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—but 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—and felt his body was fine, and his instincts nearly dragging him away—he 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—and 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—a 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…’

  This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it.

  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—one 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.

  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—the crater—the 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—only the traces already infused into his body remained.

  Even though he understood the basics of digging—thanks to the previously infused knowledge—and 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—huffing 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—whatever 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—lungs, kidneys, intestines—was gone. They had all been replaced.

  What remained were tubes—finger-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—the 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—not 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 was, his gaze serious, and his halberd being held only by 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—it 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—precise, 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—” 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—” Zamian suddenly paused, realizing he’d forgotten that Marlos could also have the ability to detect lies. “Wait, I mean—”

  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?”