Zamian laughed as he sat cross-legged in front of Clarice, green essence gathering around and inside him as he cultivated, controlling the subtle movements of his body.
The bronze-skinned outsider, now bearing more bruises than before, hugged herself tightly. Pressing her back against the wooden wall behind her, she glared at him with wide, shaken eyes.
“You are a monster!” she shouted, her voice breaking.
Zamian waved his hand dismissively, pointing at the spot in front of him. “Coming from you, that should be a compliment,” he said, smiling. “Now sit.”
Trembling, Clarice obeyed, lowering herself to the floor. Her gaze was far more fearful than before. “How… how do you do it?” she asked, her voice strained.
“Stop wasting time. I have some things to confirm,” Zamian said cheerfully.
“How do you always know when I’m lying?” she shrieked, clutching her stomach—the primary target of most of Zamian’s punches over the past hours.
Clicking his tongue, Zamian tilted his head. “Did I hit you too hard? Why are you asking such a stupid question?”
Clarice felt like she was living in a nightmare.
The young man in front of her was undoubtedly strong. He had dealt with a handful of Great Warriors far too easily for a mere Zealot. Yet, she was no stranger to power. As a concubine of the Oasis’ Sultan—a man who had Warlords at his beck and call—Clarice had seen many powerful cultivators and witnessed their devastating techniques
Even though Zamian’s strength and skill were undeniable, placing him among the top Zealots and Great Warriors she had encountered, he wouldn’t have made her top three. And that didn’t even factor in the Warlords, who stood leagues above such ranks.
But none of that mattered.
Over the past couple of hours, during his relentless interrogation, Clarice had come to fear Zamian almost as much as the Sultan himself. There was something about him—something she couldn’t explain.
“This doesn’t make sense!” she muttered, her lips trembling. “My expressions, my tone, my timing… everything… it was always perfect… How…”
When Zamian had started questioning her about the Oasis and its secrets, she’d tried to reveal just enough to satisfy him, without exposing anything critical. When she omitted information, he seemed indifferent. But whenever she outright lied, he caught her every time.
Not only did he catch her, but he pressed even harder. He asked sharper, broader questions, like the sand slowly but surely devouring someone’s body.
Each time she tried to conceal something—be it about the Sultan, Ruen, the other Warlord children, or anything else—he found the cracks in her words.
Not only that, but it seemed he was learning as he interrogated her. What began as the fumblings of an untrained rookie had turned into calculated questions of someone who was quickly gaining practice.
She had seen cunning interrogators before, but this… this was different.
“Let me confirm this first,” Zamian said sharply, clapping his hands once. The sudden sound made Clarice flinch and look at him, wide-eyed. “You’re just a pretty plaything, one of the dozens of the Sultan’s concubines. Nowhere near the prestige of his three official wives. That’s right?”
Clarice nodded. Any anger or shame she might have felt had long since been buried under hours of fear.
“Besides information, your use as a captive is… very limited,” Zamian said with a nod, moving quickly to his next question. “The Sultan has one child from each wife, and he personally trained them alongside his trusted Warlords. This Ruen acts like he owns the Oasis, so his powerful father let him join the invasion to see if the boy would learn something. Hey, pay attention.”
Clarice’s eyes, which had started to glaze over, snapped back into focus as she nodded hastily. “Yes, Ruen is powerful, but his brother and sister are more talented than him.”
“I’ve got everything you know about the other Warlords and important personnel,” Zamian said, waving his hand dismissively. “You don’t know much about the Sultan’s secrets, but tell me again—he doesn’t cultivate the Earth Pathway?” His tone was uncertain, even as he confirmed before she wasn’t lying about this.
Clarice slowly shook her head. “No, he doesn’t. I saw him deal with a few leaders of other underground camps while he was unifying the desert people under the Oasis, and…” She paused, biting her lips nervously. “A wave of gray color left him, and they just stood frozen before dropping dead…”
Zamian abruptly stood, his sudden movement causing Clarice to cower. She threw her hands over her bruised face, her voice trembling as she exclaimed, “It’s the truth! You know it!”
Halting his cultivation, Zamian shot her a puzzled look before willing the White Dot to display his information.
PERSONAL INFORMATION
Name: Zamian Greenfield
Level: 3 [50%]
Tier: Mortal
Main Pathway: Creation
Title: None
STATS POINTS
Body: 700/700
Mind: 350/600
Soul: 200/600
Dismissing the white text, Zamian thought, ‘My body seems to recover to a top condition as easily as I breathe, but… every time I use the Beginning of the Cycle technique, I lose body and mind points, along with the usual soul points. If I rest, I recover soul points, but not body points; if I cultivate, I recover body points, but then I spend soul points… Did they follow any pattern before I became a Zealot? It sure seemed like they went up and down whenever they wanted…’
Becoming confused by his straying thoughts, he lightly slapped his face. ‘Focus. Aunt Misandra’s killer can arrive at any moment, and he’s as strong as a Chosen. Last time, I managed to flee from the Warrior Chosen, but that’s because he wasn’t taking me seriously.’
Glancing at Clarice, who was staring at him, Zamian waved dismissively. She flinched.
‘Yep, I’m becoming cruel,’ Zamian frowned. ‘Should I consider this a problem?’
After reflecting for a moment, he shook his head. ‘No, it’s a blessing in disguise,’ he concluded.
“Will he arrive in less than seven days?” Zamian asked.
“He… he should be here already. I don’t know why he hasn’t arrived yet,” she answered, her voice trembling.
Humming, Zamian nodded and approached her, grabbing her by the waist and lifting her onto his shoulder, her face turned toward his back. Clarice didn’t resist, simply closing her eyes.
“Let’s go to that hidden cave of yours and see what kind of surprises we can prepare for the Sultan’s son, okay?” Zamian said. “In the meantime, we’re going to talk about Ruen. The things you’ve seen him do, what he cares about, the tales about him, nasty rumors, his techniques… everything.”
Clarice whimpered her agreement as a wall of white text appeared in front of Zamian:
New Side Quest: Kill a Level 4 Mortal
Reward: +400 free stat points
Status: Ongoing (3 days left)
Zamian grinned and muttered at the White Dot, “If I’d known a little hard talk and punch-throwing would make you my friend, I should make you call me daddy to see what you give me.”
“I’ll call you daddy! Just don’t kill me, please!” Clarice shouted desperately.
“…I was joking,” Zamian said awkwardly, coughing into his free hand. “Anyway, tell me again about Ruen’s specialty. He can make massive spheres?”
As Zamian and Clarice continued their conversation, the young cultivator carried the outsider in the direction of the sapling he had only eight days left to destroy if he wanted to complete his Main Quest.
Zamian perched on a thick branch of a giant tree, his body tense as he peered down with unyielding focus. When the sound of rustling came from behind him, he didn’t flinch, muttering, “Stop worrying. The branch is big enough to build a house on it.”
“Please, please. Take me to the ground. I’m begging you!” Clarice pleaded, gripping a vine as she tried—and failed—to stay still.
“I’ve noticed you get dumber the more out of control a situation seems,” Zamian said without turning. “Asking me to take you to the ground? I could just push you off from here.”
Clarice paled, her grip tightening on the vine.
“Don’t worry,” Zamian said, biting into a fruit as his gaze swept over the destroyed forest ahead. He glanced briefly at the barren land below, where uprooted trees and forcibly shifted soil painted a different picture from how this place was two days ago. “You need to stay alive to confirm if the Warlord coming is really Ruen.”
“Why does it matter? Won’t you fight whoever shows up?” Clarice asked, her voice laced with frustration.
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“Of course, I will,” Zamian replied coldly, shooting her a brief glare before returning his focus to the ground below. “But if it’s that vermin Ruen, he’ll get special treatment.”
Clarice sighed heavily. “Can we at least go to the ground for an hour? We’ve been up here for almost a day already! Don’t forget, I don’t have a single drop of essence left in me, and you did all that with the cave–” Her complaint was cut short by Zamian’s cold chuckle.
“They’re here,” he muttered, his sharp eyes locked on seven black dots that appeared to be emerging from the earth itself, moving swiftly across the lands ravaged by the wave of earth and vines days ago, heading straight for the Erasmus Colossal Tree.
As always, even in this distance, Zamian could see lines above each cultivator as soon as they came into view. These lines glowed faint brown.
He quickly read them all. Six of the figures had the expected text.
[LEVEL 3 - MORTAL TIER - ATTACHED PATHWAY].
But the seventh figure—the one in the middle while the others seem to divide themselves in two groups—was different.
[LEVEL 4 - MORTAL TIER - ATTACHED PATHWAY]
A slow smile crept across Zamian’s face as he willed the White Dot to display his information.
PERSONAL INFORMATION
Name: Zamian Greenfield
Level: 3 [80%]
Tier: Mortal
Main Pathway: Creation
Title: None
STATS POINTS
Body: 700/700
Mind: 600/600
Soul: 400/600
Dismissing the text, he mused, ‘Yep. Cultivating while focusing on being a Farmer and doing visualization might work better.’ A wry smile tugged at his lips. ‘It would be the death of me if I try to do it in the wrong place, though. I completely lose awareness of my surroundings, and this blighted woman could flee and spill everything to the others if… no, when she realized my situation if I dared to cultivate like that in front of her.’
His glare shifted to Clarice—who was clutching a vine tightly while perched on the Colossal Tree’s branch.
Standing up, Zamian announced mockingly, “Visitors are coming, Mistress.”
Without hesitation, he grabbed her by the waist and tucked her under his arm, eliciting a startled yelp from her. “We need to confirm our main guest’s presence and prepare a proper reception for them.”
Three outsiders entered the clearing, their gazes sweeping over the destroyed tree’s stumps before settling on the towering sapling in the center.
“That’s the one?” asked the tallest of the group, his face obscured by cloth like his companions. His attire left his hands and feet exposed, revealing coarse, bronze skin.
“I believe so,” the one on the left replied hesitantly, his tone uncertain. “I’ll inform the Prince. You should locate the cave.”
Unlike when Zamian had been there, the area was now almost barren. Even the majority of the stumps of fallen trees had mysteriously vanished, leaving only disturbed soil and a wide path of destruction leading from the Colossal Tree’s sapling toward the massive roots of the Erasmus Colossal Tree. The sapling itself stood unscathed, eerily.
As the third outsider departed, the remaining two exchanged wary glances. Their bodies flickered with a faint brown hue as they occasionally channeled essence.
Three outsiders entered the clearing, their gazes sweeping over the destroyed trees before settling on the towering sapling in the center.
“That’s the one?” asked the tallest of the group, his face obscured by cloth like his companions. His attire left his hands and feet exposed, revealing coarse, sun-darkened skin.
“I believe so,” the one on the left replied hesitantly, his tone uncertain. “I’ll inform the Prince. You should locate the cave.”
Unlike when Zamian had been there, the area was now almost barren. Even the stumps of fallen trees had mysteriously vanished, leaving only disturbed soil and a wide path of destruction leading from the Colossal Tree’s sapling toward the massive roots of the Erasmus Colossal Tree. The sapling itself stood unscathed, an eerie monument amid the chaos.
As the third outsider departed, the remaining two exchanged wary glances. Their bodies flickered with a faint brown hue as they occasionally channeled essence.
“Do you feel it?” the larger outsider asked, stomping a foot on the ground and focusing on the vibrations that echoed back.
“It’s strange…” the smaller one murmured, confused. “Why would they make such a large cave here? The soil’s too thin for it. And where’s the entrance?”
As they ventured closer to the sapling—now the size of a mature tree—they noticed a figure lying beneath one of the Colossal Tree’s roots far ahead. The root, blanketed in dense foliage and twigs, partially obscured the figure. It wasn’t until they drew nearer that they recognized the tattered remains of Mistress Clarice’s clothing, barely covering her battered body.
“Mistress Clarice!” they cried in unison, rushing to her side.
The smaller outsider dropped to his knees, trembling as he gently touched her bruised, blood-streaked form. Her stomach and cheeks were mottled with shades of purple and yellow, evidence of severe beatings.
“Oh dear Sultan, please… she can’t be dead,” the smaller man whispered, his hands shaking as he inspected her condition as respectfully as he could manage.
“Is she alive?” the larger man asked, hovering nearby, unsure how to help.
“Yes… Yes!” the smaller outsider stammered, his initial uncertainty giving way to relief. “Thank you, my Sultan! Thank you!”
“Good. We’ll bring her to the Prince,” the larger man said, scratching the back of his neck awkwardly, his gaze darting anywhere but at Clarice. “But…”
“I know,” the smaller one muttered, rising to his feet with a self-important air. “We can’t leave her here. Still, as Prince Ruen’s loyal followers, we must await his orders before taking action.”
“You idiot sandworms!” Both men froze and turned, startled, as Clarice’s furious glare bored into them. Despite her battered state, her voice carried undeniable authority.
“Why,” she hissed, her fury palpable, “did you say that name?”
Caught between confusion, bewilderment, and a tiny trace of concern, the outsiders hesitated, preparing to ask questions when a familiar laugh echoed from behind them.
“Hehehe, you found Auntie. Neat,” said a handsome young man with bronze skin and short brown hair. His eyes glowed faintly with a brown light, and the earth shifted beneath him even as his feet remained stationary. Unlike the simpler attire of most Oasis inhabitants, he was adorned with metal accessories—metallic bracers, golden necklaces, silver earrings, and multicolored rings.
Behind him, four Great Warriors followed closely, whispering among themselves and appearing puzzled by their surroundings.
“Prince,” the duo near Clarice nodded toward the young man. The smaller of the two began to explain, “Yes, we did, but some—” His words were cut short when an overwhelming surge of Nature’s essence flared close to him. He froze, startled.
The larger outsider, reacting instantly, summoned two Bounded Spheres glowing with brown essence and launched them toward the source of the spike.
The Great Warriors, still grasping the situation, were a breath too slow. They began gathering essence but hadn’t yet acted. Meanwhile, the handsome man, Prince Ruen, raised his hand calmly. A massive ball of earth, twice the size of an average human, emerged beside him. The ball shot out with impossible speed, leaving a deep hole in the ground as it barreled toward the target.
With a wave of Ruen’s hand, the dust cloud that followed his attack dispersed, revealing what they had hit: a section of the Colossal Tree’s massive root, just to the left of Clarice’s position.
“Back away!” Clarice screamed, her face contorted with terror as she rolled away from her spot and scrambled to her feet. “He’s here!”
As her panicked warning rang out, Zamian emerged from a hollowed-out section of the Colossal Tree’s root. He had concealed himself beneath layers of debris and had been listening to everything. His plan had been simple: wait for Clarice to confirm the outsider’s identity and strike if she lied. He had promised her that she’d be the first to die if she dared deceive him.
With his Beginning of the Cycle technique active, Zamian charged forward. His wooden body, now nearly double its usual size, radiated a vivid green aura as glowing sap pulsed beneath his bark-like skin. Each thunderous step sent tremors through the ground, and his eyes flickered between the white and green hues.
In less than a breath, he closed the distance to Ruen.
The Great Warriors were still reacting, their bodies glowing with brown light as they hastily drew earth essence to prepare their techniques.
But Ruen wasn’t a mere Great Warrior.
Analyzing the oncoming threat—a monstrous figure made of wood and powered by Nature’s essence—Ruen quickly deduced that it was either a construct, a beast, or a cultivator.
Whatever it was, it wanted to close the gap between them, and he wouldn’t allow that.
Without hesitation, the ground beneath Ruen surged upward, propelling him back as his feet remained rooted to the shifting terrain. At the same time, he raised his right hand, willing a massive wall of earth to erupt between himself and Zamian.
The wall surged upward rapidly, formed by Ruen’s Linked Protection technique, but Zamian pressed on, burning essence to maintain his speed. By the time the wall reached his waist, he was already stepping onto it.
Instead of smashing through the barrier, Zamian used its upward momentum to propel himself higher. Kicking off the wall with tremendous force, he vaulted closer to Ruen.
The Great Warriors reacted, each launching two or three Bounded Spheres in quick succession. But they hadn’t anticipated Zamian’s agility, and every shot missed.
Ruen smirked, his eyes gleaming with a stronger brown light. “Come on, let’s play, wooden guy!” he shouted, clapping his hands together. The earth around him responded immediately, forming massive walls that shifted and surged toward Zamian.
Zamian dodged the first one with ease, but more walls appeared, each morphing into enormous spheres of earth, larger than his current size. As he chased Ruen, these spheres began chasing him, some rolling between him and the Warlord, forcing Zamian to evade and creating more distance between him and his target.
Ruen laughed as dozens of spheres rolled across the clearing toward Zamian. Glancing at his followers, who had fortified themselves behind layers of earth walls, the Warlord nodded inwardly with satisfaction.
Zamian, near the sapling, seemed to have slowed down, his towering wooden form glowing faintly.
“Farewell, freaky creature,” he muttered, snapping his fingers. More walls of earth sprang up in front of him.
“Farewell, freaky creature,” Ruen muttered, snapping his fingers. More walls of earth surged up in front of him as he readied his final attack.
Zamian’s instincts screamed in warning. The spheres chasing him began to glow with an intense brown hue, saturated with earth’s essence. He braced himself, burning more of his own essence, and the grin carved across his wooden face widened ominously.
Then, all at once, the spheres exploded!
A deafening series of roars tore through the clearing as waves of blinding brown light erupted from behind Zamian. Shockwaves fused together, rippling through the air and sending chunks of soil and shattered tree trunks flying in all directions. Dust and fragments of bark filled the air like shrapnel, obscuring the battlefield.
The reinforced walls painstakingly created by the six Great Warriors were obliterated in an instant. Even though they were farther from the blast’s epicenter, the shockwaves hurled them back against the giant roots, their bodies battered and disoriented.
Prince Ruen chuckled, waving his hand to dismiss the last remnants of his own protective earth wall. But his smirk faltered as the dust began to clear. What he saw wasn’t what he expected.
The ground, devastated and hollowed out by his technique, revealed a graveyard of uprooted and shattered tree trunks buried deep beneath the soil.
“What?” Ruen muttered, his brow furrowing. The sight of the buried trunks alone was strange, but what truly caught his attention was the sapling.
Despite the devastation, the sapling—tree-sized and unassuming—still stood. Its bark was cracked, and sections were broken, but it remained intact amidst the wreckage.
And then he saw it.
A green glow emanated from beside the sapling. Slowly, Zamian emerged from the debris, wooden bark falling from his towering frame, his glowing green sap-like blood dripping onto the churned earth.
He was alive.
Ruen’s confidence wavered as Zamian began to move again, charging toward him with renewed speed.
“Impossible,” Ruen muttered under his breath, his hands moving frantically. He willed the earth’s essence to form new spheres, sending them hurtling toward the oncoming figure.
But something was wrong.
The earth’s essence responded sluggishly, as though struggling to connect Ruen’s technique to the distant ground. The explosions had pulverized the land before him into dust, and any usable earth seemed buried beneath the wreckage of shattered wooden trunks.
Someone had built—or expanded—an underground cave and filled it with tree trunks!
The land was no longer connected.
It wasn’t attached, as Ruen’s Pathway required.
Zamian, now just a few arm’s lengths from Ruen and closing the gap fast, laughed. His guttural echoed voice reverberated through the chaos.
“You will die here, vermin Ruen!”
