Days passed in eerie stillness.
Marc stood vigilant, his body tense, his senses spread wide like a web across the quiet expanse. The ground, still poisoned by the corruption, breathed an unnatural stillness. Yet no threat approached.
Mirage now pulsated faintly with a newfound aura, the result of being awakened by the engraved orc soul. Its formerly simple, bulbous form had begun to shift ever so subtly, as if writhing with hidden purpose, its senses sharper, its instincts keener. The Slayer Seed, too, stood firm—rooted at the edge of the photosynthesis field, absorbing the life-purified energy, visibly thriving where corruption would've once claimed it.
Marc took a deep breath. He had prepared himself for a wave of attacks following the earlier clash. He had fortified the area, positioned Mirage, and watched for movements in the darkened lands. But no enemy came.
Not for a day.
Not for two.
Not even after the third.
He remained on guard, his eyes always scanning the warped horizon, tinted violet by the strange, corrupted sky. Though sunlight existed, the color of the atmosphere itself was unnatural. Whether caused by thick layers of pollution or a magical disturbance, he couldn't be sure. But it twisted the sky into an oppressive hue, blanketing everything in a surreal filter of foreboding.
Finally, when he was sure there was no immediate danger, Marc allowed himself a single, slow exhale. But he wasn't relieved.
This lull wasn't a reward—it was an opportunity.
He knew better than to waste it.
Instead of resting, Marc began rigorously training with his basic skills. He tested them with surgical focus, chaining attacks, shifting stances, and experimenting with how one flowed into the next. He practiced evasions, strikes, feints, and movement-enhancing tricks. Every repetition brought sharper transitions. Every minute pushed his stamina, control, and adaptability.
He refined the rhythm between attack and retreat. Between burst and sustain. Not just for power, but for mastery.
As his sweat mixed with the strange mist of this alien moon, he moved faster, cleaner, and more decisively. And all the while, Mirage observed quietly, twisting ever so slightly, perhaps learning as well.
Marc's thoughts briefly turned to the Slayer Seed. He remembered something crucial.
Planting the Slayer Seed outside the radius of Photosynthesis—the area purified by his skill—was completely useless. The moment it was rooted into corrupted soil without the protective effect of Photosynthesis, it began to wither. Not for lack of sunlight, but because the Earth itself rejected life. Only within the zone of Marc's purification could growth thrive.
Marc knew this could become a serious problem in the future. What if an enemy forced him to move the Slayer Seed? What if he had to abandon the area and was unable to keep it within the purified zone? He would need a backup plan.
As he trained, he could feel the gradual expansion of the Photosynthesis zone. The area of purification seemed to grow a little more with each passing day, the soil around him slowly becoming more fertile and less corrupted. It wasn't something he could control, but rather, something that took time. This growth was slow but steady. And Marc needed it to continue.
He couldn't control the pace, but he knew the expansion of the Photosynthesis effect would eventually cover more ground, giving him a wider range of influence. Until then, he would need to keep a watchful eye on the Slayer Seed.
Marc's thoughts shifted back to his training. As he focused on his skills, he felt a shift within himself—a deepening connection to his abilities. As if his continuous dedication to improvement had finally paid off.
His roots shot from the ground with greater speed and power than before, slicing through the air and striking the hardened, corrupted soil beneath him. Each strike was more precise, more efficient than the last.
Marc's attention turned to the next skill. Root Slash—his attack with his sharp, hardened roots—had become faster, sharper, and more devastating. He felt the sharp tug of the earth as his roots tore through it. He could now control the direction of his strikes with more precision, making each cut count.
As the minutes passed, his focus deepened, and the air around him grew heavy with his ever-growing power. His roots extended further than before, twisting and bending with greater ease. The earth itself seemed to respond to his will, shaping itself in ways he hadn't been able to before.
His mind and body melded together in perfect synchronization. He reached down and felt the surge of power flow through his being. He was in complete control.
Skill Level Ups:
Root Shot has leveled up!
Root Slash has leveled up!
Enroot has leveled up!
Spore Release has leveled up!
Luminating Spore has leveled up!
Spore Explosion has leveled up!
Marc smiled, feeling the effects of his practice settle deep within his core. He was getting stronger. Each of his basic skills had become more potent, each action more instinctive.
Marc then focused on the new sensation of his roots stretching into the soil. Enroot had evolved. Where it once kept him anchored firmly, now it allowed him to manipulate the earth in subtle ways, reaching beyond the original limits of the skill. It wasn't just about being rooted anymore—it was about molding the world around him.
The longer Marc stayed planted, the more connected he felt to the land beneath him. Each movement, each slight shift of the earth, became part of his control. He could feel the rhythm of the land, the pulse of the corruption, and most importantly, the way he could twist it into something better.
Marc took a moment to appreciate how far he had come. His roots shot through the air with ease, sweeping the ground in precise arcs. His mind was sharp, his body attuned to the movements of the land, and his skills.
But as his training wore on, a thought lingered in the back of his mind. He had been working alone, preparing for the inevitable battle. But Marc couldn't shake the feeling that something was coming. The silence wouldn't last forever. And when it broke, he needed to be ready.
He looked at Mirage, still pulsating faintly with the engravings of the orc soul, its form now more refined, more purposeful. It had become more than just a fungal companion—it was a partner in battle. And he needed to rely on it.
Marc closed his eyes and visualized the battles ahead. He had to make sure every skill, every ability, was honed to perfection. There could be no mistakes.
The silence hung heavy around him as he continued his training, his mind as sharp as his roots, his body as rooted as the earth beneath him.