The dense forest stretches endlessly before him, the towering trees casting long shadows beneath the morning sun. De-Reece treads lightly, his steps measured, his senses sharp. Solar moves beside him, her sleek black fur blending seamlessly into the undergrowth. The faint traces of qi lingering in the air tell him what he already expected—this land is not unclaimed. Beasts roam these woods, both natural and spirit-born.
He keeps moving.
This is not his first time in these lands. Weeks ago, he had fled through this very forest, hunted, desperate, weak. That was no longer the case. Now, he walks openly, shoulders squared, eyes steady. There is no hesitation in his movements, no fear in his steps.
Only intent.
They travel in silence for hours, weaving through gnarled roots and uneven terrain. Every now and then, De-Reece stops to observe his surroundings, memorizing landmarks, ensuring that he doesn't lose his way. Solar occasionally sniffs the air, ears twitching at distant sounds. Their journey is slow, but purposeful.
By the time the sun begins its descent, De-Reece feels the familiar ache settling in his muscles. His body has improved, strengthened through battle, but long-distance travel still takes its toll. He exhales, scanning the area for a suitable resting spot.
They find shelter beneath the overhang of a small rocky outcrop, a natural alcove shielding them from the elements. De-Reece unstraps his pack, setting it down before stretching his arms over his head. Solar settles nearby, her violet eyes half-lidded but alert.
He watches the sky darken, the sun dipping below the horizon.
His next move must be carefully considered.
By the time the sun begins to set, he searches for shelter. Eventually, he finds a narrow cavern entrance, half-hidden behind a tangle of thorny vines. It's shallow, but defensible. Solar slips inside first, her keen senses scanning for anything lurking within.
Once satisfied, De sets up camp.
He doesn't waste time.
Sitting cross-legged, he calms his breathing, circulating qi through his meridians, reinforcing the foundation he had worked so hard to strengthen. His mind flickers back to his battle with the Komodo dragon—the raw ferocity of the beast, the clash of wills, the moment of absolute victory.
That was only the beginning.
The sect selection looms ahead, a reminder that what he has now isn't enough. There will be others—geniuses, heirs to great clans, cultivators born into wealth and privilege. To them, his struggles mean nothing.
De clenches his fists.
He won't let them decide his fate.
De moves through the wilds with calculated efficiency. While progressing toward his destination, he hunts for rare herbs, replenishing his stock for future concoctions.
This time, he isn't just searching for common medicinal plants—he's looking for something more potent.
Findings:
Shadowvine Root – A herb with qi-absorbing properties. Used to refine Spirit-Enhancing Pills, which stabilize qi flow after intense exertion.Silverthorn Berry – A rare fruit found in shaded groves. When mixed into pills, it boosts physical recovery and speeds up muscle regeneration.Ghostshade Flower – A deep purple blossom that blooms in areas thick with yin qi. It's highly toxic if used incorrectly, but in small amounts, it can refine qi and sharpen mental clarity.Blackwood Sap – Found within ancient trees, this dark resin is a key ingredient in crafting body-strengthening elixirs. It hardens bones and reinforces the body's resilience against blunt impacts.
Each herb is carefully collected, sealed within storage pouches to preserve their potency. De notes locations where these plants grow—mapping the terrain in his mind for future reference.
As De moves toward a clearing, he catches movement ahead—not the low, prowling gait of a beast, but the structured march of people.
He stops. Watches.
A group of wagons rumbles through a well-worn dirt path, escorted by cultivators clad in patchwork armour. Their eyes scan the surroundings, hands lingering near their weapons. The air is thick with tension, as if they expect danger at any moment.
A merchant caravan.
De steps closer, keeping to the shadows, observing before making a decision.
He has been traveling alone.
But perhaps, just this once—he should walk with others.
The air carries the scent of horses, metal, and faint traces of dried goods.
De-Reece crouches low among the undergrowth, silent, watchful. The caravan rumbles ahead, a procession of wagons laden with goods, flanked by mercenary guards on horseback. Their armor is mismatched, their weapons varied—a mix of spears, curved blades, and crossbows.
A traveling merchant caravan.
De remains motionless, watching them pass.
They move southward—the same direction he intends to go. Toward Kalia.
Coincidence? Perhaps.
But in a world like this, he no longer believes in coincidence.
His gaze sharpens.
He studies the guards first. Their stances, their expressions, the way their hands hover near their weapons even in relative safety. These are not men at ease.
They are expecting something.
Then, the wagons.
The lead cart carries a stout man in embroidered robes, flanked by two mercenaries riding close at his side. He gestures animatedly as he speaks, though De is too far to hear the words.
A merchant leader. The one in charge.
The other wagons are covered with thick tarps, the contents hidden.
Smugglers? No, not with guards this open. A legitimate caravan, then. One carrying valuable cargo if the number of armed men is any indication.
But valuable to whom?
His eyes narrow.
If they were just traders, the guards would be relaxed. This is something else.
An opportunity… or a trap.
Solar shifts beside him, her golden-violet eyes fixed on the caravan. A faint growl vibrates in her throat, not one of hostility, but of awareness.
De reaches out, placing a steadying hand on her back.
"Not yet."
He weighs his options.
He could continue alone, staying off the roads, moving unseen. He has done it before. He would arrive faster.
But traveling with a group—even briefly—could be useful. Information. Shelter. Potential allies.
And if trouble follows them?
Then he will decide what to do when it happens.
A slow exhale leaves his lips.
De stands, stepping out of the brush.
No more hiding.
It is time to move.
De-Reece lingers at the tree line, watching the merchant caravan from a safe distance. The procession is larger than expected—several wagons lined in a careful formation, flanked by hired guards clad in mismatched armor. The banner hanging from the lead cart bears the sigil of the Iron Fang Trading Company, a mid-tier merchant guild known for its fair dealings but ruthless enforcement against thieves.
Solar remains close, her sleek form barely making a sound as she shifts beside him. Her golden-violet eyes flicker toward the caravan, ears twitching at the sounds of bartering and the clinking of goods being exchanged.
De studies the group, his mind quickly categorizing the composition: three core wagons loaded with supplies, five smaller carts likely carrying personal belongings, and eight guards—five of whom carry weapons imbued with faint qi signatures.
He exhales, sensing no immediate danger. This is no trap, nor does it seem like a gathering of corrupt merchants. Just a traveling business seeking to profit from the coming sect selection. Perfect.
With a final glance at Solar, he steps forward.
The approach is calm, deliberate. As soon as he emerges onto the road, several heads turn his way. A burly man near the front stiffens, gripping the hilt of his sword, but another, older merchant quickly raises a hand to halt any aggression.
"Halt there, stranger!" the merchant calls out, his voice wary but measured. "State your business."
De stops a few paces away, keeping his posture relaxed but firm. "I seek passage south. A simple transaction."
The merchant, a man with graying hair and a keen eye, looks him up and down, noting the travel-worn robes, the well-kept sword at his waist, and the silent beast standing at his side. His brows lift slightly at Solar but he doesn't comment.
"South, you say?" the merchant muses. "We're bound for Ironhold before reaching the border towns. That close enough for you?"
De nods. "It will do."
"Price is one silver. Pay now, and you're welcome to walk alongside or ride in the last wagon."
De retrieves a silver coin without hesitation, flicking it toward the merchant, who catches it deftly. The older man inspects it briefly before nodding in approval.
"Welcome aboard then," he says with a small, satisfied grin. "Try not to cause any trouble, and we'll get along fine."
De steps aside as the caravan resumes its journey, his pace matching the slow roll of the wagons. The rhythmic creaking of wooden wheels against the dirt road sets the tempo for the road ahead.
Solar walks beside him, her presence a quiet constant. He spares a glance down at her, wondering if she senses the same thing he does.
The road to the sect trials has begun.