The air was crisp, carrying the scent of damp earth and fresh leaves. Perched on a thick branch of a colossal tree, Zamian remained still, his breath shallow as he peered down. Every muscle in his body was taut with concentration—until the rustling behind him shattered his focus.
"Uh… What are you even doing up here, Z?"
Bohlo’s deep voice rumbled through the quiet night, completely failing at discretion.
Zamian’s heart lurched. He whipped his head around, glaring daggers at the broad-shouldered man who had just climbed up. Bohlo, as always, was bare-chested, his tanned skin gleaming under the faint green glow from below. Zamian pressed a finger to his lips, his bloodshot eyes sharp with warning.
"Shut up, Bohlo," he hissed, motioning for his friend to crouch beside him.
With a sigh, Bohlo dropped down onto his forearms, his brawny frame shifting the branch ever so slightly. He followed Zamian’s gaze downward, his expression curious—until his brows shot up in realization.
Below them, Clerics—beautiful, naked women tasked with performing sacred rituals—moved in a mesmerizing dance around a young sapling. The flickering light of their technique cast long, fluid shadows over the ground.
The sapling, already the height of a fully grown tree, pulsed with a soft green glow. Tendrils of luminous mist wove from the Clerics into its bark, wrapping around it like ghostly vines and deepening its natural hue.
Bohlo smirked.
"Little friend, hate to break it to you, but from up here, we can’t even—"
He trailed off when he caught the deep furrow in Zamian’s brow. The intensity in his friend’s eyes was unnerving, and now that he got a closer look, Zamian looked pale, exhausted even. Bohlo's amusement faded.
From this height, the chants of the Clerics were little more than whispers lost in the wind. The flickering figures below could have easily been insects scuttling about, for all the detail they could make out.
Bohlo shifted his weight, glancing between Zamian and the ritual below. His leg started to tremble from the uncomfortable position. He sighed. Then sighed again. He even hummed a little tune—until Zamian’s icy glare shut him up.
"If you can’t be quiet, then leave, you stupid oak," Zamian muttered, barely sparing him a glance before refocusing.
Even for him, distinguishing the figures below was difficult with the naked eye. Their lack of clothing was only perceptible by the contrast of their skin against the dark forest backdrop.
But for Zamian, that wasn’t a problem.
Because hovering above each figure, no matter the distance, was a floating green line.
And when he focused, the text sharpened and expanded before his eyes:
[LEVEL 1 - MORTAL TIER - CREATION PATHWAY]
[LEVEL 1 - MORTAL TIER - CREATION PATHWAY]
[LEVEL 2 - MORTAL TIER - CREATION PATHWAY]
[LEVEL 1 - MORTAL TIER - CREATION PATHWAY]
...
Among the twelve Clerics below, only three had reached Level 2.
Zamian had noticed the same green text hovering above Bohlo’s round head just moments earlier.
He had studied the rules of the ritual beforehand—cross-referencing them with his own experiences before arriving at this tree. From that, he knew Level 1 marked commoners, while Level 2 denoted the Enlightened.
Bohlo snorted. “Why are you ogling them from all the way up here? You’re an Enlightened, for Verdant’s sake! We could just stroll into one of the restricted baths.” His lips curled into a smirk. “Some of them would beg for your attention! We could even charge for it—”
“Leave.” Zamian’s voice was sharp, his patience running thin. “Or. Be. Quiet.”
Bohlo held up his hands in mock surrender, but the smirk never left his face.
Zamian ignored him, shifting his focus back to the ritual. Instead of lingering on the Clerics, he studied the flow of energy, tracking its movement with trained eyes.
The green text labels floating above commoners and cultivators alike irritated him. ‘Why even mark those who hadn’t cultivated yet? What was the blighting point?’ he cursed inwardly.
‘It would be far more useful if the sapling had some kind of designation,’ he thought, his gaze flicking to the luminous tree below. Its level, tier, or Pathway—anything.
He exhaled sharply, narrowing his eyes at the glowing text.
‘Tier, I understand. We’re all mere mortals. But Pathway?’
His fingers tensed against the bark.
‘Would applying Nature Pathway to this strange system of floating words provoke the wrath of the Verdant God?’
A disturbing question.
Even if the thought had merit, Zamian doubted it mattered. The existence of this text—whatever it was—already defied sacred law. If the Verdant God intended to strike him down for it, He should have done so long ago.
And yet… he was still here.
Still breathing.
He had been breaking laws just by reading them. That alone should have cut his mortal cycle short.
But it hadn’t.
Zamian inhaled through his nose, and exhaled slowly.
Then, as expected, his gaze drifted toward the upper-right edge of his vision.
A tiny, whitish, fuzzy ball floated there, lingering at the periphery.
At his command, white text flickered into existence before his eyes.
PERSONAL INFORMATION
Name: Zamian Greenfield
Level: 2 [12%]
Tier: Mortal
Main Pathway: Creation
Title: None
STATS POINTS
Body: 8/20
Mind: 25/40
Soul: 38/40
REWARDS
Ancient Identify Technique (Passive)
Description: See the secrets beyond the limitations of time
QUEST LOG
Last Quest: Read 100 books in two local years
Reward: Ancient Identify Technique (Passive)
Status: Completed (100/100)
Main Quest: Destroy an Unholy Sapling before the end of the month
Reward: Special Physique (??)
Status: Ongoing (14 days left)
Zamian willed the text to vanish.
There was no point in overanalyzing every single line again. He had more important things to focus on.
One thing he could trust, though, was his stats.
‘I am blighted tired,’ he thought, rubbing his temples.
His gaze swept across the ceremonial site—the entrance in the distance, the thorned walls forming an unyielding perimeter, the Clerics moving in rhythmic patterns below—before landing on the sapling at the heart of it all.
The only one in the entire town that mattered.
‘Calling it unholy might get me sent to the Deep Ground…’
A smirk tugged at his lips.
'But I do admire your boldness, White Dot. This sapling is unholy.'
Below, streams of green essence flowed from each Cleric, spiraling into a vortex, with the sapling at its center. The luminous energy wove through the air, illuminating its bark in an unnatural glow.
The author's tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.
As the ritual neared its end, the outlines of its roots became visible beneath the soil. The Clerics slowed, their movements faltering. Some collapsed onto the grass, their exhaustion evident.
Attendants rushed in, draping ceremonial robes over the women’s bare forms.
Two figures, clad in wooden armor, stepped forward—taking positions on either side of the sapling.
Zamian’s brow furrowed. ‘There’s usually only one.’
He focused on the green text hovering above their heads.
[LEVEL 3 - MORTAL TIER - CREATION PATHWAY]
[LEVEL 3 - MORTAL TIER - CREATION PATHWAY]
His stomach sank.
‘Why two?’
Ignoring the unease curling in his gut, and seeing that the ritual had come to an end, he rose to his feet, expression darkening.
“Failure. Again.”
It didn’t matter how many times he observed this ritual. There was no loophole. No weakness. No opening to act.
Bohlo snorted. “What? No, that was a success. A simple Nurture Ritual, wasn’t it?” His gaze flicked between Zamian and the clearing below, utterly lost.
Zamian exhaled sharply, rubbing his temples. “Not that, Bohlo. My trip here—that’s the failure I’m talking about. Just a waste of time and essence.” His voice carried an edge of frustration. “Anyway, why are you even here?”
Bohlo stretched, rolling his shoulders. “Oh, right. Your father’s looking for you. The Lord told me to remind you about his tea.” He chuckled, scratching his cheek as he casually strolled toward the massive tree trunk. “You know how he gets without it. A little… weird.”
Zamian’s eyes widened. “Oh blight, I forgot!” He rushed ahead of Bohlo, words tumbling out in rapid succession. “I should’ve believed him when he said some Clerics were busy at the Stargazing Tree. Did you know the stars are slowing down?”
He shot a glance back.
Bohlo was smiling absently, his gaze unfocused, clearly unbothered.
“You don’t care, do you?” Zamian muttered.
Bohlo grinned. “Z, I’m a simple man—if you need someone to climb, dig, or eat something, I’m your guy.” He pressed both hands against the tree trunk, flexing his fingers against the bark.
Zamian sighed, placing his own hands beside Bohlo’s. “Like my trip here, Bohlo, you are also a waste of essence.” A smirk tugged at his lips.
A green glow pulsed in their chests, surging down their arms, settling into their palms.
Together, they chanted:
"Nature is the Cycle, so our path is never-ending. Nature is the Creation, so our path is ever strong. Nature is the Truth, so our path is the only one."
As the words left his lips, Zamian focused on the first time he had ever touched a tree—its rough bark, the earthy scent, the quiet strength beneath its surface.
Warmth spread through his hands. His skin darkened, taking on the texture of wood, fusing with the tree from his fingertips to his forearms.
Bohlo snorted. “You’re blighted tired, Z!”
Zamian glanced at him. Bohlo’s bare arms had also transformed, but the wood-like texture stretched from his fingertips all the way to his shoulders.
“If you ever focus on something too long, even your pee-pee would stop working, B,” Zamian deadpanned, rolling his eyes.
Bohlo barked out a laugh.
“Come on,” Zamian continued, shaking off his fatigue. “I need to grab the old man’s tea leaves and get some rest.”
Bohlo stretched his arms overhead, the wooden texture receding as he softened his essence. “Yep. Down we go.”
Zamian shook his head, amused.
Together, they began making their way along the massive branch, circling the colossal tree trunk.
When the branch finally tapered off, they peered down, scanning for any signs of movement.
Nothing.
With a shared nod, they leapt.
Zamian’s hands, still fused with the wood, adapted to his will—hardening to grip the bark, softening just enough to slide when needed. His feet pressed against the tree’s rough surface as he rebounded in controlled bursts, using the Everbark Technique to slow his descent.
Green essence pulsed through his limbs, steady as a heartbeat.
Each push sent him further from the trunk, the rhythm ingrained in his body like second nature. Sweat gathered at his brow, but he forced himself to stay focused—one misstep and he’d slam against the bark or plummet outright.
As the ground rushed up to meet him, he let go, freeing his hands from the tree’s hold and landing with a controlled impact.
He dropped into a crouch, catching his breath.
A moment later, Bohlo landed beside him—far less graceful, though he barely seemed winded. He reached into a shaded nook near the roots and pulled out a wooden bowl, filled to the brim with clear, cool water.
“Here. Drink.” He shoved it into Zamian’s hands.
Zamian took a grateful sip before raising an eyebrow and drinking everything.
“Where the blight did you get this?” Zamian asked.
“From my pe—”
The bowl hit Bohlo square in the chest before he could finish.
“Oof—hey!” Bohlo feigned offense, catching the empty container with ease. He sent a pulse of green energy through it, softening the wood before molding it into a bracer around his right forearm.
Zamian shook his head. “One day, Bohlo. One day, I’ll stop falling for that.”
“Doubt it,” Bohlo said smugly. “Anyway, I left the bowl here before climbing up. I’m good at hiding stuff, you know.”
Zamian barely processed his words, rubbing his temples as fatigue settled into his limbs.
“You look even worse after drinking that. Want me to carry you?” Bohlo asked, tilting his head. For once, his teasing tone was absent.
“Just… let me rest a bit,” Zamian muttered, massaging his face with both hands.
Bohlo plopped down beside him with a satisfied grunt. “No worries, little Z. Bohlo’s here to keep you company.”
Zamian groaned.
“By the way,” Bohlo continued, voice far too casual, “how did you even get all the way up there, anyway? You didn’t tell me about your… daily activities.” His gaze turned sly. “Dude, don’t look at me like that.”
Zamian pinched the bridge of his nose. “Bohlo.”
Bohlo leaned in. “Ogling is foolish.”
Zamian closed his eyes.
“Doing it on holy ground?” Bohlo continued. “Even more foolish.”
A deep inhale.
“And being so far away you can’t even see them properly? That’s—”
“If you say ‘the most foolish,’ I swear I will beat you,” Zamian warned.
Bohlo laughed. “I’m just saying, if you have needs, I know places, I can always give you a helping hand—”
Zamian’s glared.
“…That sentence came out wrong,” Bohlo admitted.
“No kidding,” Zamian muttered.
They sat in silence for a moment, the air still cool from the shade of the colossal tree.
Then, Zamian exhaled, shaking his head. “Alright, dumb oak. How did you find me?”
Bohlo grinned. “What, you think I just wandered here by accident? Please. I’m naturally attuned to… well, Nature.”
Zamian scoffed.
“My talent is unmatched,” Bohlo continued, puffing out his chest. “And following your trail? Simple.”
Zamian raised an eyebrow.
Bohlo smirked. “Because. I. Am. The. Best.”
Zamian looked unimpressed.
“…Okay, fine,” Bohlo admitted. “Your father may have pointed me in the right direction. Let’s just say he was very specific.”
“Of course he was.” Zamian exhaled, shaking his head.
His frustration lingered, but there was no point dwelling on it. “If it wasn’t the lack of tea, he wouldn’t have sent you after me.” He leaned back against the tree, rubbing his temples. “Well, I need to go home anyway. Cultivating, getting stronger, becoming a Zealot—you know, the usual easy stuff.”
Out of habit, his gaze flicked to the right corner of his vision.
‘Maybe that White Dot could help make it faster?’
Bohlo, meanwhile, grinned and flexed. “No worries, my pale friend! With your brains and my natural power—” He kissed one bicep, then the other. “We’ll both be Zealots soon. Maybe even, with Verdant’s grace, Chosen!”
Zamian scoffed. “Your foolishness can’t be from birth, right? Maybe if I smashed my head against this root, I’d be as carefree as you.”
“Don’t do it. You’ve got a decent head on your shoulders. Not as handsome as mine, but close.” Bohlo smirked before wagging a finger at him. “Just cut back on the ogling before it gets you in trouble. And focus on your cultivation, eat well, sleep more, and—”
Zamian groaned loudly.
“—and don’t forget to—”
“Okay, I get it!” Zamian sat up, exasperated. “Stop counting. I swear if you reach eleven, we’ll be here until the next cycle.”
Bohlo chuckled, satisfied.
Zamian leaned back onto the forest floor, letting the cool, dry leaves cushion him. Overhead, the sky glowed in its eerie greenish-white hue, devoid of clouds, devoid of stars.
He hated those white leaves.
‘From here to the market is at least forty thousand steps. Getting home? Another ten thousand.’ He sighed. ‘That’s exhausting.’
But he pushed through his fatigue and sat up again, rolling his shoulders. “Alright, I’ve rested enough. We should get going. Come on, big guy.”
Silence.
Zamian turned.
Bohlo was slumped against a giant root, dozing off.
“I should be annoyed,” Zamian muttered, standing up. “But I’m just envious.”
He strode over and nudged Bohlo’s leg with the tip of his boot.
“Wake up, little flower.”
Bohlo grumbled something incoherent.
“We need to head to the tunnels,” Zamian continued. “And you need to show me how you hid the essence around your bracer. It’s a neat trick if it can dodge a Zealot’s detection.”
Bohlo stirred, blinking blearily. “Uh? Tunnels? What?” He rubbed his eyes. “I just turned it into a ball of wood, put water inside through a little hole, and buried it—”
Zamian’s blood ran cold.
He didn’t wait for Bohlo to finish.
His body moved before his mind could process it, instincts coming to life and screaming at him to move.
He bolted.
Goosebumps prickled his skin as he pushed through the underbrush, ignoring the confused shouts behind him.
Bohlo scrambled to his feet, barreling after him. “What the blight, Z?! Where are you—”
Zamian didn’t slow down.
‘Too careless. Too reckless. If anyone sensed the bracer’s essence—’
But his thought was cut short as he burst through the last thicket of leaves.
And skidded to a stop.
A woman stood before them, rigid as carved wood.
She was clad in wooden armor, her intricately carved spear pressed into the soil at her side. The air around her felt still—too still.
Zamian’s stomach sank.
Even if the armor hadn’t given it away, the glowing green text floating above her head left no room for doubt.
[LEVEL 3 - MORTAL TIER - CREATION PATHWAY]
Zamian dropped to his knees instantly, lowering his head but keeping his back straight. Beside him, Bohlo had already caught up and done the same.
“This Enlightened one greets the soil stepped by the Zealot, wishing for the sacred light of Verdant to shine through your family's leaves forever,” Zamian spoke first, his tone steady despite the cold weight pressing on his chest.
Bohlo, slightly behind, scrambled to catch up. “Yes—uh, the same! Same greeting! Light, leaves, Verdant—forever and all that!”
The Zealot slammed the butt of her spear against the ground. The impact reverberated through the earth, making the roots tremble beneath them.
“This Zealot hears the sound leaving your mouths,” she intoned, her voice like carved stone. “Rise to the light of Verdant, both of you.”
Zamian obeyed, standing slowly. Bohlo followed, though his stance was noticeably stiffer.
The Zealot’s gaze never left them. A dark green glow pulsed at the center of her chest, shining through the wooden plates of her armor before condensing into the length of her spear.
Then she struck the earth.
Thin brown vines erupted from the ground, slithering up Zamian’s and Bohlo’s legs, locking them in place.
Zamian clenched his jaw.
‘Oh blight,’ he thought. ‘A Zealot who knows more than just Nature’s Embrace.’
“As a Guardian of the Colossal Erasmus,” the Zealot continued, her voice unwavering, “I am empowered to end the mortal cycles of thieves, rapists, murderers, and trespassers as I see fit—by decree of the Verdant God.”
Her glowing green eyes darkened, shifting to something deeper, more ominous. The vines tightened around Zamian’s legs.
The sensation was worse than pain.
It was pulling at something inside him, draining—like his insides were being devoured.
He forced himself to stay still, not daring to resist.
“But first,” the Zealot said, halting her technique just before the vines reached true harm, “I shall hear your explanation before enforcing God’s rightful punishment.”
Zamian’s mind raced.
He swallowed.
Slowly, he looked up at her, measuring her expression. Stern. Uncaring.
His shoulders tensed.
‘Bohlo, either she ends your mortal cycle, or I will!’
Before he could open his mouth, however, a white text flickered into view before his eyes.
New Side Quest (!): Get home before dinner time
Reward: Abyssal Leaf
Status: Ongoing (6 hours left)
(!) Failure to complete this quest will bring a Level 4 Calamity
“…?!”
