Zamian braced himself against the slammed walls, using his back to hold one side and the cultivator’s mangled body to brace the other.

  “Outsiders,” he muttered, replaying the last moments in his head as he shifted his weight, freeing up one arm to punch the earth wall over and over until it finally crumbled.

  ‘It almost feels like I was born for this,’ he thought. ‘When the first masked Zealot turned to talk to those outsiders, I knew it was time to act. Jumping in, my body fully enveloped by the Beginning of the Cycle technique, I landed above him. The other two Zealots screamed, one outsider launched techniques, and the last one made the mistake of looking away.’

  One thing still puzzled Zamian. ‘Why were they so weak? The first one crumpled like dry bark. The next two were so confident in their armor, infusing essence into their spears, but… they were slow. I broke their necks and used them as shields. It felt…Natural.’

  Looking at the wall’s pieces, he tossed the outsider’s lifeless body aside and scanned the area for the last one. ‘These outsiders… their skills vary so much. Those spheres hit like a blight! But if I compare the first wall with this one… was the first made of paper?’

  Failing to locate the last cultivator from the Attached Pathway, he decided to follow the trail of destroyed trees.

  ‘I don’t know how long I can keep this technique active,’ Zamian thought, his eyes darting as he sprinted. The idea of resting never even crossed his mind. ‘Sadly, it’s not like Nature’s Embrace.’

  Unlike Nature’s Embrace, which allowed essence to be spent upfront to create wooden armor or weapons, the Everbark technique required a constant flow of essence to maintain. And the fusion of the two—Beginning of the Cycle—while granting him enhanced power, also amplified their combined drawbacks.

  ‘Luckily, my body has been permanently enhanced,’ he mused. ‘And for Bohlo, I’ll keep pushing, even if it costs me much, much more.’

  Moments later, Zamian reached the entrance to Yokki’s Garden and heard rushed voices. The outsider he was chasing had arrived just a few moments ahead of him.

  Swiftly, he climbed into the trees and hid among the dense foliage, becoming as still as a stone. He stopped his breathing, widened his eyes, and scanned the grassy field below. With careful precision, he adjusted his movements to ensure he remained completely hidden.

  ‘It’s almost like Nature’s knowledge is correcting my flaws,’ he thought, watching the scene unfold below, and when he saw one of the figures there, a faint, inward smile crept onto his face. ‘You dumb oak, it’s good that you’re fine.’

  There was Bohlo, worse for wear, covered in dozens of bruises and bound by vines, but still awake. His fiery glare was fixed on a woman.

  Beside her stood four others, three of whom surrounded a kneeling figure—the outsider who had fled from Zamian.

  Zamian’s gaze darted upward as he quickly read the brown texts hovering above their heads:

  [LEVEL 3 - MORTAL TIER - ATTACHED PATHWAY]

  [LEVEL 3 - MORTAL TIER - ATTACHED PATHWAY]

  [LEVEL 3 - MORTAL TIER - ATTACHED PATHWAY]

  [LEVEL 3 - MORTAL TIER - ATTACHED PATHWAY]

  [LEVEL 3 - MORTAL TIER - ATTACHED PATHWAY]

  ‘All Zealots,’ Zamian noted, his gaze sweeping over the four others.

  [LEVEL 2 - MORTAL TIER - CREATION PATHWAY]

  [LEVEL 2 - MORTAL TIER - CREATION PATHWAY]

  [LEVEL 2 - MORTAL TIER - CREATION PATHWAY]

  [LEVEL 2 - MORTAL TIER - CREATION PATHWAY]

  ‘All Enlightened… one being Bohlo, and that’s Lakea, who I should also save, it seems… And… aren’t those two Lakea’s companions?’

  Puzzled, Zamian took a moment to process the situation.

  Bohlo and Lakea were both bound by vines in a seated position. Meanwhile, the two Enlightened women—bruised and scratched—stood upright, glaring venomously at Lakea.

  Lakea, in turn, shot them a brief glance before focusing her attention on the kneeling outsider, who was hurriedly recounting what had happened with him and the other four Zealots.

  ‘Snakes everywhere, just like father said,’ Zamian smirked, narrowing his eyes as he tuned into the conversation, planning his next move.

  “I swear on the Oasis name, Mistress Clarice, the monster is coming this way! We need to—” Kurt stammered, sweating profusely and bowing repeatedly as he begged the fierce woman standing before him.

  Wearing the same attire as her followers, Mistress Clarice had her face uncovered: a striking bronze complexion, full lips, wavy brown hair, and piercing green eyes.

  She gazed at Kurt with palpable disgust.

  “Shut up,” she snapped, kicking him hard enough to make him flinch. “You’re here only because your brother vouched for you, sandworm.” She spat on the ground beside him. “Now, you will answer my questions. Do you understand?”

  Trembling, Kurt nodded hastily.

  “Did you find the previous Lord Chosen’s son when you were investigating the vortex of essence?” Clarice demanded, her tone sharp.

  Kurt shook his head rapidly.

  “Did I take your mouth?” Clarice’s eyes glinted with a brownish hue.

  “N-no, Mistress! Sorry, sorry. You didn’t take my mouth,” he stammered, hiccupping as he bowed repeatedly.

  “And you said the wooden monster killed three of the Sanctuary’s Zealots? Are you sure they’re dead?”

  “Yes, yes! Those corpses… Even if the monster hadn’t finished them, my brother’s sphere did,” he grimaced. “Oh, but, um…The first one…I didn’t actually see how he died… I just heard.”

  “I know. The noises—you’ve mentioned them already,” she replied coldly, her hand gesturing toward the destroyed path Kurt had emerged from—the same path where Zamian now hid. “And where is this monster? Why didn’t it chase you?”

  Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

  Kurt’s eyes darted nervously, and he quickly made up an answer, nodding as if to reassure himself. “It must still be trapped! My brother used every drop of his essence to cast Linked Protection and trap the monster between two walls!”

  Clarice placed a hand on her chin, biting her lip thoughtfully. Her gaze flickered between Bohlo, Lakea, and the shattered path. After a moment, she shook her head. “If they were alive, they would’ve come out by now. I don’t know if any of the Chosen here can create monsters or similar creatures, but I’m inclined to trust you, lowly sandworm. The vortex of essence was indeed peculiar, and we must not be careless again.”

  Kurt bowed quickly, several times. “Yes, yes. I’m sure if we bring more people, we can go back and kill that horrendous—”

  Clarice silenced him with a raised hand, shaking her head. “No need. If the monster killed the Sanctuary’s Zealots and Toran, it probably killed the kid too.” She shrugged, pointing at Lakea. “We have her, at least. It’s said her mother is one of the missing Chosen. That’s enough.”

  Zamian, listening while hiding, tilted his head slightly, thinking, ‘Did Yokki already recover and flee from father?’

  His gaze shifted to Lakea, whose eyes burned with cold fury as she struggled against her bonds, the gag in her mouth keeping her silent.

  Meanwhile, Bohlo, who had been chewing on the vine gag in his mouth, finally tore it free and screamed, “Let me find Zamian! His mortal cycle didn’t end! It didn’t, you blighted—”

  One of the outsiders struck Bohlo across the face, the force of the slap turning the muscular cultivator’s head and sending him sprawling to the ground.

  Blood sprayed from his mouth as he landed.

  Zamian’s eyes narrowed as he focused on the outsider who had struck Bohlo, noting the bruises on the man’s forearms.

  “What should we do with this one?” the outsider asked, nudging Bohlo with his foot. “It’ll be hard to make this brute behave.”

  Clarice dismissed her companion's question with a casual wave. “A commoner’s child. He’d just be a nuisance,” she said, turning toward Yokki’s abode and the garden’s exit. “Kill him and bury this monkey in the garden. He wanted to stay with his friend, didn’t he?”

  That phrase was all Zamian needed to act.

  Though his gaze was calm, flashing green and white, his mind was racing.

  He dismissed his current technique, leaving his frail, pale body naked and unprotected—a side effect of his new ability, which had torn his clothes. ‘Maybe that’s why Zealots are always wearing armor,’ he thought while shifting his position on the branch. He clasped both hands in front of his chest, steadying his breathing.

  One thing became clear as Zamian observed the outsiders and listened to their exchanges: his previous victory had been a stroke of luck.

  The Sanctuary’s Zealots were accustomed to peace, but these outsiders lived in harsh, resource-scarce lands, fighting not just for essence but for water and food.

  Zamian realized how fortunate he had been during his first encounter. One of the outsiders he fought had been an idiot with barely any fighting instincts or experience. And while Zamian himself lacked formal combat training, he discovered he had a natural knack for it.

  But this situation was different. Now, the outsiders were alert. Even as they appeared relaxed, their brown eyes gleamed with essence, scanning their surroundings, their feet and hands subtly swirling with tiny stones.

  Charging head-on wouldn’t work. Bohlo and Lakea’s chances in a fight were slim at best—though, naturally, Zamian cared more about his friend than the girl.

  And then there was the biggest problem: he was almost out of essence.

  Gathering essence for even a few moments would expose his location; the flux would light up his hiding spot to any Zealot or cultivator with similar power like a purple flower in a green field.

  Besides, with his current reserves, he couldn’t afford a full transformation after dismissing his technique.

  Keeping all this in mind, Zamian crafted a plan.

  Smirking as he gauged the essence he had left, he muttered, “Six.”

  Slamming a hand against his chest, the force was strong enough to make him vomit blood.

  Turning around, he kicked the branch beneath him, launching himself toward the outsiders, spinning violently.

  “!!!”

  As one of the outsiders approached Bohlo, all of them, except Kurt, turned toward the sound of destruction.

  Zamian crashed to the ground with a thunderous impact, tumbling as grass and dust exploded into the air.

  The outsider’s instincts screamed at each of them.

  “Get ready for an attack!” Clarice barked.

  “Mistress, th-that is Zamian! He seems hurt, but alive,” stuttered one of the Enlightened, the brunette one, a former masked Cleric.

  Clarice glanced at Zamian’s body, then made a series of quick hand movements and whistled sharply before fleeing the garden without hesitation.

  The other three outsiders reacted immediately. They cast Linked Protection, but not in Zamian's direction.

  Instead, they conjured six walls to block the path between them and the rest of the garden. One stayed back, using his essence to fuse and reinforce the barriers.

  Another outsider rushed to Zamian, hoisting his limp, naked body onto his shoulder and running toward the garden’s exit.

  The third grabbed Lakea and followed, joined by the two Enlightened women.

  Kurt, a moment too late, stumbled to his feet, grabbing Bohlo and almost collapsing under the weight. He blanched in terror, avoiding any glance behind him, and ran in his companion’s direction.

  They were fleeing!

  Clarice had judged the situation swiftly. For her, it was better to retreat while on the winning side than to face a creature that had already killed four Zealots, including a skilled warrior from the Oasis.

  And while not part of Zamian’s plan, their retreat worked just fine!

  As the group left Yokki’s abode and reached the edge of the Sanctuary, surrounded by giant trees and colossal roots, the outsider carrying Zamian heard a low mutter:

  “Five.”

  Before he could react, his head flew.

  “Enemy attack!” Clarice shouted, spinning around and conjuring six Bonded Spheres. Her eyes flared as she scanned for the spike of essence she had felt.

  One of her followers fell lifeless to the ground, blood pooling around his headless body. Standing with his back to her, facing the third outsider in line, was Zamian—still naked.

  His right arm, from fingertips to shoulder, appeared as wood, slowly dissolving into green essence and smeared with blood.

  With a sharp glare, Clarice hurled her spheres at him, rushing forward to engage.

  The outsider carrying Lakea, froze for a moment as Zamian decapitated his companion. His instincts and mind scrambled for a solution. Lakea was a valuable captive—critical for negotiations with the Sanctuary’s Chosen. He couldn’t use her as a shield, nor could he throw her carelessly. Desperation drove him to attempt a retreat, hoping to reassess.

  Zamian, however, was indifferent to his enemy’s conundrum. As Clarice’s spheres were about to hit him, he whispered, “Four.”

  His right foot flashed green, and he leaped higher, dodging the spheres as they obliterated the ground where he had stood. The burst of strength sent him soaring above the outsider holding Lakea, whose eyes widened in shock.

  Zamian’s left foot glowed green next, and he delivered a powerful kick to the man’s head. “Three,” he muttered as the outsider’s head exploded and the man’s body collapsed, Lakea tumbling to the ground in Clarice's direction.

  Landing on the ground and turning quickly, Zamian activated Beginning of The Cycle on his right arm again, meeting a rigid wall hurled by Clarice with a crushing punch, making it crumble.

  “Two,” he muttered, his gaze darting to Kurt, now trembling and clutching Bohlo tightly, and the two Enlightened women frozen in shock.

  In fact, it looked like Kurt was hugging his big-eared friend.

  Clarice watched Zamian warily, her hands and feet glowing with a steady brown hue.

  While they faced off, another outsider sprinted out from Yokki’s home—the last of their group, who was fortifying the walls.

  Zamian’s body tensed as Clarice whistled and conjured a hardened earth wall, sending it hurtling toward him and obscuring his view of her and Lakea.

  At the same time, his instincts screamed.

  Turning, Zamian saw the outsider conjuring two earth walls on either side of Bohlo and Kurt, willing them to crash against both men.

  Kurt’s eyes bulged in panic, already aware of his companion’s intentions. He frantically channeled earth essence to hold the walls, trying to prevent himself and Bohlo from being crushed.

  Zamian didn’t have time to think.

  As Clarice’s wall closed in, he leaped again, letting it strike his foot to propel himself forward. The force sent him flying toward the last outsider.

  Pain flared through his foot and leg, but Zamian pushed through, his right hand glowing green again as he drove a devastating punch into the outsider’s face, smashing it into his neck.

  Tumbling to the ground, Zamian spat out grass and dirt, forcing himself upright despite the throbbing pain in his leg. “And that was one,” he muttered, his voice hoarse as he struggled to steady himself.

  To his far left, an earth wall was slowly crumbling. ‘That woman is smart and merciless,’ he thought, glancing at the ruined battlefield.

  To his right, two Enlightened women huddled together, paralyzed with fear.

  Ahead of him, beyond the headless corpses, Kurt had managed to push aside the two earth walls, his body shaking like a leaf. The man’s headpiece had fallen, revealing his bronze, full-bearded face etched with terror.

  Bohlo lay unconscious on the ground from the earlier blow, still motionless and unresponsive.

  Zamian’s body ached all over, mainly his right leg. As his eyes fell on the crumbling wall created by Clarice, he let out a wry smile.

  He had no essence left to spend.