve it¡­ It was from my enlightenment¡­¡¯


    Feeling the rush of essence fading, and the essence whispering lessened until it was all silent, Zamian chose to stay in the dark space.


    He observed the shining white humanoid, now holding a book in one hand while the other hovered above it, completely motionless.


    Time passed.


    Zamian left the dark space.


    Opening his eyes, he spat out a mouthful of grass, feeling his naked body pressed against the dirty soil.


    Sitting up, he looked at the corner of his vision, his momentary numbness shifting to fury.


    ¡°White. Blighted. Dot.¡± He spat each word through gritted teeth, his eyes glowing white. ¡°Show. My. Blighted. Stats.¡±


    ¡®I¡¯ll kill you, I¡¯ll rip out my eyes and kill you, I¡¯ll make¡ª¡¯


    As Zamian planned his sweet revenge, a wall of white text flooded his vision.


    PERSONAL INFORMATION


    Name: Zamian Greenfield


    Level: 3 [100%]


    Tier: Mortal


    Main Pathway: Knowledge


    Title: None


    STATS


    Body: 7400/7400


    Mind: 7600/7600


    Soul: 0200/7400


    Zamian¡¯s thoughts halted as he gawked at his stats.


    ¡°Wh-what?!¡±


    His eight hearts beat faster as he consciously made them accelerate, checking if he was alive.


    Zamian didn¡¯t dismiss the white text.


    ¡°Oh no,¡± he muttered, his eyes shaking. ¡°White Dot, did you break? I was cultivating! I just entered my dark space and learned some rotten techniques! Where did the additional five thousand points in each stat come from?¡±


    He was losing himself between self-doubt, concern, glee, and madness.


    Standing up, he rushed to a tree, wanting to punch it and test his strength.


    Then, he found himself stopping just a finger¡¯s distance away from it.


    ¡°Wh¡ª¡± His eyes widened as he turned around, his instincts blaring at him.


    Sluggishly, he controlled his footing, and upon noticing the brown gash in the grass, he guessed, ¡°Did I¡­ get faster?¡±


    Opening his arms and crouching slightly, he tried to maintain his balance as his instincts kept screaming at him, pointing out flaws in his running posture, and his current position.


    Ignoring his instincts, Zamian closed his eyes.


    ¡°Calm down, calm down,¡± he whispered, slowly trying to make sense of the situation. ¡°I won¡¯t die now, right? So shut up.¡±


    Forcing himself to breathe, despite not needing to, he sat cross-legged and opened his eyes.


    Then, he scanned his body inwardly.


    Physically, nothing had changed.


    ¡°Good, no new arm or an extra third leg,¡± he sighed in relief. ¡°But this¡­ How long is it going to take for me to get used to my body now that I have so many flaws to correct? I mean¡­ It didn¡¯t change, but the amount of essence infused in it sure did.¡±


    He frowned, still listening to his instincts, aware that he was now more than three times stronger than before. In fact, he was only a few steps away from having the same strength as a Chosen or a Warlord like Ruen.


    ¡°But my stats caps are close,¡± his eyes shined a white light.


    Zamian then willed his essence to cover his fist and clenched it tightly.


    He laughed.


    ¡°I¡¯m stronger than when I used the Beginning of the Cycle transformation,¡± he grinned. ¡°My blighted enhanced body is strong enough to deal with a Chosen, I¡¯m sure.¡±


    After laughing some more, he kept a wry smile.


    ¡°I know I can control it with time, thanks to that Nameless Physique,¡± he said, scratching his head. ¡°But I need to see Bohlo¡¯s breakthrough, and breaking his cultivation garden would be less than ideal.¡±


    Standing up and slowly reaching for fresh clothes, he searched for a specific line of text.


    Main Quest: Bring destruction to a Level 8 Immortal tainted by Godhood


    Reward: Inheritor¡¯s Cave Entrance


    Status: Ongoing (90 days left)


    Dismissing the text after reading, he chuckled. ¡°A day passed? No problem!¡±


    Then, while putting on his pants, he glanced at the corner of his vision.


    ¡°See? This kind of stuff can¡¯t surprise me anymore. I bet I¡¯m not even late for Bohlo¡¯s breakthrough. Try harder, mute.¡±


    As Zamian finished speaking and pulled on his shirt, white letters materialized in his vision.


    New Side Quest (!): Protect Bohlo until he completes his breakthrough


    Reward: 01 Book from White Tower''s First Floor


    Status: Ongoing (12 hours left)


    (!) Failure to complete this quest will bring ?? penalties


    Zamian glanced at the text, quickly reading it.


    His instincts said nothing.


    But his eyes narrowed, and his cheerful expression morphed into a cold one.


    Zamian¡¯s mind raced as time slowed down, every piece of knowledge from the last few days flashing through his head. His eyes blinked erratically, shining with a strong white light.


    Essence coated his body, like a liquid layer gleaming in white.


    The young cultivator then moved his essence in a specific manner, willing it to help him conjure one of his new techniques.


    His vision shifted as the world gained new colors. Distant sounds reached his ears, neatly divided into invisible spheres around him, allowing him to consciously choose which one to focus on.


    He felt a good chunk of his essence being spent on this technique as a wave of dizziness hit his mind.


    Zamian commanded the White Dot to show him his stats.


    PERSONAL INFORMATION


    Name: Zamian Greenfield


    Level: 3 [78%]


    Tier: Mortal


    Main Pathway: Knowledge


    Title: None


    STATS


    Body: 7200/7400


    Mind: 7400/7600


    Soul: 0002/7400


    ¡®Two hundred points in each stat and maybe twenty percent of my current essence, the rest being used to enhance my body,¡¯ he thought. ¡®If it had cost a little more, and I expended all my soul points to conjure this Luminous Senses technique, what would have happened?¡¯


    Dismissing his stats, Zamian ran to the exit.


    The door was almost pulverized, the splinters small enough to become dust.


    A loud booming noise accompanied him as he sprinted down the hallway toward Bohlo¡¯s cultivation room.


    Zamian found no one in the corridors, but the breathing sounds and distant chatter he heard confirmed there were people in the main building above.


    Not only that, but as he neared Bohlo¡¯s room, he could also hear his friend¡¯s heartbeat.


    It was loud, erratic, and accompanied by labored breathing.


    Zamian took a single second to confirm that neither Bohlo nor anyone else was near the door¡ªthen he passed through it, destroying it too.


    Without pausing, his eyes scanned Bohlo¡¯s garden as he rushed to his friend¡¯s side.


    Bohlo was sweating over dozens of small sprouts, some slightly older than others.


    This was the result of him following Zamian¡¯s advice to act like a Farmer.


    Even after hastily checking the trees, the stream, and the bushes with his enhanced vision and hearing, Zamian found nothing out of place in the cultivation room. So he focused on Bohlo.


    The bare-chested cultivator had his eyes shut, his veins bulging beneath his skin as his heart raced like never before.


    Green essence flowed from the sprouts into Bohlo, aiding him in gathering energy. At the same time, Nature¡¯s essence from the surroundings rushed toward him.


    The pale cultivator knelt beside his friend, hesitating as he moved his hands, stopping just before touching Bohlo.


    A single thought passed through his mind.


    ''What can I do to help him?''


    Then another.


    ''Why is this happening?''


    As his friend trembled on the floor, struggling to breathe, Zamian¡¯s mind went blank for a second.


    Glancing at the flux of essence entering Bohlo, he thought, ''I need to get him out of here.''


    Just as he was about to grab Bohlo, he remembered the contents of White Dot¡¯s Side Quest.


    "Protect¡­ Not to save. Not to stop the breakthrough. But to protect."


    He mumbled, his eyes bloodshot.


    "But protect from what? From who?"


    Zamian found nothing here!


    As he stared at his best friend, unsure of what to do, his enhanced vision, sharpened by the Luminous Senses technique, detected a strange glow on Bohlo¡¯s back.


    Most would mistake it for Nature¡¯s essence surrounding him.


    But Zamian was different. His senses were beyond what common cultivators could grasp, and he could distinguish even the slightest variations in color.


    Noticing the shape of the glow, he muttered, "This form¡­ Is it a green leaf?"

 Chapter 38 - Unexpected Visitors

    Zamian¡¯s eyes continued shining with a strong white light as he moved with precision, leaning in to get a closer look at Bohlo¡¯s back without touching him.


    Staring at the glowing mark on his friend¡¯s skin, he nodded inwardly. ¡®Yes, it looks like a leaf.¡¯


    He was trying to understand the situation, but his instincts weren¡¯t helping at all. They only whispered about enhancing his body, managing his essence efficiently, and controlling his strength better.


    It was all about him, and not a single whisper was about whatever was happening to Bohlo.


    ¡®Useless,¡¯ he cursed in his mind, using his enhanced vision to track the glow of the leaf while absorbing every visual detail he could. His heightened hearing focused on the imaginary spheres of sound where he could better listen to Bohlo¡¯s breathing, his heartbeat, and even the rushing of his blood.


    The blood was flowing faster and faster, while Bohlo¡¯s breathing slowed.


    ¡®Hmm?¡¯ Zamian narrowed his eyes, suddenly noticing the leaf glowing just a bit brighter.


    His eyes widened as he heard Bohlo¡¯s heart rate spike, syncing with the pulse of the glow.


    He didn¡¯t need his instincts to tell him the connection between the mark and his friend¡¯s condition¡ªhe was smart enough to figure that out on his own.


    However, Zamian had no idea what to do. His strength, akin to that of a Chosen, was useless in this situation. ¡®I can¡¯t just punch this leaf and be done with it,¡¯ he thought in dismay.


    As his mind raced, the leaf glowed a little brighter.


    Bohlo¡¯s heart skipped a few beats.


    Scowling, Zamian moved his right index finger and pressed it against the mark.


    He acted quickly, refusing to let himself get lost in an endless spiral of thoughts.


    The moment his finger touched Bohlo¡¯s skin, he noticed two things.


    One, his friend¡¯s body was burning with fever. Two, the marked area was significantly harder than the rest.


    ¡®This isn¡¯t just a mark.¡¯ Zamian¡¯s eyes flashed with white light. ¡®There¡¯s a leaf-shaped object beneath his skin.¡¯


    The reason Zamian didn¡¯t believe it was a real leaf but some object was because it felt far too hard. And besides, common leaves didn¡¯t glow inside people¡¯s bodies.


    Keeping pressure on it, Zamian saw the leaf growing brighter, almost as if it were reacting to his touch.


    Receiving no warning from his instincts, he relied on his own deductions to decide what to do next.


    That was why, a second after the leaf pulsed once more, Zamian sent Light essence to his fingernail and swiftly cut Bohlo¡¯s skin. He shoved his index finger and thumb inside his friend¡¯s body, pulling out the green leaf the moment he felt it.


    ¡®Blighted thing,¡¯ he cursed as the leaf tried to burrow into his finger, drawing blood but failing to pierce his hardened muscles. Luckily, It could not go any deeper.


    ¡®Wait.¡¯ He narrowed his eyes, puzzled because his instincts did not react to the assault and were completely ignoring the green leaf.


    Shaking his head, he held the leaf tighter and turned his focus back to Bohlo. ¡®He is more important than this.¡¯


    Using his free hand, he turned Bohlo side to side, stripping the big man and checking every inch of his skin for any other marks. He found none.


    At the same time, he noticed Bohlo¡¯s breathing returning to a steady rhythm, his heart rate slowing down.


    Exhaling in relief, he muttered, ¡°You nearly gave me eight heart attacks, B.¡±


    Kneeling beside his friend, he stopped enhancing his body with essence but chose to keep the Luminous Senses technique active.


    ¡°Protect,¡± Zamian murmured, glancing at Bohlo before shifting his gaze to the green leaf that was still cutting into his hand. ¡°The quest isn¡¯t complete, so I¡¯ll keep protecting you, big guy.¡±


    He considered destroying the leaf, but the way his instincts refused to react to it made him hesitate. There was another method he wanted to try.


    ¡°Maybe I can destroy you the same way I destroyed the Seed of Creation,¡± he whispered under his breath.


    Time passed, and the green essence surrounding Bohlo thinned. His now-naked body glowed with a faint green light as his muscles shifted, absorbing the vast energy surging through him.


    Zamian watched the process without interfering, using the time to refine his ability to focus his empowered hearing and vision on different targets¡ªboth the broken entrance and Bohlo.


    A few moments later, he noticed Bohlo¡¯s eyelids trembling.


    Zamian smiled as his friend¡¯s eyes opened with a dazed look, his head turning from side to side as he lay on the grass.


    Bohlo sat up and scratched his short-haired head as his ears flapped. With a sleepy voice, he said, ¡°Uh¡­ Z, what happened to your hand?¡±


    Zamian glanced at the blood on his finger and chuckled. ¡°I was picking leaves.¡± With glowing white eyes, he observed his friend and muttered, ¡°How are you feeling?¡±


    Laughing, Bohlo stretched his muscular arms and yawned. ¡°Sleepy, but not that bad. Uh¡­ which tree hurt you?¡±


    ¡°Forget about it.¡± Shaking his head, Zamian pointed at Bohlo. ¡°But really, how are you feeling?¡±


    Seeing his friend stand up and put on his clothes, Zamian thought, ¡®He seems a bit more lost than usual.¡¯


    ¡°Hey.¡± Zamian stood up and tapped his friend¡¯s shoulder. ¡°Answer me, B. Are you okay?¡±


    Bohlo was startled and turned to Zamian with wide eyes. ¡°Ahh. Yes, yes, yes.¡± He nodded slowly. ¡°My head is heavy, I guess. But I¡¯m okay!¡±


    ¡®When I became a Zealot, a similar blighted thing happened to me,¡¯ Zamian thought, narrowing his eyes as he watched his friend walk through the garden. ¡®However, something is wrong.¡¯


    Looking at the green text above Bohlo¡¯s head, Zamian read:


    [LEVEL 2 - MORTAL TIER - CREATION PATHWAY]


    Glancing at the corner of his vision, he willed the White Dot to show him a specific quest.


    Side Quest (!): Protect Bohlo until he completes his breakthrough


    Reward: 01 Book from White Tower''s First Floor


    Status: Ongoing (12 hours left)


    (!) Failure to complete this quest will bring ?? penalties


    Staring at the text for a few seconds, Zamian dismissed it and frowned.


    ¡®Why is he like this if he hasn¡¯t become a Zealot yet?¡¯


    Approaching his friend at a slow pace, he patted Bohlo¡¯s shoulder, prompting the big-eared cultivator to turn around with dazed eyes and a big smile.


    ¡°B, are you hungry?¡±


    ¡°A little, yes, yes.¡±


    Guiding his friend to a bush by gently pushing his back, Zamian crouched, plucked some red berries, and placed them in his open hands, showing them to Bohlo. His friend smiled and picked a few, eating slowly.


    ¡°Come on,¡± Zamian said as they finished the berries. ¡°Show me your garden.¡±


    Bohlo nodded and walked alongside Zamian. Both remained quiet, letting the white light from above shine on their skin as they touched the fresh grass with their bare feet and occasionally brushed their hands against tree trunks.


    Zamian scanned the entire area with his Luminous Sense, never straying from Bohlo¡¯s side, while part of his awareness remained fixed on the broken door.


    The green leaf clutched in Zamian¡¯s fist had stopped trying to pierce him after a few minutes, its glow fading entirely. Yet, he did not open his hand, nor did he attempt to destroy it, merely stashing it on his inner shirt.


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    As time passed, they eventually stopped and sat near the spot where Bohlo usually cultivated. The muscular man sat cross-legged, his gaze fixed on the sprouts on the ground as he gently caressed them.


    Seconds turned into minutes. Zamian scowled but remained silent.


    When an hour had passed, his scowl deepened. ¡®Why isn¡¯t anyone coming here?¡¯


    Strong steps echoed through the floors above, creating a steady flow of sound to his enhanced senses. However, from this distance, he could not pick up any voices or use the noise to determine where the people were or how many there were.


    He had tried.


    An hour was a long time, after all.


    ¡®Why has no one come here after I broke that door? Even the loud noise of me running from my cultivation room to here should have been enough to attract someone,¡¯ he thought with growing concern. ¡®At the very least, Tulip, Uncle Soho, or that coward Kurt should have shown up if the patrolling cultivators were busy.¡¯


    As Zamian focused on the distant noises, one of the sound spheres he had been tracking shifted in rhythm.


    A faint scattering sound, as if grass and soil were being parted.


    It was too soft to be perceptible from this distance.


    At least, for common cultivators.


    Zamian¡¯s head snapped toward the sound, his eyes flashing with bright white light as he locked onto the broken door.


    Standing in front of it, now inside Bohlo¡¯s garden, was a woman.


    She wore a flowing green dress adorned with floral patterns. Her wavy hair cascaded over her shoulders, framing her large, green eyes.


    Her bare feet moved delicately across the grass as she approached them.


    Zamian read the glowing green line above her head.


    [LEVEL 5 - IMMORTAL TIER - CREATION PATHWAY]


    He gulped.


    The woman, noticing his gaze, smiled, revealing her green teeth.


    ¡°I¡¯m Reina Verdant,¡± she whispered, her voice brushing against Zamian¡¯s mental sound spheres and ears like a sweet breeze.


    The young cultivator hastily grabbed Bohlo¡¯s head, pushing it against the grass as he threw himself to the ground.


    ¡°This Zealot greets the soil stepped on by the Child of Verdant, wishing for the sacred light of Verdant to stay never-ending, ever strong, and be the only one in this Sanctuary,¡± Zamian shouted.


    ¡°This Child hears the sound leaving your mouth. Rise to the light of Verdant,¡± Reina said, smiling. She paused before adding, ¡°The Enlightened one won¡¯t greet me, as my Father commanded?¡±


    ¡®Oh, blighting vermin,¡¯ Zamian cursed inwardly, moving his head slightly to glance at the woman. ¡®Bohlo, don¡¯t kill us both here, please.¡¯


    Then he jerked his head, seeing as the Child of Verdant was sitting on a cushion woven from blades of grass, now only a few steps away from them.


    His eyes widened. ¡®When did she move? How did I not notice?¡¯


    Biting his inner lip, a disturbing thought passed through his mind.


    ¡®My instincts¡­ are silent! Is she controlling her intent like Marlos?¡¯


    ¡°You can rise, Zealot,¡± she said, her fingers idly tracing the cushion as it began to float closer to them. ¡°The Enlightened, however, must greet me.¡±


    Standing up, Zamian pressed Bohlo¡¯s head down with his right foot, keeping his own head bowed.


    ¡°Child Reina, this Enlightened¡­ had an issue while cultivating and isn¡¯t thinking clearly,¡± he said carefully.


    Reina¡¯s eyes glowed green as she ran her fingers through her hair.


    ¡°His soul is a mess, but he seems to be a gifted cultivator. By tomorrow¡¯s first meal, he should be fine once more.¡±


    Zamian openly sighed in relief.


    As her grass cushion floated above Zamian, she spoke in a bored tone. ¡°Won¡¯t you ask me why I¡¯m here?¡±


    ¡®I can¡¯t leave and abandon Bohlo, and I won¡¯t bet on a fight against her. She is stronger than a Chosen, after all.¡¯ His mind raced. ¡®Blighted woman, shouldn¡¯t you be with your rotten father or fighting that traitorous Lord Chosen?¡¯


    ¡°This is a first,¡± she chuckled, hovering in front of Zamian, her face dangerously close to his. ¡°People usually pay attention to me when I speak.¡±


    Zamian¡¯s instincts screamed at him, and he locked eyes with the Child of Verdant, frozen in place.


    Her eyes glowed with green light.


    And then she frowned.


    ¡°What is this in your soul? Why is it so hard to see?¡± she asked, her tone more irritated than curious.


    ¡®I can¡¯t lie to her, but I can¡¯t tell her the truth either.¡¯ He clenched his teeth. ¡®And if I ignore her¡­¡¯


    ¡°My father said the same thing once when I was younger,¡± he answered, shaking his head. ¡°But I can¡¯t explain much more than that.¡±


    ¡°You have been like this since birth?¡±


    ¡°Honestly? It feels like it¡¯s been with me since my last life.¡± He shrugged. ¡°I like to think it¡¯s a reward from a previous cycle.¡±


    She arched an eyebrow at him. ¡°A reward? Do you mean as a Divine blessing?¡±


    ¡°For me, this indeed came from a divine power, Child Reina.¡±


    Reina chuckled and backed away.


    ¡°I wish that blind stargazing elder was awake. He would love to meet a devotee like you,¡± she said, absentmindedly twirling a lock of her hair between her fingers.


    ¡®Yeah, I wish that blighted Stargazing Brother would wake up too. I¡¯ve been checking almost every two days, and they keep saying the old creepy is still recovering.¡¯


    Just as Zamian was about to continue speaking and ask what she wanted, Reina sighed.


    ¡°You didn¡¯t ask, but I came here to find Zamian Greenfield, the son of the previous Lord Chosen, Dante Greenfield.¡± Her green eyes bore into Zamian. ¡°Do you know where he is?¡±


    ¡°....Here. I am Zamian.¡±


    Silence stretched between them, while Bohlo appeared to be chewing the grass.


    ¡°Aren¡¯t you afraid? Nervous? Or at least uneasy?¡± Reina whispered, resting her index finger on her chin.


    ¡°I expected someone to come,¡± Zamian said, choosing his words carefully. ¡°But I am surprised it was you, Child Reina.¡±


    She smiled.


    ¡°Fern said you were smart. Maybe you noticed no one was near the cultivation rooms, right? Most of them went up there to receive me and my brothers.¡± She watched Zamian with interest, her eyes flashing with a green hue.


    ¡®Vermin, if you think you¡¯ll get a reaction from me, you¡¯re in for a big treefall.¡¯


    Zamian controlled his facial muscles. His instincts whispered to him again, guiding his actions. His lips curled into a quiet, almost trembling smile. His breath quickened, his fingers twitched.


    Finally, his eyes widened slightly as he spoke. ¡°Brothers? More Children are here? Did we win the war against the outsiders?¡±


    Reina studied him carefully but kept her calm expression, answering with a smile. ¡°What war?¡±


    Zamian opened and closed his mouth, too stunned to respond.


    ¡®Weren¡¯t the Children of Verdant on Lord¡¯s Tree? Wasn¡¯t the giant root wall made by them? Who were the ones chasing me and Ruen to our battleground after my transformation and the destruction of the Erasmus Tree if not them?¡¯


    With so many questions flooding his mind, Zamian made no effort to hide his exasperated and confused expression.


    ¡°There is no war,¡± she said, her eyes gleaming. ¡°It¡¯s just us removing pests from our garden.¡±


    A bad feeling crept into Zamian at the way she phrased it.


    ¡°Anyway, come with me.¡± She turned, floating away. The moment she left the grass field, the cushion beneath her dissolved into green essence.


    She didn¡¯t ask. She didn¡¯t wait. She simply walked.


    ¡®Rotten child of a fake god,¡¯ Zamian thought, lifting his foot from Bohlo¡¯s head.


    Grabbing his friend¡¯s arm, Zamian pulled him up, forcing the muscular man to walk with him.


    Bohlo¡¯s face was covered in dirt, especially around his mouth, which was chewing on blades of grass.


    As Zamian followed Reina Verdant, he avoided using Light¡¯s essence.


    ¡®What is happening here?¡¯ he thought. ¡®Why is she looking for me? Does she know I¡¯m the one who destroyed that sapling and the Erasmus Tree?¡¯


    Glancing at the text above her head, a headache crept in.


    ¡®And this blighted thing is even one level higher than a Chosen. Worst of all, Whit Dot put her on a higher tier, calling this rotten bark an Immortal.¡¯ Amidst his thoughts, he frowned inwardly. ¡®Wait¡­ doesn¡¯t this mean she could easily kill the Lord Chosen and the other traitors to quickly end this blighting invasion?¡¯


    They passed through vine-covered doors. As they did, Zamian began to hear muffled voices, his mental sound spheres picking up fragmented sentences.


    ¡°...powerful¡­ fled¡­ useless!¡± a raspy male voice said.


    ¡°...unnecessary¡­ planned¡­ boy,¡± another male voice, one he almost recognized, responded.


    Then, as he stepped through the final vine-covered door, the voices went silent.


    At the same time, his instincts screamed¡ªlike someone was ripping all eight of his hearts out at once.


    Flinching, he took a second to adjust himself before facing the small crowd of twelve cultivators in front of him.


    His gaze immediately recognized three familiar faces¡ªYokki, Calla, and Fern¡ªstanding beside two unknown men with long green hair, eerily similar to Reina.


    Having good guesses, he glanced at the green lines above their heads.


    [LEVEL 5 - IMMORTAL TIER - CREATION PATHWAY]


    [LEVEL 5 - IMMORTAL TIER - CREATION PATHWAY]


    Behind them stood six more cultivators, all clad in wooden armor, their faces marked with scars. Four men, two women.


    They all had the same glowing green text above them.


    [LEVEL 4 - IMMORTAL TIER - CREATION PATHWAY]


    Then, Zamian¡¯s gaze fell on the last man.


    He stood opposite Yokki, on the other side of the Children of Verdant. Long brown hair cascaded past his shoulders, and he wore a deep purple tunic. His small eyes and faint smile were fixed on Reina, Zamian, and Bohlo.


    Zamian froze.


    No amount of control could stop the surge of emotions crashing inside him.


    Incredulity, horror, and anger.


    Reina approached the group and wrapped an arm around one of her brothers, smiling as she spoke.


    ¡°I brought him. He didn¡¯t resist, but his soul is as strong as Yokki said, so I couldn¡¯t control him. Sorry.¡±


    The man being hugged by Reina, who had short curly green hair, matching eyes, and wore a simple green shirt and pants, shrugged.


    ¡°Doesn¡¯t matter. We can use him as bait anyway.¡±


    Meanwhile, the other green-haired Child of Verdant, who looked younger but wore the same attire as his brother, clicked his tongue and turned toward the purple-robed man.


    ¡°Elwood, you failed again.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry, Child Claus,¡± Elwood bowed slightly. ¡°My understanding of that man was that he would stay close to his kid. I miscalculated, failing to account for his current state.¡± He glanced at Zamian. ¡°For him to abandon his son here was beyond my plans.¡±


    ¡®It can¡¯t be.¡¯ Zamian¡¯s eyes shook as he watched these people speak so casually with one another.


    ¡°Your plans, you say?¡± Claus laughed in disdain. ¡°Horus and I spent days searching for that man after he destroyed the Erasmus Colossal Tree, following your so-called plan. And this is what? Your third failure? You can¡¯t make plans, mortal.¡±


    ¡®They should be attacking him.¡¯ Zamian trembled, his thoughts clouded by a storm of emotions.


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry, Child Claus,¡± Elwood bowed again. ¡°But this time, if we capture him and use him as bait in the desert, Dante¡ª¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t speak his name in front of me.¡± Horus, the curly-haired Child of Verdant, cut in, not even sparing Elwood a glance.


    Before the purple-robed man could continue, Claus waved his hand dismissively.


    ¡°Just throw him and whoever is with him into the Deep Ground prison and wait for the madman to come to rescue them,¡± he smirked. ¡°Or do you think my siblings and I will step outside?¡±


    ¡°Child Claus, but¡ª¡± Elwood started, only to be interrupted.


    ¡°Why aren¡¯t you killing him!? He is a blighting traitor!?¡± Zamian shouted, his voice trembling as he pointed at Elwood.


    Yokki shook her head. Calla and Fern exchanged glances.


    The other Chosen widened their eyes at Zamian. Until now, they had remained silent.


    Reina laughed sweetly. Horus ignored everything. Claus smirked, his gaze shifting to Elwood.


    The brown-haired cultivator turned to Zamian, smiling slightly. His posture shifted¡ªstraightening, becoming composed. He placed his hands behind his back.


    Staring at Zamian with his small, calculating eyes, he spoke in a low but commanding tone.


    ¡°How dare you speak in front of your Lord Chosen and the Children of Verdant, Zealot?¡±

 Chapter 39 - You are next

    Zamian felt as if thousands of logs were pressing down on him, forcing him to use all his strength just to avoid bending in Elwood¡¯s direction.


    Gritting his teeth, he stared at the purple-robed man with bloodshot eyes.


    The same way Dante had made cultivators feel an invisible pressure a few days ago at Yokki¡¯s cottage, the current Lord Chosen was now doing the same¡ªbut only to Zamian.


    Two thoughts passed through Zamian¡¯s mind.


    ¡®Are these vipers betraying their own father?¡¯ Then, he grinned. ¡®Ruen was really a twig of a Warlord. That vermin never once used this kind of technique on me.¡¯


    ¡°Stay that way,¡± Elwood nodded slightly, his brown eyes glowing with a green hue.


    Then, he turned to the three Children of Verdant and bowed slightly. ¡°Pardon me, Children. As I was saying, it would be of great importance¡ª¡±


    He was interrupted again.


    ¡°Pathetic. You can¡¯t even control a boy,¡± Claus sneered. ¡°Shut up and do as I said. And wait for his¨C¡±


    This time, Claus was the one interrupted. A firm grip squeezed his shoulder.


    Horus stood still, staring at the walls, saying nothing, his fingers tightening on his younger brother¡¯s shoulder.


    Claus paled slightly, then quickly muttered, ¡°Whatever. Put him and his friends in the Deep Ground.¡±


    Horus let him go.


    Elwood looked like he wanted to argue, but one sharp glare from Horus silenced him.


    Reina clung to her older brother¡¯s arm, smiling through the entire exchange.


    Silence stretched as Zamian avoided using his essence to combat the pressure.


    ¡°We are leaving,¡± Horus said, turning toward the main building¡¯s exit.


    Claus followed, his steps small and measured, while Reina lightly jumped, her movements completely soundless.


    Once the three Children of Verdant disappeared through the largest vined door, which was already open, the other Chosen visibly relaxed, their breaths coming easier.


    The Lord Chosen corked an eyebrow, put both hands behind his back, and raised his chin, muttering, staring at Zamian with his small, piercing eyes.


    ¡°Does he have friends?¡± he asked.


    ¡°The male Enlightened by his side, one female Enlightened, one Great Warrior, and a commoner that we locked up when you arrived,¡± Fern answered, his eyes shifting between Elwood, Zamian, and Bohlo.


    ¡°He has any other connections here?¡± Elwood asked, shooting a glance at Yokki.


    The veiled, orange-haired woman thought for a moment before nodding. ¡°Three mortal kids. And possibly the Warrior Chosen too.¡±


    Elwood turned his head calmly toward the Chosen behind him. ¡°Five of you, invite Marlos to meet me later. The rest of you will go with Yokki and Calla and bring his friends to me.¡±


    Four male Chosen and one female glowed with green light before rushing toward the door. The remaining one stepped forward, nodding at Yokki and Calla.


    ¡°They are¡ª¡± Yokki began, pointing at a closed vined door when they all felt a sudden spike of essence.


    Zamian had kicked the ground, enhancing his body with Light¡¯s essence as he reached for the green leaf hidden inside his inner shirt.


    A thunderous crack erupted as the wooden floor shattered. A wave of splinters burst outward, sending Bohlo tumbling backward as he fell.


    Yokki also stumbled, but thanks to Calla¡¯s quick reflexes, she was caught before she could hit the ground.


    Fern conjured a giant leaf and hurled it toward Zamian, but the young cultivator¡¯s speed made it miss completely.


    A second later, the three leaders of the Camp of Salvation widened their eyes. Even Fern seemed momentarily surprised.


    The Lord Chosen took a step back, his cold eyes betraying a flicker of disbelief as his trembling lips parted slightly. He reached for his neck, massaging the fresh wound¡ªa thin line of blood now marked his skin.


    Zamian coughed blood, grinning, his right hand clutching a green leaf stained red.


    Holding his wrist was the left hand of the Chosen woman who had remained in place.


    She radiated green light, furiously channeling Nature¡¯s essence into her body, empowering herself not only with essence but also a technique that made her skin take a green hue.


    Her right hand pressed against Zamian¡¯s chest, standing firmly between him and Elwood.


    The impact of her strike had been immense, given both their speeds. It had ruptured some of the internal tubes acting as his organs, causing him to cough up blood.


    But it didn¡¯t stop him from grinning.


    ¡°Pathetic,¡± he muttered, staring at the Lord Chosen, who was looking at his own hand stained by the blood from his neck.


    Elwood sent green essence to the wound, sealing it shut, before returning his focus to Zamian.


    ¡°What essence are you cultivating?¡± the Lord Chosen asked.


    Zamian tried to move, but the Chosen gripping his wrist tightened her hold.


    So, he remained silent.


    Elwood turned to Fern and the others. ¡°Did you discover anything about him?¡±


    ¡°We are still¡ª¡± Calla began, only to be interrupted.


    ¡°Say no, it¡¯s simple.¡± The Lord Chosen looked directly at Fern. ¡°Why does he have one of your leaves?¡±


    ¡®He was interrupted so many times, and now he¡¯s the one blocking others from speaking. Such a nutcase,¡¯ Zamian jested inwardly, his instincts screaming at him louder than ever. The sheer absurdity of the situation almost made him want to laugh in despair.


    ¡®Yes, Fern, why am I holding on to your leaves? It was you who put it inside Bohlo?¡¯


    ¡°We evaluated that he has the same weaknesses as his father, and while we can¡¯t kill him, we thought it would be wise to target his friends and make him lose control,¡± Fern answered slowly, his tone contrasting against the fiery demeanor he put in front of Zamian.


    Zamian looked at him and said. ¡°I will kill you.¡±


    Fern didn¡¯t spare him a glance.


    The Chosen holding Zamian, however, moved to strike his chest with a palm attack.


    Zamian caught her wrist with his free hand.


    Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.


    ¡°We are just talking, keep calm.¡±


    The woman¡¯s eyes widened as she realized Zamian¡¯s strength matched her own.


    Elwood also took notice. ¡°You three let him grow this much in just a few days? Your incompetence is beyond me.¡± He shook his head. ¡°And your friend, boy, the one behind you, what¡¯s his name? Is he as worthless to you as these people are to me?¡±


    Zamian chose to stay silent.


    ¡°Let him go, Hazel,¡± the Lord Chosen said, stepping to Zamian¡¯s side. ¡°If he tries anything, kill the Enlightened.¡±


    Chosen Hazel didn¡¯t seem pleased with the order, but she released Zamian¡¯s wrist.


    Zamian also let go of her and stepped back, his eyes shifting between Elwood, Hazel, Calla, and Fern.


    ¡°Yokki and Calla, bring his companions here. Fern, stay with the Enlightened,¡± Elwood said, his eyes glowing with a green hue.


    The veiled Yokki and the elder Calla nodded, passing through a vined door and leaving the main room.


    Fern stepped toward Bohlo.


    Zamian split his focus, consciously tracking Bohlo and Fern¡¯s movements while keeping his eyes locked on the two Chosen standing in front of him.


    ¡°Now, will you tell me what kind of essence you are cultivating, or should I torture you and your friend?¡±


    ¡®Are they going to kill Bohlo? Or use Tulip and Uncle Soho against me? Kurt isn¡¯t important, I could use him¡­ And the kids, well...¡¯


    Zamian¡¯s thoughts spiraled. He had acted on impulse before, faster than even he could process, but he now understood how dangerous that move had been.


    ¡®Even if I kill this vermin, Fern, Calla, and this Hazel could still fight me and use Bohlo as leverage.¡¯


    ¡°Fern, break the Enlightened¡¯s arm.¡±


    Before Zamian could react, he heard the sickening crunch of bone snapping, followed by the sound of muscle twisting and a piercing scream.


    Turning sharply to his friend, Zamian¡¯s eyes widened as he took in the scene.


    Bohlo¡¯s right arm was now twisted unnaturally, held firmly in Fern¡¯s single left hand.


    ¡°You blighted piece of rotten wood!¡± Zamian cursed, his body radiating white light as he nearly took a step toward Bohlo¡ªonly to be stopped by a firm grip on his shoulder.


    Hazel held him back, while Elwood was at his side, watching his movements.


    Forcing himself to stay in control, Zamian activated his enhanced senses, analyzing the situation.


    His instincts, on the other hand, were useless at this moment.


    ¡®They could have killed Bohlo by now.¡¯ His eyes gleamed. ¡®And against the three of them, I doubt I can do much. Maybe die while taking one with me. Probably Fern. But that¡¯s it.¡¯


    Listening to their heartbeats and catching their glances, he soon noticed something else.


    ¡®Fern keeps looking at my hand. At his leaf.¡¯


    Time seemed to slow in his perception as he kept thinking.


    ¡®Hazel¡¯s armor is cracked from when I grabbed her wrist, and she hasn¡¯t used essence to repair it. Why would she conserve such a small amount?¡¯


    Shifting his attention to Hazel and Elwood, he smiled inwardly.


    ¡®They are both injured. Maybe they don¡¯t want to risk getting more wounds. But why?¡¯


    His thoughts were still racing when Bohlo suddenly stopped screaming and shouted, ¡°Flee! Leave me here and flee!¡±


    Zamian looked at his friend, who was sweating and clutching his broken arm.


    Bohlo had regained clarity, even if only for a moment, from his unnatural state.


    But more importantly, Zamian heard Elwood¡¯s heart skip a beat.


    ¡°Keep silent if you don¡¯t want to die,¡± the Lord Chosen said.


    Zamian grinned and turned to face him.


    ¡°Did you notice, Lord Chosen?¡± he said, spitting out the last words with mockery. ¡°I can move pretty fast.¡±


    Elwood¡¯s heart skipped another beat.


    ¡°You want me to attack you, don¡¯t you?¡± Zamian chuckled. ¡°Otherwise, why would you approach me, knowing I can strike you in an instant? After all, why does it matter for you if they hurt me or Bohlo if you¡¯re already dead?¡±


    As he finished speaking, he poured a massive surge of essence into his hands, channeling a strong intention:


    ¡®Begin a new cycle, my Seed of Creation.¡¯


    Elwood¡¯s eyes widened as his body shone with green light, and the image of a tree trunk appeared behind him.


    Hazel moved, her body glowing as she lunged forward, aiming a palm strike at Zamian.


    Fern raised his left arm, making a pulling motion with his hand.


    A blinding white light illuminated the central room of the main building, followed by a wave of destruction.


    Zamian¡¯s index fingers each formed a glowing white sphere, and he pressed them against Hazel¡¯s palms and the Lord Chosen¡¯s arm.


    But most importantly, as Zamian enhanced his body, he redirected the flow of Light¡¯s essence into the bloodied green leaf in his right hand¡ªjust as it began to shine with green light¡ªdestroying it.


    And everything else happened too fast.


    The Seed of Creation targeting Hazel entered her palm, but her strike shattered not only Zamian¡¯s left finger but also his entire left hand.


    However, the female Chosen did not attempt a second attack. She collapsed to her knees, screaming as her essence was devoured by the tiny sphere now crawling up her arm.


    Zamian¡¯s right finger, on the other hand, was gone.


    Elwood had used a strange technique, unleashing Nature¡¯s essence from within himself and from the image of the tree trunk behind him. It surged forward with unnatural speed, creating a whirlwind powerful enough to pulverize Zamian¡¯s enhanced flesh and bones.


    But it could not stop the Seed of Creation.


    The Lord Chosen did not scream. Instead, he kicked the ground, putting distance between himself and Zamian as he looked down at the gaping hole in his right arm.


    More images of tree trunks appeared around him as he blasted through the main building¡¯s walls.


    Zamian, meanwhile, had thrown himself backward, using the force of the clash to accelerate his movement.


    With enhanced control, heightened senses, and most importantly, a planned trajectory, the young cultivator rolled along the ground, stopping beside Bohlo and Fern.


    The one-armed Chosen was already conjuring his wooden spear when Zamian stood up.


    Grinning, Zamian grabbed Bohlo and moved his lips without making a sound.


    ¡®You. Are. Next.¡¯


    Fern instinctively took a defensive stance.


    And Zamian dashed straight toward Calla and Yokki¡¯s direction, carrying Bohlo on his shoulder.


    Fern reacted a moment too late, scowling. But before he could move, Hazel¡¯s screams grew even louder, followed by a shout from Elwood.


    ¡°Cut my arm, now!¡±


    Meanwhile, Zamian had already broken through the vined door but could still clearly hear the voices behind him.


    A moment later, he also heard the sharp sound of flesh being cut.


    ¡®I like this,¡¯ he thought as he shifted his hearing through his mental sound spheres, searching for Yokki, Calla, or the people they had locked up. ¡®Why do I like this?¡¯


    Destroying the floor with his uncontrolled steps and trying to hurt Bohlo as little as possible, Zamian took only a few seconds to hear Calla¡¯s voice.


    He made a sharp turn, his movements loud, and crashed through two vined doors before finally finding who he was looking for.


    In front of him, inside a room made of vines and roots, stood ten rectangular human-sized cages.


    They were all empty.


    In the middle of the room, Tulip, Soho, and Kurt were covered in a thick, green viscous liquid. Yokki stood beside them, gripping a wooden knife.


    Calla was also there and had both hands raised, a stream of green essence flowing from her arms and connecting to the liquid that held Zamian¡¯s friends captive


    ¡®She¡¯s a Cleric,¡¯ he thought.


    ¡°If you move, boy, they will die,¡± Calla shouted.


    ¡®She heals people and maybe has some soul attacks like Yokki,¡¯ Zamian tried to recall everything he knew about Clerics, about Yokki, and about Calla herself.


    ¡°Now put your friend down and step inside the Root Cage closest to you,¡± she ordered.


    ¡®This old viper¡¯s body is tired, her heart beating faster than Yokki¡¯s, but her breathing is shallow.¡¯ His eyes gleamed.


    ¡°Do as I said! Now!¡±


    Zamian slowly placed Bohlo down, noticing that his friend looked dazed once more.


    Then, without a word, he glanced at Calla and Yokki before stepping closer to one of the cages on his right.


    Tulip, Soho, and Kurt remained motionless, eyes shut, the liquid pressing against their bodies, covering their mouths.


    ¡®Maybe I¡¯m wrong. Maybe she could hurt them,¡¯ Zamian thought, staring at the cage instead of Calla. ¡®But I¡¯m sure that doing nothing will lead to someone¡¯s death.¡¯


    As his hand touched the Root Cage, he immediately felt it trying to drain his essence, stopping the enhancement on his four-fingered right hand.


    At the same time, with his enhanced hearing, he caught the sound of Calla sighing.


    It was a sigh of relief.


    Quickly, he turned around, burning his Light¡¯s essence and rushing at Calla.


    The old Chosen was momentarily caught off guard and shouted, ¡°Stop!¡±


    A wave of green viscous liquid gushed toward Zamian.


    He didn¡¯t attempt to dodge to the sides, because doing so would entangle him in one of the cages.


    He couldn¡¯t jump either, as the ceiling was too low.


    In fact, moving away could mean the wave would hit Bohlo.


    So, of course, Zamian walked through it.


    The moment the liquid hit him, he felt a strong intent within it, commanding him to stay still, to not move.


    The wound on his left hand and index finger healed, but the one on his right simply closed¡ªthere was nothing left to heal there.


    Worse still, his essence was moving against his will.


    ¡®I don¡¯t have much left,¡¯ he realized. ¡®Checking with the White Dot would also be dangerous since it affects my vision.¡¯


    Zamian didn¡¯t want to be distracted while fighting against a Chosen!


    With his body glowing a brilliant white light, he tried another tactic.


    ¡®Nothing will stop my new cycle.¡¯


    Just as he had done with the Seed of Creation, he now poured his intentions into the essence enhancing his body.


    He was trying to conjure a lost technique.


    Tiny white spheres began forming around him, only to be destroyed and carried away by the rushing liquid.


    ¡®Don¡¯t. Let. It. Stop. My. New. Cycle.¡¯


    This was Zamian calling out to his essence for help.


    ¡®This liquid can¡¯t stop me! How could I let a technique meant to heal others be enough to stop me?¡¯


    His instincts screamed.


    And then, the flow of essence changed.


    The light radiating from his body condensed, and the tiny spheres fused with his skin, triggering a transformation.


    His body grew in mass as he turned into a being made of white light. His arms and legs became thicker with muscle.


    A blinding flash of white light filled the room.


    Less than a second later, Calla¡¯s body was hurled against the walls. Her technique faded as she lost consciousness.


    And where she had stood moments ago, a naked Zamian now grinned, blood trickling from his body.


    ¡°Beginning of the Cycle,¡± he muttered, his bloodshot eyes shifting to Yokki and his three unconscious companions on the floor.


    ¡°Welcome back.¡±

 Chapter 40 - Departure

    Zamian locked eyes with Yokki¡¯s shaken gaze for only a second before punching her in the face.


    Even as a mortal, the orange-haired woman seemed to anticipate his move and raised her wooden knife to block the attack.


    Of course, the knife, along with her hand, nose, and cheekbones, shattered.


    Yokki¡¯s body flew through the air, crashing against the Root Cages on the far wall. Zamian noticed that when the cage was broken, its color dulled.


    The young cultivator wanted to ¡®end both her and Calla¡¯s mortal cycle¡¯, but a noise from one of his mental sound spheres made him change his mind.


    Clenching his teeth, he moved to pick up Tulip and Soho¡ªonly to notice that Kurt¡¯s eyes opening.


    Kicking him lightly, Zamian shouted, ¡°Time to wake up, little flower! Pick up Uncle Soho and let¡¯s flee.¡±


    ¡®There are loud breaking sounds up there,¡¯ he thought while throwing Tulip over his right shoulder and rushing to Bohlo¡¯s side. ¡®I need to find another exit.¡¯


    Scooping Bohlo up and securing him over his left shoulder, he glanced at Kurt, who was carrying Soho with both arms, before bolting out of the room.


    Keeping his pace controlled, he ran ahead.


    ¡°Great Sir!¡± Kurt shouted, sweating as his wide eyes darted around, trying to grasp the situation. Only because he had lived a hard life was he not completely clueless about what to do.


    He ran behind Zamian without hesitation.


    But that didn¡¯t mean he didn¡¯t have some reservations.


    ¡°The exit isn¡¯t that way!¡±


    ¡°I know!¡±


    ¡°We are going deeper!¡±


    ¡°I know, Kurt.¡±


    ¡°There are only cultivation rooms there!¡±


    ¡°Save your breath and shut up!¡±


    Since they were moving at a slower pace than when Zamian had first carried Bohlo, mostly due to his current lack of essence, it took longer than just a few seconds to reach their destination.


    During their course, Bohlo and Tulip woke up. While the big guy was too dizzy to react, Tulip clenched her fists and shut her eyes, determined not to distract Zamian.


    Finally, they arrived in front of a broken wooden hallway, leading to a shattered door that opened into a familiar garden.


    And soon, they entered Zamian¡¯s cultivation room.


    Dropping Bohlo and Tulip onto the ground, Zamian rushed to the stream and jumped in.


    The water barely reached his waist.


    Ignoring Tulip and Kurt¡¯s shouts, he listened to the whispers of his instincts, which seemed eager to teach him how to move better inside the water.


    ¡®Why did I never check this blighted thing?¡¯ he cursed, reaching the garden¡¯s walls and studying the roots and vines where the stream originated, and easily breaking a few. ¡®This leads somewhere.¡¯


    Zamian figured he could break through the building''s walls and escape.


    But leaving alone was not his goal.


    In fact, he didn¡¯t even know if escaping was possible for him.


    Kicking at the vines and roots, he tore through them quickly. Soon, another garden came into view.


    Smiling to himself, he did not go through. Instead, he rushed back.


    When he returned, he saw Tulip trying to wake Soho while Kurt stood near the door, looking concerned.


    Both turned toward him the moment they heard his footsteps.


    "Sir, we must go! There are powerful Chosen here! They locked us up!" Kurt said, stepping closer to Zamian.


    "Zamian!" Tulip shouted, rushing toward him and pulling him into a hug.


    At that moment, all eight of Zamian¡¯s hearts skipped a beat.


    His mind focused entirely on controlling his body¡¯s reactions.


    ¡®Blighting technique that leaves me naked,¡¯ he thought, carefully pushing Tulip away.


    Looking at her dark blue eyes and how sweaty she was, with strands of blonde hair sticking to her forehead, Zamian smiled inwardly.


    Then, he saw the scar on her lips.


    Blinking, he thought about everything that had happened today and made a decision.


    Letting go of her, he clicked his tongue.


    "I''m glad you are all okay, but we don¡¯t have time to talk," he said, avoiding Tulip¡¯s gaze and shifting his eyes to Bohlo instead. "More clearly, I want you all to leave, following the stream. At worst, it will take you out of the main building. At best, out of the Camp of Salvation."


    "What?" Tulip stepped back, her eyes widening. "What do you mean by wanting us to leave? What about you?"


    Zamian locked eyes with her.


    "I don¡¯t need you anymore," he said. "Anyway, don¡¯t be shocked. I don¡¯t like you, and you don¡¯t like me. You were only protecting yourself by staying close to me. After all, you lost your friend, failed your mission, realized your dream would never be achieved, and even saw a guy brutally murdering people stronger than you before he basically kidnapped you."


    Tulip¡¯s eyes trembled as her eyes got wet, and she opened her mouth to speak, only to be interrupted by Zamian.


    Tulip¡¯s eyes trembled as they filled with tears. She opened her mouth to speak, only for Zamian to cut her off.


    "Maybe you thought you liked me, but that was just your survival instinct. You wanted connections, meaning, something to hold onto. You didn¡¯t want to live a worthless life, so you made sure someone liked you," he said, controlling his expression to maintain a cold demeanor. "That¡¯s disgusting, but I¡¯ve seen worse."


    She took a step back, shaking her head slightly, covering her mouth with one hand as she struggled to hold back her tears.


    "Keeping you close was the worst," Zamian smacked his lips. "You were all a waste of time. I hate weaklings like you. That was what I meant to say all this time, but I never cared enough to bother. You¡¯re nice to have around, but that¡¯s all. Now, you only have one use for me. Being bait."


    Her body trembled, and she spoke in a choked voice.


    "Wh-why are you saying this? You¡¯re lying. You¡¯re being hurtful. Why are¡ª"


    She couldn''t finish.


    Zamian slapped her.


    Her head jerked to the side.


    Tulip froze.


    Tears poured down her face as she touched her reddened cheek.


    Then, she felt Zamian¡¯s cold gaze on her skin as he grabbed her by the neck and pulled her close to whisper in her ear.


    Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.


    "Run, and be useful to me at least once, you rotten traitor."


    Zamian threw her to the ground in the direction of the stream¡¯s passage.


    Tulip stumbled onto the grass, coughing, then sat there, staring at Zamian as tears streamed down her face.


    What met her eyes was a smirking, naked, pale cultivator, looking down at her with cold eyes.


    Her heart ached, and the pain she felt clouded her mind, making it impossible to understand the situation.


    She chose to flee.


    Zamian watched in silence as Tulip passed to the other garden, before turning to Kurt.


    "If something happens to her, I¡¯ll kill you."


    In his 30-plus years of life, the bearded Great Warrior had never felt death so close as he did when he looked into Zamian¡¯s dead eyes.


    This was not a simple threat.


    He could only nod slowly.


    "Follow her and take my uncle. Also, when you leave here, make sure Bohlo can cultivate. He needs to recover," Zamian commanded as he searched for clothes.


    Kurt moved quickly, holding Soho above one shoulder and pulling Bohlo by the arm.


    Before leaving, he turned back to Zamian, forcing himself to push past his fear.


    "Why are you trusting me to take care of them? I could just¡­ leave them and run?"


    "Because you can be a coward, Kurt, but you¡¯re a smart coward."


    "What? But¡­"


    Without letting him finish, Zamian glanced at him.


    "You were imprisoned by a group of Chosen, yet I still saved you. Not even the Lord Chosen and three other Chosen could stop me," he said, pulling on his shirt and pants. He lifted his head, staring at the white leaves on the ceiling. "If you betray my friends, you will never sleep in peace, always wondering when I¡¯ll come for you."


    Kurt felt a chill crawl down his spine.


    Nodding twice, he said nothing more and ran in Tulip¡¯s direction.


    As Zamian turned to the door, he heard a sluggish whisper.


    "I¡¯ll be waiting for you, Z¡­" Bohlo muttered as Kurt dragged him away.


    With his enhanced hearing, Zamian could still hear their footsteps, along with Tulip¡¯s cries.


    He moved the hand that had slapped Tulip and stared at his palm.


    "White Dot," he said. "Show me my information."


    PERSONAL INFORMATION


    Name: Zamian Greenfield


    Level: 3 [00%]


    Tier: Mortal


    Main Pathway: Knowledge


    Title: None


    STATS POINTS


    Body: 4200/7400


    Mind: 2200/7600


    Soul: 0200/7400


    REWARDS


    Ancient Astral Seal


    Description: A Star Seal guarding your Astral Self.


    Ancient Identify Technique (Passive)


    Description: See the secrets beyond the limitations of time.


    Nameless Physique


    Description: Breaker of the natural order, bearer of perpetual body, an unshackled lifeform.


    QUEST LOG


    Last Quest: Destroy an Unholy Sapling before the end of the month


    Reward: Special Physique (??)


    Status: Complete


    Side Quest (!): Protect Bohlo until he completes his breakthrough


    Reward: 01 Book from White Tower''s First Floor


    Status: Ongoing (11 hours left)


    (!) Failure to complete this quest will bring ?? penalties


    Main Quest: Bring destruction to a Level 8 Immortal tainted by Godhood


    Reward: Inheritor¡¯s Cave Entrance


    Status: Ongoing (90 days left)


    Dismissing the text, he kept staring at his palm.


    "I don¡¯t have time to cultivate¡­" he muttered, then glanced at the White Dot. "Do you think I did the right thing? Do you think she would have left otherwise? If I had taken the time to explain? What if I die¡­ would I dare make her wait for me? Living like father¡­"


    Receiving no answer, and now fully dressed, he stepped out of his cultivation room, retracing his steps.


    "They want me, not them," Zamian said, his senses still heightened as his attention moved through every single mental sound sphere. The Luminous Senses technique only spent essence to be activated, after all.


    "What if some of them were killed just because those vipers couldn¡¯t get what they wanted? Could I live with that?"


    He stared at his palm as he walked through the destroyed hallways.


    "Did you know? If it weren¡¯t for you, I would be killing myself right now," he murmured, clenching his fist and looking ahead with a cold gaze. "With me dead, they would have nothing to use against Father, and no reason to chase uncle Soho, Bohlo, or Tulip."


    Zamian took a deep breath, smiling as he closed the distance to his destination.


    "But because of you, I can see a path ahead," he grinned. "A path of slaughter, suffering, and revenge, sure, but," he chuckled, "also a path of hope, leading to happiness, where I am once more with the ones I love."


    Arriving at the door of the room where he had found Tulip and the others, Zamian saw Yokki, passed out and bleeding, being tended to by a wounded Calla.


    The old Chosen now wore wooden armor, seemingly using it to stabilize her injuries.


    ¡®Thank you for giving me hope,¡¯ he thought, glancing at the White Dot before shifting his focus to the women ahead.


    Calla tensed, noticing Zamian¡¯s arrival, and immediately jumped away from Yokki. Her eyes glowed with green light, but the surge of essence coming from her was weaker than before.


    "Brat! Coming back here, how brave of you!" she shouted, enhancing her body with essence.


    Zamian chuckled, leaning against the doorframe as he crossed his arms.


    "Old vermin, the people up there seem busy. Shout louder, or they won¡¯t hear you," he smirked.


    Calla¡¯s eyes trembled as she screamed, "He¡¯s here! At the Root Prison Room! Lord Chosen! Fern! Come here!"


    Neither of them felt a spike of essence approaching, nor did they hear shouts getting closer.


    Zamian smacked his lips. "Why don¡¯t you go up there and bring them yourself? Save us both some time, and as a nice little bonus, I won¡¯t have to listen to your annoying voice or look at that ugly nose."


    Chosen Calla didn¡¯t know how to react.


    "What? Afraid? You¡¯re a Chosen, and I¡¯m a Zealot. Come on," he said, then shrugged, stepping away from the door.


    Calla took a step back.


    Zamian kicked a few roots out of the way and leaned against one of the walls, gesturing toward the door.


    "See? You can just go. Worst case scenario, I flee," he said, crossing his arms.


    The old Calla dragged Yokki to the other side of the room, placing herself between Zamian and the unconscious woman.


    She seemed to be analyzing her best course of action, glancing at the door with glowing green eyes, searching for traps.


    "How¡¯s your chest, by the way?" Zamian asked, pointing at her with his chin. "I hope something important broke there."


    Sneering, Calla stared at him. "Even if you can kill me, the Lord Chosen and the other Chosen will torture and imprison you and your friends," her eyes gleamed. "And before you let that young and hopeful head of yours dream too much, don¡¯t forget we are all followers of the Verdant God and his Children. There will never be a safe place for you in the Sanctuary."


    "Why?" Zamian asked, his voice devoid of emotion. "Why couldn¡¯t I be just another cultivator living in peace in the Sanctuary? Why turn my mother into a Saintess? Why are you trying to get my father?"


    It didn¡¯t seem like Calla would answer, as she kept her mouth shut.


    Zamian wanted to keep pressing, but he heard strong footsteps in one of his spheres and focused on them. Whoever was approaching didn¡¯t care about making noise or destroying the place.


    Walking to the center of the room, he scratched his head as Calla took a few steps back.


    Shrugging, he raised his hands and motioned toward the door. "Another viper is coming."


    With a loud crash, Fern tumbled into the room, shattering part of the wall.


    Zamian raised an eyebrow, lowering his hands slowly.


    "We need to go!" Fern shouted, his armor cracked and stained with blood. His gaze landed on Zamian, and he scowled, hastily conjuring a wooden spear and taking a defensive stance.


    Zamian¡¯s nose twitched as an acidic, sour smell filled the air. It was the first scent, besides blood, that managed to overpower the earthy and natural fragrance of the place.


    "Where are his friends?" Fern demanded, glaring at Calla as he positioned himself between her and Zamian, his back to his fellow Chosen.


    "He took them and came back alone," Calla replied, her eyes glowing as a thick, green viscous liquid large enough to fill a wooden bowl seeped from her body. It splashed against Fern, slipping into the cracks of his armor. "Be careful, he has a strong attack, akin to a Chosen. I¡¯m hurt and low on essence."


    Zamian smiled inwardly as he listened to his instincts.


    ¡®She¡¯s hurt but not low on essence. Such an old viper.¡¯


    "I know, he killed Chosen Hazel and injured the Lord Chosen with it," Fern said, making his spear glow as he stared at Zamian. "Because of him, the situation is even more dangerous!"


    Calla muttered, "Dangerous? What about the Children? Weren¡¯t they close? How come they haven¡¯t arrived yet?"


    "We thought they would return, but instead, that brute Marlos appeared and is fighting against the Lord Chosen and the remaining three," Fern scowled.


    Zamian laughed out loud, catching their attention.


    "This is amazing," he said, spreading his arms. "I don¡¯t know what makes me happier! The Children abandoning you, the bald man not being a viper, or three of your friends being dead!"


    Fern¡¯s eyes gleamed. "We need to capture him alive."


    Calla bit her lip. "There are still the kids down at the Healing Room. Maybe we can use them," she said, stepping beside Fern and shooting him a glance.


    As they exchanged looks, Zamian waved his hand.


    Fern instantly conjured a giant leaf, using it as a shield, while Calla picked up Yokki and rushed toward the door.


    Zamian stopped mid-wave and frowned. "No need for all that. I¡¯ll go with you, blighted vipers," he said with a smile.


    While he was speaking, Fern leaped to the door, creating dozens of giant leaf shields and spreading them throughout the room, covering the walls and ceiling.


    The space became bathed in a bright green hue.


    He picked up some of the broken cages'' remains and noticed how they failed to drain his essence. Of course, even if they could, there was nothing left inside him to be siphoned.


    Shrugging, Zamian searched for an intact Root Cage and dragged it to the middle of the room.


    ¡®Sorry, kids. Better they get you than follow Bohlo and the others,¡¯ he thought, entering the cage.


    A few minutes later, with a booming sound, the room trembled as the giant leaves shifted, opening a space wide enough for two people to pass side by side.


    Zamian smiled when he saw the arriver¡¯s conditions.


    In front of him, bleeding and glowing with a dark green hue, hovered the Lord Chosen, a few palms above the ground, with Fern at his right side.


    Curiously, Lord Chosen Elwood¡¯s right arm was missing below the elbow, leaving only a closed, bloody stump, while Fern didn¡¯t have his right arm at all.


    Behind him stood two Chosen, their wooden armor cracked as they leaned on each other for support.


    Zamian grinned and shouted, "You and Fern make a nice couple, Elwood! Giving each other a hand in trying times is the mark of a strong relationship!"


    Elwood stood silent for a second before his cold eyes flashed with rage.


    "I need him alive, but don¡¯t you dare bring him to me with all his limbs intact! Go quickly before that brute arrives here!"


    The two injured Chosen rushed toward Zamian while Fern began conjuring a technique, motes of green light gathering around him.


    Behind Elwood, a massive image of an old trunk appeared.


    Zamian grinned as he recalled his quests and rewards, already reviewing his plans.


    ¡®You can tear my limbs apart, but unless you kill me, I¡¯ll someday get your rotten head, vermin Elwood.¡¯

 Chapter 41 - Deep Ground

    The Chosen rushing ahead, who had conjured a great wooden sword, frowned and halted as he recognized where Zamian was.


    "Lord Chosen, this is a Root Cage. Should I break it?" he shouted in confusion.


    The other Chosen, wielding a wooden spear, also stood still. He poked the cage with his spear, then nodded in confirmation of his comrade''s words.


    Zamian watched the scene with amusement.


    Elwood scowled for a second before controlling his expression.


    After taking a moment to assess the situation and analyze the room''s condition, he gave his order.


    "Open the cage, rip his right arm off, and then put him inside. We can use this to transport him."


    The Chosen exchanged glances, but before they could move, an enormous surge of essence exploded from all around them.


    At the same time, a violent earthquake shook the ground, making them stumble. Even Zamian fell.


    What is happening? he thought, disoriented.


    He had never felt an earthquake before, much less such a surge of essence indicating a large-scale technique.


    Elwood''s eyes gleamed with a strong green light, and he howled, "MARLOS!"


    The Lord Chosen rushed out, shouting as he hovered away. "Bring him to the Deep Ground! Now!"


    The tremors intensified. It felt as if the entire building was collapsing, with thunderous crashes echoing through the space.


    Using his enhanced hearing, Zamian reached the farthest of his mental sound spheres.


    Where before there had been whispers, now he heard thousands¡ªmaybe tens of thousands¡ªof people screaming, mixed with the deafening sound of cracking and shattering structures.


    He blanched.


    ¡®Is the bald man¡­¡¯


    Amidst his thoughts, his instincts screamed.


    He dodged just in time as two wooden poles shot through the cage¡¯s crevices, embedding themselves where his head had been moments before.


    The two wounded Chosen had moved, one in front of him and the other behind, grasping the poles with their hands and using them as leverage to lift and carry the Root Cage.


    Fern finished conjuring his technique, and a myriad of green leaves flowed like a river toward Zamian¡¯s cage. They floated just a few fingers away from the cage, covering it without touching the roots or the poles.


    Now, Zamian couldn¡¯t see what was happening outside, but he could still hear and feel everything.


    Besides, as he observed Fern¡¯s technique, he thought, ¡®If I try to leave, these leaves will cut and tear through my flesh and bones for sure.¡¯


    Holding onto the cage to avoid falling as the shaking worsened with the quick steps of the Chosen carrying him, Zamian felt the roots trying to drain his essence.


    But he had none to spare.


    As he was moved, he kept listening to the distant chaos¡ªthe endless screams and crashing noises painted a grim picture of the Camp of Salvation crumbling around him.


    Biting his lip, he returned to a previous thought.


    ¡®Is the bald man causing all this?¡¯


    Zamian knew that Marlos had conjured the dome surrounding the Camp. Not only that, but he had also built some of the buildings in the beginning.


    If his father, Dante, was the one who brought the survivors, it was Marlos, the Chosen Warrior, who built a place for them to live and stood on guard.


    ¡®Why would he do this? I know he isn¡¯t with the vipers, so why hurt the commoners?¡¯


    The young cultivator furrowed his brows as his body swayed from side to side. To him, Marlos never gave off a ruthless or uncaring vibe. On the contrary, he always seemed like a good-natured uncle who cared about his juniors.


    But the people¡¯s screams, the increasing sound of collapsing buildings, and the trembling ground painted a nightmarish picture of what was happening outside.


    Worst of all, Zamian¡¯s instincts remained silent.


    The world outside was falling apart, but because it wasn¡¯t an immediate danger to his life, his instincts didn¡¯t send any warnings.


    ¡®Another reason not to become overdependent on this. Be it my instincts, the whisperings of essence, or any other factor outside of my control, I can¡¯t rely on them.¡¯


    He glanced at the White Dot.


    ¡®You blighted mute, I don¡¯t really have a reason not to abuse the rewards you¡¯re giving me, right?¡¯ he thought, smirking. ¡®It doesn¡¯t mean I¡¯m relying on you! Besides, I¡¯m still thinking about changing my Pathway after all this is over.¡¯


    Zamian had to hold onto the cage¡¯s walls firmly as the shaking intensified, nearly throwing him.


    "You bunch of dumb oaks, this cage isn¡¯t locked!" he shouted, glaring at the myriad of leaves swirling around the cage.


    The young cultivator didn¡¯t hear a response. Instead, the shaking grew even worse, forcing him to use his body control just to stay on his feet.


    Blinded by the leaves, Zamian had to rely entirely on his hearing to grasp his position.


    A sudden jolt to the right or left, followed by spikes of essence and loud crashes, told him they were either maneuvering around falling buildings or breaking through them.


    "To the other side!" Zamian heard Fern scream.


    What he heard next made him freeze.


    Like a giant holding its breath, there was a brief silence.


    Then, a booming sound erupted.


    It was louder than the sound of the wall of earth and vines that had once chased him, or better yet, had chased his father who was looking for him.


    It was a monstrous mix of deep, echoing cracks of splintering wood and the thunderous impact of a hundred trees crashing into the ground at once, followed by a powerful whump.


    The Camp of Salvation¡¯s dome had fallen.


    Even the air itself seemed to shake. Zamian clenched his fists, cracking the cage¡¯s roots under his grip.


    A roaring avalanche of destruction filled his awareness. No matter which sound sphere he focused on, all he could hear was chaos¡ªthe ground groaning, shattering sounds stretching endlessly.


    Waves of dust and debris struck the two Chosen carrying him, along with Fern and his cage. Bursts of essence ensured they were protected, but the sudden, eerie absence of screams outside made Zamian¡¯s thoughts come to a halt.


    Far away, he could hear people coughing, screaming for their lives, and running.


    But at his sides and in front of him, only the three Chosen¡¯s footsteps echoed, their labored breathing, their techniques humming, and their heartbeats pounding.


    Stolen story; please report.


    Zamian closed his eyes as he searched for more sounds with his enhanced hearing.


    Soon, he picked up the faint noise of rubble shifting, the soft creaking of wood, and a distant whistle of wind passing through the wreckage.


    In scattered spots, isolated crashes happened sporadically.


    But from this close, there was no sign of life besides him and his captors.


    For some reason, a thought passed through Zamian¡¯s mind.


    ¡®Did my friends leave in time?¡¯


    After a few more bursts of essence and wild jumps, the Chosen carrying him settled into a constant pace, running on a flatter surface.


    Zamian sat down cross-legged with open eyes, lost in thought as the destruction he had heard replayed in his mind.


    He remembered when he had returned to the Sanctuary, only to find barren land where houses once stood.


    He also recalled how, after his transformation, even the Erasmus Colossal Tree was destroyed, along with a vast portion of the forest.


    In both cases, he had seen the aftermath of a catastrophe.


    But this time, there was a glaring difference.


    ¡®I heard them.¡¯


    His eyes trembled as he recalled the little sounds he had caught with his enhanced hearing.


    They screamed before dying. ¡®They begged. They cried¡­ Their bodies were crushed¡­¡¯


    Zamian had been present during the catastrophe.


    For the first time, he truly understood what cultivators could do¡ªnot just the consequences, but how gruesome and disturbing the process itself was.


    ¡®This wasn¡¯t a fight against cultivators¡­ It was the strong fighting against each other and the weak suffering¡­¡¯


    And that brought an old concern back to the surface.


    ¡®I need to get stronger.¡¯


    His expression hardened as the thought settled.


    He didn¡¯t think of himself as lazy, nor as someone who gave up easily.


    And he had no shortage of motivation.


    Revenge for his mother. Saving his father. Protecting his friends. Discovering more about cultivation.


    He had more reasons to grit his teeth and endure whatever the world threw at him than he could even count.


    But this experience added something else.


    ¡®Those commoners, those Enlightened, even the Zealots¡­ They were just living their lives, probably unaware of what was about to happen. The cultivators at least had a chance to escape, but the rest¡­¡¯


    Shaking his head, Zamian forced himself to focus on the present.


    ¡®I¡¯m going to the Deep Ground. The prison below the God¡¯s Tree.¡¯


    He closed his eyes, trying to recall what he knew about the place.


    ¡®Whoever goes there doesn¡¯t come back. It¡¯s only for cultivators. And it¡¯s used as a horror story to make kids behave.¡¯


    He clicked his tongue.


    ¡®Worthless knowledge. I need to know how they keep people captive, how many Chosen are there, how they intend to use me as bait for my father¡­ I hope my blighting plan works, but I sure entered blind here.¡¯


    Closing his eyes, Zamian lay back, trying to relax his body.


    With nothing else to do, he willed himself into his soul space.


    The familiar humanoid figure, made of white specks of light, stood there holding an open book. Zamian chose to zoom in on the book.


    ¡®Okay, I need essence to write into it, but why waste such a precious resource like that? It¡¯s essence!¡¯


    He wanted to forget this technique or trade it for another, but he could do neither.


    The truth was, after experiencing the Luminous Senses technique and previously using Everbark and Nature¡¯s Embrace, he knew that nothing given by essence itself would be worthless.


    ¡®I¡¯m like a commoner who was gifted a space to grow a cultivator¡¯s garden. Amazing for a Zealot or a Chosen, but useless for someone who doesn¡¯t have the ability or knowledge to use it.¡¯


    Next, he tried to move the Soul Force.


    But that failed before he even started.


    Every time he used Soul Force, it was to cast the Seed of Creation technique, after he imbued it with essence, and precisely when he was putting intent into it.


    Intention was the trigger that moved the Soul Force.


    However, his intent had to align with his pathway in some way to exert influence on a specific Soul Force.


    Cultivation followed a single universal rule: essence only obeyed a cultivator that gave it what it wanted. Each Pathway had its own inner conditions and peculiarities, and one had to understand the basics before treading it.


    When casting the Seed of Creation technique, at least after gaining his new body, his intention had always been tied to himself. And, as it seemed, that was what his Light Pathways¡¯s essence wanted.


    ¡®Field of study, that¡¯s what Lin Zhi called it. Light¡¯s essence responds to a specific field of study. More importantly, there are four kinds of Pathways, and I cultivated the Creation Pathway, known as the Nature Pathway, which is one of the Mind Paths, and didn¡¯t need such a thing. Now, this Knowledge Pathway¡­ it seems to be a Primordial Path, which seems special.¡¯


    Zamian observed his soul while lost in thoughts.


    ¡®So much to learn. So much to discover. If only these vermin didn¡¯t exist.¡¯


    Leaving his soul space, he opened his eyes, focusing on his enhanced hearing.


    ¡®They¡¯re still running,¡¯ he thought with a sigh.


    ¡®Then I should go back and try a few things,¡¯ once more, he closed his eyes and went back to his dark space.


    Opening his eyes, Zamian stood up, a light smile on his lips. He had received a great piece of news through the White Dot during the last day of traveling, making him grin like a fool from time to time.


    Also, he finally had time to plan his next steps.


    <hr>


    Zamian raised an eyebrow as the green leaves surrounding his cage slowed and drifted away. They floated through the air, their glow fading until they merged into the left palm of a familiar one-armed Chosen with long black hair.


    Fern stood alongside two other Chosen, both looking far worse for wear. Their armor had even more cracks than before, and they were covered in dust. The trio¡¯s eyes were glowing a green light.


    Glancing around, Zamian observed his surroundings. He was inside a circular, tube-like structure with a familiar wooden texture, though rougher than usual.


    "A Colossal Tree¡¯s root?" he asked, noting how much smaller it was. It would only take three of him to reach from the floor to the ceiling.


    "No, this is a root of God¡¯s Tree," Fern replied emotionlessly, waving his hand. "We know you have no more essence, so come out now."


    One of the Chosen stepped forward, opening the cage¡¯s door with one hand while still gripping his great wooden sword with the other, its weight resting on his shoulder.


    After unlocking it, he took a step back, and every Chosen fixed their eyes on Zamian.


    Zamian chuckled as he stepped out of the cage, stretching his body.


    "Anyway, what¡¯s next?"


    "You¡¯re going to the tip of this root, where you¡¯ll be imprisoned," Fern answered, his eyes glowing. "Sometime later, I think the Lord Chosen will have questions for you. We want to know about your technique. And how you can see in the dark even without using essence."


    Zamian stared at Fern nonchalantly, though inwardly, he was thinking, ¡®I keep blighting forgetting it! How would I even know this place is dark? It looks the same as any other wooden place to me!¡¯


    "Before we lock you in, we have one more order from the Lord Chosen to carry out, that I hope you didn¡¯t forget," Fern said, glancing at the Chosen with the wooden sword.


    Zamian¡¯s instincts blared, and he stepped to the side.


    But this time, his body wasn¡¯t enhanced with essence.


    A green light flashed across his left arm, slicing through skin, muscle, and bone.


    Mid-strike, more essence surged into the sword as the Chosen realized Zamian¡¯s body was harder to cut than expected.


    Zamian gritted his teeth, clenching the four fingers on his right hand as he glared at his left shoulder.


    Where his arm should have been, there was now only a bloody wound.


    "Close his wound," Fern commanded.


    The young cultivator, pale and trembling, locked eyes with the Chosen who had severed his arm¡ªnow pressing burning Nature¡¯s essence against his wound to cauterize it, clearly the effects of a Chosen¡¯s technique.


    Zamian didn¡¯t scream.


    He didn¡¯t beg them to stop.


    He simply forced his body to slow the bleeding faster, conserving as much strength as possible.


    White text flashed before his eyes.


    STATS POINTS (!)


    Body: 1400/6400


    Mind: 4200/7600


    Soul: 2200/7400


    (!) Notification: there was a sudden drop in stats, please beware of your health.


    Dismissing the text, his eyes turned bloodshot.


    ¡®I lost a thousand body points!¡¯


    As his wounds were forcefully sealed by burnt skin and muscle, Fern bent down to pick up Zamian¡¯s severed arm, shooting a glance at the great sword wielder.


    "He is not your equal, nor the Lord Chosen¡¯s, so I thought cutting his left arm would be for the best," the man said, stashing his sword on his back.


    Fern nodded and looked at Zamian coldly.


    The pale cultivator met his gaze without flinching.


    Shaking his head, Fern gave his next command. "Take him to his new home."


    Both Chosen moved at once¡ªone grabbed Zamian by his legs and hurled him up, while the other held his remaining arm.


    Zamian didn¡¯t resist. He merely turned his head to stare at Fern.


    He refused to show weakness in front of his enemy.


    By listening to Fern¡¯s heartbeat and the flow of the man¡¯s blood, he knew his act had affected the Chosen.


    The duo carrying him arrived at a hole twice as large as Zamian.


    He felt them stop as they positioned him above the pit.


    Nodding to each other, they activated a technique, their bodies glowing with a green hue.


    ¡®If they try to throw me in, I can just leave,¡¯ Zamian thought, turning his head to glance at the abyss below.


    His eyes widened.


    At the same moment, he heard a wet, squishing sound mixed with a dragging noise, and saw hundreds of finger-sized roots shot up from the abyss.


    He tried to pull away, but the Chosen held him firm.


    The roots moved like living spears, skewering him in an instant.


    They pierced his shoulders, thighs, biceps, abdomen, and chest.


    Four of Zamian¡¯s eight hearts burst.


    He vomited blood as his body was violently pulled down, and only after a long moment did the roots withdraw and form a cocoon around him.


    They pulsed, drawing his essence.


    Of course, he had none, so that didn¡¯t cause further problems.


    Lying there, still bleeding, he chuckled, his teeth stained with blood.


    "It isn¡¯t life-threatening for a Chosen, but a Zealot would die without treatment after suffering wounds like these," he muttered, sitting up before coughing more blood.


    Leaning his back against the cocoon, unable to stand in its cramped space, Zamian glanced at the corner of his vision and smiled brightly.


    "But if this is the worst you can do, you vermin..."


    He commanded the White Dot to show his quests.


    Main Quest: Bring destruction to a Level 8 Immortal tainted by Godhood


    Reward: Inheritor¡¯s Cave Entrance


    Status: Ongoing (88 days left)


    "Then I¡¯ll gladly tell you this..."


    A grin stretched across his bloodied lips.


    Last Quest: Protect Bohlo until he completes his breakthrough


    Reward: 01 Book from White Tower''s First Floor


    Status: Completed


    "It won¡¯t be enough to stop me."

 Chapter 42 - The Second White Crystal

    Zamian bled as he sat inside the squishy, dark cocoon imprisoning him. He made no effort to control his body or close his wounds.


    ¡®I can¡¯t hear a blighting thing,¡¯ he thought grimly, realizing the roots were soundproof. And this reminded him of when his father locked him inside Yooki¡¯s garden.


    ¡®Old man, if you had taken me with you instead of leaving me there, what would have happened?¡¯


    As strength slowly drained from his body, Zamian kept thinking about his next steps. He patted his belly and briefly closed his eyes, checking the contents inside his tube-like organs before smiling faintly.


    He observed his surroundings, which, to him, were as clear as they could be. The brown roots moved slowly, constantly siphoning essence and sending it somewhere.


    As moments passed, minutes turned into hours.


    ¡®Was I wrong?¡¯


    For what felt like the tenth time, Zamian doubted his plan before shaking his head.


    ¡®No, I need to keep waiting.¡¯


    He still had more than half of his blood, but he had to fight against his own body to prevent his muscles from contracting and forcefully closing his wounds. After all, even his instincts were whispering to him that the situation was becoming dangerous.


    At the same time, he consciously avoided looking at his left arm, though he glanced at his four-fingered right palm every few minutes.


    ¡®I hope you all are safe. Really safe,¡¯ he thought, finding solace in the White Dot¡¯s previous notification.


    More hours passed.


    His lips were dry. His body was numb. His vision blurred as he stared at the ceiling, eyes glazed.


    Zamian almost didn¡¯t notice when his prison began to move upward.


    After a few seconds, he seemed to reach his destination. The cocoon bloomed like a grotesque flower, its hundreds of wet roots unfurling at the top.


    Then, those same roots skewered him again.


    Grunting, he endured the pain and disgust as the tendrils pierced through his chest, arms, and legs once more.


    His eyes gleamed as he consciously moved a few tubes inside his body to shield a hidden object.


    Noticing the appearance of new mental sound spheres, each projecting different sounds around him, Zamian felt a sharp spike of pain in his head.


    He was now outside the hole he had been thrown into.


    Accompanying him were not only Fern and the two armored Chosen but also a purple-robed man with small eyes, long brown hair, and a wooden right forearm: Elwood.


    Behind them stood the old Chosen Calla, unarmored and wearing a fresh set of leaf-cloth.


    The Lord Chosen glowed with a green hue, and the roots piercing through Zamian shifted, forcing him to stand and face the five of them.


    Elwood examined Zamian¡¯s condition, briefly smirking before masking his expression and waving his right hand.


    Calla nodded and conjured her viscous liquid, sending a handful in Zamian¡¯s direction.


    The substance splashed against his body and wormed its way into one of his wounds.


    Instantly, he felt it command his body¡ªto close the wounds, to produce more blood, to repair itself¡ªwhile also numbing him from the inside.


    ¡®It¡¯s full of intent, but the only real effect is to make my flesh numb?¡¯ he thought. ¡®Is she using a weaker version of her technique on me or this is all she can do? Blighting useless geezer.¡¯


    Worst of all, the hundreds of vines burrowing through his body remained, impeding any healing beyond the stabilization of his current condition.


    "Your mortal cycle would have ended if we left you untreated," Elwood said, breaking the silence. "Of course, Calla here can do more, but only if you cooperate with us."


    Grinning, Zamian ignored Elwood and looked at Fern, raising an eyebrow.


    Due to the numbness, he could still speak plainly.


    "Your master knows how to use his wooden arm in the right place, so why do you still have yours shoved up your as¡ª"


    A slap cut him off.


    Zamian glared at the Chosen carrying the great wooden sword who had hastily approached him to slap his face.


    Fern remained in silence.


    "You are a very, very stupid brat," Elwood said. "You¡¯re strong, of course, and you have a couple of techniques I¡¯m interested in. But let me help you understand your situation."


    Stepping closer, the Lord Chosen''s left hand shot up to Zamian¡¯s neck, strangling him.


    "You are a bug," Elwood¡¯s eyes gleamed with green light. "A Zealot who hasn¡¯t found his path forward, who knows a few tricks, and who happens to be the son of a dangerous man. That¡¯s you, Zamian Greenfield. And the only reason you¡¯re still alive is because of your father. Your mortal cycle will end soon, and when that moment comes, I want you to remember one thing."


    Elwood leaned in, whispering in Zamian¡¯s ear.


    "If you didn¡¯t exist, your father would be safe."


    Letting go of Zamian¡¯s neck, the Lord Chosen took a step back.


    "Now, cooperate¡ª"


    Before he could finish his sentence, the taste of blood and saliva filled his mouth.


    Neither were his.


    As Elwood touched his lips, where Zamian had spat, the other Chosen froze, momentarily too stunned to react, bringing silence to the room.


    "What a pervert," Zamian said, his eyes cold despite his light tone. "It was supposed to hit your face, but you just had to open your mouth, didn¡¯t you?"


    Zamian had actually been aiming for Elwood¡¯s eyes.


    Fern moved, conjuring a wooden spear, his glare burning with fury.


    Elwood stopped the enraged man with a wave of his hand and locked eyes with Zamian.


    Zamian stared right back.


    "A few days here will make you understand something," Elwood said, his voice steady. "Before your mortal cycle ends, we can either make you suffer a lot or ease your pain."


    He turned to Calla.


    The old woman glowed with a green hue, and the viscous liquid inside Zamian slithered out through his wounds, splashing onto the floor before dissipating.


    "Think about how you want to spend your last days in this cycle," Elwood said as he turned his back on Zamian.


    He stomped the ground, sending a green wave through the floor.


    The roots piercing Zamian shifted, dragging him back down into the dark hole before sealing the cocoon once more.


    Blood seeped from his wounds, but the lingering intent of Calla¡¯s liquid still urged his body to heal, even as the pain slowly returned.


    Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.


    Sitting in a pool of his own blood, Zamian commanded his body to close the wounds and focused on stabilizing himself.


    ¡®I knew you would come, vermin,¡¯ he thought. ¡®Now I can start.¡¯


    Closing his eyes, he attempted to enter his soul space, but a sudden spike of pain forced them open again.


    ¡®The mental sound spheres are diminishing,¡¯ he realized after a moment. ¡®The Luminous Senses technique only had a cost to be conjured, but none to maintain itself¡­ Unless the cost isn¡¯t essence.¡¯


    Focusing inward, he checked his head, eyes, and ears before scanning the rest of his body.


    With his precise control and the constant waves of pain, he understood what was happening.


    ¡®My body is too damaged to handle the technique.¡¯


    Biting his lip, he recalled how to deactivate it.


    His mind relaxed, and in his soul space, Zamian¡¯s soul moved, making a grasping motion.


    He didn¡¯t control it, but as he dismissed the technique, it moved on its own, helping him.


    In the outside world, the young cultivator blinked, then scowled.


    ¡®Was my vision and hearing really this bad?¡¯


    He could still see in the dark, but everything seemed less focused.


    And now, he could no longer hear his own blood rushing through his veins or the beat of his four remaining hearts.


    Sighing, he closed his eyes again.


    This time, he entered his soul space, glancing at the Soul Tome which appeared brighter than before, and then shifted his focus to the two crystals above the humanoid figure¡¯s head.


    Zooming in, he once again noticed how the drawings on each white crystal were different on every side, constantly shifting and moving.


    ¡®Lin Zhi¡¯s crystal, the one I received to learn the Seed of Creation technique, still has seven drawings,¡¯ he noted, barely sparing it a glance before turning to the other.


    ¡®This one, with sixteen drawings, I received when choosing to learn the One Amongst Myriad Beings technique. You are the step one of my plain, mysterious thing.¡¯


    Focusing on the crystal, Zamian¡¯s vision was engulfed in white light within seconds.


    A mountain materialized before him, its sheer size difficult to comprehend. Its peak stretched beyond the clouds, piercing through the sky itself.


    The behemoth of stone and earth gained color, revealing a vast expanse of greenery. As far as he could see, trees stretched endlessly across the landscape.


    Dots of various colors hovered above the treetops. Only when his vision zoomed toward the middle of the mountain did he recognize what some of them were.


    ¡®Birds,¡¯ he realized, watching as his perception passed through these enormous creatures, carrying him deep into the forest.


    ¡®Blighting big,¡¯ he thought as he gained perspective. The trunks of these trees were half the size of the Sanctuary¡¯s Colossal Trees.


    ¡®A whole forest of them? That¡¯s nuts.¡¯


    His focus shifted, drawn toward a crystal-clear lake, as vast as the entire Camp of Salvation. Its surface rippled gently, the movement of water disturbed only by scattered rocks and the presence of small, multicolored fish swimming in its depths.


    Nestled at the water¡¯s edge, a wooden cottage rested. Unlike the buildings in the Sanctuary, it wasn¡¯t made from single segments of wood or roots but constructed from cut-down logs, stacked and assembled with much care.


    A gap in the ceiling allowed puffs of green smoke to escape, drifting lazily into the sky.


    Zamian¡¯s perspective settled in front of the cottage¡¯s wooden door.


    As he regained control of his body, he took a deep breath and activated his Luminous Senses technique.


    The wooden scent of the place had a sweet undertone, and all around him, the forest sang.


    Small critters scurried through the underbrush, their tiny paws pattering far away. Resonant, low growls of unseen beasts rumbled in the distance, while the cackling of birds layered the symphony of wilderness.


    From inside the cottage, Zamian¡¯s enhanced hearing detected calm, measured footsteps and the faint sound of stirring liquid.


    As someone approached the door, Zamian braced himself.


    The wooden door creaked open.


    And Zamian froze.


    A gentle voice reached him as the cottage¡¯s owner held the door with one hand and a wooden bowl filled with vegetable and meat soup in the other. She looked at him with a sweet smile.


    "Hello, I was busy cultivating and didn¡¯t notice you coming."


    Zamian heard her soft voice, akin to a whispering breeze, and kept staring at the speaker.


    In front of him stood a woman as beautiful as Yokki, wearing nothing but a fur top and a matching skirt. Her skin was fair, almost as white as Zamian¡¯s, and her eyes were a soft, glowing green¡ªthe same color as her long hair.


    Her figure was lean, yet her curves were ample.


    And finally, her ears were pointed.


    None of that, however, mattered to Zamian.


    The moment she opened the door, an overwhelming pressure slammed into him. His Astral Seal fought relentlessly, trying to keep the force from crushing his soul.


    Unfortunately, his body and mind had no such protection.


    That was why he stood there, glaring like a fool with dizzy eyes, his thoughts scattered.


    "Oh," the woman murmured, her eyes glimmering with a green hue as the pressure suddenly vanished. "A mortal? How did you get here?"


    Frowning, she let go of the door and used her free hand to usher Zamian inside, pulling him by the arm.


    Still recovering from the suffocating presence, Zamian blinked and suddenly found himself sitting on a wooden chair near a fire embedded in the wall.


    "Fireplace," he muttered, recalling the name from a book he had read long ago.


    But he couldn¡¯t remember the book¡¯s name.


    "You aren¡¯t from Origin."


    Jerking his head to the right, he saw the green-haired woman looking at him with a corked eyebrow. She carried two wooden bowls, each with a carved spoon resting inside.


    Placing one in his lap, she sat across from him, a wooden chair appearing beneath her as if from nowhere.


    ¡®I didn¡¯t even sense her using essence,¡¯ Zamian thought, gripping the bowl and glancing at its contents.


    Inside the bowl were an assortment of unfamiliar vegetables and pieces of meat.


    The aroma was rich and hearty, a deep, savory scent mixed with sweet and earthy notes. There was also something fresh and slightly spicy, rounded off with hints of herbs.


    He glanced at her.


    ¡°I¡¯m not from Origin,¡± he said.


    "Don¡¯t worry, I¡¯m not from Origin either,¡± the woman said, eating a spoonful of the soup. ¡°Come, eat. I used the remains of mortal beasts and plants, so your body won¡¯t explode,"


    Zamian licked his lips, glanced at the woman, and imitated her, scooping up both vegetables and meat with the spoon.


    The moment it entered his mouth, his tongue was coated in a deep, savory, unfamiliar flavor. The soup was warm, and the soft pieces of meat were tender and juicy, blending perfectly with the sweetness of the vegetables and the complex seasonings.


    Salivating, his eyes widened as he continued eating.


    Within seconds, he had emptied the bowl, staring at its now-barren state.


    After a moment, he remembered where he was and looked at the woman.


    She was still eating, slowly, holding the bowl in her left hand and the spoon in her right.


    He took the opportunity to observe the interior of the cottage.


    As expected, most of the objects were made of wood, and the furniture was minimal, but a few details stood out to him.


    First, the cottage didn¡¯t appear to have any separate rooms. It was a single rectangular space with just one door, no walls dividing its interior.


    Second, a large pile of furs lay in the left corner of the house, and with his enhanced vision, he noticed that the arrangement formed a contour¡ªas if someone had been lying there frequently.


    Lastly, there were no windows or openings, yet the orange glow from the fire illuminated the place in an eerily natural way.


    Smacking his lips, Zamian turned back to the cottage¡¯s owner, just as she finished her meal.


    She stood, picked up his empty bowl, and, without him sensing even a flicker of essence, made both bowls and spoons disappear.


    Returning to her chair, the woman crossed her arms, a palm-sized leaf appearing in her right hand.


    She fanned herself in fluid motions while absentmindedly gathering her hair with her left hand, cooling the back of her neck.


    Looking at Zamian, she finally spoke.


    "My name is Eveniel, but you can call me Eve. What¡¯s your name?"


    "Zamian. You can call me¡­ Zamian."


    "Okay, Zamian," she nodded. "You¡¯re wearing the White Leaf Sect robes, so I know you¡¯re a disciple. But what are you doing here? How did you get here?"


    Zamian¡¯s thoughts raced, but he found only one answer to give.


    "I was sent here to learn the One Amongst Myriad Beings technique."


    Eve chuckled. "Are you one of the Elder¡¯s bastard children?"


    "Wh¡ª"


    "You¡¯re not even at the Essence Merging Stage," she said, shaking her head. "Why would those proud Immortals bring you here?"


    Zamian¡¯s eyes narrowed.


    ¡®The way she called them ¡®Immortals¡¯¡­ why did it sound demeaning?¡¯


    Eve stood up, the leaf fan dissipating as she walked toward the door.


    "Let¡¯s go. I¡¯ll show you the technique, and then you can go back to your books."


    Seeing her turn her back to him, Zamian hastily stood and followed.


    "Teacher Eve, one moment!"


    "I¡¯m not your teacher."


    "I have a question."


    "My deal with them is to show you the technique, that¡¯s all," she said, opening the door.


    "Wait," Zamian called out. "How can I advance to the Essence Merging Stage?"


    Eve stopped in her tracks and turned her head slightly to look at him.


    Her eyes flashed green, and suddenly¡ªZamian¡¯s body stopped moving.


    His blood froze. His hearts stopped beating. His thoughts came to a screeching halt.


    A moment later, everything returned to normal, and an icy chill crawled down his spine.


    Eve was now standing much closer, her glowing eyes locked onto his. Her voice, once sweet and carefree, had turned cold and sharp.


    "What kind of lifeform are you?" she asked. "Are you a clone of that Demon?"


    Zamian¡¯s instincts remained silent, yet he sensed immense danger.


    Just by looking at this powerful woman, he detected something new blossoming from her.


    Fear.


    "No! I¡¯m a Light¡¯s Pathway cultivator who came here to learn! I don¡¯t even know who is Demon!"


    "Then why is your soul protected by such a powerful seal?" she hissed.


    The world shifted. Everything was bathed in a green glow.


    "...It was a divine reward!" he answered hastily, gasping as the cottage dissolved into green essence.


    A massive wave of Nature¡¯s essence rippled outward, turning everything into floating green specks.


    The only sounds in the distance were the frantic cries of beasts fleeing.


    "A divine reward? From a god?" she asked, her body growing larger.


    Weird symbols formed around, akin to the white crystal¡¯s drawings.


    With no time to think, and his instincts still silent, Zamian blurted out, "I guess so!"


    "Then die, betrayer of your kind and god¡¯s believer," she scowled, her voice filled with anger.


    Zamian felt nothing.


    Time seemed to pause.


    He glanced at his body¡ªit was disintegrating into green specks, dissolving into Nature¡¯s essence itself.


    Color faded from the world, and white light flooded his vision.


    Then, everything converged into a white crystal with sixteen sides.


    One of its drawings faded. Now, there were only fifteen.


    Exiting his soul space and feeling his battered, wounded, and essence-drained body, Zamian reflected on his last moments.


    And he smiled.


    ¡®Did that woman call me a betrayer because she thought I believed in a god?¡¯


    His eyes gleamed.


    ¡®Does that mean powerful cultivators don¡¯t like gods?¡¯


    Not wanting to waste time, he closed his eyes again, sinking into his dark space.


    ¡®I¡¯ll have some more questions for you, Eve,¡¯ he thought, zooming in on the two crystals above the humanoid figure¡¯s head, before diving back into Eve¡¯s crystal.

 Chapter 43 - Warden

    Once more, Zamian found himself in front of a wooden cottage, in the middle of a forest with giant trees.


    At least there¡¯s a big lake here, he thought, glancing at the vast body of water, before conjuring the Luminous Senses technique.


    He heard Eve approaching the door and positioned himself, cupping his hands.


    As the door opened, Zamian bowed, avoiding eye contact, and shouted.


    ¡°I¡¯m disciple Zamian. I¡¯m not from Origin, and I¡¯m an Essence Refining cultivator of the Light Pathway. I learned the Seed of Creation technique from Teacher Lin Zhi and came here to learn the One Amongst Myriad Beings technique,¡± he concluded, feeling the pressure that was about to hit him lessen as he spoke his first words.


    Eve clicked her tongue, and the bowl in her hand dissipated in green essence, along with its contents.


    Once again, Zamian felt no essence being used in the act¡ªnot even a trace of a technique.


    Not daring to move, he kept his head bowed and his hands cupped, remembering how birdman disciple Tian had acted in front of Lin Zhi.


    ¡°Master Lin Zhi is still allowed to teach?¡± Eve said, her tone irritated, but her sweet voice made Zamian¡¯s muscles relax. ¡°The White Leaf Sect really values their elders more than their disciples.¡±


    Zamian remained silent, feeling Eve¡¯s gaze.


    ¡°Show me,¡± she said, walking past him and heading toward the lake. ¡°Show me how an Essence Refining cultivator of the Light Pathway can use a technique made for Essence Merging cultivators of the Nature Pathway.¡±


    Turning around, he nodded. ¡°I¡¯ll do it, thank you.¡±


    Controlling his expression, he thought. ¡®So easy? She won¡¯t even check me?¡¯


    They walked a few steps, stopping at the edge of the lake.


    Eve crossed her arms, visibly annoyed. Her eyes shone with a green light as she looked around before clicking her tongue.


    ¡°You are too weak,¡± she muttered under her breath, her body glowing with a green hue.


    Zamian took a step back, his eyes widening as strange symbols once more flashed around the green-haired, pointy-eared woman.


    ¡®Oh, blight. Does she think I¡¯m a traitor again? When did she check my body¡­¡¯


    Since his instincts hadn¡¯t even whispered to him the last time, he knew he couldn¡¯t rely on them when dealing with such a powerful cultivator.


    Clenching his fists, he watched as she grew in size, his mouth slightly agape.


    A wave of pressure crashed into him, and Zamian froze.


    Eve¡¯s brown fur skirt and top stretched against her skin as her form expanded. Her hair swayed, caught in the rising wind.


    A powerful gust hit him.


    She was now at least ten times bigger.


    Eve moved her hand in a grasping motion, and the entire forest trembled.


    Trees groaned, the soil shifted, the lake surged upward, and the cries of beasts echoed through the air.


    Green light surged from every corner of the mountain, flowing into Eve¡¯s closed right fist.


    As quickly as it began, it ended.


    Zamian blinked, the crushing pressure fading as he controlled his eight hearts, forcing them not to pound too loudly.


    A few steps ahead, Eve had returned to her normal size, her right fist still clenched.


    She lifted her gaze, locking eyes with Zamian.


    He held her stare for a moment before bowing.


    "This is going to be your practice target. My fish are too strong to be hurt by your technique, and they are the weakest lifeforms in this place, so¡ª" she paused, shaking her head. "Why am I even explaining this to you? Come here and use your Seed of Creation on this guy."


    Zamian tilted his head, glancing at her before shifting his focus to her open right palm, just an arm¡¯s length away.


    ¡®Is that a worm?¡¯ He narrowed his eyes. ¡®This blighted thing is ugly.¡¯


    Resting in Eve¡¯s hand was a greenish, finger-sized worm, covered in barbs, squirming in slow circles.


    "This little guy is about to die. He also can¡¯t feel pain, okay? So just use your technique," Eve whispered, looking at the worm while stroking it with her thumb.


    ¡®She¡¯s too kind,¡¯ Zamian thought, nodding as he moved his right hand toward the worm.


    Glancing at his right index finger, he smiled inwardly. ¡®Losing a finger to take Elwood¡¯s arm was worth it, but it¡¯s nice to see it here again.¡¯


    Focusing, he hovered his hand over the green worm and channeled his essence to conjure the Seed of Creation.


    ¡®She said you are about to die,¡¯ Zamian thought, observing the worm as a white, fingernail-sized orb formed at the tip of his finger.


    ¡®Death¡­ the end of the natural order,¡¯ he mused, stealing a glance at Eve¡¯s expression. She was watching the worm with a soft gaze.


    His frown deepened as a thought crossed his mind.


    ¡®Lin Zhi¡¯s Seed of Creation is about struggling to be born, creating a new life inside an old husk,¡¯ his eyes flashed. ¡®But mine is different.¡¯


    Zamian had never witnessed the true aftermath of his technique.


    ¡®Begin a new cycle,¡¯ he commanded, sending a strong intention into the Seed of Creation while empowering it with more essence. ¡®Break the natural order, and start anew.¡¯


    The white orb stabilized, and Eve¡¯s eyes gleamed with green light as she observed the Seed hovering above her hand.


    Before she could speak, Zamian sent the technique into the worm.


    The Seed pierced the insect and began siphoning its essence, causing the tiny creature to glow with a bright green hue.


    "What?" Zamian gasped, his eyes widening as he instinctively stepped back.


    A surge of essence erupted from the worm, its intensity unmistakable.


    Zamian was sure of it¡ªthis creature, barely the size of his palm, possessed the power of a Chosen.


    The green insect curled in on itself as the circular hole in its body closed.


    Eve smiled, kneeling down. With her left hand, she dug a small hole in the earth and gently placed the still-living worm inside before covering it with soil.


    As the dirt crumbled from her fingers, she turned to Zamian and nodded.


    "You really are that monster¡¯s disciple," she said cheerfully, stepping closer and patting his shoulder. "I should congratulate you. The Seed of Creation is a technique that can only be used by those who have gained some degree of enlightenment on the natural order."


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    Zamian blinked, his thoughts racing.


    Then, he chuckled.


    "Will the Seed of Creation help the little worm?"


    Eve smiled kindly, turning her face toward the transparent lake.


    Zamian followed her gaze, his enhanced vision catching thousands of fish swimming away beneath the surface.


    ¡°It¡¯ll give the little guy a chance,¡± she nodded. ¡°This technique is very, very dangerous. But it¡¯s also a demonstration of Lin Zhi¡¯s beliefs.¡±


    She turned to Zamian, her eyes glowing with a green light before concluding.


    ¡°Only through struggle can a cultivator grow.¡±


    The young cultivator locked eyes with the green-haired woman, both standing in silence.


    A strong breeze swept past, making their hair flutter.


    ¡°I don¡¯t know why they sent someone like you here,¡± Eve said with a shrug. ¡°But a deal is a deal. I¡¯ll teach you.¡±


    Zamian cupped his hands and bowed. ¡°Thank you.¡±


    "My name is Eveniel, but you can call me Eve,¡± she said, moving her hand as if grasping something in the air. Green essence gathered within her palm. ¡°My One Amongst Myriad Beings technique can only be learned by Farmers at the peak of their mortal stages¡­ But I believe you can be an exception.¡±


    Listening intently, Zamian thought, ¡®Finally, a normal teacher! Someone who explains instead of trying to kill me.¡¯


    For the first time, he felt a surge of essence coming from her. It was akin to a Chosen unleashing their ultimate technique.


    ¡®Which means she¡¯s holding back a lot.¡¯


    Nature¡¯s essence enveloped Eve, and bursts of green energy shot from her hand, striking the small stones on the ground, the lake¡¯s water, the tiny fish, and even the giant tree trunk behind the cottage.


    In less than ten seconds, her hand blinked with light over a hundred times, each burst of green hitting different targets¡ªyet causing no harm.


    ¡®What¡¯s happening?¡¯ Zamian thought, his eyes narrowing as the flashes accelerated.


    Then, they stopped.


    Zamian¡¯s jaw dropped.


    ¡°Impossible,¡± he whispered in disbelief. ¡°Where is she?¡±


    Eve, who had been standing in front of him just moments ago, was gone.


    Relying on his empowered vision and mental sound spheres, he searched for her.


    He scanned for disturbances on the ground, the sound of footsteps, breathing, a heartbeat¡ªanything that could give her away.


    Zamian heard the wind rustling through the trees, the distant scurrying of small beasts, and even the wing beats of giant birds flying above.


    He even heard the little worm burrowing deeper underground.


    ¡®She was in front of me a moment ago. Did she use an Immortal technique?¡¯ Zamian furrowed his brows, a chill running down his spine.


    His instincts screamed.


    Without hesitation, he threw his body forward, rolling across the ground before quickly adjusting his stance. Spinning around, he faced whatever had appeared behind him.


    Eve stood there, holding a twig pointed at the exact spot where he had been standing.


    ¡°You have good instincts,¡± she smiled. ¡°Being able to detect this level of intent is impressive for your current stage.¡±


    Recognizing he wasn¡¯t in immediate danger, Zamian licked his lips.


    ¡°Your technique¡­ What does it do? Did it make you invisible while erasing your traces?¡±


    That was his best guess.


    Tossing the twig into the lake, Eve raised an eyebrow.


    ¡°I thought you were a cultivation genius. Maybe you learned Lin Zhi¡¯s Seed of Creation by sheer luck?¡±


    ¡°Believe me when I say this¡ª" Zamian narrowed his eyes, glancing around and looking for clues about her previous disappearance. ¡°That ugly thing put me through a lot of pain to teach me.¡±


    While he still hadn¡¯t fully grasped what had happened, he was certain it was a result of Eve¡¯s technique.


    ¡°Indeed, he is very ugly,¡± she nodded. ¡°Why don¡¯t you explain to me what you understood about it?¡± Eve asked, sitting on the lake¡¯s shore and patting the ground beside her.


    ¡®She wants to keep me between her and the worm,¡¯ Zamian thought but still moved to her side, sitting cross-legged.


    Eve looked at Zamian.


    Zamian looked at Eve.


    Both sighed and smiled wryly.


    ¡°You didn¡¯t understand anything.¡±


    ¡°I didn¡¯t understand anything.¡±


    They spoke in unison.


    Eve laughed in exasperation, her voice melodic and soothing. Zamian felt his eyelids droop for a second, his body unconsciously relaxing at the sound.


    ¡°At least tell me, do you know the intent behind my technique?¡± She waved her hand, gesturing vaguely to the surroundings.


    ¡°To hide?¡±


    ¡°Try again.¡±


    Zamian frowned, trying to recall White Dot¡¯s explanation of One Amongst Myriad Beings.


    ¡®Creation is a cycle occupied by a myriad of beings. Each one has a role, and each role is part of nature.¡¯


    His instincts whispered, bringing his past knowledge to the surface.


    ¡°To become one with nature?¡±


    He phrased it more as a question than an answer.


    ¡°Almost. Try again.¡±


    Eve smiled, tilting her head toward the sky.


    Scratching his head, Zamian stood up and began pacing back and forth.


    ¡®I¡¯m not thinking about this the right way. Even if this blighted mute showed me some random text about the technique, it doesn¡¯t matter,¡¯ he thought. ¡®This scantily dressed woman probably created the blighted technique. Whatever she made, it¡¯s filled with her intentions.¡¯


    He stopped, his eyes glowing white.


    ¡®I need to learn this technique, ask her how to advance, and stick to my plan.¡¯ He scanned his surroundings. ¡®Lin Zhi preached about his intentions, his beliefs. He created a technique based on the struggle to be born.¡¯


    His enhanced senses stretched across most of the lake and a small part of the forest, absorbing every detail.


    ¡®This blighting pointy-eared woman lives here.¡¯ His eyes flashed white again. ¡®Why? And why didn¡¯t she accuse me of being a Demon or something like that this time?¡¯


    His gaze flicked to the patch of soil where the worm still wriggled.


    ¡®She¡¯s kind,¡¯ he realized, smiling faintly. ¡®She called the fish in the lake her fish. She never left me alone with the worm. And she fed me when she learned I was a mortal.¡¯


    A whisper from his instincts surfaced in his mind.


    ¡®Warden.¡¯


    Zamian bit his lip.


    ¡®Lin Zhi called himself a Warden. After a Farmer, there is a Warden. But what does a Warden do?¡¯


    His thoughts racing, Zamian stepped closer to Eve, studying her as she kept her gaze fixed on the sky.


    From the distant peaks of the mountain, he could hear¡ªnot just see¡ªgiant birds gliding through the air.


    ¡°You are the protector of this place,¡± he said.


    Eve nodded but didn¡¯t look at him.


    ¡°Your technique is meant to maintain balance, the natural order,¡± he continued, before frowning. ¡°But how does that make you disappear?¡±


    ¡°I didn¡¯t disappear,¡± she replied, standing up. ¡°My technique doesn¡¯t focus on keeping the natural order but on merging myself with the cycle of my Sanctuary.¡±


    ¡°Your what?¡±


    Zamian had been focused on her words, but as she finished speaking, he felt like all eight of his hearts had stopped at once.


    ¡°Hmm?¡± Eve looked at him in surprise. ¡°My Sanctuary, the place where I¡¯m the Warden.¡±


    ¡°Is this common?¡± he asked hastily. ¡°For a Warden to have a Sanctuary?¡±


    ¡°Of course,¡± she nodded, watching him curiously. ¡°It¡¯s necessary to have one to advance your cultivation in the Immortal stages. At least for us Nature Pathway cultivators.¡±


    Zamian¡¯s eyes turned bloodshot as he stepped closer to Eve.


    She didn¡¯t move back, only tilting her head slightly.


    ¡°Why?¡± he asked through gritted teeth. ¡°Why does an Immortal Cultivator need a Sanctuary to grow stronger?¡±


    ¡°The Nature Pathway is one of the four Mind Paths. In our case, we need a place to maintain the natural order, creating a Sanctuary through our visualization.¡±


    ¡°Like building a safe place? You made these trees and this lake?¡±


    ¡°Not just that,¡± she shook her head and waved her hand. A flow of green essence rose from the lake, gathering in Eve¡¯s palm and taking the shape of a fish. The black fish was alive but remained completely still. ¡°I created everything here¡ªthe soil, the trees, the animals. The owner of a Sanctuary is usually the creator of its lifeforms and the whole cycle. Their children, or spawns, are all my creations.¡±


    Zamian¡¯s mind froze.


    His eyes trembled.


    And then he started laughing.


    Eve took a step closer, puzzled.


    ¡°What happened? Are you okay?¡±


    ¡°Even me?¡± he shouted at her, his voice sharp and loud, his eyes red and wide. ¡°Can an Immortal Cultivator even create a lifeform like me?¡±


    To Zamian¡¯s relief, Eve shook her head.


    ¡°Impossible. Your body isn¡¯t like any lifeform I¡¯ve ever seen,¡± she said firmly. ¡°If you were one of the ancestral races, sure.¡±


    ¡°Which ancestral races?¡± he asked, a strong sense of foreboding creeping into him.


    ¡°Any race that originated from the Titans,¡± she shrugged. ¡°Beasts, elves, humans¡ªyou know, the most common ones.¡±


    She paused, frowning. ¡°What happened?¡±


    In front of her, Zamian stood frozen once more.


    ¡°Can¡­ Can an Immortal do what you did with any lifeform he created? Make a human and then dissipate it?¡±


    ¡°If he¡¯s a Warden and creator of such lifeform, of course,¡± she said, still frowning. ¡°But this should be common knowledge in the White Leaf Sect.¡±


    She grabbed Zamian¡¯s right arm and pulled him slightly. ¡°Are you okay? Maybe you need to eat? You¡¯re looking even paler.¡±


    ¡°How¡­¡± he muttered, his voice barely above a whisper. ¡°How can I save someone created by an Immortal just to be killed by him?¡±


    He walked alongside her, his mind feeling like it was being struck by Colossal Trees over and over again.


    ¡°If a Warden dies without dissipating his creations, they remain alive,¡± Eve said, patting his back. ¡°Judging by your reaction, I assume you know some lifeforms created by a Warden. Just tell your teachers, and they¡¯ll handle the situation. After all, they value you enough to send you here.¡±


    He chuckled dryly and remained silent.


    After they entered Eve¡¯s cottage, she conjured chairs for both of them before heading to the fireplace. With a simple motion, bowls and fruits appeared, and she retrieved meats she had stored along the walls.


    ¡°You need to eat. Don¡¯t worry, I¡¯ll use only mortal beasts and plants as ingredients,¡± she said with a playful wink.


    Zamian stared at the ceiling, his thoughts scattered.


    After a moment, he took a deep breath, stood up from his chair, and kneeled behind Eve.


    Kowtowing, he shouted, ¡°Please, teach me how to become an Essence Merging cultivator!¡±


    Eve turned around, smiling wryly. ¡°You¡¯re such a weird young man.¡±


    Zamian slammed his head against the floor. ¡°Please!¡±


    Sighing, Eve stepped closer, grabbed his arm, and helped him stand up. ¡°Okay, okay. Don¡¯t keep doing that. I left the Sect because I hated dealing with all of this. I can teach you.¡±


    ¡°Thank you,¡± Zamian nodded.


    ¡°Go back to your chair. We¡¯ll eat first.¡±


    ¡°Okay.¡±


    Sitting down, Zamian closed his eyes.


    ¡®Blighted vermin of a false god,¡¯ he thought, clenching his fists. ¡®Are you really the one who created me, my family, and my friends?¡¯


    Scowling, he muttered under his breath, ¡°I won¡¯t accept it.¡±


    ¡°Accept what?¡± Eve asked, turning to face him while crouching near the fireplace.


    Opening his eyes to glance at her, he chuckled, feeling slightly embarrassed.


    ¡°Nothing, nothing.¡±


    ¡°Okay,¡± she shrugged. ¡°After eating, take off your clothes, and I¡¯ll teach you my technique.¡±


    ¡°...?¡±

 Chapter 44 - Four Mortal Stages

    If Zamian were in a better mood, he would probably jest about how he was naked once more.


    This time, however, he was knee-deep in a lake, with small black, red, and purple fish swimming close to his feet, while a beautiful woman who had just finished explaining a lot about cultivating to him touched his body.


    ¡°Did you understand what I said?¡± Eve asked, her hand gliding across his chest.


    Zamian glanced at her, his eyes glowing with white light. He nodded, refocusing on the lake and the animals he had only seen in books.


    ¡°Explain it to me,¡± she said as green essence flowed from her hand, brushing against his skin without sinking in.


    ¡°Every grain of dirt, each fish, bird, insect, predator, and every plant or vegetable means nothing on its own,¡± he paused, recalling Eve¡¯s explanation from earlier. ¡°Only by acting as they should¡ªwithin a cycle, according to the natural order¡ªcan they gain a greater meaning and become something more.¡±


    Eve nodded, running her right hand along his face while flicking his arm with her left.


    ¡°Do you believe in that? That the natural order gives our existence meaning?¡± she asked, smiling.


    ¡°No.¡±


    Chuckling, Eve tilted her head. ¡°You¡¯re so direct. Why do you think that?¡±


    ¡°You created this natural order, in this place,¡± he said, meeting her gaze. ¡°Why should following your version be the only way forward?¡±


    There was a deeper reason for his skepticism.


    ¡®That blighted fake god is the same,¡¯ he thought, resisting the urge to scowl. ¡®Nature is the Cycle, so our path is never-ending. Nature is the Creation, so our path is ever strong. Nature is the Truth, so our path is the only one¡­ You vermin, you were always making us follow blindly, forcing your beliefs on us, weren¡¯t you?¡¯


    ¡°You are correct.¡±


    ¡°What?¡± Zamian turned to Eve, eyes widening slightly.


    Patting his shoulder, she continued speaking.


    ¡°For me and the ones in the Nature Pathway, we must first follow the natural order around us, then create our own to advance. The technique I created was meant to help me on my breakthrough to the next stage, and on forming my Core,¡± she hummed softly, stepping away from Zamian as the green essence dissipated.


    Zamian followed Eve with his eyes, turning his head as she passed by him. He watched her approach the shore and crouch beside the spot where the green worm was still buried.


    Placing her hand on the soil, she sent a pulse of green essence inside while glancing back at him.


    ¡°Your body is unlike anything I¡¯ve ever seen. Advancing while cultivating the Nature Pathway is impossible for you,¡± she paused, shaking her head. ¡°Almost impossible, sorry. There are some freaks out there.¡±


    Frowning, he said, ¡°Whether it¡¯s about why I need to create a natural order to advance, how your technique helps, what a Core really is, or why my body would hinder my cultivation¡­¡± He sighed. ¡°Nothing matters. For now, I just need to learn your technique and how to reach the Essence Merging stage, but I want to understand all of that later.¡±


    Eve turned fully to him, locking eyes. ¡°Good,¡± she nodded. ¡°That means you¡¯re cultivating the right Pathway. Every Light cultivator should be a Scholar at heart¡ªcurious and focused when needed.¡±


    Standing up, her eyes shone with a green hue.


    ¡°Tell me, Zamian,¡± she asked as a strong breeze lifted her hair, ¡°what¡¯s your field of study?¡±


    ¡°¡­Myself.¡±


    ¡°What do you mean?¡± she asked, raising an eyebrow.


    Zamian smirked.


    ¡°It¡¯s crazy, but I¡¯ve advanced by understanding more about my body, my past, my feelings¡­ Why are you laughing?¡±


    Midway through his explanation, Eve burst into laughter, clapping her hands.


    After a moment, she shook her head and looked at Zamian with a mix of schadenfreude and true pity.


    His instincts whispered that problems were about to come, and a chill ran down his spine.


    ¡°That¡¯s the stupidest field of study I¡¯ve ever heard from a Scholar,¡± she said, smiling. ¡°And I once met a Barbarian who switched to the Light Pathway just because he liked learning about muscles, but you take his spot easily.¡±


    ¡°Why? Is this even something I can control? Can I choose my field of study?¡± he asked, inwardly thinking, ¡®If I could, what about changing it to how to kill fake gods?¡¯


    ¡°You can¡¯t. This isn¡¯t about who you are but how you¡¯re connected with Light¡¯s essence,¡± she shrugged. ¡°As one of the Primordial Paths, you need a deep connection to it before you even start cultivating. That your connection is your self¡­ It¡¯s completely unique to me. That must be why those Elders sent you here. Of course, you should already know all that.¡±


    ¡°I focus more on other aspects of cultivation,¡± he answered with a wry smile. ¡®I should stop asking too much.¡¯


    ¡°At least now I can be sure of one thing,¡± Eve said, scratching her furred top. ¡°You will never learn my technique as intended.¡±


    Biting his lip, Zamian said, ¡°Let me try. You saw that I learned the Seed of Creation, even if my beliefs aren¡¯t the same as Lin¡ªTeacher Lin Zhi!¡±


    She waved her hand.


    ¡°I didn¡¯t say you couldn¡¯t learn. Explaining it to you won¡¯t help at all, but you need to learn by doing something that resonates with your field of study,¡± she smiled, showing her teeth.


    Once more, Zamian¡¯s instincts told him something was wrong.


    Then, he realized it.


    ¡®Why are my instincts even reacting? She can control her intentions well enough that I shouldn¡¯t pick up anything¡­ Oh, blight hell, she¡¯s trying to say something between the lines or just playing with me,¡¯ he thought, groaning.


    Staring at her, he braced himself.


    ¡°And what should I do, in your opinion?¡±


    ¡°You need to feel the technique. Not just understand its concepts,¡± she said, stepping slowly into the lake, and approaching Zamian.


    His instincts figuratively poked at him, prompting him to step back for each step forward Eve took.


    He gulped.


    ¡°How would we do that?¡±


    ¡°By burying you.¡±


    Zamian¡¯s instincts screamed, his eyes glowing white. Just as he was about to activate his Beginning of the Cycle technique and unleash the Seed of Creation targeting Eve, he hesitated.


    ¡®What am I blighting doing?¡¯


    A sweet, soft laugh reached his ears, making him relax, as his instincts went silent.


    Looking at the source, Zamian saw Eve covering her mouth, laughing at him.


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry,¡± she said between giggles. ¡°You¡¯re so sensitive, I couldn¡¯t resist. But yes, I think burying you and immersing yourself in the technique should help.¡±


    More than feeling annoyed, Zamian was filled with concern. ¡®Is it really that easy to manipulate my instincts? In a battle, I would have died,¡¯ he thought.


    His instincts immediately started whispering, offering new ways to better control his senses and observe himself.


    ¡®Last time, only because she suspected I had a connection with a Demon or was a God¡¯s believer she killed me,¡¯ he guessed, looking at the smiling Eve.


    The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.


    Bowing slightly, he said sincerely, ¡°Thank you for showing me a flaw.¡±


    Eve waved a hand dismissively. ¡°I already told you I don¡¯t like these formalities. Now get up. Let¡¯s find a nice patch of soil to put you deep inside.¡±


    As she turned to leave the lake, Zamian followed, grumbling. ¡°Can I put my clothes on now?¡±


    ¡°No way, they¡¯d get dirty,¡± she chuckled, leading him toward the towering trees of the forest.


    Clicking his tongue, Zamian trailed after her, noticing his white robes were nowhere to be seen.


    <hr>


    ¡®How much time do I still have before I need to leave? I¡¯ve never stayed this long in Lin Zhi¡¯s crystal,¡¯ Zamian wondered, blowing away a leaf that had fallen on the tip of his nose.


    ¡°Are you paying attention?¡±


    Looking up, his gaze passed over Eve¡¯s long legs, waist, and chest before locking onto her eyes.


    ¡°I am. Don¡¯t mind my discomfort,¡± he said plainly, shifting his head from side to side.


    They were deep in the forest, surrounded by towering trees, thick bushes, and twisting roots, a setting that reminded him of his home.


    Except here, the roots weren¡¯t as massive, and, more importantly, he was buried neck-deep in the ground.


    He wasn¡¯t very happy about it.


    Eve had enhanced the soil, making it impossible for him to move. The tightness pressed against his skin, sending tingling sensations across his body and creating a heavy, constricting feeling.


    ¡°How are you feeling?¡± Eve asked.


    ¡°Besides uncomfortable?¡± He blew away another leaf that, suspiciously, kept landing on his nose. ¡°Trapped.¡±


    ¡°Good. Now, you know what to do, right? Observe.¡±


    ¡®Was she was Teacher like Lin Zhi? Or is it the lack of people making her so talkative?¡¯ he mused.


    His eyes shone with white light as he focused all his senses on Eve.


    He felt the spike of essence radiating from her, stronger than before, showing that she was using the One Amongst Myriad Beings technique at a higher level than what he could achieve.


    Eve grasped the air, her hand flashing with green light as bursts of essence shot out, striking trees, bushes, and even tiny insects around them.


    Zamian watched the trajectory of most of the bursts, but the intention behind them eluded him.


    To him, it looked like nothing more than a waste of Nature¡¯s essence. Just a harmless, useless light show.


    Until one burst hit him.


    ¡®You are the soil, nurturing my trees¡¯ roots.¡¯


    ¡®You are the ground, guiding my creations¡¯ steps.¡¯


    ¡®You are the dirt, where life takes form.¡¯


    Zamian¡¯s eyes widened as his mind was flooded with intentions that weren¡¯t his own.


    At that moment, he saw, in each burst of essence sent by Eve, vivid images¡ª insects taking flight, trees growing, soil being stepped on.


    Each burst carried a different visualization, uniquely tied to its target.


    ¡®It¡¯s similar to Lin Zhi¡¯s disciples, who could practice with external visualization,¡¯ he thought, as his instincts urged him to observe his body.


    Puzzled, Zamian used his unique physique to look inside himself.


    Amidst his tube-like organs and rushing red blood, green essence floated, threading through his muscles.


    The intentions he had just heard came from it.


    But now, it was silent.


    ¡®Weird,¡¯ he thought. ¡®Essence should dissipate after being used. It isn¡¯t normal for it to remain gathered.¡¯


    He wasn¡¯t as experienced as Lin Zhi or as powerful as Eve, but even he knew that essence was usually only visible when concentrated.


    For him, the best proof was that, even with his enhanced vision, he couldn¡¯t see essence around him¡ªunless it exceeded a certain quantity or was actively being used by someone.


    Not allowing himself to get distracted, he focused back on the essence within him.


    Then, through one of his mental sound spheres, he heard the sound of Eve opening her hand.


    At the same moment she disappeared from his senses, the green essence inside him began to dissipate.


    And with it came a deep intention, like a final whisper.


    ¡®And I am the same.¡¯


    The power behind this intention shook his mind, making him momentarily dizzy.


    Bringing his focus back to the outside, he confirmed that Eve was gone.


    A strong sense of wrongness washed over Zamian, making him not focus on the woman¡¯s disappearance, but on himself.


    An invisible pressure bore down on him, and his thoughts raced.


    His instincts screamed, his heartbeat thundered in his chest.


    ¡°No!¡± he shouted, eyes bloodshot, his body trembling underground. ¡°This is different from last time!¡±


    Grinding his teeth, he forced the white essence within him to move. His instincts grew erratic, not just warning him of a flaw in his cultivation.


    A flaw in him.


    They weren¡¯t just reacting. They were teaching him. Guiding him to adjust, to correct something fundamental.


    ¡°This isn¡¯t me!¡± he roared, spit flying from his mouth.


    A brilliant white light erupted from his body as he burned every last drop of essence, casting the Beginning of the Cycle technique.


    The soil pressed tightly around him, resisting, preventing his body from expanding.


    A guttural scream tore from his throat as he twisted his glowing head sharply to the left.


    The Light¡¯s essence dissipated in an instant.


    Zamian¡¯s face returned to normal, his breaths coming in ragged gasps.


    Slowly, through gritted teeth, he said, ¡°I can see you.¡±


    In front of him, a faint green outline took shape, forming the silhouette of a female figure.


    Then, without a flash or any sign of transition, Eve reappeared, her eyes wide, her mouth slightly open.


    In her hand, she held a twig she had just picked up.


    ¡°That¡ª¡± she let out a short, incredulous laugh, adjusting her posture before casually tossing the twig into the bushes. ¡°I knew you would find me¡ª¡± She paused. ¡°but I thought it would take more tries.¡±


    ¡°What did you do to me?¡± Zamian asked, his tone sharp with frustration.


    He knew she was trying to teach him, but the moment the green essence had dissipated inside his body, he felt a kind of shackles on him.


    Eve stepped closer, crouching down and patting his head. ¡°Calm down, you really are sensitive,¡± she sighed. ¡°I used my technique in a way it wasn¡¯t meant to be used, that¡¯s all. I had a theory that making you feel it could help, but I never thought you¡¯d find me so fast.¡±


    He stared into her bright green eyes as a small leaf drifted closer to his face.


    As it settled on the tip of his nose, he chuckled.


    ¡°Merging yourself with the Sanctuary,¡± he mused, blowing the leaf away. ¡°Does that mean visualizing each component inside of it and putting yourself in their places?¡±


    ¡°For you, maybe,¡± she said, ruffling his hair. ¡°When I created this technique, it was meant to merge with my future creations. It was a way for me to make sure I could create my Core more easily.¡±


    ¡°You said that before,¡± he muttered, trying to move his head away from her hand but failing. ¡°Is Lin Zhi¡¯s technique the same?¡±


    ¡°Almost,¡± she said, standing up. ¡°Mine is more selfish, in a way. Lin Zhi¡¯s Seed of Creation can be used on others, but¡ª¡± She paused, looking at Zamian.


    Nodding, he gave a wry smile. ¡°I know. His technique causes a lot of damage, and not everyone can use it to advance.¡± Shaking his head, he tried to move his body. ¡°Can you take me out of here? I don¡¯t think I¡¯m ready to learn your technique yet. I¡¯d rather focus on how to become an Essence Merging cultivator.¡±


    There was no way Zamian would play with that technique before understanding why he felt such a wrongness from it, causing a flaw to appear momentarily on him.


    ¡°Funny for you to say that,¡± Eve said, moving her hand. The soil around Zamian dissipated into green essence. ¡°Given how sensitive you are and the technique you just used, I fully believe you could advance to the next stage at any moment.¡±


    Freed from his earthen prison, Zamian quickly jumped to Eve¡¯s side, shooting her a curious glance.


    ¡°And how do I do that?¡±


    ¡°For a Scholar, you know so little,¡± she chuckled, patting his shoulder. ¡°Essence Attunement, Gathering, Refining, and Merging. The four stages a mortal must pass before creating a Core. You¡¯ve already attuned yourself to Light¡¯s essence, gathered and refined it enough in your body, mind, and soul to even be able to hear your instincts. So why haven¡¯t you advanced yet?¡±


    Zamian remained still, waiting for her to continue, hoping she¡¯d keep explaining.


    ¡®Keep talking, spill everything. Now I know what the four levels of the mortal tier are, in White Dot¡¯s language.¡¯


    Eve smiled.


    Neither of them moved.


    ¡°...¡±


    ¡°...¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t know why,¡± he admitted.


    Nodding in satisfaction, she continued.


    ¡°You have everything you need to step into the next stage,¡± she said with a smile. ¡°Only you can know why this is happening, but just by looking at your previous technique, I can tell there''s only one barrier in your path that I could find.¡±


    As she fell silent again, he sighed. ¡°And what barrier is that?¡±


    Eve¡¯s smile widened. ¡°Yourself.¡±


    Zamian was about to talk back when the world seemed to pause.


    ¡®Oh, blight,¡¯ he thought as color drained from his vision, replaced by an overwhelming white light that flooded his mind before converging into a white crystal.


    Avoiding looking at the crystal, he pulled himself out of his soul space¡ª


    And grunted.


    ¡®I had forgotten how broken my body is.¡¯


    Taking a labored breath, he felt the waves of pain and numbness hit him, one after another.


    ¡®Again, time is against me. No¡­ not just time¡ª¡¯ He thought back to his last moments with Eve. ¡®Am I against myself?¡¯


    Swallowing the blood rising in his throat, Zamian shifted his gaze to the White Dot.


    ¡®Hello there, you adorable little bug,¡¯ he thought. ¡®Show me what you got.¡¯


    PERSONAL INFORMATION


    Name: Zamian Greenfield


    Level: 3 [00%]


    Tier: Mortal


    Main Pathway: Knowledge


    Title: None


    STATS POINTS


    Body: 1349/6400


    Mind: 4100/7600


    Soul: 2100/7400


    REWARDS


    Ancient Astral Seal


    Description: A Star Seal guarding your Astral Self.


    Ancient Identify Technique (Passive)


    Description: See the secrets beyond the limitations of time.


    Nameless Physique


    Description: Breaker of the natural order, bearer of perpetual body, an unshackled lifeform.


    White Key - First Floor


    Description: Key to access White Tower¡¯s First Floor


    QUEST LOG


    Last Quest: Protect Bohlo until he completes his breakthrough


    Reward: 01 Book from White Tower''s First Floor


    Status: Completed


    Main Quest: Bring destruction to a Level 8 Immortal tainted by Godhood


    Reward: Inheritor¡¯s Cave Entrance


    Status: Ongoing (88 days left)


    ¡®Not even a day, and I¡¯ve already lost so many points,¡¯ he frowned, dismissing the white text and shifting his focus to the corner of his vision. ¡®You know, someday, your lack of information is going to put me in a really, really bad situation. Again. Just think about how much I¡¯m doing for you! Couldn¡¯t you be a little more supportive? I do the things you ask all the time!¡¯


    Taking a deep breath, he rested his head against the squishy, pulsating roots behind him, staring at his prison.


    ¡®How could I be holding myself back? I need to ask her that,¡¯ he groaned. ¡®But what should I say this time? If I die, take too long to convince her, or something happens that forces me out of there before I get my answer, I¡¯ll waste more time.¡¯


    He prepared to enter his dark space again when a wave of dizziness hit him.


    Shaking his head, he willed the White Dot to show his stats.


    STATS POINTS


    Body: 1340/6400


    Mind: 4090/7600


    Soul: 2090/7400


    ¡®White Dot, you see? Even my bloodied body is more useful than you. At least I can feel when my stats change,¡¯ he jested, glancing at his body stats before shifting his gaze to his missing left arm.


    ¡®Don¡¯t worry, my plan will bring you back and restore my stats¡ª¡¯


    He blinked.


    Then, he smiled.


    A bloody grin, eerily similar to his father¡¯s.


    ¡®My stats,¡¯ he thought, his grin widening. ¡®I¡¯m holding myself back because of my stats!¡¯

 Chapter 45 - The Plan

    ¡®I can¡¯t cultivate inside those crystals,¡¯ Zamian thought, recalling what had happened to him in Lin Zhi¡¯s tower. ¡®I could use them to upgrade my mind and soul stats, but that seems like a waste and too dependent on luck¡­ It¡¯s better to follow my plan.¡¯


    Coughing, he narrowed his eyes.


    ¡®And I can¡¯t see inside my soul when I¡¯m in those crystals, so there¡¯s no way to be sure if all the steps will work as intended,¡¯ he closed his eyes for a moment before opening them, resolute. ¡®For now, I need to trust myself, my instincts, and this blighted mute.¡¯


    He coughed again.


    ¡®I don¡¯t know what your goals are, White Dot,¡¯ Zamian glanced at the corner of his vision. ¡®But you better not start changing things now, do you hear me?¡¯


    Focusing on his body, he used his precise control to move a hidden object through his tubes until it reached his throat.


    He placed both hands below his mouth and coughed again.


    And again.


    With a wet, disgusting noise, spit flew from his mouth, landing in his hands.


    But there was nothing to be seen.


    Only felt.


    Closing his fists, Zamian pressed his fingers around a familiar small object¡ªa smooth, cylindrical shaft ending in a perfectly rounded tip.


    ¡®White Key, long time no see,¡¯ he thought, clasping his hands and shutting his eyes.


    Entering his soul space, Zamian willed himself closer to the Soul Tome.


    The humanoid figure remained unmoving, glowing brightly with uncountable specks of white light.


    Positioning himself between the figure and the tome in its hands, Zamian imagined himself having a body, standing in the same posture as the being made of motes of light.


    And then, he started to remember.


    He remembered his childhood.


    The changes in his body.


    The feelings that had surfaced over the past few days.


    After a moment, the Soul Tome shone brighter, and the dark space trembled slightly.


    A surge of white Soul Force entered the Soul Tome, and formless information took shape on each of its massive pages.


    Not only that, but many more pieces of Zamian¡¯s life¡ªeverything except the White Dot and a few deeper secrets like Lin Zhi¡¯s, the Red World, or his perspective on the Verdant God¡ªfilled the tome¡¯s pages.


    This was the first and most crucial step in Zamian¡¯s plan.


    While trapped in the Root Cage, he had finally pieced together the true purpose of the Soul Tome.


    It was meant to help those on the Light Pathway cultivate!


    ¡®I¡¯m more of a dumb oak than Bohlo,¡¯ he thought, continuing to feed more information into the tome. ¡®Of course, a Scholar''s first technique should be about studying.¡¯


    As white essence started gathering around him, a powerful suction force suddenly pulled it away before it could settle inside his soul, mind, or body.


    The Roots!


    The Deep Ground¡¯s primary form of control was the living roots that siphoned essence from any prisoner as fast as possible.


    When he was inside the Root Cage, no matter how quickly Zamian cultivated, he never reached even one percent of his cultivation progress according to the White Dot.


    And now, inside this cocoon of living roots, it was even more impossible to do so.


    At first, while being carried by Fern and the other two Chosen, Zamian¡¯s plan was simple: gather enough essence to conjure a Seed of Creation, which he firmly believed could destroy any prison.


    After all, it didn¡¯t rely on his own essence but on the target¡¯s.


    Of course, dealing with three Chosen wouldn¡¯t be easy, but at that moment, it was all he could do.


    However, deep down, he had clung to a hidden hope.


    The hope was that Bohlo would find a place to have a breakthrough.


    And when the quest was completed with less than an hour left before its final deadline, Zamian almost laughed out loud.


    It was a double gift for him.


    While it confirmed that his dense friend was safe and stronger, it also gave Zamian the best tool to refine his plan.


    To advance!


    He had waited to reach the Deep Ground, waited for Elwood to do whatever he wanted, and even tried to irritate his enemies enough for them to leave him here for a while.


    Because, by his previous experience, he would need at least a day or two to have a breakthrough.


    As white essence kept gathering and being siphoned from his body, Zamian quickly moved, willing a small current of Light¡¯s essence to flow toward the White Key.


    His intention was clear, forming a trail from the middle of his chest to both palms.


    The roots forming his prison pulsed, dissipating the Light¡¯s essence, preventing him from gathering any amount strong enough to conjure a technique.


    ¡®But I don¡¯t need to conjure any technique,¡¯ he thought, opening his eyes and looking at the White Key, now shining brightly in his hands.


    Even before cultivating the Knowledge Pathway, he could use the key. The amount of essence it required was minimal, almost symbolic.


    ¡®Don¡¯t disappoint me, White Dot!¡¯ he shouted inwardly as the key in his hands flashed with intense white light, soon consuming him.


    Inside the cocoon, only the squishy sound of shifting roots remained as the White Key dissolved into Light¡¯s essence.


    Meanwhile, Zamian¡¯s senses were overtaken by infinite white light, and he felt himself falling.


    Even now, stronger and more attuned to the Light Pathway, he still lost all sensation of his body, as if he had melted into the light itself.


    His thoughts stilled. A deep calm washed over him, and a soft hum filled his ears.


    Then, nothing.


    No sound.


    No sense of time.


    Just the white light.


    Finally, when Zamian was on the brink of losing his perception of self¡ªhis memories, his desires, his cultivation¡ªabout to become one with the white light¡­


    He saw darkness.


    Experienced, he avoided opening his eyes too quickly, instead using his special physique to assess his condition.


    He took a few moments.


    Then, his eyes blinked, and a smile formed on his lips.


    Zamian was wearing the same clothes as before, riddled with holes and stains.


    But his body wasn¡¯t the same.


    His eight hearts beat faster, his blood rushing through his veins, no longer blocked by broken paths. All his tube-organs were intact, his muscles unscathed, and his bones whole.


    Most importantly, Zamian lifted both hands to his face, counting his ten fingers.


    A grin spread across his lips.


    "White Dot," he said. "Show me my blighted stats and information."


    PERSONAL INFORMATION


    Name: Zamian Greenfield


    Support the creativity of authors by visiting Royal Road for this novel and more.


    Level: 3 [100%]


    Tier: Mortal


    Main Pathway: Knowledge


    Title: None


    STATS


    Body: 6400/6400


    Mind: 7600/7600


    Soul: 7400/7400


    Zamian started to laugh.


    A maniacal, unfettered, hysterical laugh.


    "It blighted worked!" he shouted, jumping on the pristine white floor, which had a door of the same color on one side, with blackness surrounding everything else. "You blighted mute, I love you!"


    A moment later, composing himself, Zamian walked toward the massive door.


    His eyes glowed white as he muttered, "Worst case scenario avoided. Now, I can at least survive and attempt to flee there," he paused, grinning. "But why stop there?"


    Close to touch the door, he halted. "Wait, I don¡¯t need to enter yet. It¡¯s safer to have a breakthrough while I¡¯m here."


    As he was about to turn around, he stopped.


    He didn¡¯t want to stay.


    Zamian didn¡¯t know why, but this black space¡ªonce a source of fear and anxiety¡ªnow filled him with a single sensation.


    Strangeness.


    "A flaw," he muttered. "This is like a giant flaw in my Light Pathway."


    He hesitated for a second before shaking his head.


    "I can¡¯t cultivate here like this," he decided, touching the door. "It¡¯s not worth the risk."


    The moment he touched the gate, white light engulfed him, pulling him through.


    Once again, he stood inside the library without a ceiling¡ªthe place he believed to be the First Floor of the White Tower.


    And, just like before, a single white book rested on its shelf.


    But this time, he ignored it entirely.


    Sitting cross-legged where he stood, he closed his eyes.


    "White Dot, if you dare bring that book to me, open it, and make me choose a blighted technique without my permission, I¡¯ll blind myself," he said.


    Receiving no response, he nodded in satisfaction.


    "Good dot," he smirked. "Now, besides survival, let¡¯s see if I actually have a fighting chance."


    He willed himself into his dark space, where the humanoid figure and the Soul Tome awaited.


    With practiced ease, he shifted his perception and began inputting information about himself into the tome.


    He was already filled with essence, so his goal wasn¡¯t just to gather more.


    As more and more Soul Force poured into the tome, enriching it with Zamian¡¯s memories, perceptions, beliefs, and intentions, the young cultivator focused entirely on the task.


    He lost himself in the process, deep in thought, debating with his instincts.


    Of course, when he first planned all of this, he had anticipated it.


    Every time he, Bohol, or Tulip used the unorthodox cultivation method of acting like a Farmer or a Scholar, in his case, they fell into a trance.


    Especially for him, this was far worse.


    He believed the reason lay in his soul. It allowed him to extend his cultivation sessions, correct flaws, and process Light¡¯s knowledge far deeper than most.


    A bless and a curse.


    That was why he usually lost a whole day to this kind of cultivation.


    In fact, the only reason he ever woke up while still having soul points was because his inner self recognized that he had achieved the session¡¯s goal¡ªfilling himself with essence.


    But now, he had no more room for essence.


    Except, of course, if it was to be infused.


    Infused into his body, mind, and soul.


    Outside, from the Library¡¯s ceiling, Light¡¯s essence rained down, forming a vortex, bathing Zamian¡¯s body in its glow.


    White essence seeped into his bones, muscles, and blood.


    Then, a stream of energy flowed into his soul, forming more and more white crystals.


    Lastly, the essence dissipated into an unseen place, strengthening his mind.


    A little over two hours passed before he finally opened his eyes.


    Zamian felt full. His body glowed with a faint white hue, pulsing with power.


    Before he could fully recover from his trance or will the White Dot to show his stats, a wall of white text materialized in front of him.


    Your Body Stat Cap has reached a milestone ¡ú 8000/8000


    Your Mind Stat Cap has reached a milestone ¡ú 8000/8000


    Your Soul Stat Cap has reached a milestone ¡ú 8000/8000


    Analyzing¡­


    Level: 3 [100%]


    Tier: Mortal


    Main Pathway: Knowledge


    All stats capped


    Cultivation level capped


    Initiating breakthrough to Level 4 - Mortal Tier - Knowledge Pathway


    His pale body shone with an even brighter white light as the Light¡¯s essence from above continued pouring into him, fueling his breakthrough.


    Meanwhile, his mind was flooded with memories.


    They passed rapidly, some scenes repeating. Most of them featured his father, Dante, or his mother, Jasmine.


    He later saw himself in small skirmishes with Bohlo, arguing with Lakea, or playing with other kids.


    Then came the memories of pain¡ªfalling and getting hurt, cutting himself on trees, or getting sick from eating something he shouldn¡¯t have.


    Next, books flashed before him, the knowledge he had consumed over the years. Most of them faded away, leaving only the ones he had written about himself.


    A sense of calmness accompanied these memories, forming a cycle. But beneath that calm, his instincts whispered.


    At first, he ignored them. He chose which memories to focus on¡ªmostly the peaceful ones with his family and friends.


    And then, he saw Yokki.


    A friend of the family.


    One of his mother¡¯s friends.


    The calm shattered, tainted by rage and disgust.


    His instincts screamed, and this time, Zamian listened.


    He had known all along what they were telling him to do. He had simply refused to acknowledge it.


    He couldn¡¯t advance like this.


    This wasn¡¯t his path¡ªa path of living in the past, clinging to fond memories, surrounded by loved ones.


    His path was one of suffering and struggle, where happiness could only be found at the end.


    The memories shifted again.


    Now, he saw himself fighting Zealots and Great Warriors, slaughtering them.


    He saw Warlord Ruen.


    He saw Lin Zhi. Eve.


    He saw his arm being severed.


    And he remembered Fern, Elwood, and all the Chosen who had stood against him.


    Then, Zamian focused on a memory of his father.


    Dante, broken and unable to speak, dealt with deeper issues that the young man couldn¡¯t fully understand. Yet, even in that shattered state, he had looked for his son, stood before him, and brought him to a safer place.


    He had told Zamian how he felt.


    That he loved him.


    Then came the memory of Bohlo, crying for his dead mother Misandra, making Zamian stand beside him for her Departure Ritual.


    How his friend had always been there for him.


    And lastly, the vision of his slap across Tulip¡¯s face flashed through his mind.


    He had failed her.


    No matter how little time he had, he should have explained things to her. Talked. Confessed his feelings. So that neither of them would be left with regrets, no matter what happened.


    He recalled their conversations, their emotions


    Most of all, the last words he had spoken to her, and the way he had made her cry.


    Tulip, Bohlo, Dante.


    He had connections. He had reasons to live.


    But he couldn¡¯t persist just for others.


    His memories shifted again¡ªthis time, to himself.


    He saw his own journey in cultivation.


    The first time he had tried and failed to cast the Everbark technique.


    The last time he had transformed into the Beginning of the Cycle form.


    He saw his discoveries about the world of cultivation.


    Eve¡¯s immense power.


    The different races among Lin Zhi¡¯s disciples.


    His mother¡¯s book.


    The endless possibilities of the future. The knowledge yet to be learned.


    And then, when his memories had shown him everything, he saw himself.


    A white light.


    He saw himself leaving his mother¡¯s womb, being born into the world.


    The beginning of his cycle.


    And then, his memories shifted to the moment he had touched the sapling created from his mother¡¯s body, when he had pressed his hand to it and poured out his emotions.


    He had died there.


    And his new cycle had begun.


    His memories dissolved into white essence, forming a brilliant vortex that enveloped his body, mind, and soul.


    Zamian heard a multitude of whispers from the Light¡¯s essence.


    They were revealing the paths he could walk.


    This wasn¡¯t about changing his Pathway, but about how he would continue cultivating it as his own.


    ¡®Is this the truth about cultivation?¡¯ he wondered. ¡®Everyone below a Chosen¡ªno, below an Essence Merging cultivator¡ªis just following a path, but then they must begin forging their own?¡¯


    Amidst the myriad of whispers, a few resonated with him.


    Yet, there was one¡ªthe loudest¡ªthat repeated a single phrase over and over again:


    ¡®Breaker of the natural order, bearer of a perpetual body, an unshackled lifeform.¡¯


    Everything he had done, everything he had learned, everything he was, presented him with the possibility of a path.


    But his new body¡ªhis physique¡ªthe very symbol of the new cycle he was living, was the one that resonated with him the most.


    ¡®It gives me hope¡­ hope that I can save my father, my friend,¡¯ he thought. ¡®And it wasn¡¯t created by that vermin Verdant fake god¡­ but by me, the White Dot, and my feelings about my mother.¡¯


    Zamian¡¯s instincts fell silent, all except the one resonating with the Nameless Physique.


    Then, a surge of information flooded his mind, and for the first time in a long time, he found himself inside a visualization.


    A visualization that wasn¡¯t in his control.


    He was surrounded by a myriad of white lines, shifting and twisting in an endless black space.


    He recognized them immediately.


    They were the same drawings from the white crystals.


    Each line pulsed with a unique sensation, resonating with something deep within him.


    ¡®Power.¡¯


    ¡®Shield.¡¯


    ¡®Velocity.¡¯


    ¡®Fly.¡¯


    ¡®Sadness.¡¯


    At first, he was lost, merely observing the flowing lines. Then, another passed close to him.


    ¡®Senses.¡¯


    Recognition struck him like lightning. Even though he had never seen this line before, he knew it. It was part of him, part of the Light¡¯s essence inside him, the foundation of his Luminous Senses technique.


    As more lines passed, he recognized others.


    ¡®Struggle.¡¯


    ¡®Birth.¡¯


    ¡®Transformation.¡¯


    And then, Zamian understood.


    This breakthrough was different. He wasn¡¯t being gifted a technique by the Light¡¯s knowledge.


    This time, he had begun his own path.


    This time, he could create a technique.


    Seizing the moment, memories of the Chosen he had fought flashed through his mind. He recalled their techniques, analyzing their strengths and weaknesses. Then, his thoughts turned to Lin Zhi¡¯s and Eve¡¯s techniques.


    Eve had created her technique before forming her Core.


    Had she done it during her breakthrough? Or after becoming an Essence Refining cultivator?


    He didn¡¯t know.


    But he did know the power of a technique crafted by a mortal.


    He knew what he wanted to do.


    As if sensing his intent, dozens of lines surged toward him.


    He quickly discarded most of them, choosing only the ones that resonated with his physique and his goals.


    As he made his selections, he realized there was a limit¡ªfour.


    At his current stage, he could only handle a technique composed of four lines.


    With that in mind, he took more time than he could notice to discard dozens of others until he was left with the four.


    The first was ¡®Battle.¡¯


    He had considered Struggle, but it suited Lin Zhi more than him. He searched for Death, but found nothing resembling it. In the end, thinking back on his path, Battle resonated with him the most. He would need to fight.


    The second was Unshackled.


    This one was obvious. It pulsed in harmony with his physique, bringing with it a deep sense of freedom¡ªfreedom from external forces, from rulers, from the so-called natural order, from the machinations of a certain fake god.


    The third, and hardest to choose, was ¡®Curiosity.¡¯


    Zamian hesitated. He didn¡¯t want to pick it. But the more he considered discarding it, the more wrong it felt¡ªan emptiness creeping in, like throwing away a part of himself. In the end, he accepted it.


    The last, the fourth line, was ¡®Self.¡¯


    It didn¡¯t resonate as strongly as the others. It didn¡¯t feel wrong to discard, but neither did it feel right. Yet, when he held onto it, he felt the other three lines strengthen as if reinforcing his foundation.


    So, he made his choice.


    The four lines intertwined, merging into a bright white light.


    But before the process could be completed, something unexpected happened.


    Eight more lines surged from the distant horizon, colliding with his selections. They twisted, shattered, and devoured each other, breaking apart and reshaping.


    And when the chaos settled, only four lines remained:


    ¡®Beginning.¡¯


    ¡®Struggle.¡¯


    ¡®Curiosity.¡¯


    ¡®Self.¡¯


    The lines fused, forming a single intricate drawing.


    And before Zamian was expelled from this space, he felt it¡ªthe method to conjure his new technique, the connection to his path, and its very name.


    ¡®Awakening of True Self.¡¯