The limits of my Plant Creation (G) skill had been obvious from the start. It was raw potential, an unshaped block of marble. I'd used it for tripping wolves and anchoring myself to the earth—crude, temporary manipulations of existing flora. Kaelan's journal, however, treated it as the most critical tool in the Sylvan arsenal. "The hand that shapes the outer world must first be practiced upon the inner," he wrote. To cultivate my body's channels, I needed an intimate, artistic mastery over plant life itself.
My desperate need for coin and my new "Greenwarden" cover provided the perfect laboratory. I started small, in the hidden garden plot behind the cottage.
Week 1: Observation & Manipulation.
I didn't try to create. I sat for hours, hand resting on the soil, Mana Eyes active, watching the Silverthread I'd planted. I saw its simple mana signature—a pale, metallic grey stream. Using Plant Creation, I didn't force it to grow. I suggested. A nudge of mana to a rootlet, encouraging it to seek deeper water. A whisper of energy to a leaf, guiding it to angle toward the weak sunlight. It was a conversation, not a command. The skill remained (G), but my proficiency with it deepened. I learned the "language" of this plant.
Week 2: Acceleration & Enhancement.
The guild's alchemist paid a premium for fresh, potent herbs. Using my growing rapport, I began to enhance the Silverthread's natural properties. I focused mana not on size, but on potency, encouraging the plant to concentrate its silvery, mana-conductive compounds. The harvest yielded 30% more usable material, and its purity was noticeably higher. I sold it as "well-cultivated," hinting at Greenwarden techniques. My Plant Creation skill flickered, inching toward the threshold of (F).
Week 3: Hybridization – The First Experiment.
In a corner of the plot, I grew two common, worthless herbs: Bittercap (a foul-tasting fungus deterrent) and Sunlace (a fast-growing vine with mild numbing properties). Individually, they were trash. Using Mana Eyes, I studied their mana structures. Bittercap's was a spiky, defensive brown. Sunlace's was a smooth, flowing yellow. The idea was insane, but Kaelan's notes spoke of "bridging life streams."
I took a single, thin root from each plant and bound them together with a strand of my own Plant-attuned mana, visualizing a graft. For days, I fed the junction a trickle of energy, encouraging fusion, not rejection. I wasn't creating a new plant from nothing; I was acting as a catalyst for forced symbiosis.
It failed five times. The roots withered or mutated into a pulsing, cancerous blob I had to burn.
On the sixth attempt, something took. A fragile, new shoot emerged from the graft point. It had Sunlace's rapid growth but the hardier, woodier stem of Bittercap. More importantly, its mana signature was a unique, intertwined braid of brown and yellow. It was unstable, but it was new.
[You have facilitated the creation of a novel plant hybrid. Would you like to register the variant?]
I named it "Sun-Cap Vine." The world acknowledged it. My Plant Creation skill finally glowed and evolved.
[Skill: Plant Creation (F) acquired.]
[Appraisal: Allows for the guided enhancement, accelerated growth, and basic hybridization of plant life. Mana cost reduced by 15%. Success rate of complex manipulations slightly increased.]
It was a milestone. I now had a tangible, world-recognized proof of my "Greenwarden" research. I documented the process in a crude notebook, making it look like rediscovered lore.
Week 4: Practical Application – The Pepper.
The staple diet in Whitefall was bland: gruel, hard bread, boiled tubers. Spices were expensive imports. I remembered the fiery kick of peppers from my past life. They didn't exist here. Could I create one?
This was more ambitious. I needed a base plant with the right structure—a fleshy fruit pod. I found Fire-Berry, a wild, mildly tangent and slightly warm berry that grew in sunny clearings. Its mana was a faint, flickering red. Using Plant Creation (F), I didn't hybridize it with another species. I selectively intensified its existing traits over several generations of accelerated growth. I pushed mana into the berries, encouraging the development of capsaicinoids (a concept I held in my mind, willing the plant's life force to interpret it). I selected the seeds from the warmest berries and replanted them, repeating the process.
It took three accelerated cycles. The result was a small, wrinkled red pod that radiated a vibrant crimson mana. I sliced a sliver and touched it to my tongue.
Fire. Pure, cleansing, familiar fire. It wasn't just spicy; it had a complex, smoky depth. I had successfully guided evolution to create a new cultivar. I named it Dragon's Kiss Pepper in my notes, playing into the local dragon mythology.
This was more than a spice. It was a revolution in a pod. But I couldn't reveal it yet. A completely new, flavorful crop would draw massive, uncontrollable attention. I stored the seeds carefully in my Inventory, a long-term asset.
The Realization:
My experiments proved that Plant Creation, as a Growth-Type skill linked to my Sylvan Circuit, wasn't about summoning trees from nothing. It was about communication, guidance, and catalyzed evolution. I was a director of life's orchestra, not a conjurer. This had profound implications:
1. Poison: I could theoretically guide a plant like Bittercap to concentrate its defensive compounds into a lethal toxin, or hybridize it with a fast-delivery system like Sunlace. But doing so would mark me as a poisoner, a dark art.
2. Medicine: The opposite path. Enhancing healing herbs, creating synergistic hybrids for potions. This was the safe, "Greenwarden" path.
3. Agriculture: This was the goldmine. Creating drought-resistant grains, faster-growing vegetables, nutrient-rich staples. This could change empires, earn fortunes, and earn either undying gratitude or fatal envy.
For now, I walked the middle path. I used my enhanced Silverthread and a newly stabilized batch of Sun-Cap Vine (which had mild analgesic properties useful in poultices) to establish a small, credible stream of income with the guild alchemist. I was now "that odd mapper kid who's also decent with herbs." A useful, non-threatening niche.
But in the secrecy of my cottage and garden, I was laying the groundwork for a far greater form of power. Not the power to destroy armies, but the power to feed them, heal them, or quietly influence the very land they stood on.
One evening, as I pruned the Dragon's Kiss plant, a strange synchronicity occurred. The node in my right palm, the one at 9% integration, throbbed warmly. A faint tendril of its energy seemed to reach out and brush against the plant's own crimson mana field. The pepper plant shivered, and a new flower bud formed in seconds.
The Sylvan Circuit wasn't just inside me. It was beginning to interact with the plant life I nurtured. I was not just a gardener of my soul.
I was becoming the nexus of a wider, living network.