Two Chosen, clad in bulky wooden armor, stood before an open Root Cocoon smeared with blood. The living roots squirmed, making wet, unsettling noises.

  The one wielding a massive wooden greatsword over his shoulder scowled.

  “Where is the boy?” he asked, turning to his companion.

  Beside him, the Chosen gripping a wooden spear frowned.

  “I have no clue,” the spear user replied. “Maybe the roots devoured him? What should we do?”

  Shaking his head, the sword user dismissed the idea. “No, the roots here only drain essence. Can’t you see that blood?”

  Both turned their glowing green eyes to the pool of blood slipping down the writhing roots.

  And sighed.

  “Again, what should we do? He could be down there—” Just as the spear user pointed toward the dark hole below, a flash of white light, void of any essence burst, caught their attention.

  In this forbidden place, any amount of light was disturbing.

  Still, the absence of essence in the glow made them unconsciously lower their guard, even as they took a step back and raised their weapons toward its source.

  The flash had come from the very prison they had just inspected.

  In less than a second, the light dissipated as if it had never been there, leaving in its place a naked, pale, and lean young man sitting on the ground. Shoulder-length black hair partially covered his eyes, but the Chosen could still see his lips.

  He was grinning.

  The young cultivator tilted his head slightly, revealing his glowing white eyes. Around him, the living roots twisted wildly, reacting to the presence of essence.

  The Chosen stared at the young man.

  Silence.

  Then, the tunnel shook with a sudden shockwave. Roots snapped apart, and bursts of green and white essence interwove, lighting up the dark space.

  Zamian had just arrived, assessed the situation, and enhanced his body with Light’s essence, activating the Luminous Senses technique.

  His kick against the ground was so forceful that the cave-roots trembled.

  Meanwhile, both Chosen flared with Nature’s essence, their bodies glowing green as they felt a powerful surge of energy radiating from the pale, naked boy.

  It was as strong as a Chosen’s.

  The sword-wielder moved first, his green essence flaring like fire, flowing into his massive wooden blade as he swung forward. A wave of vibrant green energy surged ahead.

  The other Chosen spun his spear, his body flickering with green light as dozens of small thorns materialized in the air above him, all aimed at Zamian.

  Even if they were confident in close combat, relying solely on it would be reckless. It was smarter to attack from a distance, wearing down the enemy’s essence and probing for weaknesses.

  Zamian saw each attack unfold as if in slow motion.

  His enhanced vision allowed him to perceive essence in motion, so he saw the sword-wielder's energy rushing toward him before the green wave had even left the greatsword.

  The battlefield lost all color.

  Everything was smeared in white, while waves of green radiated from the Chosen, flowing like tides into their bodies and weapons.

  Tiny spheres of sound locked into his awareness—each representing a specific source, feeding him information in a flood.

  The Chosen’s rapid heartbeats.

  The absence of other prisoners in this section.

  Footsteps in the distance, rushing toward them.

  And then, Zamian’s instincts screamed.

  His gaze snapped to the floating thorns above the spear user.

  He felt only a gentle stream of essence flowing from them, seemingly harmless.

  But with his vision, he saw something else.

  The spear was absorbing wave after wave of essence, holding it back, building it up.

  Compared to the sword-wielder’s swift, direct attack, it was like comparing a breeze to a coming storm.

  Without hesitation, Zamian lunged toward the spear user in a flash of light.

  Both Chosen were startled by his sudden burst of speed.

  The sword attack missed completely, slamming into the root-covered wall with a violent impact. A deep burn mark was left behind as the tunnel shook from the force.

  The greatsword user grunted, adjusting his stance, gripping his weapon with both hands, and pushing off the ground to intercept Zamian.

  Meanwhile, the spear user kept spinning his weapon. The glow around it had intensified—no longer a soft green, but pulsing with a dark, ominous light.

  Zamian heard and saw the sword-wielder’s movement. His instincts warned him—his left shoulder would be struck next.

  But his focus never left the spear user, and his preparation was done.

  Zamian’s right fist was already clenched, his grasping motion complete, his body coiled like a spring, ready to strike.

  He flashed in a burst of white light, and both Chosen’s instincts screamed in alarm.

  The spear-wielder reacted first, releasing his thorns in a panicked rush, channeling his gathered essence into them before his technique was even fully formed. At the same time, he kicked off the ground, trying to create distance from the glowing white fist hurtling toward his face.

  The sword-wielder roared, his greatsword suddenly expanding in size, green veins surging across its surface in a blink. His essence flared wildly, fueled by fear.

  Their instincts, which had shifted from silence to mild caution, now screamed their impending doom.

  With a thunderous crack, the greatsword struck Zamian.

  But instead of cutting into his shoulder, it slammed into his lower back, cracking his bone-like skin.

  The swordsman’s eyes bulged in shock.

  Instead of a young and naked man, he was now seeing a towering and faceless white creature, who had just driven a giant fist straight into his companion’s head—reducing it to a mist of blood and bone.

  The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

  Zamian, his transformed body looming over the remaining Chosen, turned his smooth, eyeless face toward his remaining opponent.

  Thorns, still dripping with liquid green essence, had punctured his chest and abdomen, embedding themselves in his carapace but failing to pierce the muscles beneath.

  Judging he had no time to move his right hand, Zamian slashed with his left, the half-transformed limb shifting into a gleaming white blade as it met the incoming greatsword.

  The swordsman roared again, his weapon crashing down, waves of green fire erupting from it, clashing with Zamian’s white essence.

  Each strike forced Zamian back, his feet cracking the wooden floor beneath him from the sheer impact. The cave walls trembled as the two exchanged blow after blow, the confined space amplifying the force of their clash.

  The Chosen’s green fire didn’t burn in the traditional sense—it carried an intention, something deeper. It corroded Zamian’s body, not with heat but almost akin to acid, while simultaneously fueling his opponent, making each strike faster, heavier, more precise.

  In mere seconds, they had already exchanged dozens of blows.

  The swordsman was skilled, his technique relentless, forcing Zamian backward, inch by inch, toward a hole in the cavern floor, even as the young cultivator used both of his transformed hands.

  His instincts sharpened, whispering at him to correct his flaws, and he was constantly improving—but so was his enemy.

  On top of that, cracks had begun forming on Zamian’s hands.

  He was on the verge of losing, relying on his enhanced senses to keep up with his opponent’s sword technique and ever-growing strength, as the green, heatless fire spread through the Chosen’s body.

  But Zamian had no intention of letting the battle drag on.

  So, he used his hidden attack.

  From the glowing hole in his chest, a fist-sized white orb shot forward, spinning wildly toward his opponent.

  The timing was precise. Zamian released it in the exact moment after one of the Chosen’s attacks—a small opening that his enhanced vision could see but that his arms couldn’t yet exploit.

  Unless, of course, the Chosen got distracted.

  The sword-wielder reacted instantly. He twisted his body, using the weight of his weapon to pull himself to Zamian’s left, trying to minimize the chance of the orb striking anything vital.

  The amount of essence radiating from the projectile was negligible, but he wasn’t about to take any chances. He lifted his greatsword in an upward sweep, partially shielding his view as he maneuvered away.

  That was his first mistake.

  The white orb struck his left shoulder, and for a split second, he froze.

  His body flared with green light as he instinctively battled against the sudden force siphoning his essence.

  His instincts screamed at him, warning of another attack. He leaned back, attempting to dodge the incoming strike.

  That was his second mistake.

  Zamian’s straight stab suddenly veered downward, his wrist relaxing mid-motion, redirecting the attack.

  Instead of aiming for the swordsman’s out-of-reach head, it targeted his target’s neck.

  The Chosen’s battle-hardened mind reacted in an instant.

  He made his decision.

  If he pushed through his own sweep, his greatsword would still land on Zamian’s shoulder. After all, Zamian had to lean in to reach him.

  And for defense, he channeled more essence into his wooden armor, willing it to flare with protective flames and expand around his neck.

  That was his final mistake.

  The moment he sent essence into his armor, the white orb spinning inside his left shoulder accelerated, devouring every drop of essence he willed to go to his armor.

  The Chosen’s instincts roared in alarm.

  And for a whole second, he did nothing—completely focused on stopping the orb from draining more of his essence.

  If he had more time, maybe he could have found a way to expel it.

  But that one second was all he would ever have.

  Zamian’s right hand pierced the man’s throat.

  His left hand slashed across the Chosen’s neck.

  Silently, cleanly, the sword-wielder’s head detached from his body, as his hands instinctively moved, hitting Zamian’s shoulder with his last attack, even if weaker than the previous ones.

  Before the head could hit the ground, Zamian had already kicked off, shooting forward like a white blur, rushing past the spear-wielder’s lifeless, headless corpse.

  He was already heading toward the approaching footsteps.

  Meanwhile, the spinning white orb continued its work, draining every last drop of essence from the fallen swordsman.

  Only five seconds had passed since Zamian left the White Tower.

  Darkness reclaimed the tunnel.

  The walls were scarred with burned streaks, the floor cracked and cratered from the sheer force of the battle, and broken roots lay scattered across the ground, as two headless bodies lay silently inside the God’s Root.

  ‘Strong,’ Zamian thought, willing the White Dot to show his stats as he took a few turns in the maze-like roots surrounding him. He calculated that he had only a few seconds before meeting whoever was rushing in his direction.

  PERSONAL INFORMATION

  Name: Zamian Greenfield

  Level: 4 [78%]

  Tier: Mortal

  Main Pathway: Knowledge

  Title: Insightful

  STATS POINTS

  Body: 12000/24000

  Mind: 16000/24000

  Soul: 13400/24000

  Zamian's faceless visage showed no reaction as he dismissed the text and sighed internally.

  ‘Too strong. Those green flames and sword attacks damaged my body, but it was those little thorns that caused most of the decrease in my soul points,’ he recalled, analyzing the complexity behind those attacks.

  ‘Lin Zhi always said techniques had intentions, not just intent. There was a mix of desires, feelings, and something more on those attacks,’ he thought, a sudden memory about his breakthrough coming to mind. ‘Those lines I saw, the ones that form my technique, are composed of words, yes, but there’s much more to them than that.’

  Using his Nameless Physique, he checked his body.

  ‘My hands are covered in cracks, there’s a searing mark on my shoulder from that last attack that barely hit, and worst of all, my lower back and the tubes in that area are not just broken but pulsing with pain,’ he laughed inwardly. ‘At least I still have my head.’

  Sensing his enemy approaching, Zamian slowed down and controlled his thoughts, preventing them from falling into disarray.

  There was a corner ahead, where a green glow was already visible.

  Zamian didn’t believe for a second that his enemy couldn’t see in the dark, so he didn’t try to manipulate the Light’s essence to dim the brightness around him either.

  In fact, he was counting on it.

  Slowing his pace, he flashed white light, commanding his orb to return.

  A second later, an enemy appeared in front of him, with a green line above his head similar to the previous duo.

  [LEVEL 4 - MORTAL TIER - CREATION PATHWAY]

  They rushed toward each other.

  On one side, a glowing, faceless being with a smooth, white body smeared with black and green marks—its skin resembling bone, covering its massive muscles.

  This creature, which had been running silently, suddenly stomped with such force that the cave trembled, momentarily slowing its advance.

  Not only that, but its hands gleamed, morphing into two blades, while its entire body pulsed with thousands of veins flowing with essence—yet not a single trace of it leaked out.

  On the other side, a long-haired man clad in wooden armor, his eyes and body glowing a deep green light as he charged forward.

  Hundreds of green leaves swirled around him.

  He waved a wooden spear with a gleaming green leaf at its tip, holding it with his left hand. His expression remained unmoved despite Zamian’s strange appearance.

  The leaves surrounding him danced in response to his movement, gathering at the place where his right arm should have been—forming a colossal hand composed of countless shifting leaves.

  Zamian shouted, his voice a cacophony of dozens of people of different ages and tones, speaking from all directions and distances.

  “Fern!”

  Chosen Fern merely waved with his morphed hand, the leaves slicing through the air, producing a high-pitched noise.

  If it had been just a single leaf, it would have been an annoying sound.

  But with hundreds of them moving at such speed, the noise alone was enough to disorient most targets.

  For Zamian, however, it was just a matter of quick adjustments to his enhanced hearing.

  Seeing the flow of essence more than just feeling it, Zamian kicked the ground, creating a massive crater as he used his speed to close the distance with Fern.

  He had previously slowed his advance, hoping his attacker would miscalculate and fail to account for his increased speed.

  However, Zamian himself had miscalculated his enemy's wide area of attack.

  By rushing toward Fern, the best he could do was evade most of the flying leaves, but avoiding them all was impossible.

  His mind racing, Zamian swung his arms, pushing his senses to their limit, slashing and sweeping as his hands clashed against the sharp leaves closest to his face.

  And the ones he couldn’t stop?

  With crisp punctures and muted thuds, most leaves burrowed deep into the ground, forming the outline of a massive five-fingered hand, while others sliced into Zamian.

  Faint cracks marred the bone-like skin on his arms, while his shoulders, abdomen, and torso were riddled with dozens of glowing green leaves, embedded deep into his muscles.

  Each leaf pulsed with a soft green light, sending waves of essence into Zamian’s body, infused with Fern’s intentions.

  His white veins dimmed, his Light’s essence thrown into disarray, deviating from its usual flow.

  Meanwhile, Fern, seeing that his opponent hadn’t retaliated with a ranged attack, took a step back, waving his spear toward Zamian.

  The weapon glowed with a deep green hue, descending in a swift arc toward Zamian’s head.

  At the same time, the green leaves buried in the ground trembled.

  They were about to return to Fern—and, more importantly, to strike Zamian from behind.

  Zamian’s focus remained locked on the flow of essence, both inside and outside of him, while his white orb sped through the maze-like tunnels behind him, its speed unmatched.

  As the leaves shot up from the ground, hurtling toward his back, and Fern’s spear descended toward his empowered skull, Zamian screamed inwardly, his instincts roaring in unison, detecting the spike of energy zooming in his direction from further behind.

  ‘Now!’