“Isn’t it amazing, Sir? We live in endless nights, be it in the deserts or in the Oasis, while you people from the Sanctuary live in endless days, even inside your homes,” Kurt whispered, crawling on all fours through the wooden tunnel, his body covered in grass and dirt.

  In front of him were Zamian and Bohlo, and behind him was Tulip, all similarly covered in leaves, grass, and dirt.

  Above them, white, bright leaves shone intermittently, casting faint light through the tunnel.

  “At least you guys get to see the true sky and what night really looks like,” Zamian whispered back. “Here, we’ve only got this fake sky and these blighted leaves, shining that greenish-white light.”

  “Uh, Z, I like the white sky,” Bohlo whispered, clearly putting extra effort into keeping his voice down, which wasn’t natural for him.

  “Just keep going, you oak. And if you dare to fart…” Zamian teased.

  “No worries, I’m not in the mood for that,” Bohlo replied seriously, his strong forearms helping him move faster.

  “...”

  “Is there a mood to fart?” Tulip suddenly asked.

  Everyone froze and turned to look at her. It was the first thing she’d said since they entered the root tunnel.

  “What?” she asked, looking back at them and trying to appear confident, though her trembling lips betrayed her nerves.

  Shaking his head, Zamian simply said, “Keep going, big guy.”

  As Bohlo resumed moving, the others followed. Reflecting on the earlier topic, Zamian asked, “Kurt, how do you keep track of time?”

  “Err… Great Sir, the Earth’s essence tells me,” Kurt said, his tone and expression showing doubt even as he spoke.

  “What about you, Tulip?” Zamian asked.

  “I… By the meals? First meal, middle meal, last meal,” Tulip answered, sounding as unsure as Kurt.

  “It’s the same for me, Z!” Bohlo almost shouted but managed to control himself again. Unlike the others, he seemed pleased with his answer.

  Zamian chuckled. ‘It’s good to have this guy around.’ Smacking his lips, he said, “Humor me, the three of you. When I say ‘go,’ tell me what time you think it is, okay?”

  “Yes, Sir!”

  “Okay.”

  “Uh… ok!”

  Concentrating for a moment, Zamian then said, “Go.”

  “One hour and ten minutes past midday.”

  “One hour past the middle meal.”

  “One hour past middle meal!”

  Bewildered, Tulip asked, “What is a minute?”

  “How come you don’t know what a minute is, you grassling, but understand the concept of hours?” Kurt whispered back.

  “I don’t know either,” Zamian said.

  “Great Sir, a minute is… a slice of time,” Kurt replied in an unusually uncertain tone. “I can feel when a minute passes. And I know that, after a fixed number of minutes, it makes an hour.” Kurt shook his head. “Anyway, it’s said our world has twenty-four hours, each with sixty minutes.”

  “It is said, or do you know?” Zamian asked.

  “I never stayed awake long enough, concentrating on counting that, Sir,” Kurt shrugged.

  “Is this concept common for outsiders?”

  “For Great Warriors, it is,” Kurt mumbled. “But Warriors have a hard time grasping the concept of minutes. I remember struggling to understand it at first.”

  “Uh, Z, why does it matter?” Bohlo asked.

  “Because I feel like I have a stronger grasp of time now than when I was an Enlightened, but I don’t know why. I never spent time pondering… time or whatnot,” Zamian answered.

  “Z, but you are an Enlightened?” Bohlo looked back, confused.

  Zamian smirked and signaled with his hand for his friend to keep moving.

  Soon, voices echoed from an opening above the tunnel, just ahead.

  Zamian’s expression grew cold, and he stopped, tapping Bohlo to do the same. The two behind them naturally froze in place as well.

  “Do you have the signal ready?” a trembling young male voice asked.

  “I do,” a hoarse, older voice replied.

  “Are you sure you’ll have time to use it before he attacks us?”

  “Yes.”

  “But what if he cuts your hand off before you can—”

  “Shut up.”

  “I’m just—”

  “Kevin. Just. Shut. Up.”

  Adjusting Bohlo slightly to position himself just below the opening, Zamian glanced upward. To his relief—and annoyance—branches heavy with purple fruit came into view.

  He was in one of his father’s secret gardens!

  Long ago, Dante had connected his house with hundreds of roots, creating tunnels beneath the Sanctuary that led to hidden places. He had also drained these tunnels of essence, making them invisible to cultivators relying on sensory techniques. Zamian had even used one of these tunnels to reach the Colossal Tree Erasmus a few days ago before everything had spiraled into chaos.

  Back at Yokki’s garden, Zamian had sketched a rough map of the root tunnels onto the piece of wood now stored in his bag—graciously "acquired" from one of the outsider corpses.

  The only thing he’d taken from them.

  The outsiders' bags had only contained food and books—mostly food. According to Kurt, returning to the Oasis with empty bags or bags filled with just food was a death sentence.

  For now, Zamian avoided making long-term plans. His only priority was finding his father and, if unsuccessful by day’s end, searching for Bohlo’s parents, Soho and Misandra—even if he had no clue where they might be.

  Peeking through the bushes, he saw two pairs of feet standing nearby. Raising an eyebrow, he noticed something new: brown text materializing above their feet.

  ‘Nice,’ Zamian thought, reading the floating text. ‘I thought I’d need to see their heads for it to appear.’

  Both figures were Level 2 cultivators from the Attached Pathway. Or, as Kurt called it, the Earth Pathway.

  Zamian crouched back, tapping Bohlo to signal him to keep moving. The others followed in silence.

  After a few more turns in the tunnel, Bohlo mumbled, “Uh, Z, why didn’t we check that out?”

  “No need,” Zamian replied. “My father wasn’t there.”

  “Ah, so we just wasted time. Great,” Bohlo muttered.

  “That’s not true, B.” Zamian smiled faintly. “We gained a lot of information. Hey, Kurt, can earth cultivators feel everything beneath the ground? Inside the soil?”

  Kurt chuckled, spitting out a stray piece of grass. “No, Sir. Unless we’re cultivating and connected with the earth, we can only sense big movements nearby.”

  This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.

  “And if you’re cultivating?”

  “Then our range expands, Sir—from tens of paces to more than a hundred.”

  “Good.” Zamian tapped Bohlo again. “Take the left up ahead.”

  They continued through the winding tunnels, passing five more hideouts in over eight hours. Each time, Zamian silently confirmed that Level 2 Earth Cultivators—outsiders' Warriors— were stationed nearby, quietly observing.

  After leaving the sixth hideout, Bohlo groaned, “How long will this take, Z? My back’s killing me.”

  “I hope you’ll be resting soon, big guy,” Zamian replied, smiling, his tone light.

  “You seem happier.”

  Once more, everyone shot the ever-silent Tulip a surprised glance before looking ahead.

  “Yeah,” Zamian whispered. “My father is alive, and while these vermin know his hideouts, they don’t have a clue where he actually is. I’m almost sure their Chosen and Warlords are scared, dealing with something.”

  “Scared, Sir?” Kurt asked, his cultivator instincts silent, but his cowardly mind screaming for a better grasp of the situation. After all, whatever could scare a Warlord might just give Kurt a heart attack.

  “I’m not completely sure, but I think so,” Zamian continued smiling. “Otherwise, we wouldn’t only be finding Warriors at these hideouts.”

  Zamian’s theory was simple.

  ‘Father must be alive, or they wouldn’t still be searching for him this long,’ he thought, burying darker thoughts—like his father being dead, his body unfound, or the news being suppressed.

  ‘And if they knew where he was, they’d be concentrating their forces in that direction,’ he reasoned. He had planned to examine hideouts far apart to pinpoint his father’s last known location, but every single one had the same number of people stationed. Beyond the small talk at the first hideout, every other group had stayed silent for more than ten minutes—Kurt had been counting, at Zamian’s request.

  ‘Besides that, we haven’t come across a single Great Warrior or Zealot,’ Zamian thought with a gleeful glint in his eye. ‘And if the dogs aren’t hunting, they’re guarding the house, right, mom?’ He smiled, recalling one of his mother’s oddly phrased sayings.

  He had never seen a dog, though.

  “But Sir, scared of who? Or what? From what I heard, everyone who didn’t submit or flee died in the Sultan’s and the Lord Chosen’s trap.”

  “Kurt, my best guess is that they either miscalculated, or the current Lord Chosen has hidden some valuable information from the Sultan’s army—about a powerful group of cultivators still in the Sanctuary.”

  “Who? Does your father have followers or some kind of rebel army?”

  “No, not that,” Zamian replied, his tone amused as he delivered his next words. “I’m talking about the Children of Verdant.”

  “And who are those? Sir? Please, Great Sir! Who are those?”

  Even with Kurt’s persistent questions, Zamian chose not to elaborate further.

  After two more hours, nearing what Kurt claimed was midnight, Zamian and the rest found a hideout with no cultivators patrolling or keeping watch.

  After a quick scan, Zamian walked around, his gaze occasionally darting to Bohlo’s head—he’d instructed his friend to keep his face toward the tunnel’s entrance at all times. Finding nothing suspicious, he called the others over, using this opportunity to take a brief rest.

  “Uh, Z…” Bohlo, now sitting with the others and holding a handful of purple grapes, started to speak.

  Nodding, Zamian interrupted, already knowing what his friend was going to say. “Don’t worry, we’ll rest for a few hours and then look for survivors,” he said, winking at Bohlo. “The downside of using these tunnels is we can’t see or hear what’s happening on the surface, but I’m sure your parents are out there, with other people.”

  Zamian suddenly felt nature’s essence stir and turned to hiss at Tulip. “Stop. We couldn’t cultivate in the tunnels, and we can’t cultivate here either. If someone comes close enough, they’ll feel it.”

  Tulip froze, her fatigued expression softening into guilt. “I’m sorry… my body aches, and I wanted to send some essence to ease it.”

  Kurt, lying down and stuffing the bags he carried beneath his head like a pillow, closed his eyes and spoke casually. “These little worms always find ways to annoy us, right, Sir?”

  Tulip chose not to engage, instead lying down and covering her face with some leaves.

  Turning to Bohlo, Zamian asked, “You good, dumb oak?”

  Bohlo shrugged, forcing a small smile. “As good as I can be, Z,” he said, gesturing to his bruised ribs and arms. “Everything just went downhill so fast. One moment I was cultivating, the next the essence thinned out, and then a bunch of weirdos started throwing dirt balls at me.”

  Sighing, he added, “But the worst part is this nonsense invasion and… dad and mom… I’m worried about them.” Looking at Zamian, he lightly punched his friend’s arm. “But I trust you. You’re the brains, right?”

  Blinking, Zamian felt his chest ache at seeing his usually cheerful friend so downcast.

  Punching Bohlo back, he smirked. “Right. And you’re the no-brains.”

  “Ouch,” Bohlo muttered, rubbing his arm. “You’re stronger than before the trial, Z,” he noted, shaking his head. “Want me to keep watch while you sleep?”

  “No need. You need the rest more than I do. Believe me.”

  Bohlo eventually lay down beside Zamian to rest, leaving the pale cultivator staring up at the wooden ceiling of their hideout. A single white leaf glowed softly, its greenish-white light illuminating the space.

  At the corner of his eyes, a different shade of white kept him company while the others slept.

  ‘Let’s check you out, you blighted mute,’ Zamian thought, willing the White Dot to display his information.

  PERSONAL INFORMATION

  Name: Zamian Greenfield

  Level: 3 [02%]

  Tier: Mortal

  Main Pathway: Creation

  Title: None

  STATS POINTS

  Body: 288/600

  Mind: 390/600

  Soul: 280/600

  REWARDS

  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: Save Bohlo and Lakea

  Reward: 01 Book from White Tower's First Floor

  Status: Incomplete

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

  Reward: Special Physique (??)

  Status: Ongoing (10 days left)

  Reading everything three times, Zamian didn’t dismiss the information. Instead, he waited longer, muttering under his breath, “Why aren’t you giving me a quest to find my father?”

  Taking a deep breath and hardening his emotions, he analyzed his stats and cultivation progression before finally dismissing the white text.

  ‘If I try to look at my dark space or enter Lin Zhi’s world, I don’t know what might happen,’ he thought, clenching his fists.

  Hearing movement, he glanced at Tulip, who was hastily wiping away tears.

  Curiosity piqued, Zamian walked over and sat beside her, keeping just an arm’s distance.

  “Sorry to disturb you,” she whispered, flinching slightly as Zamian sat down.

  Zamian stared at her, his expression unreadable. Meanwhile, Tulip adjusted her position, tucking a strand of her blonde hair behind her ear and sitting down.

  “I’m sorry about what happened to your friend,” Zamian whispered, turning his gaze away from her.

  Startled, Tulip glanced at him, then gave a faint smile. “Thank you. And… you didn’t kill her. You don’t need to apologize.”

  “Kurt killed her because I tried to,” Zamian clarified, his tone even as his eyes remained fixed on the white leaf glowing above. “I’m not sorry for what I did. I’m sorry it had to happen.”

  Humming softly, Tulip nodded, turning her head.

  After a few quiet moments, she asked, “Why were you pretending to be an Enlightened during the trial?”

  “I wasn’t pretending,” Zamian replied, a small smirk tugging at his lips. “I became a Zealot yesterday.”

  Tulip stared at him, taking in the sharpness of his features. His pale complexion seemed more defined now, his face subtly chiseled. A quick glance at his bare chest revealed small, compact muscles—muscles she wasn’t sure had been there three days ago.

  “I understand you, somehow, even if I don’t agree with your choices,” Zamian said softly, his gaze drifting past her as if reflecting on something distant. “Don’t think I wouldn’t kill you if you tried to escape, hurt Bohlo, or harm me, my father, or his parents. But…” He met her eyes, noting their dark blue hue, “I sympathize with your plight.”

  For the first time since they met, Zamian heard Tulip chuckle softly.

  “You’re terrible at this,” she said, shaking her head.

  “At what?” Zamian scratched his head, confused.

  “Talking. Comforting people. Or whatever it is you were trying to do,” she said with a faint chuckle, her expression softening.

  “Well, you’re not exactly the most talkative person I’ve met either, so there’s that,” Zamian shrugged, opening his hands in mock defeat.

  “It’s hard to be talkative when you’ve had to break your dead friend’s head just to make sure she was gone, are constantly worried about being killed, and just found out your hope for a better life was a big lie,” she replied, her voice faltering at times.

  Zamian opened and closed his mouth, searching for words but finding none.

  A few more moments passed, the two of them sitting in silence, each lost in their own thoughts.

  “It was amazing, now that I think of it,” Tulip said softly, her voice lighter and sweeter than Zamian had heard before.

  “What was?” he asked.

  “You,” she looked at him. “Fighting those outsiders’ Zealots—no, Great Warriors—it was almost like an adult bullying children.”

  Finding his instincts silent, not accusing her of lying, Zamian blushed and waved his hand dismissively. “No, you must have been scared. It wasn’t that amazing.”

  “You’re right.”

  “Wh—”

  “I was scared, of course,” she interrupted, blowing a stray strand of hair from her forehead. “I thought I was going to die like the rest of them.”

  Zamian shook his head. “I wouldn’t kill you for no reason.”

  “Why, then?” Her dark blue eyes seemed to glimmer, tears forming. “Why are you letting me live? I’m not your friend, nor am I useful to you, like Kurt is.”

  Staring at her, Zamian’s gaze turned serious. “Because you’re a fellow cultivator who was deceived by those stronger than you, someone struggling against death, doing whatever you can to survive… And because I can. I can let you live and deal with the consequences.”

  Tulip stared at him for a long moment. Then, she smiled. “I’m almost eighteen, Zamian,” she said, shaking her head. “I didn’t peg you as someone who likes older women.”

  “Wh-what?” Jerking back, he was about to deny it when he noticed her mischievous smile. “Oh, I see, your true personality is that of a flytrap.”

  “A what?”

  “A plant that eats bugs.”

  “Are you a bug?”

  “Do you want to eat me?” Zamian asked, shaking his head.

  Smiling, they both laughed.

  “I’ll try to sleep,” Tulip said, lying down. “And I was wrong—you’re not so bad at talking.” Turning her back to him, she covered her face once more.

  Lost in thought, Zamian kept observing Bohlo, Tulip, and Kurt, letting time pass as he rested his body without sleeping or cultivating.

  Two hours later, as he was pondering where to search for his father next, he heard a chorus of screams from outside and thunderous noises, like falling trees, in the distance. The ground trembled slightly at first, but the frequency increased as the sound came closer.

  Kurt was the first to stand, followed by a groggy Bohlo and a tired Tulip.

  Zamian walked to one of the hideout’s walls and punched a small hole with his finger to peer outside in the direction of the noise.

  Amidst the forest far away, rushing closer, a red fog loomed.

  It seemed harmless, not disturbing a single leaf or raising any dust.

  But the giant vines and walls of earth moving behind it, nearly covering the white-leafed sky in the distance, surely were causing a ruckus.

  “Oh, give me a blighting break,” Zamian cursed.