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—Level 1 cultivator—woman with familiar orange hair and a veiled face. Accompanying her were two Chosen—one 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—does 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.

  Zamian found himself frozen, unsure of what to do.

  Not even when fighting Ruen had he felt such danger.

  And worse—his 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.

  This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  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—a little—why 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.’

  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—and 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—even 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—”

  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?’