The quiet ripples of the lake faded behind him as Mike stepped onto the moss-lined bank. His skin shimmered faintly, kissed by a thin glow like gold dust stirred in seawater.
A few drops from his damp hair slid down his cheek, catching the light as they fell into the grass each blade bending slightly, as if bowing in reverence.
Sunlight filtered down through gaps in the high pine canopy, carving soft columns of light that danced over the forest floor.
A lazy breeze stirred the ferns along the path, carrying with it a salty tang like the ghost of a distant tide whispering secrets into the inland woods. A pair of dragonflies hovered near a puddle, their wings humming like tiny strings plucked by nature itself.
Huo Chuntian stood nearby, scratching his head while watching Mike with a half-puzzled, half-proud expression. A droplet fell from a pine needle above him, landing on his shoulder.
"Kid," he muttered, glancing at the shimmering haze around Mike's body, "you've got enough power to fry a river spirit. But no proper weapon. What do you say we check out the next auction? Maybe get something that doesn't look like it came from a carpenter's shed."
Jian Dao was slouched against a moss-coated boulder behind them. The rock bore ancient runes, faded and cracked, half-swallowed by creeping ivy. He flicked a small twig off his sleeve and looked toward the squirrel scurrying across a root-twisted path nearby. Its paws barely made a sound on the dried pine needles.
"No," Jian said flatly, his eyes following the squirrel's quick movements. "Auctions are for fools who like being watched. You want something real? Something old? Then we go to the Wolf Tribe."
"The Wolf Tribe?" Huo's voice pitched up, startling a flock of blue-feathered birds from the nearby underbrush. "Are you trying to die early? Or just dragging us with you?"
Jian chuckled, nudging a pebble into the shadows with his boot. "Dangerous places are the ones where the legends hide. There's something there—buried under centuries of fear and dirt. The Thousand Trunked Soul Hammer. Not even the academy dares whisper its name. But I've seen the scrolls. I know."
The path ahead curved into a denser thicket. Mushrooms peeked from the bark of fallen trees, and the air grew cooler with each step.
Mike's boots sank softly into the damp earth as he approached, eyes gleaming. "Thousand Trunked Soul Hammer? Sounds like a beast. I've trained with hammers before, though nothing… soul-trunked."
Jian tilted his head, his voice low and steady. "You'll understand when you face it. That hammer isn't just iron. It's sacrifice. It's will."
They walked beneath the vaulted canopy, where tree branches tangled like fingers holding back the sky. Huo's tone grew somber.
"There was a war," he said, almost reverently, "between the Sacred Beast Continent and the Abyssal Domain. A thousand war elephants, each marked as A-class, held the line. When all hope vanished, they offered more than their strength. They gave everything."
The forest paused. Even the cicadas stopped their chorus.
"In a final act, they bound their souls flesh, spirit fire, and memory. Centuries passed, and their sacrifice became something else. A hammer. A weapon of honor and pain, soaked in their last breath."
Mike's lips parted, awe flickering across his face. Somewhere above, a hawk screeched and soared into a sunlit patch of sky, casting a fleeting shadow on his face.
Jian stepped over a root jutting from the path. "Eventually, Ruha found it. A lone cultivator, no sect, no banners. But the hammer... chooses its wielder. And it never forgets."
"And now," Huo pointed toward the thickening trail, where wildflowers grew like shy secrets in the underbrush, "the Wolf Tribe guards it. Something's changed in their king. Rumors say he's no longer human. Some say D-rank peak. Others whisper... S-rank."
Mike tightened the belt around his waist. His breath rose in soft, controlled clouds. "Whatever's there… I'll face it."
"What rank are you now?" Huo asked, his eyes narrowing.
Mike rolled his shoulders. A faint ripple of golden steam pulsed from his chest. "Dou Zhe. First Star. The Sea Dragon Flame gave me more than I asked for."
"Not bad," Huo muttered. "Techniques?"
"Only a handful. Ultimate Strike. Defense Hammer. Brutal Reflect. Reverse Shot. One Big Hammer Shot. And I've got a flying step technique."
He reached into his shoulder bag, fingers brushing past a dried leaf, a cracked ring, and finally pulled out a weatherworn scroll. The faded ink seemed to pulse slightly in the light.
"This too. Found it in my ring. The Autumn Technique. Used it once… it burned through my Qi like wildfire."
For a heartbeat, the forest held its breath.
Huo's pupils dilated. His voice dropped into reverent awe. "You… you have the Autumn Technique?"
Mike blinked. "Why's he acting like he saw a ghost?"
Jian didn't answer immediately. He leaned back against the tree's bark, which was flaking like peeling parchment. "Because… that technique wasn't your father's. It belonged to your mother."
The light dimmed. Clouds passed overhead, muting the gold. Mike's heart skipped.
"My… mother?"
"I'm sorry," Jian said, voice barely audible above the creak of swaying trees. "I can't say more. Not yet."
Huo stepped forward, eyes glistening. "Please, Mike. Just let me see it. I swear on my life, I won't take it. Your mother… she was more than special. Please."
Mike held the scroll close. A small beetle crawled across its edge. He stared at it, then laughed nervously. "No chance, old man. This is the only piece I have of her. You want to see it? Catch me first!"
And just like that, he darted ahead, boots kicking up moss and leaves.
"You brat!" Huo barked, chasing after him with a grin. "Come back here!"
Jian remained behind, arms crossed, watching them vanish around the bend. Wind stirred his cloak, and somewhere nearby, a single pinecone dropped with a soft thud.
He looked up toward the treetops, sunlight slanting through like a memory, and whispered, "The past always returns… in pieces."
Far ahead, Mike slowed, clutching the scroll tighter. A squirrel paused to watch him from a branch above.
He whispered again, his breath soft as falling ash.
"Mother…"