As Zamian’s vision filled with white light, he felt like he was falling—fast. The sensation reminded him of when he fell from the Colossal Trees, only this time there was no Everbark Technique to catch him.

  He tried to reach out, to steady himself, but his arms weren’t there. Neither were his legs. His whole body felt like it had melted into the light, rushing forward in one direction he couldn’t control.

  There was no pain, no real sensation at all, just an empty stillness. Normally, Zamian would’ve panicked, but instead, he felt calm. A soft humming sound filled his ears, like wind passing through branches, growing louder as time went on.

  Then, the sound faded. There was nothing left—no sound, no sense of time, no feeling. Just the endless white light.

  Zamian started to wonder if everything before this moment—his life, his struggles, his cultivation—had been a dream. Maybe this was his real existence now, part of the infinite light.

  His memories blurred, fading into white. Just as he began to accept it, something changed. A shadow appeared in the whiteness. It took him a moment to understand what he was seeing: darkness. His eyelids were closed.

  Suddenly, he could feel the ground beneath his bare feet. He was standing. There was no breeze, but he felt skin again—his own body. He didn’t know why, but it flooded him with relief.

  Zamian tried to take a deep breath and open his eyes, but it didn’t happen right away. ‘The White Key… it flashed, and now I’m… here? Wh-what—’ His thoughts tripped over themselves. He realized too late that he’d meant to say those words out loud.

  “The-here-Wh-wha—” His voice broke awkwardly. His mouth wasn’t moving the way he wanted it to. He tried again, willing his eyes to open, but it felt like his body was lagging behind his mind, reacting moments too late.

  His heart raced. His breaths came faster. Finally, his eyes opened, and emotions flooded in all at once—anxiety, fear, confusion. They hit him so fast that he couldn’t process them before they vanished, leaving him gasping.

  “Wh-what in the blighted world just happened?” he managed, his voice shaky. He looked around, trying to make sense of where he was.

  In front of him, just a few steps away, stood a massive double gate. It was made of a strange, smooth material Zamian didn’t recognize. It towered over him, wide enough for ten people to walk side by side, and so tall he couldn’t see its end.

  The gate was pure white, unmarked and featureless. There was no lock, no doorknob, not even hinges—just a thin line splitting it down the middle. Most unsettling of all, the gate wasn’t connected to anything. It stood alone, unsupported by walls or a ceiling, rising from the pristine floor.

  The floor beneath him was made of the same smooth, white material as the gate. It stretched out in both directions, forming a long, narrow bridge.

  But at his sides, there was an even more impressive view.

  Darkness.

  His stomach churned as he glanced around. The strength drained from his legs, and he collapsed onto the ground, his breath shallow. An unknown, irrational fear dominated him briefly, but that was enough to unsettle the young cultivator.

  Beyond that bridge, there was nothing. Infinite, endless blackness. Even the sky above was the same void, empty. ‘No leaves like the Sanctuary, and no stars or clouds like the books,’ he gulped.

  Zamian felt small, like a single leaf floating in a lake without water. ‘What if I fall…?’ The thought hit him hard, as he felt a sharp pang on his chest.

  This wasn’t like his dark space, where he could move freely, even without feeling his body. Here, there was weight—an invisible heaviness that pressed down on him, silencing his instincts while bringing a sense of dread he only felt when dealing with stronger cultivators.

  Forcing himself to gather his strength, Zamian gritted his teeth and stood, wobbling as he glanced down at his hands. His face paled further, nearly matching the color of the gate.

  He patted himself down in a panic, searching the key. His frantic movements stopped as a realization struck him. “White Dot, where’s the key? You blighted thing, what did you do?” he shouted, his voice echoing into the void.

  No answer came.

  Closing his eyes, Zamian slowed his breathing, willing himself to calm down. ‘Too many emotions in too short a time,’ he took a deep breath. ‘I didn’t lose the key. Maybe it already served its purpose?’ he then looked at the White Dot. ‘You wouldn’t bring me here for no reason, right? This isn’t some strange ceremony for my next cycle…’ He smirked bitterly. ‘And if you really wanted to lock me here forever, what could I even do?’

  Opening his eyes, Zamian hardened his expression. His steps were heavy as he approached the white gate, but one thing caught his attention. ‘My body, it isn’t tired anymore?’ thankful for a distraction, he glanced to the corner of his vision, where the White Dot hovered.

  ‘Let’s make sure of it,’ he thought, willing the White Dot to display his information, while another thought struck him. ‘I should check this information more often.’

  PERSONAL INFORMATION

  Name: Zamian Greenfield

  Level: 2 [20%]

  Tier: Mortal

  Main Pathway: Creation

  Title: None

  STATS POINTS

  Body: 54/54

  Mind: 50/50

  Soul: 100/100

  REWARDS

  White Key - First Floor

  Description: Key to access White Tower’s First Floor

  Ancient Astral Seal

  Description: A Star Seal guarding your Astral Self.

  Ancient Identify Technique (Passive)

  Description: See the secrets beyond the limitations of time

  QUEST LOG

  Last Quest: Get revenge on your friend's behalf

  Reward: 01 Book from White Tower's First Floor

  Status: Completed

  Main Quest: Destroy an Unholy Sapling before the end of the month

  Reward: Special Physique (??)

  Status: Ongoing (13 days left)

  Zamian halted mid-step, glancing at his stats. His eyebrows shot up. ‘Really? One trip here and I recovered every stat point?’ A wry smile tugged at his lips. ‘I don’t even know how to feel about this.’

  It was the first time he’d seen his stats fully restored. Besides the previous fear and looming sense of dread, he felt good, sure, but nothing so drastic. ‘To be honest, I was hoping for something greater when I filled my stats.’

  At least Zamian confirmed he still had 13 days to complete his Main Quest, meaning his travel time from the garden to here was less than a few hours. “Thank you, great White Dot, for not making me waste time,” he murmured, his tone laced with sarcasm.

  Time was the most important resource he had! If he didn’t lose too much of it, what was a trip to the void?

  “And the White Key is still with me—or somewhere,” Zamian muttered. “The Abyssal Leaf only disappeared from my reward list after it turned into mist. This reminds me… the prize was supposed to be a blighted book, wasn’t it? Couldn’t you just make it appear on my lap and save us both the trouble, White Dot?” He sighed, shaking his head as he resumed walking toward the gate.

  Reaching it, he noticed again the lack of a doorknob or handle. Zamian shrugged and placed both hands on the smooth surface. ‘I’d rather take my chances with you than the void, thank you very much,’ he thought and shoved the doors.

  They didn’t budge.

  But Zamian did.

  As his hands pressed the gate, a white light flared, blinding him. The bridge vanished, and Zamian felt his body being pulled somewhere else. Bracing himself, he blinked rapidly when the light subsided. What he saw made him gawk.

  Royal Road is the home of this novel. Visit there to read the original and support the author.

  “This can’t be a library… right?” he muttered.

  Back in the Sanctuary, Zamian had seen libraries before. There was one at the Lord’s Tree, another at the Stargazing Tree, and two smaller ones in the town. The town libraries were simple, filled with fiction and work-related books. The Lord’s and Stargazing Tree libraries, though? They housed sacred books and scriptures, with strict rules and restrictions.

  He’d entered three of them in his life, never the one inside the Stargazing Tree. The commoners’ library required money to access restricted areas, and the Lord’s library required special permission. Zamian had once held both.

  Those libraries were familiar: wooden shelves filled with books, six to ten tables, and enough space to move comfortably. The size varied, but the general look was the same.

  This place, however, was nothing like that.

  Zamian now stood in a cylindrical room made of the same smooth white material as the gate. The door he had touched was gone, leaving no trace.

  The room wasn’t large—about the size of his house. He could see the opposite wall without difficulty. But the most striking feature was the bookshelf. A massive, white bookshelf encircled the entire room, stretching endlessly upward.

  The walls were the bookshelf.

  Tilting his head back, Zamian tried to follow its height. The shelves continued upward, disappearing into a brilliant white light. “White Tower, huh?” he muttered, chuckling nervously. “I really hope my book isn’t up there, White Dot.”

  After a few moments of silence, he looked around and let out a bitter laugh. “And this is just the first floor? This bookshelf is bigger than any Colossal Tree I’ve ever seen, you blighted thing!”

  The endless white around him was a stark contrast to the darkness he’d seen before entering this place. Though the hues of white were subtle, they varied just enough for him to distinguish between the floor, the towering bookshelf, and—most importantly—the book.

  “Is this a prank?” he asked aloud.

  Here he stood, inside an endless building, crafted in some divine material as far as he was concerned, with heights greater than the trees made by the Verdant God. He arrived here through unknown means, challenging any common sense that could still be found inside him.

  And there, on the shelf, was a single book.

  A white book, no larger than any ordinary book he’d seen before.

  It was the only book in sight.

  In this colossal White Tower, there was only him and this lone book.

  Zamian stared at it, unsure what to think. “Is this your way of showing off? That you can create this entire building just to hand me one book?” he muttered, narrowing his eyes at the White Dot lingering in the corner of his vision.

  Reaching out, he pulled the book from the shelf. Its cover was blank—no title, no markings—just pure white, the same as its back.

  Smirking, Zamian sat down on the floor and reclined against the wall. Crossing his legs, he placed the book on his lap. “Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame—you get it. No way you’re catching me off guard with another light show, White Dot,” he said with a touch of smugness.

  He wasn’t about to risk opening another strange book while standing. He knew better now.

  With a cautious but steady hand, Zamian opened the book. As expected, white light burst from its pages, flooding his vision.

  What caught him off guard wasn’t the light—it was the text that followed.

  Inheritor Found

  Analyzing

  Name: Zamian Greenfield

  Bloodline: Match

  Spirit: Match

  Accessing Information

  Level: 2 [20%]

  Tier (!): Mortal

  Main Pathway: Creation

  (!) Limiting Techniques to Mortal Tier

  Assembling Available Techniques

  03 Techniques Found (!)

  White Leaf Sect - One Amongst Myriad Beings

  Description: Creation is a cycle occupied by a myriad of beings, each one has a role, and each role is part of nature.

  White Leaf Sect - Seed of Creation

  Description: Creation begins from a small seed, growing within oneself, using the power of nature before giving it back.

  White Leaf Sect - Order of the Cycle

  Description: Creation demands all living beings to follow a natural order; whoever fights against it is fighting against themselves.

  (!) Please choose one technique to study and learn.

  Zamian read through the text, baffled.

  “This isn’t from the White Dot!”

  Though the writing shared the same cryptic tone and obscure phrasing, Zamian had spent over two years with the White Dot. On this last day alone, he had read its texts dozens of times.

  He could tell this came from the white book.

  “The white texts from White Dot are more-uh-white” he mumbled, reading the text once more, surprised at how easy it was to see the white text on a white background.

  “What is a blighted Sect? A kind of a Cult? A blasphemous organization? Who do they worship? White God? White Tree God?” the young man ignored the usual personal information, and focused on the techniques, puzzled.

  Besides the cryptic and unhelpful descriptions—they seemed even worse than his usual reward’s descriptions—the repetition of the name White Leaf Sect clarified their origin.

  And, of course, for Zamian, this meant absolutely nothing. “How am I supposed to choose one of these? By the name? The vibe?” He rolled his eyes and sighed in frustration. “At least try to give me a hint, White Dot, or are we doing this blind?”

  However, no matter how much he whined, he would select one of these techniques—Zamian knew how powerful White Dot’s rewards were.

  “First, there’s this One Amongst Myriad Beings. I hear about techniques that could help Chosen find other people! But that’s it, or am I wrong?” he pondered out loud.

  “Then there’s Seed of Creation. Would it help me cultivate faster? Or maybe it creates a blighted tree inside me, devouring me from the inside. After all, it says I need to give it back,” he smirked, shaking his head. “But the name is nice; I’ll give you that.”

  “I guess this last one, Order of the Cycle, could be a physical technique, helping me adapt to situations. Or maybe it’s a counterattack technique, like the Astral Seal,” he muttered. “And it has the word Cycle in its name, so it could be more attuned to the Nature Pathway.”

  Scratching his chin, Zamian didn’t want to spend too much time choosing. All his guesses were just conjectures based on the names and descriptions of the techniques.

  Some of these could cause a suicidal explosion, and he wouldn’t know.

  “The first one doesn’t resemble an attack or defense technique, so I don’t think it’ll be reliable in a fight,” the young man licked his lips, remembering his father’s fight against the Zealots.

  But then he shook his head and narrowed his eyes. “I’m being reckless and a fool. The White Dot was the one who gave me the tool to resist a Chosen’s soul attack. However, if Yokki had slapped me, my mortal cycle would’ve been finished—even three Zealots couldn’t resist my father!”

  The young Enlightened looked at the techniques again. “I should think about their utility and potential for growth. Father never told me about Chosen techniques, but I’m confident no Enlightened or Zealot has abilities like these three. However…” He paused, feeling a headache coming on.

  Zamian took a deep breath, trying to calm his nerves. His mind was spiraling with dozens of thoughts, drowning him in a myriad of hypotheses and possibilities. ‘I must make a decision,’ he realized. With outside pressure, he made decisions quickly, but when facing his own inner dilemmas, he thought too much.

  ‘I should rely on my instincts more,’ he thought. ‘Learn, you birdbrained fool—feel your instincts while using your mind.’

  Unbeknownst to Zamian, as he thought about using his instincts, they returned as if they had never been suppressed. The white light from the ceiling grew brighter, bathing the space.

  Random thoughts streamed into Zamian’s mind as he heard whispers. Suddenly, he understood he needed to view these techniques with an open heart, setting aside all prejudice and preconceptions. His thoughts shifted, like a fallen leaf drifting on the wind, carried to wherever his instincts guided him.

  Not wanting to surrender completely to the flow, Zamian added his inner thoughts to guide his instincts—he was putting intent behind them.

  ‘I won’t hide. I will never be a child cowering under my bed again,’ he thought. ‘I won’t wait for others to act. I will be proactive and create my own opportunities.’ He smiled. ‘I want power to become the protagonist of my cycle.’

  Zamian opened his eyes, which briefly shone with a faint white light,

  You chose a technique

  White Leaf Sect - Seed of Creation

  Description: Creation begins from a small seed, growing within oneself, using the power of nature before giving it back.

  As he finished reading the text, the light from the white book dimmed, leaving behind simple, blank pages. “Just like mother’s gift. Annoying,” he muttered, clicking his tongue as he checked the book from all sides. “Where is the technique?” he wondered aloud.

  The moment the words left his mouth, a sharp sting pierced his head, followed by a dull ache. His vision blurred, and if not for the bookshelf supporting his back, Zamian might have collapsed.

  After a short moment, the pale cultivator steadied himself, massaging his temple with one hand. “Is this why cultivators like to rest and drink tea? Are they always dealing with headaches and dizziness?” he grumbled.

  Once he confirmed that nothing in the outside world had changed, Zamian instinctively knew where to look for the root of the problem.

  Closing his eyes, he willed himself into the dark space where the humanoid form of motes of multicolored light resided. His attention was immediately drawn to a new addition within his soul.

  Above the humanoid’s head floated a strange object. Zooming in for a closer look, Zamian recognized it as Crystal Essence—or so he thought. Its brightness, as always, made its shape difficult to discern. Normally, he’d assumed Crystal Essence were round specks of light, simple and uniform.

  But this one was different.

  The light’s intensity had dimmed just enough for him to see its true shape. ‘Wait. These aren’t round at all?’ His eyes followed its edges, counting them carefully. ‘One, two, three, four… fifteen? Sixteen sides?’ he counted inwardly.

  Ahead of him floated a white hexadecanoic crystal, a beautifully faceted object with sharp, clean edges. Its white surface gleamed faintly, but it didn’t shine. On one of its sides, a strange drawing caught Zamian’s attention—or rather, a mess of scrambled lines. ‘What kind of rubbish is this?’ Zamian thought, narrowing his focus on the image.

  As he struggled to make sense of the chaotic lines, more scribbles appeared on the crystal’s other sides, each one different in shape and form.

  Zamian observed in stunned silence as the symbols continued to manifest, filling every facet of the crystal. ‘White Dot, you’d better translate this rubbish for me! What kind of blighted language is this? How am I supposed to study my new technique?’ he cursed inwardly. If he’d had a body in this dark space, he would’ve grabbed the crystal and smashed it against the White Dot.

  When every side of the crystal was finally covered with its distinct markings, the dark space began to tremble. The sensation set Zamian on edge, his instincts flaring. Without hesitation, he opened his eyes.

  The walls of the White Tower were glowing brightly, their light growing stronger with every passing moment. Before he could react, his vision was overwhelmed by the familiar brilliance of white light.

  “White Dot, please don’t do that again!” Zamian pleaded, his voice shaky as his senses dulled. Once more, he lost control of his body, the helplessness sinking in as the light engulfed him.

  Moments later, Zamian vanished from the White Tower, and the book he had opened reappeared neatly on the shelf where he had first found it.

  Once again, he was part of the infinite light.