The force of the anima swirling in Finlay’s body manifested a physical aspect and wreaked havoc inside him. This shouldn’t be possible at this stage, having just built his mind shrine. However, retaining extensive experience in anima manipulation from his past life, he achieved the impossible and expanded his crucible the biggest it could.

Unfortunately, there was a price to pay for the impossible.

A vomit was coming up. As he heaved, pinpricks of pain wracked his body as if dozens of tiny needles were inserted into his muscles. He coughed up blood. Not much. But it was still bad.

Mental strength fought back his body’s pleas to collapse. The Lumin Wisp’s residual healing was gone. Either it had run out repairing his injuries or too much time had passed. Probably both. No more health potions either. Good thing he had foraged medicinal herbs.

Finlay crawled to Cogwyn’s cloak. He chewed the remaining saegenta leaves in a rush instead of carefully squeezing out its juice. Next, he crushed a couple of stalks of dagtalan and inhaled the scent of its oils. It cleared his mind and reduced his headache. He had also picked some flowers that could dull pain. They were supposed to be boiled to make potions but since he neither had fire nor water, he just popped them into his mouth.

The herbs could only do so much. The natura emanations of the world pimple did the heavy lifting to keep him alive. If he formed his crucible in this risky manner somewhere normal—not that it’d be possible to do so—he would’ve died.

Finlay lied down, making sure his body had the most contact with the ground. He felt the natura, stale it may be, pass through his muscles. While resting, he started to practice amplification to help his body recuperate.

The little he could see of the sky was turning from dark to orange. It was sunrise again—another day had passed. He made good progress with almost two days on Ilaya. Would’ve been better if he already reached the lifestream, but he celebrated the win of successfully forming his crucible. A very significant win.

The sun had fully come out of hiding when Finlay decided to move again. To address the complaints of his grumbling stomach, he searched the roots of the trees for mushrooms.

Grandpa Swaney’s reminders about mushrooms came to mind, “You have to know ‘em to eat ‘em.”

Heeding this advice saved Finlay from an upset stomach or, at worst, death, in his early days on Ilaya. None of the usual tips, such as avoiding red and orange caps, those with spots, and certain gills under the flaps, were reliable even for experts. Just go for the ones he could confidently recognize and not risk the others.

Through years of surviving in forests, observing people he met along the way, Finlay came to know which of the Ilayan mushrooms he could eat and which could eat him. The latter weren’t part of the Sporeal Tide. There were actual monster mushrooms native to Ilaya.

Didn’t taste good at all.

Another nugget of knowledge from Grandpa Swaney about mushrooms was they were just the fruit of the fungus, the same as an apple and its tree. There was a whole network of fungi underground going about their business. And they had lots of businesses besides the decomposing part most people know about. Finlay also learned that this fungal network could wrap around or bore into tree roots. Trees could then use the network to send water and nutrients to each other.

This blew Finlay’s mind when he first heard it. He researched online if his grandfather was just messing with him. Turned out, it was true. Thinking now, the forest could be considered as one giant organism, with everything in it connected.

Too bad the Sporeal Tide wants to destroy the World Tree instead of coexist, thought Finlay as he chewed on a golden parasol mushroom.

No one knew where the Sporeal Tide came from. Even the elves who warred against it for a hundred and seventy-three years on their original world didn’t have much to say other than that the Sporeal Tide could open gates to other worlds, a skill shared by World Trees across dimensions. Some elven scholars theorized that the Sporeal Tide used World Trees as jumping-off points to the next world they’d attack. Why else would the invaders leave the World Tree for last? Dwarven researchers countered this, asserting they didn’t have a World Tree where they came from. Their ancestors escaped the Sporeal Tide only because a portal from Ilaya connected to their world.

That was the least of the disagreements between elves and dwarves. They fought each other for decades before the first humans arrived on Ilaya, resulting in both races being woefully unprepared when the Sporeal Tide found them again.

“Convincing elves and dwarves to unite early…” Finlay shook his head. “That’s going to be one of the toughest missions on my list.”

Having eaten a boring fill of bland mushrooms, he packed the rest into his cloak bag and made his way to the spring he had passed on his way up. He felt some nostalgia for surviving in a forest.

“A sponge-pitcher?” Finlay noticed it with Aethersight while scanning his surroundings as he drank water. He had missed such a useful plant because its leaves were deflated and covered by frizzy shrubs.

Finlay plucked one of the sponge-pitcher’s springy leaves and dipped it into the small pool that collected the water gushing out of the rocks. The leaf puffed itself to the size of a volleyball, sucking plenty of water. He carefully bundled the sponge-pitcher leaf in the cloak so it wouldn’t get squeezed too much as he moved.

As he tied the cloak, Finlay noticed red smudges on his arm. It was from wiping his bleeding nose.

He washed the dried blood around his nose and mouth as well from his ears down the sides of his neck. He also wet the bloody spots on his clothes, scratching the hard bits to remove them. Not a good idea to travel in the forest with the smell of blood. That was like waving an ‘I’m injured’ flag to the predators.

Finlay set off at twice the speed of his pace a couple of days ago.

Getting marinated in an excess of natura did wonders to his body’s constitution. He felt like a new person. Well, he technically was. Having built his mind shrine and crucible, he was no longer a normal human. He effortlessly climbed precarious rocks and ran up steep slopes, winding through mazes of trees without slowing. His breathing was easy and his body was light. His muscles weren’t groaning from exertion.

You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

A couple of feldeers feeding on newly grown shoots didn’t notice him coming until he blew past them. They squeaked in panic and jumped into the bushes.

Descending the mountain on the other side, Finlay picked up more speed. He alternated between accelerating and amplifying his anima to get a feel for it. To not waste time, he took this opportunity to hone his evasion skills and reaction. He jumped from rock to rock, avoiding branches and roots, maintaining his balance as momentum threatened to fling him away.

“Holy Firstborns!” Finlay exclaimed as his foot slipped on a patch of slimy fallen leaves.

And he found himself flying.

Spinning mid-air, he tucked his limbs and twisted his body to dive into trees instead of the rocks. He crossed his arms in front of his face as not-so-inviting branches caught him. Switching on Aethersight, he peered through his arms and the tree branches to plan his next move. He broke through the crown of the first tree and crashed into the next, grabbing a thick branch he had seen coming. His joints creaked as his body got flung forward; momentum tried hard to pry off his fingers. Not enough strength to hold on without risking injury. Finlay decided to let go. He had slowed himself enough that he hit the trunk of the tree below with not much force.

He tumbled down, breaking more branches, and landed on the ground somehow upright. He looked around. Did no one see the awesome thing that just happened?

“That was… lucky.” Finlay broke into chuckles. Then he jolted. “Luck!”

He patted his pockets for the World Tree seed—it was still there. The only casualties of his blunder were his clothes accented with small tears and the squished sponge-pitcher leaf, wetting the cloak bag. He wrung the cloak and drank the last contents of the leaf.

Should be more careful. He was messing around after years of doom and gloom and death. Going to be dumb if his hero’s journey ended with a stupid mistake.

Finlay still trained anima manipulation but didn’t push his pace much. He hastened again only when the path leveled reaching the valley. The towering rim of the Big Bowl peeked above the tree line in the distance. Unsure how long it’d take to scale those walls, he made a few stops along the way, harvesting fruits, more mushrooms, and some edible herbs. He also refilled his sponge-pitcher leaf from a water bulb tree.

By midday, he was more than halfway across the valley to Big Bowl, its cliff walls looming ever higher.

The valley was mostly trimmed grass and sparse trees, courtesy of the tri-horned bogdons hard at work eating everything green. Finlay ran with all his might across the open space, anima giving strength to his leg muscles, as he savored the winds howling in between the mountains. It brought back the day he first learned to accelerate anima flow—he sprinted from Worwick’s inner gate to the outskirts of the town to test his speed.

Back then, he had to avoid the people going to and from the town. Here, male bogdons were his concern.

A large bull with particularly prominent horns stopped chewing cud and turned Finlay’s way. Finlay gave it a wide berth, ignoring the temptation to jump over it. He probably could do it and the lumbering beast wouldn’t care. But if the bogdon did care, one swipe of its horns and he’d be gone.

Larger than the bison of earth and clad with a thick hide impenetrable to fangs and claws, bogdons didn’t fear any predators here. But those not from around here, the bogdons had to fear—the trappers after their Soulhearts. When forming a defensive circle, bogdons could imbue their neighbors with strength and durability—a useful ability for armies. Wardens not strong enough to be a lynchpin for squads would be assigned to support duty with bogdon Soulhearts. Luckily for the bogdons, Gilders didn’t have that many Wardens to employ this formation for its armies.

A bogdon cow? Finlay noticed the smaller bogdon with short horns ending in nubs.

He had to hop over this one. It was a game he used to play with other apprentices of Isidore, a stupid challenge to whittle away boredom whenever they found a large beast. Amusing to feel nostalgia for something yet to happen.

Finlay veered for the bogdon cow and leaped while he was several feet away. He arced across the air and down to the bogdon’s back. He landed on it, both of his feet firmly planted, its rough hide stopping him from slipping. Then he jumped even higher. The bogdon continued munching on the leaves of a sapling.

From this height, Finlay had a clearer view of his next challenge. Given what happened with awakening his anima-sense, climbing Big Bowl might not go as smoothly as he envisioned. Though he wasn’t going in blind. He had successfully scaled the Big Bowl twice before, even if that was twelve years ago.

The first time was with Cassini as part of his training. Not only was the climb terribly intense, but the other side was a whole different world teeming with life and those that wanted to end his life. Cut off from the rest of Gilders and empowered by residues of the ancient lifestream, the flora and fauna inside the caldera evolved into wildly different paths from their relatives. Big Bowl beasts had valuable Soulhearts, but trappers rarely ventured inside because of the danger and the difficulty of transporting their catch over the walls.

A month after his climb with Cassini, Finlay explored Big Bowl on his own to gauge his improvement. They were leaving Worwick in a few days and Finlay wanted to hunt his first Soulheart to use after he’d get his sternial.

Not the brightest of plans. He was lucky to return to Worwick in one piece. The seed lucky charm to the rescue.

“Maybe I shouldn’t plant this seed and just use it as a lucky charm instead?” Finlay muttered jokingly to himself.

Competition in an enclosed area could be why Big Bowl beasts were stronger and more vicious than their counterparts outside. Finlay should be on his toes every step of the way there.

Not that here was safe either. Predators were bound to be lurking around. Finlay was sure he could find a few if he maintained Aethersight. But it caused him headaches as his brain wasn’t used to processing it yet. Predators wouldn’t bother him anyway; he looked different from their usual prey and moved fast.

Or maybe they would bother with me?

Finlay sensed eyes with killer intent were on him—a predator. This wasn’t an ability gained from anima manipulation, but rather an inexplicable sense honed over years of fighting.

Some scent of his blood must’ve stuck and invited unwanted attention. He was an unfamiliar target, but the predator could be thinking he was injured, waiting to see if he’d bleed out or exhaust himself. Nothing with regular vision or Aethersight. Must be watching him from behind.

Are you really going to chase me? Plenty of animals could outrun Finlay even if he pushed his limits with anima manipulation. But a predator would have a territory. It wouldn’t want to go into another.

Just keep running and it’d give up.

That was supposed to be the plan, but several minutes later, Finlay could still feel a murderous gaze on him. Either the predator had a very wide territory or it was watching from far ahead and Finlay had just entered its territory. He couldn’t go somewhere else because he was aiming for a specific section of the cliff wall.

The grasslands turned into a wooded area as the ground sloped upwards. Everywhere ahead, past the trees, was the cold grey of the Big Bowl’s edge reaching up the sky. Soon, Finlay would have nowhere to go but to climb up, which he didn’t want to do with a predator hunting him.

He had to deal with it.