Dragon Heart. Land Of Magic. Litrpg Wuxia Saga. Book 6 - Volume 1 Chapter 15 436

It took them only three days to reach the Forest of Shadows without taking any breaks. During that time, they learned that the disciples of higher rank lived much more comfortably than them.

The way to the Storm Mountain led through the same flowery meadows which led to the Forest of Shadows. These two areas bordered each other. Hadjar, Einen, and the other poor ordinary disciples had to use ‘ground transport’, but the higher-level disciples flew across the vast Forest of Shadows in soaring boats. A couple of times, Hadjar had definitely spotted small sh.i.p.s with family crests. That’s what being born into a family clan of the Empire meant. From birth, they’d enjoyed all the benefits of the civilization of practitioners and cultivators. They’d probably been given elixirs so potent that a small bottle’s worth of them could bring the entire Bear squad of the Moon Army up to the Formation level.

The Forest of Shadows was a vast forest that sprawled along the borders of the flower meadows that surrounded Dahanatan. It fully lived up to the hype. Moreover, Hadjar was certain that if a mere mortal were to set foot in this misty land, they would die immediately. The forest, like a living organism, exuded a pressure comparable to that of the aura of a practitioner at the Formation level.

“Maybe that’s why the ordinary disciples are only allowed access to two zones?” Hadjar asked.

As soon as he and Einen had found themselves beneath the black canopy, they’d felt the pressure of this strange forest. It was as if the energy of every tree, every flower, and every blade of grass had merged into one, trying to destroy the interlopers.

“I’ve learned some information about the ancient places in this area, my barbarian friend.” Their Three-horned deer had apparently already been here: despite nervously twitching their nostrils, they were rather calm overall. “They’re so ancient that, over the millennia, they managed to create their own power.”

“How?”

Hadjar looked around. The midday sun was shining brightly in the flower meadow. There were no clouds obscuring the azure sky, so the valley of Dahanatan, after which the capital of the Empire was named, was bathed in a warm, soft light. However, here in the Forest of Shadows, there was only an acrid half-light. If not for the keen vision they had as true cultivators, they would barely be able to see past their own outstretched arms. A mortal or a weak practitioner definitely couldn’t last even an hour in here.

“Do you remember meeting the spirit of the Kurkhadan oasis?”

“Of course I do,” Hadjar answered.

He would never forget it. The oasis itself, a soulless and lifeless piece of land, had suddenly appeared to him in the form of the most beautiful of maidens, one who’d had the kind of knowledge and power that had surpassed the limits of what Hadjar had been able to imagine. It had been both exciting and frightening.

“Kurkhadan, compared to the Forest of Shadows, is a bumbling newborn that has barely spent any time under the light of the Evening Stars.”

“I would argue that this child was far from foolish.”

“It’s a metaphor. Although, I think I should first explain what a metaphor is, considering you’re a barbarian.”

Someone else would’ve taken this ribbing as an insult, but Hadjar knew Einen too well. He could detect the faintest hint of a grin in the islander’s dispassionate tone. Einen was having fun.

Like Hadjar, he had an unhealthy obsession with adventure.

“You mean,” it suddenly dawned on Hadjar, “that there is a spirit nearby which is several times stronger than the spirit of Kurkhadan?”

“Several times?” Einen chuckled. “Do you remember the mortals in the oasis?”

“Sure.”

“Can mortals survive here?”

Hadjar blinked a few times and shivered. His friend was right. If there was an ancient spirit wandering through the Forest of Shadows, the personification of the consciousness that had appeared over thousands of thousands of years, it would’ve been able to crush the spirit of Kurkhadan with a single glance.

Indeed, the Heavens were still far from Hadjar’s reach. For now, he could only look at them as a little boy would look at an unapproachable mountain whose peak was among the clouds.

They rode along small paths. Tall, powerful trees were all around them, as wide as ten grown men and three hundred feet tall. Their huge roots looked like ancient boulders. Green moss covered the blackened trunks, making it seem like they were covered in boiled resin. An acrid fog, almost as thick as smoke, crept under their feet. They sometimes felt danger ahead and immediately changed direction.

From the stories they’d heard while they’d been discussing Anise (for a cultivator, it was normal to do multiple things at once. They could remain aware of the area around them, always ready for battle, and still do other things), up to a thousand ordinary disciples died every year in the Forest of Shadows.

They had to watch out for strong monsters, poisonous plants, and many creatures that Hadjar didn’t know much about. In addition, they’d heard a legend about how the forest itself had darkened because some cultivator who’d used negative energy had been buried here in ancient times. Their energy had been so dark that misusing it could turn a human into a demon. Despite the fact that Hadjar had seen this unnatural energy with his own eyes, he strongly suspected this legend wasn’t true. The demons were most likely something as alien as the gods.

“I wonder what kind of pressure the Storm Mountain exudes…” Einen said thoughtfully.

Among the six zones of ‘The Holy Sky’ School, there were the safest, like the Forest of Shadows or the Valley of Swamps, and the most deadly, where even the personal disciples along with their Masters and Mentors could perish… The most dangerous of all the areas surrounding Dahanatan was considered to be the Storm Mountain.

“I don’t even want to think about that yet,” Hadjar snapped. “Let’s cross that bridge when we come to it.”

“I agree, my friend. We’ll find out sooner or later.”

While they dreamed of adventures and new discoveries, they weren’t fools. The levels of cultivation were something ephemeral and blurred. For example, a Heaven Soldier at the initial stage could sometimes fight almost on equal terms with a Spirit Knight. And a Spirit Knight could sometimes lose to a simple practitioner.

One’s power didn’t really depend on the amount of energy that a cultivator used, but on their knowledge, skills, Techniques, artifacts, and how deeply they plunged their consciousness into the mysteries of the spirit along whose path they travelled. The world of martial arts was complicated. Where one could go easily, another couldn’t make a single step.

“I think our priority should be acquiring Glory points.”

“I hear a slightly different meaning in your words than before.”

“Yeah…” Hadjar said. “After exchanging blows with Anise-”

“After she knocked you down with a single effort of her will,” Einen corrected with a snort.

“Okay, sure,” Hadjar agreed easily. “After that, I felt like her understanding of the Sword Spirit went beyond a mere Wielder’s comprehension. That’s why, my friend, I think that you and I can still do more with our weapons.”

“Yes, I feel it too. After the battle with Ragar, I was able to grasp other mysteries of the Spear Spirit, but I can’t put them together. I don’t see a way forward.”

“It’s the same for me.”

Einen turned to Hadjar. His inhuman, purple eyes flashed.

“You discovered something.”

“Back when we first came to the Hall of Fame,” Hadjar nodded. “The Masters train the inner circle disciples in the ways of the Spirits. I think if we want to improve our weapon skills, it can only be done there.”

The islander thought about it for a moment.

“I don’t think that’s necessarily true,” he said at last. “We’ll probably find scrolls and books on the subject in the Treasure Tower.”

Hadjar, after considering the suggestion, came to the same conclusion. Unwritten knowledge was lost knowledge. So, there must’ve been a source of information to be found there, in addition to training with the Masters.

“Then we’ll split up,” Hadjar suggested. They’d already gone several miles into the forest, but so far, they hadn’t encountered a single living soul. “One of us will go to the Masters’ training, and the other will copy the scrolls.”

Einen nodded.

“By the way, what task did you take?”

“We’re supposed to gather the leaves of the Night Shrub,” the islander replied. “Forty points for ninety pounds.”

“Forty points for ninety pounds?” Hadjar couldn’t help but cry out. “One shrub weighs about fifty grams!”

Einen opened his mouth, but didn’t have time to say anything.

“Forty-seven, to be exact.”

Hadjar and Einen were in a ravine. The people who came out of the thickets on its edges had the advantage of high ground.

“When you spend decades plucking the bloody shrubs clean all day long, you can determine how many grams you will collect from them at a glance.” The muscular giant, Araz, was standing in front of a crowd of more than thirty people. “But I don’t think you’ll get a chance to learn that particular skill. Kill them!”