Song's days settled into a disciplined rhythm. Every morning, he and Wind would scour the Forbidden Garden for spirit herbs. Their leather bags grew heavy with the day's harvest, the scent of crushed leaves and earth filling the air around them. The forest seemed to hum quietly, as if encouraging their efforts. Afternoons and evenings belonged entirely to training. Song devoted hours to the Sword Flash scroll and the Fire Immortal technique, pushing his body and spirit closer to mastery with every movement. Time blurred; one month melted into two, then almost three, yet his dedication never wavered. Slowly but surely, his efforts bore fruit. He broke through to the fifth lord level, feeling the sixth within reach, almost teasing him like a distant star. The Sword Flash skill, once awkward and foreign, now felt instinctive. The basic forms flowed from muscle memory, his blade slicing through the air with graceful precision.
Training with the Fire Immortal technique had the advantage of being practiced within the cramped confines of his small room, but sword practice demanded more space. Song found a hidden clearing near the servant quarters' wall, where the towering trees of the Forbidden Garden stretched their ancient limbs and cast long, cool shadows. This clearing, once a quiet refuge from the petty conflicts of the sixth barracks, had become his sanctuary. The earth was soft beneath his feet, scattered with dry leaves that crunched and stirred with every footfall. Day after day, he drilled tirelessly—basic slashes, advanced flourishes, precise counters that tested his timing and reflexes. The ground beneath him hardened as leaves were trampled into dust, bearing silent witness to his dedication. Each swing of his sword felt like a step toward something greater. The connection between him and his blade grew stronger, tighter, like an unspoken bond forged in sweat and patience.
Stranger still, Song's understanding of fire deepened in ways he did not fully grasp. Insights flared in his mind without warning, ideas and sensations more vivid than fleeting thoughts. At first, he dismissed them as tricks of fatigue, but they came again and again, undeniable and profound. One quiet evening, as the village slumbered and the moon hung low, he focused on a single, clear thought. Slowly, a small flame flickered to life in front of him, its warmth both thrilling and unsettling. It danced on the tip of his finger, obedient and alive. The discovery filled him with wonder, but also fear. Such power was dangerous if revealed prematurely. So he kept it hidden, even from Wind.
Meanwhile, Wind had advanced to the sixth lord level, thanks to the purchase of a growth stone. His pride swelled with every boastful word he spilled for weeks. He promised to reach the seventh lord level in a record-breaking sixteen months, waving his hands animatedly as if the goal was already his. Song listened, a half-smile touching his lips, his mind occupied by his own quieter, steadier path.
Their herb-gathering expeditions stretched farther as the Forbidden Garden's resources dwindled. The low-grade spirit herbs, once abundant, grew scarce. Other gatherers beneath the fourth stripe became desperate, their quarrels spilling beyond the city walls. But Song and Wind avoided such conflicts by venturing deeper, carefully skirting crowded areas. As autumn's chill crept in and winter threatened to halt all gathering, their ambitions grew bolder. They set their sights on the Great Forest.
The Great Forest was a realm of both opportunity and danger. Its rare herbs lacked even rudimentary sentience but were prized for their potency and ease of harvest. However, the forest was home to monstrous beasts, some nearly as powerful as human fusion-stage cultivators. Song and Wind planned to stay near the forest's edge, close to the Forbidden Garden, avoiding needless risks. They prepared carefully—Song brought his sword, a water flask, and dry bread in case of emergencies. At dawn, frost sparkled on the stone path as they met at the Forbidden Garden's gates.
"Ready?" Wind asked, his breath visible in the cold air.
Song nodded, the weight of his sword comforting against his back. They moved swiftly through the familiar garden, soon reaching the daunting border of the Great Forest. Towering trees loomed above, their trunks thick and ancient, stretching toward the sky. Song marveled at their sheer size, but unease gnawed at him. The forest seemed alive in a way the Forbidden Garden was not—as if it watched, waited.
"Start?" Wind asked eagerly, stepping forward.
Song closed his eyes briefly and extended his spiritual sense. The Great Forest pulsed with vibrant life—animals, plants, and insects thrived in astonishing numbers. His senses detected ten high-grade spirit herbs within a 200-meter radius, accompanied by countless lesser ones. The abundance startled him. Why had these treasures remained untouched? The question tightened his chest with suspicion.
"Ten high-grade plants," he reported quietly.
Wind's eyes sparkled with greed. "Let's get them, Song!"
Together, they harvested six Ice Lotuses, one Blood Restoration Herb, and three Doom Flowers. Wind's excitement boiled over as he hoarded their haul. "We're rich! Why did we wait so long to come here? Those fools in the Garden waste their time fighting over scraps, while we rake in the real fortune!"
"Keep your voice down," Song warned, his discomfort growing. "This place isn't safe."
They pressed deeper into the forest, gathering more herbs with cautious efficiency. Suddenly, Song sensed something strange—a void within the vibrant life surrounding them. It was like a dark hole in a vivid painting, shifting and pulsing closer. His spiritual sense flared in alarm.
"Wind, stop," Song said sharply, his voice low and tense. "We can't go that way."
"What is it?" Wind asked, the grin fading from his face.
Song's hand tightened around the sword's hilt. The strange warmth of the blade flared suddenly, a silent warning. Whatever lurked within that void was approaching—and it was not friendly.