"And after the pattern," Wind goes on, his voice dropping into a serious tone, "comes the Manifestation stage. That's when your pattern absorbs everything—your concepts, spiritual power, all your skills—merging perfectly with your body itself. Manifestation-stage masters? They can kill just by pressing down with their spiritual force. No weapons, no tricks. Just raw, overwhelming power. That's some serious shit, brother."
He pauses, letting the weight of that sink in before continuing. "Next is the Fusion stage. I don't know much about it firsthand, but those warriors are said to live three or four times longer than normal people. Their power's insane—capable of leveling entire city districts in one go. Terrifying stuff. Honestly, I can barely wrap my head around it. Can you, Song?"
I nod slowly, the thought of wiping out a Dark Star City district with raw power sending a chill down my spine. That's beyond anything I've seen or imagined—crazy and terrifying as hell.
"After Fusion, there's a stage called Foundation," Wind adds. "No clue what those practitioners can pull off, but I'm damn sure it's not the end. There's more beyond that, legends and mysteries we don't even understand."
I nod again, my mind wandering. I only started practicing the Fire Immortal Technique a few days ago, but I've already felt my cultivation jump. Is the technique really that damn good? If so, why hasn't some powerful clan or sect snatched it up? Or maybe it's just me—my own freaky luck. Either way, this rapid progress sparks a flicker of hope inside me. Ending up a Third Lord, pushed around and disrespected, isn't the future I want. Somewhere deep inside, a stubborn fire ignites—a fierce determination that I'll be the strongest, and no one will ever humiliate me again.
"We're almost there," Wind says suddenly, stopping in his tracks. "This spot's prime for finding Snow Dew Flowers. But be fucking careful. They're a whole step above the Slicing Stalk Grass we got earlier. That flower… it can attack gatherers with spiritual force, and it's sharp as hell. It's got some basic intelligence, too. When you scan for it with Perception—I'm telling you again, be careful."
I nod firmly and stretch my Perception out, inching carefully through the thick forest. Meter by meter, slow and meticulous. It's easy to check ten meters around, but extending that out to two hundred? That shit drains you fast. Ten minutes in, I'm sweating buckets, my spiritual reserves nearly tapped, but I force myself to keep going.
"I found it," I rasp after a long search.
I collapse onto the damp ground, leaves and wet grass sticking to me. My chest heaves as I pant like I've sprinted miles without stopping.
"Fucking awesome," Wind says, rubbing his hands together, practically drooling. "Where?"
"Hundred twenty meters that way," I point east, too wiped out to care about directions. "Think it didn't notice me."
"East, huh…" Wind mutters thoughtfully. "Farther than I expected. Could be risky. Listen up, Song. Snow Dew Flower ain't something a First Lord can handle alone, even with your freaky spiritual senses. Stay here. I'll be back."
"No way," I shake my head firmly. "We go together. I can handle myself, and if shit hits the fan, I'll back you up. Gimme five minutes to catch my breath."
Wind eyes me skeptically, but doesn't argue. I can tell he's torn—doesn't want to babysit, but also figures even a First Lord like me could distract the flower if things go south.
"Fine, we move," he agrees once I'm steady. "Stay ten, fifteen meters behind me. And be careful."
"Got it," I nod.
We creep through the forest, every sense sharp for the faintest sound. Wind explained earlier: when the Snow Dew Flower feels safe, it rustles its razor-sharp petals—a reflex that gives it away. Most gatherers track it by that sound alone. All I see now is Wind's back ahead of me. The flower attacks anything that comes within thirty meters, so you gotta be stealthy on that edge, then blitz in fast to snatch it before it can unleash a spiritual strike. If you're too slow, it hits you with a mental blast and—get this—it fucking runs away. High-class plants can move to save themselves. Wild shit for a flower.
I shake my head in disbelief. A flower that legs it? This Garden's seriously fucked up.
We close in, the air thick with tension. Wind signals me to slow down as we near the thirty-meter mark. My Perception is stretched thin but still catching faint shimmers of the flower's energy—sharp, cold, like a blade slicing through the darkness. It's alive, aware, and I swear it's watching us.
Wind crouches low, moving like a predator, every step silent on the forest floor. I follow closely, heart pounding, keeping my distance. Then comes the rustle—soft, like a whisper of steel. The Snow Dew Flower is close now, its petals glinting faintly in the dim forest light, pulsing with raw spiritual force.
Wind freezes and signals me to hold. His muscles tense, ready to sprint. I feel the flower's energy shift, like it's waking up. Shit, it might've sensed us. My Perception catches a faint ripple—its intelligence probing the air. I point to the faint glow ahead. He nods, eyes narrowing. This is it.
Without hesitation, he bolts, a blur of speed, aiming to cross the thirty meters before the flower reacts. I hang back, ready to jump in if things go south. The air hums with tension as the flower's energy spikes, petals vibrating faster, the low hum turning into a shriek.
Wind's halfway there when a wave of spiritual force lashes out, a cold, piercing blast aimed straight at his head. He ducks, rolling forward, but the flower isn't done. Its roots twitch violently, pulling it back, ready to flee.
I can't let that happen.
"Fuck it," I mutter under my breath and charge in. My Perception locks on the flower, guiding me through its erratic pulses.
Wind's back on his feet, dodging another mental strike, his face tight with effort. The flower's razor-sharp petals slash out, sending arcs of icy energy that carve through nearby trees like butter. I weave through the deadly dance, my First Lord speed barely keeping pace, but my Perception gives me an edge, letting me predict its moves.
"Song, stay back!" Wind yells, drawing a short blade to deflect a petal strike.
"No chance!" I shout, closing the gap. The flower's energy surges, a desperate final blast. I feel it claw at my mind, but my new Fire Immortal Technique flares, burning away the intrusion like wildfire. I'm ten meters out. Wind's closer, blade flashing as he slices through the last root to pin it down.
The flower screeches—a soul-raking sound—and tries to bolt, roots tearing through the earth.
I leap, pushing every ounce of strength into my legs, and grab the stem. My hand burns as its spiritual force bites back, but I grit my teeth and yank. Wind's there, slicing the final root.
The flower goes limp, its energy fading fast.
We collapse, panting hard, the Snow Dew Flower clutched between us.
"Holy shit," Wind gasps, grinning wildly. "You're fucking crazy, First Lord or not."