“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—probably with the birdman disciple Tian or some other unlucky fellow dying—he 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—”

  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—whether 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—the desperate struggle to avoid death—into 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—’

  Unable to fully focus on them, he recognized what they were—his 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—toward 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—the 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—a strange mixture of viscous white liquid, bloodied muscle, and tubes.

  Did you know this text is from a different site? Read the official version to support the creator.

  Slowly but surely, the seed continued to consume his essence and his body. But for an instant—just an instant—it 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—his 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—no 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—after truly reasoning through the situation—he 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—breakable by any strong enough pulse of essence.

  Of course, he wasn’t able to send this pulse of essence—he 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—when 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—his 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—it 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—or if—the 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—”

  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—impossible 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—I 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?”

  “...”