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—maybe tens of thousands—of 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—the 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—the 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.

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  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—not 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.

  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—now 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—one 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."