Nestled within the eastern reaches of the Kingdom of Vulcan, the Harosheth forest stood as a coveted hunting ground for young warriors seeking to make a name for themselves. Here, amidst the towering trees and dense undergrowth, lay an ecosystem teeming with formidable creatures whose roars echoed throughout the dense foliage. The most dangerous of these creatures lay deep within the forests, protecting their dens, completely disconnected from the rest of the forest. These beasts had evolved past getting meaningful nutrition from the flesh of lesser beasts and were instead focused on increasing their cultivation, bit by bit, planning for the eventuality of their Beastly tribulation.
To most aspiring Warriors, testing their mettle against the lesser beasts of the forest was a time honored tradition. However, the allure of the Harosheth forest lay not in the thrill of battling these creatures, nor in the myriad of valuable parts obtained from butchering their corpses after the battle. The hides, tusks, claws, meat and cores of these beasts were invaluable resources which fetched a tidy sum in the bustling local markets. No, the predominant reason most low level warriors ventured into the forests was the numerous Essence stones scattered throughout the forest floor and obscured by the layers of fallen leaves and the embrace of tangled roots.
For the brave few who ventured into the forest's depths, these Essence stones beckoned like a siren's call, promising newfound strength at the cost of immediate peril.
The stones themselves weren't the problem. The problem was the sudden state of frenzied bloodlust that overcame the forest critters the moment one of the stones was unearthed. Like a horde of possessed dervishes, the forest beasts in the direct vicinity of the unearthed stone would turn feral, fighting tooth and nail for the right to consume the stone.
Naturally formed Essence stones were usually created when large concentrations of essence condensed into a single point, the energy crystallizing under the pressure. In the Harosheth forest, the catalyst for the crystallization were the gigantic Iroko trees which produced Essence stones as a side product of their feeding cycle. The roots of these trees were complex, spreading deep beneath the surface of the soil and forming a network between their brethren.
Above ground level, the brown trunks of the Iroko shot towards the sky like the spears of a thousand Titans. The base of the trunks were massive, easily wider than six fully grown men standing side by side, with their arms spread apart and their fingertips touching. Curiously, once the trees reached maturity, they grew to exactly 120 meters in height. No exceptions.
Yet, it was the canopy of vibrant blue leaves, a remarkable sight in itself, that truly captivated the beholder. Forming a dense cover 120 meters above the forest floor, these leaves extracted massive amounts of essence from the atmosphere, pulling the energy from the surroundings in such concentration that a whitish haze of essence was perpetually hovering within the blue foliage. The absorbed essence coursed through the Iroko trees, repairing damaged cells as it flowed through the branches of the trees, permeating the sturdy trunks before arriving at the labyrinthine network of roots.
In a surprising twist of nature’s ingenuity, the roots themselves formed the Essence stones in the soil. Researchers had hypothesized that the Essence stones acted as reservoirs for the surplus vital energy the trees absorbed, while also acting as lures for the creatures of the forest. This was because once a stone was found, bloodshed was sure to follow, as the fallen beasts infused the soil with their energy-dense remains, nourishing the Iroko trees in a gruesome symbiotic cycle.
Some experts in the past had attempted to cut down parts of the trees for research purposes. It turned out that was a very bad idea.
The moment the first tree fell, there was a loud groan heard throughout the forests. Following this, the surrounding villages experienced the most devastating beast tide in recent history. Monsters both big and small came rushing out and killed everyone in their way. From farm animals, to domestic pets. From the lowliest of mortal peasants to the strongest cultivators brave enough to stand in their way. Numerous villages were wiped out in that one event and it took months for the last of the rabid monsters to either die or return to their lairs in the forest.
Centuries later, the effects of the beast horde attack could still be felt. New policies were adopted by the surrounding villages and anyone found trying to disturb the trees was sentenced to death, with no exceptions. Another policy that was implemented was the setting of boundaries within the forests to warn enterprising cultivators of the dangers. Boundary flags ranging from green to red, were tied on branches demarcating the safest regions of the forest, from the most dangerous.
Green flags denoted the areas on the outskirts of the forest. The animals found here were still a vicious bunch, but they were considered manageable for the average cultivator. Further into the forest, was considered the yellow zone. The beasts that called this region home were decidedly more dangerous and could kill anyone but the strongest Essence Cultivator. Anywhere past this was considered the red zone. The beast kings that resided here were stuff of fairy tales. It was said that one had to be a Qi Master to survive in this region and no one from the surrounding villages was stupid enough to venture this far into the forest.
At this moment, a pair of young men were cautiously exploring the green zone of the forest, harvesting essence stones. Both men were wearing well seasoned leather armor, stained a dark brown that allowed them to blend in with the surroundings. The leading man was built like an ogre, his armor stretching to their limits as his muscles flexed with his movement. In the center of his chest, an enraged warthog was embossed on his leather armor. He waded through the thicket of grass occasionally stopping to dig up a shallowly buried essence stone.
“Trent, how many stones do we have now?”, the muscular youth with greasy hair asked as he tossed another essence stone behind him towards his trailing servant.
“We have collected 143 essence so far, young master Ragnod. Seven more and we can return back to the keep to complete your Blooding ceremony”, Trent answered, catching the stone with one hand and swinging his sword towards the neck of the fox currently pouncing towards his torso. The fox yipped in alarm and tried twisting itself away from the short sword coming to end its life. Unfortunately, it was already too late and its neck was decapitated in one swing.
“Good. I don’t know why my father insisted I complete this stupid ceremony. I have killed grown men at the 4th essence stage before. This gathering task is beneath me” the young master complained.
“Once I get into the academy, I will surely bring you along. That would be the closest you will ever get to study under the Essence masters” Ragnod sneered while looking directly at Trent.
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“Not like you will ever get to form your Qi core with your shattered meridians” he continued.
“Yes, young master Ragnod”. Pain flashed through Trent’s eyes at the reminder, as he dug up another essence stone and tossed it into the bag on his back. This time 5 insectoids came rushing out of the nearby foliage and attacked at once. These insects were essence gougers, notorious for being viciously fast despite being as big as a human head.
Trent killed one immediately by skewering it with his sword, and then swung on the second right after. The third insect was easily dispatched by Ragnod. However, the remaining two insects veered just left of the duo and attacked the nearby shrubbery instead. That was weird. For low level essence stones like the pair had been harvesting, once the monsters sensed it, they usually tried to kill any competition nearby. Now it seemed the remaining monsters were hell bent on destroying the shrubbery for some reason.
“Let me sleep,” a drowsy voice called out from somewhere within the foliage.
Ragnod’s lazy attitude immediately vanished. He was fully alert and ready to pounce in an instant. He swung his head side to side, scanning the surroundings for any other threats. Although rare, this close to the Village, it wasn’t unheard of for bandits to ambush unsuspecting victims, robbing them of all their belongings. Sometimes, that included their very lives.
Ragnod gave Trent a look and the latter immediately understood what was expected of him. Holding his sword in a defensive position, he quietly circled around the frenzying creatures. Once he got into what he assumed was the blindside of the person being assaulted by the insects, he launched himself forward with everything he had, sword pointing towards the center to make sure he did not miss.
To the surprise of both Trent and the insects, two daggers flew out of the foliage instantly killing the essence gougers. A third dagger was flying straight for Trent and he swung his sword to deflect the dangerous projectile. Unfortunately for him, he had mistimed his swing and the dagger flowed like water underneath his raised sword-arm and buried itself in his armpit. At first, Trent yelped in surprise more than anything else. The pain was yet to fully register, but when it did, he dropped toward the forest floor screaming like a wounded banshee.
The exchange happened so fast but Ragnod had a clear view of the situation. Tensing up, he was beginning to launch an attack of his own when the stranger spoke with a strange accent.
“Wait, truce … truce. Can you understand me?” The stranger said as he pulled his surprisingly large frame from beneath the bushes.
Ragnod did not respond immediately, but carefully observed the man. Something about this stranger put him on edge immediately. The hairs on his arms flared up like he was in the presence of an apex predator. The man was tall, taller than Ragnod who stood at 6ft 3, and he had daggers strapped all over his body. Ragnod instinctively tried to feel for the man’s cultivation stage, but it felt like he was standing in front of a peasant mortal, despite his survival instincts telling him otherwise.
“Look,” the man continued, while stretching out his arms and displaying his empty hands. “I am a bit confused as to where I am and how I got here to be honest. But as far as you are concerned, I come in peace.”
Ragnod frowned as the stranger giggled like he had told the funniest joke ever. Something was definitely wrong with the man. He had the sleek muscle definition of a trained warrior, but his lips stretched too far apart when he laughed. He also seemed far too relaxed for someone that was supposedly lost and the crazy gleam in his eyes unsettled Ragnod more than he cared to admit.
Ragnod kept his silence but quickly scanned the immediate surroundings in case this was an ambush. Everything looked fine so he turned his sights back to the man. Deep brown eyes stared back at him unblinkingly, as the stranger’s head tilted to one side, and he itched an ear with his fingers. Definitely not a peasant with that confidence in his posture. But his clothes were utterly foreign. Maybe he was a mortal guard for a traveling merchant, passing through the area. But then why was he alone in the Harosheth forest without any visible bags or carriage?
His blood raced in excitement at the thought of the rare goods the disheveled man might have on him, so he secretly channeled some essence through his meridians, preparing to fight. He needed to be able to pounce and kill as soon as he found his chance. But first, he would swallow his pride and try to get some more information before making any moves. The last thing he wanted was to attack someone important, and worse yet, fail to finish the job. He would just have to distract the stranger for a bit till he had enough information.
“My name is Ragnod of house Kramos. Who are you?” he called to the stranger, gesturing at groaning Trent before continuing, “And you owe me a blood debt for harming my servant.”
The man tilted his head in confusion, looking at the writhing Trent like an unknown specimen. He looked genuinely confused as to why the man was thrashing about, like he wasn’t the one who sent the dagger. No. Ragnod re-evaluated the situation. The man looked disappointed, like he expected his attack to have been immediately fatal. Taking his eerily calm eyes off Trent, the stranger met his gaze, before responding.
“Really?” he smirked. “Well I am a little jumpy when woken up with sharp blades. Call it a bad habit,” the strange man shrugged, glancing at the groaning Trent. “The way I see it, we are even. The name’s Ren”
“Ren?” Ragnod flared with anger for the first time. “Just Ren? No clan or family name? You, a commoner, barely above a bug, dared attack me and kill my servant?”
Ragnod immediately pounced once he saw Ren take his eyes off him for a second. With the essence flowing through him, he was faster than mortal humans. The moment he learned that this strange man was a commoner, he decided that he had to die. The humiliation of this trip could not be discovered by anyone else. If anyone asked, he would say Trent was killed by the monsters of the forest.
In less than a second, he had covered the 15 meters separating them and launched a punch right for Ren's head. It was almost comical seeing how the commoner didn’t even manage to move, let alone dodge the simple attack. Ragnod was already planning out what to say to his father after taking care of this trash when he saw the stranger's eyes track his punching arm.
Unbelievable. Was he a fellow cultivator? No way. Ragnod could not sense anything from him. Normally that could mean that he was either a mortal or so far ahead of Ragnod in cultivation, that his senses would be rendered useless. But the stranger had all but confirmed he wasn’t some old master playing with the lives of the younger generation.
The punch landed without any issue and Ragnod almost sighed in relief. The stranger wasn’t much, after all. He watched as the force of his punch lifted the stranger off his feet and carried him through the thicket away from him. Ragnod made to rush after the stranger but then he heard some rustling sounds from right behind him. He turned and saw 2 direwolves make their way into the clearing.
“Kringle’s balls” he swore out loud. Ragnod was sure he could win against one of them in a fair fight. It would take a while, but he could do it. The issue was that there were two of them. More importantly, direwolves were very smart and formed big packs. He had no doubt that there would be at least 5 more direwolves coming around shortly.
Without wasting another breath, he ran up to Trent’s body and took the bag containing the collected essence stones with him. He spared a second extra to also retrieve the stranger’s dagger sticking out from his armpit. The design was different than he was used to. Maybe he could fetch some coins from this whole ordeal after all.
As he ran off into the distance, the clearing was filled with the weak cries of the dying Trent, as he became the meal for the family of direwolves. Ragnod being a fledgling cultivator, of course heard this but didn't particularly care. His thoughts were already on how much time he would spend in the steam bath when he finally got home.