"Are you sure you don't need our help to move now, Uncle Soho?" Zamian asked, resettling in his chair and popping a grape into his mouth, having just received from the old couple an array of grains, fruits, and vegetables, now spread on the small rounded table.

  “Yes, yes. They asked us to leave today, but we would like to stay until the last meal,” Soho said, now hugging his wife by the side, their chairs closer. “Besides, Misandra needs to talk to the Zealots at the Farms today; she'll retire alongside me,” he added, his smile deepening the wrinkles on his face.

  The Farms, known to be the primary food source for those without private gardens like Zamian's family, varied in structure—some above ground, some integrated into the roots, and a few underground for special crops. Zamian read some farms outside the Sanctuary kept animals, making him jealous.

  "It's fine. We’ll come back later," Zamian said, scanning the faces of the old couple and their son.

  “Oh, Z. And don’t come with this stupid thing of us forgetting you or leaving you behind,” Bohlo interjected, holding a bowl of cold vegetable soup, his face smeared with food, “You won’t escape me so easily,” he said with a grin.

  Zamian chuckled and nodded.

  “Of course not. Besides, from now on, you will live by our side, Bohlo Boy,” Dante suddenly said, after being quiet throughout the meal. “And don’t even try to deny me this. What happened here is my and my son’s fault.”

  Misandra nodded appreciatively, maintaining her calm demeanor.

  "We appreciate the help, Lord Chosen. It would be foolish to go against your command," the shopkeeper agreed graciously.

  After the discussion, Bohlo assisted his parents inside, to their room, taking the opportunity to clean up and change his clothes, donning a shirt for the first time in a long while.

  Outside the store, Dante and Zamian waited for him, observing the growing flow of pedestrians, signaling most families had ended their first meal.

  Zamian tried to speak, only for Dante to cut him off sharply, "Not here, boy," he ordered, casting a meaningful glance at his son.

  A few moments later, Bohlo emerged wearing a tight brown shirt that strained against his muscular frame. He looked uncomfortable and deflated.

  “B, you look like an actual cultivator, protecting your dignity and all that. Nice!” Zamian teased, clapping the big guy on the back.

  “Uh. I can barely breathe… This thing is suffocating me, Z. Please let’s go, I need to take this off,” his friend complained.

  “B, you didn’t tell them about my mother's situation, right?” Zamian whispered.

  Bohlo shook his head, “No way, even I know the rules.”

  With no further delays, Dante led the young men through the town, navigating past clusters of houses and stores along the central root channel, avoiding the periphery of the main settlement, where the bigger constructions were built. Zamian once read the towns outside the Sanctuary had their most important buildings in the middle, not at the edges.

  Along the way, commoners and cultivators avoided the trio, with some even ducking into dead-end alleys to wait until they had passed.

  Upon reaching a clearing well away from others, Zamian addressed his father, "Dad, do you even have a plan?"

  "I’m all ears, boy," Dante responded with a smirk, continuing their walk.

  Meanwhile, Bohlo resumed humming a nursery rhyme, having already discarded his constrictive shirt and stuffed it into his pants.

  Zamian glanced at his friend, who waved back when he noticed it, and then turned back to Dante. "How does the protection from my soul work when you look at it?"

  Dante considered the question, one eyebrow arched, "I'm not sure how it works, boy. But I can tell you how it feels—it's like walking into a trap, a dangerous premonition of harm if I tried to probe deeper. Just as when you put a finger inside some stranger's mouth, but one hundred times worse."

  "And what would happen if you persisted?" Zamian inquired, ignoring his father’s last remark.

  "No idea, kid," Dante shrugged. "Could be anything from losing my mind for an instant to dropping to the ground without a breath."

  Bohlo whistled, impressed. "Wow, that’s some potent stuff, Z. I want two of whatever you’re on," he joked, then resumed his humming.

  Zamian rolled his eyes but continued, "Dad, I want you to take all the credit for my survival and recovery. And maybe convince them you used a technique to strengthen me, just temporarily."

  “I can do better, boy,” the white-haired cultivator laughed, “I could claim I used a forbidden technique to save my precious son, costing a lot to both of us,” Dante’s grin twisted into his usual bestial shape, “However, making them think I cast a technique to strengthen you with my current known condition would bring a lot of predators out of their bushes. Is this your goal?”

  Zamian shook his head in silence and spoke after a moment, "No. I just want them to not fear my recovery, and to believe it’s not something easy to accomplish again."

  "I know exactly what to say," Dante assured, looking intently at Zamian. "Do you trust me, kid?"

  “That’s a stupid question.”

  "And do you trust Bohlo?" Dante continued.

  “Uh, I can leave–” The big man's eyes widened, having been taken by surprise.

  "Yes, I trust him," Zamian cut in, "I doubt he can string together a full sentence in the presence of a Zealot or a Chosen, Dad," he smirked.

  "Hey!" Bohlo protested in mock offense, "Your dad is the only Chosen who doesn’t suffocate me!"

  "Are you comparing my father with some tainted woman who wants to suffocate you for her pleasure, B?" Zamian teased, not caring about his act of badmouthing a powerful Chosen.

  "Uh, no. Never. I didn’t want to offend, Lord Chosen Dante," Bohlo quickly corrected himself, bowing his head slightly.

  The Chosen shot him an amused look "Bohlo Boy, just drop the Lord when you address me. And don’t fall for my son’s snake tongue."

  "Uh, yeah, sorry. Dad always calls you 'Lord this, Lord that,' so..." Bohlo muttered, still embarrassed.

  Dante chuckled, his gaze drifting past the trees, lost in thought.

  Zamian gave his father a moment before bringing up the previous topic. "Dad, since I trust both of you, can you tell now what’s on your mind?"

  Dante took a deep breath, "Son, I’m thinking about telling them the truth—that the Verdant God blessed your mother's spirit, letting her return, saving you from the previous ordeal and making you stronger in the process."

  Bohlo stopped his humming, almost missing a step. Zamian sighed, shaking his head, "Are you out of your mind, old man?"

  “Uhh. Z, that’s awesome, right? Don’t worry, I won’t tell a single person about this, not even my parents,” Bohlo hastily replied, and then frowned, “But that also means I won’t be as strong as you by just eating what you ate.”

  Both Dante and Zamian shared a look.

  “What do you think, boy?”

  “You can tell them this truth, Dad.”

  As they finally entered the Colossal Tree’s area, seeing two wooden behemoths on the horizon, a chilling sensation crept up Zamian’s spine, his instinct flaring up, prompting him to glance back. He caught sight of two women and a man, clad in wooden armor, quietly detaching themselves from the trees, and then read the green text above their heads.

  [LEVEL 3 - MORTAL TIER - CREATION PATHWAY]

  [LEVEL 3 - MORTAL TIER - CREATION PATHWAY]

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  [LEVEL 3 - MORTAL TIER - CREATION PATHWAY]

  Dante stopped, his usual grin absent, replaced by a stern, commanding presence. "You three need more practice with the Everbark Technique. Even my son noticed you," he stated icily, not even turning to look at the Zealots.

  The Zealot’s eyes widened, the three of them feeling a grip on their chests, akin to roots taking place in their hearts. They recognized no technique was being used, worsening their overwhelming sense of dread.

  Before any one of them could talk, the cold voice sounded once more, “Tell the other five ahead to meet us at the Chosen Cleric’s abode. There is no reason to leave them there if they can’t even hone my son’s senses.”

  Even Zamian felt goosebumps. It wasn’t his first time hearing his father's commanding tone or feeling the Chosen’s cold aura. However, observing how the man knew there were five other Zealots without being close or even using any technique, only showed how powerful his father’s soul was, and Zamian was learning firsthand the impacts of a strong soul.

  The Zealots nodded, one of the women then sprang into the trees, moving swiftly ahead. Dante walked, followed by Zamian, a confused Bohlo and a pair of Zealots far behind.

  “Eh. Z. How did you spot them?” Bohlo leaned closer to Zamian, whispering.

  Zamian gave his friend an exasperated look, not answering.

  “Uh. Ok, don’t tell me,” the bigger man shrugged as they continued the trek.

  After hundreds of steps, Dante indicated a spot in the distance, "There," he said, keeping his pace.

  Zamian heard gasps from behind and checked on the astonished faces of the Zealots.

  The same scene repeated four more times, the Zealots not reacting after the second time, and Zamian already understood what was happening, ‘Father was pinpointing the Zealot’s exact hidden locations, even after they left the place.’

  Looking at his father’s back, Zamian remembered for the first time in two years who his father was. This was not merely a grieving husband or a protective father, nor a deranged cultivator. Dante Greenfield was a Chosen who stepped above dozens of other powerful cultivators and conquered the title of Lord, before being forced to leave the throne.

  Zamian surveyed the scene ahead, noticing the entrance to the abode inside of the root was bustling with cultivators adorned in wooden armor and leaf-green attire.

  [LEVEL 3 - MORTAL TIER - CREATION PATHWAY]

  [LEVEL 3 - MORTAL TIER - CREATION PATHWAY]

  …

  [LEVEL 2 - MORTAL TIER - CREATION PATHWAY]

  [LEVEL 2 - MORTAL TIER - CREATION PATHWAY]

  [LEVEL 2 - MORTAL TIER - CREATION PATHWAY]

  Adding to the two Zealots behind him, Zamian counted six others ahead—the previous Zealot Tamara who first found he and Bohlo at Erasmus Tree included—circling three female Enlightened, their forms marked by the cut of their garments, and their faces masked, making the young man believe they were Clerics.

  And moving away from the center of these Clerics, he found a familiar figure whose orange floral dress matched her vibrant hair and big eyes, her face etched with a serene smile.

  [LEVEL 4 - MORTAL TIER - CREATION PATHWAY]

  Yokki, the Cleric Chosen, had stepped out to greet them personally.

  As the groups converged, an impending greeting was cut short by Dante’s stern proclamation. “I demand the execution of the three zealots who disrespected me."

  Yokki’s smile faltered, while the three Zealots responsible for watching the trio blanched at the command—two behind Zamian and his group, and the other already on Yokki’s side.

  “Chosen Dante, such drastic action is unnecessary. They were merely extending a welcome on my behalf."

  “They acted under your orders?”

  “Yes, of course. They are my Zealots," she said, nodding. "And this Chosen one greets the soil stepped -" her words were abruptly halted by Dante’s dismissive grunt.

  “Then I demand your demotion for your followers’ lack of decorum and breaking of our sacred traditions.”

  Yokki’s expression hardened. “There was no breach of decorum, Chosen Dante. In fact, by neglecting to use my title and interrupting Verdant God’s greeting customs, you are the one who is currently breaking our sacred traditions.”

  Dante’s expression remained icy. “Now you invoke the Verdant God’s greeting customs?”

  Yokki shot Dante a confused look, understanding dawning on her as she noted, behind Zamian’s group, the two Zealots ashen expressions and trembling.

  “To dare trail me by a thousand steps, having one of your followers even daring to run ahead, without a single formal greeting," he lamented, his disdain palpable. “You all tainted our Sanctuary, spitting on Verdant God’s greeting customs and breaking our sacred traditions.”

  If Zamian hadn’t known some of these people were checking on him occasionally, he would have cheered. Bohlo, on the other hand, just scratched his chin, his head lowered, waiting for people to greet each other and be done with this.

  Yokki bit her lips and glanced at the Zealot woman by her side, the one who was shaking and had arrived first after fetching the other Zealots from their hideouts.

  “Explain yourself to Chosen Dante, Zealot Hosta," the female Chosen ordered.

  “Yes, Cleric Chosen,” Hosta nodded, steadying herself with a deep breath. “I advanced to gather the others at Chosen Dante’s instruction, else I would not have preceded him.”

  Yokki didn’t wait for Dante’s response, pressing on. “Did you neglect Verdant God’s greeting custom, Zealot Hosta?”

  With clenched teeth, Hosta responded, “He… He silenced us. His technique left us immobile!”

  A dark verdant glow flickered in Yokki’s eyes, making Hosta feel like a dozen vines were caressing her soul. The Cleric Chosen then looked at the two Zealots still frozen in their spots behind Dante’s group, making them tremble even more.

  Turning her gaze to Zealot Hosta, she spoke in a cold tone. “Each of your souls is intact,” her eyes turned murderous, “None of you have any injuries, and your armor is untouched," she observed, tracing a finger along Hosta’s armor before demanding loudly, “Now tell me truthfully, why did none of you honor Verdant God’s greeting custom, Zealot Hosta?”

  Behind Zamian, thuds resounded as the two zealots kneeled, bowing deeply, their weapons clattering to the ground. At Yokki’s side, Hosta mirrored their actions.

  “This Zealot one greets the soil stepped by the Chosen, wishing for the sacred light of Verdant to shine through your families' leaves forever,” they intoned together.

  Dante maintained his stoic silence, his gaze locked with Yokki’s.

  “Will you allow me to impose their sentence for these violations, Chosen Dante?” she asked, a slight smile playing on her lips as she added, “You could use a moment to recall why we’re gathered here today if it helps.”

  “Chosen Yokki remains as insightful and radiant as ever,” Dante replied, looking at her smile, “Why would I not allow you to punish your own subordinates, indeed,” he mused out loud, his cold gaze never leaving the woman.

  Nothing but the sound of the wind could be heard after Dante’s sentence; every cultivator was waiting for the previous Lord Chosen to answer.

  While others observed Dante, Zamian felt something was off. His heart pounded while he opened his mind to the whispering of his instincts. So he listened and then analyzed. He focused on his father, noticing the way the old man’s voice was harsher, his commands more forceful. Dante wasn’t just acting overbearing—he was stalling for some reason.

  ‘Could it be? No way,’ he thought, hoping he was right.

  “Father, there is no reason for any punishment. I’m sure we can all practice a little forgiveness today,” Zamian proposed, his voice steady.

  Every gaze shifted to him, making his heart skip a beat, but the young man kept a calm appearance.

  Dante’s features softened for the first time in this encounter, turning toward Yokki. “The boy is right. We should all practice forgiveness today," he bowed slightly, his fists meeting in a traditional salute, and he exclaimed out loud, “This Chosen and both the Enlightened following this one greet the soil stepped by the Cleric Chosen Yokki and her followers, wishing for the sacred light of Verdant to shine through your families' leaves forever."

  Zamian and Bohlo bowed silently, their actions encompassed by Dante’s greetings.

  Yokki gritted her teeth, shooting a glance at a tree at her right, before also bowing to Dante, her hands in a praying position, “This Cleric Chosen and her followers greet the soil stepped by the Chosen Dante and his followers, wishing for the sacred light of Verdant to shine through your families' leaves forever," she stated, her voice smooth and devoid of resentment.

  After Yokki’s followers bowed, they all stood up, including the trio of Zealots who hadn’t moved after their first greeting.

  Yokki looked at one of the Clerics by her side, and then covered her face with one hand, chuckling gently.

  “Oh, how forgetful I am. Child, come here," she extended her hand, pulling the arm of one of the masked Enlightened by her side. “Offer a short greeting to your old friends."

  The Cleric nodded, taking off her mask and showing a face as beautiful as Yokki’s. Despite having long, silky black hair and an alluring body with more curves than a young woman should possess, the only feature that caught the people’s attention was the one that distinguished her lineage—her peach-hued eyes.

  “This Cleric Enlightened Lakea Duskpeach greets both Enlightened," she said, her tone warm and her gaze briefly meeting Zamian’s and Bohlo’s before she slightly lifted her chin.

  “Uh. This Enlightened Bohlo greets the Cleric Enlightened,” Bohlo responded first, his voice steady.

  “This Enlightened Zamian greets the Cleric Enlightened,” Zamian replied, giving her a wry smile.

  ‘She’s bored and angry,’ Zamian quickly thought, 'Good to know she didn’t change too much.'

  “Now, with even the children having greeted each other, perhaps we may proceed to my humble abode and commence with today’s proceedings, ” Yokki suggested, steering her daughter aside and focusing her attention back on Dante.

  The man simply nodded.

  After they passed through the vine-draped doorway, with Yokki’s followers circling her, the group kept walking passing through a wooden door inside the abode and entering a private garden, which had two chairs made of vines with a dozen wooden chairs in a semi-circle surrounding it, these last ones being used by Yokki and her followers.

  Dante walked ahead of Zamian and Bohlo, touching each vine chair with his hands until a green pulse left his chest and transformed the simple vine chairs in the middle into elaborate, leaf-enshrouded seats.

  Grunting to the boys, he created a chair for his own, a little behind them, sitting with arms crossed.

  “Who are the judges?” Dante asked, seeing his son and the short-haired Bohlo sit down.

  “I have appointed Zealot Tamara as the representative of the Guardians and, as the representative of the Clerics, who conducted the Nurture Ritual, I had called my daughter, the Enlightened Lakea Duskpeach. I trust both of their impartiality," Yokki announced from her central seat, with Tamara at her left and Lakea by her right.

  “So,” Dante grinned, glancing at the trees surrounding them. “Let’s begin this trial.”