In isolation, he found nothing.
In nothing, he found the world.
In the world, he found discomfort.
In discomfort, he sought perfection.
In perfection, he saw himself. In himself, he saw a flaw that wasn’t him. A flaw created by the mask he wore and the discomfort that came with encountering the lady of the Imperial family. Further tainting his soul was the vulnerability that came with no Qi Sense. The silent recollection that he had died to nothing. That he died without knowing. He developed his Qi Sense to prevent just that. Without it, he was incomplete.
The veins in his wrist twisted and writhed. Black splotches appeared in his stomach, his meridians bursting forward. He was failing. He was more vulnerable than ever. The mist was a symbol of absolute nothing. The sky, the soil—it hid everything and brought nothing. The fallen tree sat beside him. Nature watched him like it once did the Enlightened One. The pain and the failure—it shouldn’t have been here. Dasha Pang did not fail.
His intent was not to fail.
Ah.
When did it become that way? Desperate not to fail? Craving power? That should not be.
Dasha Pang was power. He was wisdom. He was almighty. He wanted more because it was what he deserved; he did not crave it like a begger. The mask and the blood of the dead, they were reminding his body of his infallibility; of the death he desperately could not remember. To be enlightened meant not to consider death as an end. To be mighty meant to consider death as merely a state of change. The death he experienced was a death that was supposed to happen. Everything that he built up, everything he had done on Earth, he needed to let go. He was here and he was strong. He was here and he was growing absolute.
Growing but not quite there—and that was acceptable. Because strength did not manifest as mere punches and kicks. Strength came in many forms. He knew this. He recognized this. But slowly, he had been slipping. His mentality became that of an ordinary cultivator.
The splotches remained. The pain was stagnant. But his Qi and its control shifted and like milk, it mixed and swirled in his stomach. He breathed calmly and readily. He was back to his most absolute state. He was back to being who he was before. If he was not power, then he was wisdom. If he was not wisdom, then he was himself. If he was himself, then there was nothing to desire. No one could be him. As long as that was the case, even in the face of death, uncertainty was unnecessary. He was to grow. He was to evolve. That was all there was to it.
When Dasha Pang opened his eyes an unfathomable amount of time later, a woman was standing in the mist. Her figure was dark and visible: a contradiction for the magical mist. One woman became several. Several became twenty. All of them were the same. Their arms hung by their side, their nails long and their snow-white hair falling behind them to their ankles and their bangs covering up to their noses. Their complexion was nearly as white as their hair and attire, almost translucent in nature.
“I was wondering when you would show up. I destroyed all the redwood trees and yet the mist lingers.”
The Witte Wieven—the White Women. Were they elvens? Witches? Goddesses? It didn’t matter: they were here. Their nails sharpened into claws the closer they came.
[ Name: Witte Wieven
Class: Oracle
Level: 30 ]
Twenty Witte Wieven. According to Xaiver, they often appeared alone and assaulted men into sexual intercourse. Their faces were hidden and their claws would leave deep marks, so little euphoria could be found. Yet, some of them were said to guide players toward the safety of a redwood tree.
“This entire forest is essentially one big magic circle. The design is very atypical, using dots as the main connectors, but due to the nature of the redwood trees and their sheer scale it works as a fine conductor. And if there is a magic circle, there is a magic user behind it.”
The Witte Wieven did not speak. They were inching closer yet did not open their mouths or reveal their faces.
‘The main objective is complete. The redwood trees and the Will-o’-wisps have been killed. So what about the Witte Wieven? There’s no insinuation that they are my enemies. Therefore…’
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“Open inventory.” Still seated, Dasha fetched twenty tea cups and filled them up with fresh black tea with biscuits. “Here are my offerings.”
The Witte Wieven stopped immediately. An offering.
[ Special objective found! ]
[ Gate 13 : Silent Forest
Main Objective: Kill all the redwood trees and the Will-o’-wisps in the area! Kill them all! KILL THEM ALL — Complete!
Prize Pool: 1,000,000 XP, 1,000,000 PP
SPECIAL OBJECTIVE: Give offerings to every Witte Wieven in the Silent Forest, regardless of whether they accept it or not. Become the Guided One among the wise! Understand that humanity must live above all else! The past and present do not matter. Pursue the uncertain future!
SPECIAL PRIZE POOL: 1,000,000 XP, 2,000,000 PP ]
Strength came in many forms, indeed. He brought more and more tea cups. He had done his research. He was aware of the fact that these women were often given offerings in the real world. Seeing them here and approaching him without the intent to kill told him everything. The Will-o’-wisps and Witte Wieven were not in a symbiotic relationship. They were neither prey or predator to one another. They simply existed with a purpose that did not interfere with the other’s.
The Witte Wieven stood in front of him in an arc. The liquid in his cups glowed and sucked away inside all twenty of them. The offering was complete.
[ Congratulations! Gate 13 : Silent Forest
SPECIAL OBJECTIVE: Give offerings to every Witte Wieven in the Silent Forest, regardless of whether they accept it or not. Become the Guided Ones among the wise! Understand that humanity must live above all else! The past and present do not matter. Pursue the uncertain future — Complete! ]
Receive:
1,000,000 XP
2,000,000 PP ]
[ Congratulations! You are the first player to complete the Gate 13 Special Objective! ]
[ Congratulations! You are the first player to ever complete the Silent Forest’s Special Objective! ]
[ Bonus Receive:
15,000,000 XP
1,500,000 PP ]
[ Level up! ]
[ Level up! ]
[ Level up! ]
[ Level up! ]
[ Level up! ]
[ Level up! ]
[ Level up! ]
[ Level up! ]
The tiniest of smiles spread across their faces and they opened their voices to echo, “Foooollow…ussss.” The Witte Wieven turned and began moving, their walk akin to gliding. Their white dresses dragged behind them. Dasha got up and followed, careful to remain two metres behind. The mist seemed to part around them. The Witte Wieven were able to control the mist to some degree.
How strange.
‘The design of the redwoods over the land is like a large-scale magic circle. I don’t think I’m wrong about that. And the Will-o’-wisps, they were the guardians. So what are Witte Wieven here for? In some of the stories I read, the appearance of the Witte Wieven was very rare. Just based on intuition, it’s a one in a million chance. They co-exist with the Will-o’-wisps but for what reason? Why does one not hunt the other?’ The mist around him continued to part as the women walked. ‘Is it possible they’ve been fighting for control over the mist? Is that it? But why not kill each other?’
His ears perked up. Faintly, he heard a voice.
“Ninàn, ninàn, la Borda…”
Dasha wanted to stop and listen. The continuing walk of the Witte Wieven prevented him from doing so. He kept going, on-guard.
“...la liga i bei babèn cun una côrda.
Cun una côrda e cun una curdella…”
It was a song in Emilian. But why? Why now? No, most importantly…
“La liga i bei babèn pu la i asserra…”
Where were these women taking him?
“Cun una côrda e cun una ligazza,
la liga i bei babèn pu la i amazza.”
They stopped. The mist ahead of them parted till the land was completely unveiled. A small hunched woman stood on her knees. Dasha narrowed his eyes. In one gnarled hand, she clutched the corpse of a human, its lifeless form limp and pale in her grasp. With each slurp, she drank deeply from the flesh, her jagged teeth tearing into the flesh with sickening ease. Her appearance was enough to turn the stomach of even the bravest warrior. Her skin was pallid and slimy, covered in patches of mold and algae. Long strands of matted hair hung limply around her face, framing the gaping maw that stretched wide in a grotesque smile.
The Witte Wieven turned to Dasha, their ghostly forms glowing faintly in the mist. They gestured towards the Borda and said, “Kiilll heer…for us.”
[ Warning! Boss in vicinity! ]
[ Name: Borda
Level: 35
Class: Oracle ]
With a guttural growl, the Borda released her grip on the corpse she held, allowing it to sink back into the murky depths of the soil. Briefly, Dasha acknowledged that it was a player. Turning toward him, Borda’s twisted features contorted into a grotesque approximation of a smile, revealing rows of yellowed teeth caked in grime and decay. She had found it.
She had found him.
Though covered by a filthy blindfold, he could sense the malevolence radiating from them, a darkness that seemed to seep into his very soul. The Witte Wieven spread further and further until it was only Dasha and the Borda. A black rope appeared in the left of the witch’s hand and she hurled it forward. Its speed might have been unseen to an ordinary player. To Dasha, it was in slow motion. He let the rope envelop his wrist, then grabbed a fistful of it to reel the witch in and slam his fist into her ugly face.
A foul stench wafted from her, a sickening mixture of rot and decay that seemed to permeate the very air around her. His fist slammed her down to the ground, bringing his knee to the ground. He slammed a second fist just in case. He anticipated blood. Instead, he heard laughter.
“Kekkekeke…!”
The Borda was smiling. The rope he was holding onto glowed darkly.
Suddenly, his gauntlets began to melt into black goo. ‘What—?’