The blue light flared and faded, reality reasserting itself as Arthev's boots sank into the soft earth. The grove enveloped him—gnarled trees with rune-etched bark pulsing faintly green, the ruin's obsidian do rising like a silent sentinel. Sunlight filtered through the canopy, casting golden flecks across the moss-covered ground. He steadied himself, the pendant's glow dimming in his hand, and drew a asured breath.
"Returned," he murmured, his voice low, eyes sweeping the surroundings with his Shinragan—crimson with triple tomoe, rimd in a silver-white sheen. The Serpent Vine Drake had vanished, leaving only the grove's tranquil resonance.
"Smooth landing, eh, Stunned Face?" Shukaku's gravelly voice rumbled in his mind, laced with a smirk.
"No puking this ti—gold star, kid! How's it feel to crawl outta that 12-kiloter pit?"
Arthev's lips curved into a faint smile. "It feels as though I've evaded death twice over. This pendant is a lifeline—I'll not tamper with it until I understand its nature fully." He slipped it into his pocket, its mud-encrusted weight settling against him.
"Smart move, ya little brainiac," Shukaku replied, its tail swishing loudly enough to echo in his subconscious.
"What's next? Back to kid jail, or ya poking more creepy holes?"
"Back," Arthev said, seating himself on a mossy root. "But I require a plausible explanation. I've been absent a month—the academy will inquire. I'll claim I reached level 10, beca lost pursuing a spirit beast, and acquired a purple soul ring. It accounts for the ti and my progress—credible enough."
"Purple, huh? Hidin' my red masterpiece?" Shukaku chuckled, its tone rough and low.
"Fair play—folks'd freak over that. What about , though? Spillin' the tanuki beans?"
"No," Arthev replied firmly, drawing his pouch closer, the faint clink of shuriken and kunai audible. "You are my advantage, not their gossip. No one knows of your existence, and it will remain so."
He sliced his sleeve with a kunai, saring dirt across his face and arms.
"A lost youth, fortunate in his breakthrough—that's the tale."
"Sneaky little runt," Shukaku growled, its approval thick. "Fine, I'll keep my trap shut—mostly. What's the big plan now?"
"To train," Arthev said, rising to his feet. "To grow stronger. The Syltharim, their artifacts, the guardians—I am unprepared. Level 14 is a beginning, but I must advance further before I approach another vault."
He set off southeast toward Nuoding City, his boots crunching over fallen leaves.The forest unfolded around him, a vibrant tapestry. Ironwood trees lood, their silver-gray bark rugged beneath the sun, leaves murmuring in a pine-scented breeze. Vines dangled, laden with glowing blue blossoms—perhaps spirit-touched, drawing faintly on ambient soul power.
A stream andered nearby, its waters crystalline, golden minnows darting among polished stones. Arthev knelt, splashing his face, the cold sharpening his senses. A month beneath the earth. It feels an eternity.
"Pretty out here, ain't it?" Shukaku rumbled. "Ya gonna eat sothin', or just gawk at fish all day?"
"No need," Arthev replied, standing. "You're aware—my tree sustains . Soul power is my sustenance; I do not hunger."
Yet his stomach stirred faintly, a lingering echo of desire. "Still… food has its rits."
He paused by a cluster of coarse plants—waist-high weeds with broad leaves. Channeling soul power, he pressed a hand to one, eyes narrowing. The stems quivered, reshaping as he willed their molecular structure to shift, leaves curling into a small apple tree. He poured more power in, accelerating its growth; branches thickened, and apples ripened to a vivid red in monts. He plucked one, biting into its crisp sweetness.
"Show-off, huh?" Shukaku snorted, brash and loud. "Whippin' up apple trees outta weeds—why not make it cough up a feast while yer at it?"
"I could," Arthev said, chewing calmly. "This suffices."
The forest grew denser, ironwoods giving way to thorny thickets, their steel-like spines glinting. He navigated through, Shinragan flickering to map a path—faint ga trails threading the undergrowth. The sun descended, bathing the canopy in amber and twilight.
By evening, he erged into a clearing—a hamlet nestled against a hillside, a dozen timber hos topped with thatched roofs. Smoke rose from chimneys, carrying the warm aroma of roasted at and sage. A windmill creaked beside a brook, its weathered blades grinding wheat from fields that glowed golden in the waning light.Children laughed, chasing a scruffy dog through the dirt, while a woman drew water from a well, her apron dusted with flour.
An elderly man sat by a fire, sharpening a scythe, his hands steady despite his age. Simple, vital—a world apart from the ruin's shadow.
"Cozy little dump," Shukaku said, gruff yet intrigued. "Ya crashin' here, or just takin' in the sights?"
"Resting," Arthev replied, leaning against a tree at the clearing's edge. "I need true respite—not a month-long slumber 12 kiloters below." He tore another rip in his shirt, tousled his hair, and discarded the apple core, crafting a disheveled appearance.
"Tomorrow, I'll continue. Nuoding lies a day's journey hence."
"Push, huh? Yer a ss already—limp in and sell it good," Shukaku growled, amused.
"I shall," Arthev said, a faint smirk crossing his lips as he settled back. The hamlet's firelight flickered, a soft hum against the forest's untad rhythm. His mind turned—the Syltharim's technology, that force, the guardian's might. Before soul masters, he mused. A world of chanisms.
The pendant rested heavy in his pocket, an enigma yet unraveled.He closed his eyes, the night enveloping him—crickets chirping, wheat rustling, a distant dog's bark threading through the darkness.
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