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—Z, 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—” 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—only 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—teaching 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?’

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  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—they 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—anything. 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—his 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—if he wasn’t out there fighting those outsiders alone—how 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.