The forest breathed.
Tall trees stretched high into the sky, their leaves whispering ancient secrets in the soft wind.
Shafts of golden sunlight filtered through the canopy, casting dappled shadows on the ground.
Birds chirped somewhere above. Insects buzzed softly.
A gentle stream could be heard in the distance, weaving through moss-covered stones.
Ashen walked through it all in silence, his feet brushing past roots and leaves, each step precise and without waste.
His white hair fluttered with the breeze, and his blindfold — though useless to those with normal eyes — swayed lightly as he took in the forest through sharpened vision.
[Passive Observation Mode: Active]
[Terrain Scan – Initiated…]
[Environmental Threat Level: Low]
[Flora Density: Moderate]
Then—
A soft ding echoed in his mind.
[Unrecognized Herbal Signature Detected.]
[Initializing Scan…]
Ashen blinked, halting his steps.
A faint translucent window bloomed in front of him — floating gently in the air like morning mist.
[Plant Identified: Ghostleaf Fern]
Tier: Common
Effect: Minor fever reducer. Can be ground and applied to wounds.
Harvest Difficulty: Low
Rarity: 2/5
Note: Use only fresh. Loses potency after 24 hours.
Ashen crouched silently.
The plant had pale green fronds and a faint silvery shimmer at the edges.
It looked unremarkable at first glance — just another weed — but the system didn't lie.
He gently plucked several fronds, tucking them into the cloth bundle slung beneath his sash.
He stood again, continuing his slow path.
[Resource Acquisition Logged – Basic Herbology 0.02%]
[Instinct Carve: Active]
[Muscle Memory Forming…]
He wandered deeper into the woods. The trees grew closer. The sunlight thinned.
He passed moss-covered boulders, fallen trunks, and a field of strange red mushrooms he carefully avoided.
Occasionally, he paused to gather bark or thick leaves, tying them together into a small sack using vines.
Just as he was bending down to inspect a strange yellow root near a tree base—
Snap.
The softest sound.
His muscles tensed instantly. He turned his head slightly, instinct prickling up his spine.
Movement.
Rustle. Crack.
His body shifted without thought, legs coiling. He leapt back—
—and a gray blur lunged from the underbrush, teeth bared.
A wolf. Lean, scarred, eyes glowing faintly with the dull aura of Qi. A forest predator — fast, quiet, lethal.
Ashen's body dropped low mid-air, twisting sideways as the wolf sailed past, claws slicing only air.
It hit the ground and spun with shocking agility, its paws kicking up dirt.
Ashen's breathing slowed. His feet slid back slightly.
[Threat Level: F-Rank Beast – Wild Greyfang]
[Estimated Power: Comparable]
[Recommendation: Engage.]
The wolf snarled and charged again.
Ashen ducked low and turned sharply — catching its movement, the coiling of its hind legs.
He sidestepped just before the jaws snapped shut.
Then — he ran.
But not in retreat.
Toward a tree.
He ran up it.
His feet pressed against the bark — for a split second, gravity felt negotiable.
Using sheer strength and momentum, he pushed off the side of the trunk and launched himself back down—
—fist extended, muscles tight like a coiled spring.
The wolf turned just in time to see him falling like a meteor.
Crack.
Ashen's fist slammed into its flank with the force of a battering ram.
The beast skidded across the ground, yelped, and twitched — unconscious, ribs likely shattered.
Ashen stood over it, panting quietly.
Blood dripped down his hand, the skin torn at the knuckles.
"…Not bad," he muttered.
He crouched, inspecting the wolf.
Valuable organs. Hide. Teeth.
He flexed his fingers.
Then he extended them.
His nails — though unremarkable to the eye — were harder than steel now, strengthened subtly by Qi threading and unnatural resilience from his enhanced body.
They gleamed faintly under the setting sun.
With careful precision, he began cutting.
The hide peeled cleanly. Organs were extracted. His hands bled — but his face didn't change.
Pain was irrelevant. Only efficiency mattered.
[Beast Material Collected: Greyfang Hide, Fangs x2, Coreless Qi Heart]
[Resource Use Potential: Moderate]
The light was beginning to dim.
Ashen stood, looking through the trees toward the horizon.
The sun dipped lower — orange fire painting the sky in slow strokes. Shadows stretched long.
And as he gazed… a sudden wave of memory surged.
Not a memory, exactly — but instinct. Skill. Experience.
How to make shelter. How to build fire. How to dry meat.
How to survive the wild with nothing but hands and mind.
It hit him like a dream he'd forgotten until now.
"...Deja vu," he whispered.
And then—he moved.
He gathered bark, snapped long branches from trees, and used vines to bind them.
His hands were scratched, bloodied — but never stopped.
He dragged a fallen log to create a low brace. Around it, he layered sticks in a small pyramid.
He dropped to his knees and took two sticks.
Friction.
He went all out.
Back-and-forth. Grinding fast. Relentless.
His palm split. His shoulder tensed. But then—
Smoke.
Spark.
Flame.
A burst of fire crackled to life.
Ashen dropped the stick, breathing hard. His hand bled from the effort.
"…Makes sense," he muttered, staring at his palm. "Not durable enough yet."
He sat beside the flame.
Nearby, he had fashioned a simple spit with sharpened sticks and set strips of meat to dry over it.
A bit farther away, a piece of bamboo — hollowed with nail and effort — held river water.
He positioned the bamboo bowl near the flame, but not directly in it. Slowly, the water began to bubble.
He took out one of the herbs — ghostleaf — and tore it with bleeding fingers, tossing in small pieces for taste and preservation.
When it was ready, he poured it into a hollowed cup-like bamboo piece and drank.
Then he skewered a piece of meat, gently roasted it, and took a bite.
Smoke drifted upward.
He sat in silence, chewing slowly.
The forest was quiet again.
Night would fall soon.
Ashen stood.
He bent his knees, launched himself upward, and caught a thick branch near the canopy.
He climbed with practiced ease and settled in a crook between two branches, tying himself to the trunk with a vine belt.
The wind blew softly.
The moon began to rise.
Ashen closed his eyes.
Tomorrow, he would hunt again.
But tonight — he rested.
And high above the forest floor, the Wandering Swordsman slept.
——————
"Beneath the Moon."
High above the mortal earth,
he slept upon a whispering bough.
One leg adrift, one eye to the stars.
His breath matched the rhythm of the leaves —
as if inhaling the Dao itself.
He no longer chased glory, nor did he mourn loss.
Now, he was the wind between branches.
Still, present, eternal.
Some cultivators soared on swords.
Others smiled at the stars with blood beneath their hands.
But Ashen…
Ashen breathed in silence — and the world exhaled with him.
Even the moon paused,
unsure if it gazed upon a man… or a memory.
And in that silence…
even the heavens dared not disturb him.
-–—–—–—‐
"The highest peak is not a mountain... but a moment like this.
Where wind rustles my robe,
and the moonlight sees me —
but asks for nothing."