64th of Season of Earth, 58th year of the 32nd cycle

  Nearly an entire moon had passed since the crash. Newt’s party carefully avoided any spirit beasts they came across, even though their realms had dropped marginally. Upper and middle fourth realm spirit beasts made up the common predators in the domain of the quetzalcoatlus. But hundreds of miles northward, the average predator realm receded to the middle and low layers of the fourth realm.

  Aura’s injuries took a while to heal, but the woman was once more up on her feet, trotting along while the others walked. Cultivators healed fast. Even a broken leg and broken ribs regenerated in ten days.

  And yet, despite their survival, despite no longer suffering any injuries, a gloomy mood stifled Explorer’s Gate’s surviving disciples.

  They found no other pieces of their ship’s wreckage, no hint of their remaining two companions, and no substitute weapons. Worse, they still roamed the domain of a fifth realm spirit beast. The fourth realm ones were too numerous, too tightly packed for them to be lords of the area. No, they were merely wandering spirit beasts, risking their lives to grow in a zone of denser spiritual energy.

  Newt brooded, considering their situation and slow progress at the base of a tree, when Aura hopped down.

  “We were heading north-north-west instead of north. We need to correct our course.” She pointed in a direction slightly to the right of the one they had intended to follow. “There.”

  The group set off again, walking at Aura’s pace, much slower than Newt would have liked. Add in the drift in direction as they avoided trees, hiding from predators several times per day, and checking for direction every couple of hours, and the group moved at the fraction of the speed he would have wanted.

  I’m dead if we continue like this. He drew a breath to calm himself. At this rate, we’ll take more than a year just to leave the Savage Wood. And what about the search for the sect master? We would take weeks to reach the sect, maybe even moons, assuming the Blood Cult isn’t still searching for us.

  The first few days, Newt forced himself to stay positive, cheerful, but his mood grew darker as time passed.

  Greenbow tried to lift his spirits at first, but the woman grew gloomy when Newt told her they should split ways come season of fire. The group should be in a much easier area, one in which they would not need Newt. The woman understood and left Newt to his fatalist thoughts.

  When the sun set, the cultivators stopped. They had no way of telling direction at night, and more than once they had found themselves wandering a random direction come morning, so they had agreed that nights would be for resting, rather than advancing through the predator-infested, unfamiliar darkness.

  They spent the dark hours in the trees, Newt often meditating and cultivating. The women had neither the desire nor focus to cultivate. Newt guessed the shapes and objects they were sculpting were too complex, and pausing their work was counterproductive, splitting it in segments impossible.

  Newt once more entered his realm, resuming work on the spell formation he had started the previous evening.

  “At least I will die with a properly cultivated realm,” he muttered and got to work.

  Cultivation remained his only solace. Newt knew it was a form of escape, focusing on work rather than on his troubles, but still he welcomed the distraction.

  In the early days, Newt resolved himself to protect his companions, even at the cost of his life. He would die in a handful of moons, so giving his life to save theirs seemed like a good trade. He expected his path would resonate with the choice, but it did not. Acceptance of impending death and rationalizing that others were worth more than his remaining days was not the heart of protection. What Newt found was depression.

  He was helpless. Worse, the choices which sealed his fate were the ones guaranteeing the survival of his fellow disciples.

  The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

  Moons passed. Season of earth gave birth to season of water and torrential rains which flooded the Savage Wood. The squishy ground became sticky mud, and the last of the fruit disappeared from the trees, ripped off by the deluge.

  The one good point was that the fourth realm spirit beasts had grown scarcer, hopefully meaning the group had left the domain of the fifth realm spirit beasts.

  Weeks passed, and with the fruit gone, Aura dug for tubers and lived on edible herbs.

  If I’m depressed, what about her?

  Aura did seem miserable, digging in the mud with a flat piece of wood she had shaped into an improvised shovel using the broken metal pieces of their survival trinkets. Yet, she did not share Newt’s depression. The miserable woman seemed full of hope, they had survived the worst, they weathered the stormiest part of their journey, and in theory sailed in safer waters.

  It’s so ironic. I’m doing fine, but I’m waiting to die, she’s miserable and looking forward to life.

  As days stretched and Newt kept thinking about death and futility of life, he realized several things he knew already. Everyone died. Even without the solar tribulation in half a year, he would die at some point. He knew that. Everyone knew it. But knowing something and being aware of it, feeling it with the entirety of one’s being were two different things.

  Everything he did, every bit of his realm he cultivated, every rune he scribed was in vain. From the world’s perspective, it changed nothing, yet to him his effort mattered. What he did with what little time he had mattered. His choices while seemingly nonexistent were in fact infinite.

  He could go and fight spirit beasts until he inevitably fell. He could kill his fellow disciples, he could kill himself and leave the world on his own terms.

  If I have the choice of how I die. He drew a deep breath and exhaled, the black mist which had drowned him for moons parting. I want to die to the solar tribulation after I have safely delivered my friends from Savage Wood.

  With that decision made, Newt felt strengthened. He once more firmly stood on the path he had slipped from.

  ***

  The season’s rain had lasted for seven weeks, when it suddenly stopped. The surrounding jungle disappeared, turning into an expanse of dry rock. All four Explorer’s Gate’s disciples spun, searching for a hint of trees, but the rainforest was gone without a trace, replaced by giant forges and oddly shaped rock formations.

  “What the—” Aura started, and Newt answered the question before she fully voiced it.

  “We have entered a secret realm.”

  His answer was mechanical, then he realized something.

  There’s no sun in here.

  Newt’s mind raced. What would happen if he was inside a sunless secret realm when the summer solstice arrived? Would he not survive?

  “Welcome, young ones.” A handsome black-haired man materialized before them. “I am Coldsteel of the Claw clan, a blacksmith and metallurgist of great renown across the entirety of our empire.”

  Newt stared at the ghost. He had never heard of the man.

  “You are stunned speechless!” The tall man wearing strange, green clothes beamed a proud smile. “I see my prestigious reputation precedes me, but I assure you the rumors are false. I’m neither haughty, nor difficult to work with.”

  The remnant stood with his nose held high, looking down on the Explorer’s Gate group. His stance alone spoke louder than his words.

  “It is a pleasure to meet such an outstanding figure,” Aura found her voice first, firing off a volley of compliments. “Your grand name and even greater artistry speaks louder than any words ever could.”

  Coldsteel nodded, everything developing according to his expectations.

  “No need to kowtow, I am humble. Tell me, how fares my clan? I have perished a week ago, and while I have expected clan members to come in search of me, the Savage Wood is vast, and hiring mercenaries is natural.”

  Isn’t it then normal for us to know who you are? If you think we’re here searching for you? Are you fishing for compliments?

  “Your clan is as mighty as ever, oh, great blacksmith,” Aura said, not a hint of mockery in her voice. The ghost before them needed to be at least in the sixth realm to leave a secret realm, and the chance of someone at the sixth realm establishing a secret realm upon death were negligible.

  Eighth realm was the likeliest, meaning Coldsteel’s ghost could exterminate them with a sneeze. Assuming he did not form his realm in layers like Magmin.

  “Why are you here in the jungle, oh great Coldsteel?” Aura asked, accenting the title.

  “I was in search for evolvium.” Coldsteel said as if stating a fact known to all of mankind. “The emerald ore fascinated me ever since I first discovered it, and after working that nugget into a weapon, I just had to find more to fashion a proper sword for myself.”

  Newt listened to the conversation with half an ear, only one thought on his mind.

  If I can convince this ghost to let me stay here for half a year, there’s a chance.