Mo Han reached faster than others.

The instant he crossed the threshold, the world shifted — light bent, sound warped, and for a heartbeat, the feeling of weightlessness seized his senses. Then, with a low hum, the new world came into focus.

He stood beneath towering trees, their trunks wide enough to shelter carriages. The air was rich with vitality — heavy, warm, and thick with the fragrance of herbs, flowers, and damp soil. The spiritual energy here was pure and dense, forming visible threads that swirled lazily through the forest like mist. Every breath carried the taste of medicine and power.

All around him, the forest buzzed with noise.

Disciples were everywhere — darting between trees, cutting vines, or kneeling beside glowing herbs that pulsed like living jewels. A few groups fought off minor beasts, their roars echoing through the thick foliage.

"Spirit lotus here!" someone shouted in the distance. "Two-leafed, fully matured!"

"Grab it fast! The scent will draw beasts!" another replied.

Mo Han watched for a moment as the chaos unfolded — greed, excitement, desperation — all tangled together in a mad rush for fortune. The trial had barely begun, yet already the disciples treated it like a race for survival and wealth.

He exhaled softly. The air was sweet with spirit pollen, yet cloying in its intensity.

"All this for a few herbs," he murmured, eyes scanning the endless canopy. "Aura stones can buy what wisdom cannot."

He adjusted the strap of his sword and began walking deeper into the forest, ignoring the glittering herbs along the path. He had only one destination — the Spirit Well, the heart of the Inner Herbal Forest, where the mountain's life force condensed into its purest form.

That was his goal. Not herbs. Not beasts. Not the petty rivalries of other disciples.

The deeper he went, the quieter the forest grew. The noise of scrambling cultivators faded behind him, replaced by the rhythmic pulse of nature itself. The air here shimmered faintly, and the ground seemed to hum beneath his steps.

But peace in the Inner Herbal Forest never lasted long.

Halfway through a narrow ravine, two figures dropped from the trees ahead, landing lightly on the moss-covered ground. Their sudden appearance stirred the air, scattering leaves.

Mo Han stopped immediately.

Both men wore the black and silver robes of the Eternal Night Mansion, their chest emblems marking them as disciples of Elder Park. One was tall and lean, his eyes sharp with arrogance. The other was broader, his face set in grim determination.

The taller one smirked. "Mo Han."

Mo Han's eyes narrowed slightly. "Elder Park's dogs?"

"Careful," the broader one said, stepping forward. "You're speaking of your betters."

The tall one's grin widened. "You should've listened to Elder Park's advice back at the mansion. She told you to get out of this sect, didn't she?"

Mo Han's tone was quiet, steady. "I don't recall Elder Park having the right to dictate where I walk."

"Then let us remind you why he does."

Without warning, the tall disciple raised his hand, summoning a crescent blade of wind that slashed toward Mo Han. It cut through the trees with a scream, splintering bark and stone in its path.

Mo Han didn't move. His body swayed only slightly as the blade passed inches from his face, carving a long gouge in the earth behind him. The wind that followed tugged at his hair, carrying faint traces of killing intent.

The two disciples smirked in satisfaction.

"Fast enough to dodge," said the broader one. "But not fast enough to escape."

He thrust his palm forward, and the air behind him shimmered. From the ground, thick roots burst upward like snakes, coiling toward Mo Han's legs.

Mo Han stepped back, expression calm. He could have retaliated — but he didn't. Not yet.

Instead, he allowed the roots to snap toward him, sidestepping at the last second. They slammed into the dirt where he had been standing, shattering rocks and sending debris flying. The display was impressive — for ordinary elder-rank disciples.

Strong aura control, but shallow intent, Mo Han assessed silently. Their spiritual rhythm isn't coordinated. One trained in wind essence, the other in wood manipulation. Not a threat — but an opportunity.

His lips curved faintly.

He had come here for the Spirit Well, but this was a convenient chance to test something else — his progress with the Inner Beast Spirit Art.

He exhaled softly, placing his hand on the hilt of his sword.

The golden light in his dantian stirred — faint, heavy, rhythmic, like the thud of a heartbeat deep within the earth.

The two disciples tensed as the ground beneath them began to vibrate. Dust fell from the branches above.

"What's happening?" the tall one barked.

Mo Han's eyes glowed faintly — gold, deep as molten metal. The faint image of a boar's silhouette flickered behind him, vast and primal.

Then came the sound.

A deep, guttural roar that wasn't entirely human. The air shook, leaves trembled, and the earth itself seemed to pulse with the resonance of the Golden Boar Spirit.

The disciples staggered back instinctively, eyes wide.

"W-what is that?"

Mo Han's voice was calm, almost detached. "The foundation of strength. Let's see how well you withstand it."

He drew his sword.

The blade glimmered with the faint light of earth essence. When he moved, it wasn't a slash — it was a stampede. The ground cracked beneath his feet as aura surged outward, carrying the weight of the Golden Boar's spirit.

The tall disciple tried to counter, summoning a shield of wind — but it shattered the moment the wave hit. He was flung backward, crashing through a tree trunk, coughing blood.

The other disciple roared in defiance, his roots lashing again. Mo Han pivoted sharply, his aura merging with the earth beneath him. He drove his sword downward, splitting the roots cleanly in half.

The impact left the forest floor glowing faintly gold.

The second disciple fell to his knees, breathing hard, his wooden defenses splintered. He looked up, trembling. "What… what technique was that?"

Mo Han sheathed his sword slowly, the golden light fading from his eyes. "A reminder," he said quietly, "that your elder should choose wiser disciples."

The air fell silent again, save for the rustle of leaves.

In the distance, hidden behind the thick foliage, a pair of eyes gleamed — sharp and cold, like those of a fox stalking its prey.

Tang Zin watched from the shadows, her expression unreadable. The faint curve of her lips carried both admiration and hatred.

"So," she whispered to herself, "you've grown stronger." Her hand tightened around her spirit whip. "Good. I'd rather kill a lion than a cub."

-

TQ:-)

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