After all, slowing down one's breathing rate to calm the body is fundamentally not much different from sleeping… That is to say, the preparatory phase of the Guiding Technique is essentially a controllable deep sleep, capable of swiftly restoring one's strength and guiding out the energy that inherently lies dormant within the body.
Only when one can hold onto that dream-like tranquility, stay in control of one's body within that peace, and master the rhythm of one's breath to fan the flames and feed the furnace within, can one truly be said to have achieved mastery over the Guiding Technique.
"Making progress so quickly."
Realizing that Ian had indeed fallen asleep, and was sleeping soundly at that, Hiliard wasn't annoyed but instead felt reassured and clapped his hands with satisfaction, "Only with a tranquil heart can one fall asleep in an instant… How can a child's mind, cluttered with chaos and swirling thoughts, be expected to fall asleep on command?"
"Being able to do so indicates a preliminary control over one's own body.
Subsequent learning of the Guiding Technique and mastery over the breathing rhythm are merely a natural progression."
While the minds of children are said to be pure, they are actually just ignorant.
Their thoughts are extremely disordered, sometimes they themselves don't even know what they want to do, their sense of self is very weak, and they can't even sense the fear of danger and death.
That's why children tend to not notice street carriages and may even suddenly dash out from the side of the road.
Therefore, proper Sublimation Cultivation normally begins after adolescence, once mental stability is reached and hormonal disruptions have ceased.
Only great families with superior Inheritances and sufficient instructors to guide the process can commence cultivation at an earlier age.
Recalling his own past, Hiliard started on The Path of Sublimation at the age of fourteen and learned the Guiding Technique in ten days, astonishing his instructors, father, and the entire family.
Now, eight-year-old Ian would probably master it within a week.
However, Hiliard felt that Ian's Awakened Spiritual Power played a role.
Spirit Energy Users who cultivate the Guiding Technique often achieve twice the result with half the effort since their power comes from the mind, just as the Guiding Technique does, being skills of the same origin.
Even so, Ian's talent could at least be compared with his own… Maybe there was quite a difference in physical quality, but since he didn't Awaken Spirit Energy at the age of eight, rounded up, it indeed wasn't too different.
"Quite light."
As Hiliard picked up the sleeping Ian and carried him back into the room, he could tell the difference between the children from the Southern Immigrant District and those from the Imperial Capital—the latter weighed at least three-fifths more.
He couldn't help but sigh deeply, "The Empire still has children who go hungry, The Empire still has people who cannot get enough to eat."
"Our cause…"
Hiliard shook his head, then closed his mouth.
He placed Ian on the bed, gently covered him with a blanket, and the old knight walked out of the house, disappearing into the night.
A dreamless night.
When Ian awoke, he felt refreshed and comfortable all over.
"My brain feels cool… It seems that even my Spirit Energy is running more smoothly!"
The boy couldn't help but marvel, as the sleep he had the night before was the best he ever had, and could perhaps be described as the most comfortable one since he had memory.
Activating 'Clairvoyant Vision', he surveyed his surroundings and noticed that the fog shifted a little faster than before.
He tried to recall the events of the previous night.
Even though it was during his sleep, Ian still felt a warm current rush from his heart, circulating throughout his body, as if soaking every cell, bone, tendon, and organ…
and his head seemed to be bathed in a comfortable warm bath, without the slightest feeling of suffocation, incredibly relaxed and comfortable.
Unfortunately, that feeling didn't last long before he woke up.
And when he did wake up, it was already the next morning.
"A deep sleep, huh."
Noticing the discrepancy between subjective and objective time, Ian pondered, "Just beginning to learn the Guiding Technique, it already enables one to have a good night's sleep… Not to mention its ability to accelerate the condensation of Origin Quality, this alone is worth my earnest research."
A good night's sleep may sound simple, but in reality, how many people long for it without avail?
Obviously, however, such sleep came at a cost.
The moment Ian got up and threw off the blanket, he was hit by a wave of hunger, as if he hadn't eaten for two days and his stomach was stuck to his back with hunger.
It appeared the breathing rhythm of the Guiding Technique, as well as the subsequent deep sleep state, while nurturing the body, also consumed a substantial amount of nourishment.
At that moment, he smelled the scent of fish soup wafting from the living room.
"Awake?
Go exercise a bit, it's still too hot now."
He got up and went to the living room just in time to see Hiliard bringing up a pot of stewed fish soup.
He glanced at Ian, who had just woken up, then instructed him, "The porridge is also ready.
Take some fish soup later to feed your little brother, as he refuses to let me feed him."
"…Okay!"
Ian had already smelled the strong aroma, and the rumbling of his stomach was growing louder, but he gritted his teeth and agreed, then turned and went out the door, ready to do some stretching exercises.
Hiliard followed him out the front door, intending to see how Ian would train himself and then provide tips on correct warm-up and exercise movements, gradually forming a habit of exercise for him.
But to his surprise, he found that Ian's warm-up and exercises were quite systematic.
Though they weren't laying the groundwork for various combat techniques and the intensity of training was insufficient, they were wholly adequate for stretching and limbering up the muscles and bones.
"Many say that wisdom is a gift from the heavens.
The true Chosen Ones need no one to teach them, for they can develop their own martial techniques and inheritance…"
He couldn't help but murmur in his heart, filled with emotion, "I used to disbelieve, for even I couldn't do it, but I never expected to actually encounter one."
If Ian could hear the emotion in Hiliard's heart, he would certainly laugh in his own mind.
Although gene modification had become the norm on Earth, biological machines still needed regular maintenance to remain in good working order, especially since his workplace was in a zero-gravity environment in space, where exercise was crucial to avoid space sickness.
This set of exercises was indeed simple but also covered the most critical parts of the body, representing the most advanced training methods.
Since Ian already had his own exercise regimen, Hiliard wasn't in a hurry about it.
At this moment, he was observing Ian's exercise habits, noting what the regimen lacked, preparing to perfect it before using it as a base to derive subsequent training plans.
"Let's go back to eat," he said.
Twenty minutes later, Hiliard finally spoke to halt the session.
And when a slightly out-of-breath Ian returned to the living room, the old Knight had already served up a large bowl of fish soup, made with leftover ingredients from the night before, without a bit of waste.
Ian looked curiously at the bowl and discovered that it contained pieces of fresh wild greens likely picked from the forest by Hiliard the night before, carrying a peculiar fragrance and astringency, perfect for cutting through the richness and revitalizing the spirit.
Clearly, Hiliard's cooking skills were quite good.
Ian ate without a word, not gulping his food ravenously but finishing the bowl of fish soup quite quickly nonetheless.
"This must have been simmering for a long while, and these wild greens…"
After eating, satisfied, he placed his utensils down and looked up at Hiliard with curiosity, "Teacher, you didn't sleep?"
"I don't need to sleep.
I'm always sleeping," Hiliard said, pointing to his temple with his index finger.
"Half of my brain is asleep, while the other half is awake—that's possible at the Second Energy Level."
Ignoring Ian's thoughtful expression, Hiliard asked, "How is the progress with the Primordial Seed?"
"I've begun to see a bit of the pattern," Ian nodded, having understood the structure inside the Virtual Primordial Seed.
After all, it wasn't complex, even a bit like a simplified turbojet engine, except that what drove it was blood, or rather, 'Origin Quality fragments' within the blood.
When people ate food, some of the energy contained within the food became Origin Quality fragments that spread into the bloodstream.
The heart itself, when beating, acted as a pump for the blood, and the Primordial Seed absorbed the Origin Quality fragments entering the heart with the blood, compressing them into highly dense and pressurized true Origin Quality, storing it, and waiting to be released when needed to enhance physical strength or to condense the Sublimation Organ.
For this reason, the Breathing Guiding Technique could stimulate this 'turbocharged engine', the Primordial Seed, to run faster.
And an actual turbojet engine running at full throttle, could it not be an existence that inhales without end and exhales without ceasing?
Although Ian had completely deciphered the structure of the Primordial Seed, as long as there was a sufficient accumulation of Origin Quality, he could begin the transformation of the Virtual Primordial Seed into a real one.
But he didn't plan to rush and shock the world, aiming for the fastest speed; instead, he wanted to continue sensing and familiarizing himself with it, making sure he could do it perfectly before condensing it.
After all, cultivating and inspecting spaceships were alike in that they couldn't be rushed.
"If there's something you don't understand, you can come to me and let me know a day in advance when you decide to try.
I'll observe to assist you during the condensing process," Hiliard said, not thinking the Primordial Seed would stump Ian.
He nodded, patted Ian's shoulder, and encouraged, "Exercise in the morning, refine the Guiding Technique at night, and decide freely how to spend the rest of your time.
I trust in your self-discipline."
"As for the Magic Potion, there's no need to rush; it's the final step."
"I understand," Ian said.
He was very clear that everything should not be rushed.
Even though his body seemed much stronger after awakening Spiritual Power, its essence was merely the stimulation of his body's potential, a gradual depletion.
His body was considerably weak, still that of an eight-year-old child who had been abused and seldom had enough to eat.
After condensing the Primordial Seed, he would need time to train and improve his physical condition, so he could gradually withstand the strain of the Guiding Technique and the intense changes the body would endure from the Magic Potion in the future.
After breakfast, Ian continued his exercises at home, while Hiliard ventured out, disguised as Ossenna.
To outsiders, it seemed that 'Ossenna' had indeed been significantly 'injured', but he was already disabled and worked as a port scribe, so having some injuries didn't interfere with his ability to write.
Moreover, the physical condition of the Terra People was unbelievably good.
The wounds that seemed severe to Ian might be only a little worse than having a fingernail flipped open to the locals.
——Stabbed twice?
Isn't that just something to lick and be alright?
It was no joke.
Ian suspected that the body fluids of the Terra People genuinely had antiseptic properties.
At this moment, at home, Ian tried to gain a firmer grasp on his Spiritual Power 'Clairvoyant Vision'.
After multiple attempts and validations, two hours later, his understanding of 'Clairvoyant Vision' had deepened significantly
Being Watched (Thanks to 'Lin Meimei ya' for the alliance reward!) —— Activating 'Clairvoyant Vision' requires about one-third of a second, and the physical strength consumed is roughly equivalent to 'throwing a full-force punch'.
Even Ian, who has improved his physical strength now, cannot open and close it more than twenty times in a row.
It's not that he lacks the physical strength, but his mind cannot withstand the pressure brought about by activating Foresight View.
Just like ordinary people, don't they have the strength to throw twenty punches in a row?
They simply have not mastered the method; if they exert force incorrectly, naturally their elbows and arms will feel sore and uncomfortable after repeatedly throwing punches.
Ian believes that he can gradually enhance the speed and endurance of activating Foresight View through a lot of practice, mastering a more scientific and reasonable method of activation.
Maintaining Foresight View also requires the consumption of physical strength.
This consumption is not significant.
On the premise of having eaten, Ian can sustain it for more than a minute before feeling fatigued, which is about equivalent to jogging.
He can recover after a few minutes of rest.
Besides, Ian discovered that the range of Foresight View would continuously expand with each activation.
The world shrouded in the mist of Foresight View is a circle with a diameter of about one hundred meters centered on Ian.
Only within this range can he perceive 'crises' and 'opportunities' at the first moment.
However, because Ian is still human, his field of vision is cone-shaped.
Therefore, outside of this visual cone, experts like Hiliard can bypass the inspection of Foresight View through visual blind spots when Ian is not paying attention.
As Foresight View is continuously activated, the radius of this circle expands at a speed of more than one meter per second, and the physical strength consumed by Foresight View also increases rapidly with the expansion.
When Ian maintains Foresight View for a minute, and the sphere of foresight reaches a radius of one hundred and ten meters, he is completely unable to bear the intense physical strain.
Ian guesses that if he can control the range of the foresight circle, maintain it to a certain extent, and prevent it from expanding at will, then he could sustain Foresight View for a longer duration.
Even, in the future, he might be able to maintain the presence of the Foresight Circle all day long!
In that case, it would be extremely difficult for anyone to ambush him.
Although it's not feasible at the moment, Ian believes that Foresight View is controllable, merely requiring long-term practice.
This has also been recorded in his 'Preliminary Preparation Work Notebook' in his mind, as a part of his daily training agenda from today onwards.
"There are quite a few items that need training."
Training relentlessly until noon, Ian, feeling tired, boiled a pot of hot water, ready to cook some wheat porridge.
While lighting the fire, he concluded, "Spirit Energy and the body complement each other, neither of which can be neglected——according to this training volume, I need to eat the portion for two people at least, to ensure growth rather than wearing down my body."
According to what Hiliard said and his own observations, Ian realized that the physical limits of Terra People were quite astonishing.
Even ordinary people who haven't embarked on The Path of Sublimation, if they persist in exercising and hone their body to the limit, are strong enough to wrestle with an adult bull with their bare hands and even emerge victorious.
This bull is not the same as those on Earth; Terra's bulls average over two tons in weight with cartilage plates covering their skin, truly biological tanks!
Beef cattle are one thing, but bulls used for riding are an even stronger breed by a third, capable of demolishing a small bungalow effortlessly in a rage.
Even knights take pride in taming a riding bull, and 'Bull Riders' is a revered title for well-known strongmen.
However, compared to becoming a person who can wrestle with bulls, Ian was actually more interested in the physical structure of the bulls in Terra Continent and why they can grow so large.
However, much like on Earth, the bulls on Terra Continent are also a major labor force for farming and a source of various strategic materials.
A single bull can cultivate a hundred times more land than an ordinary farmer, with bull tendons used for creating large bows, while their leather and cartilage plates are sources of natural Armored Clothing materials.
Not even mentioning the price, a well-developed adult bull is terrifyingly valued at two hundred fifty Talle and even more expensive in Harrison Port, equivalent to a family of farmers working without eating or drinking for decades.
Therefore, the plan to dissect a bull can only be regretfully postponed by Ian.
"Huh?"
Even when letting his thoughts wander while cooking porridge, Ian hadn't forgotten to occasionally activate his 'Clairvoyant Vision' as part of his Spirit Energy training.
If someone were inside the room, they would see the white-haired boy's eyes light up with a ring of crystal-clear cyan brilliance from time to time, only to quickly fade away, flickering like fireflies.
But during one of these casual glances, Ian suddenly noticed something was amiss.
He looked up and out the window.
There seemed to be something suspicious afoot.
"That is…"
Kneeling in front of the stove, Ian stood up, his expression solemn, the luminous glow brightening in his eyes as he fixed his gaze beyond the wall, on a suspicious target outside the cabin: "Is someone watching me?"
In his 'Clairvoyant Vision,' a faint white mist in the shape of a person was walking back and forth on the street.
This was not unusual.
Unlike where Ian had lived before, the new house that Elder Prude had chosen for him and Hiliard was situated in a coastal neighborhood, seeing much more foot traffic during the day.
Yet, this mist had been pacing up and down the street for three to four rounds, totaling over ten minutes, which was suspicious no matter how one thought about it.
"Who could it be?
Why?
It can't be the natives, can it?
They wouldn't be so bold."
After pondering for a few seconds, the boy approached the window and calmly peered through the crack to the world outside.
He saw a man passing by on the street, crossing the road, ducking into a street corner on the other side, and after tens of seconds, emerging to pass by the entrance again, pretending as if he was just casually passing by, but in reality, he was stealthily sizing up the doors and windows of the house.
Ian looked intently and recognized the man as an acquaintance.
"Brin, the herb gatherer who wants to steal my Sleep Powder?"
Raising an eyebrow, Ian remembered the playacting he and his teacher had put on in front of everyone the night before last.
At the scene of the fire, there had been a neighbor who noticed the bag in his hand filled with the valuable Sleep Powder and had tried to snatch it away, only to be stopped and scolded by Elder Prude, leaving in disappointed retreat.
The figure loitering outside the window was none other than Brin, the herb gatherer.
Right now, he was pretending to just pass by, yet he kept an eye on Ian's house, continuously scrutinizing the windows and doors, muttering under his breath about something or other.
"It seems I've been marked."
Shaking his head slightly, Ian understood the situation.
After all, not to mention other things, Harrison Port's clinic had always been purchasing this type of natural medicine, used as a painless anesthetic, at a high price, and the Guard Squad too was in need of this material which could catch valuable game, even Magical Beasts, without injury.
Swords and spears are blind; there's no guarantee that a Magical Beast would be slain with its body intact.
Whether it's arrow wounds, sword cuts, or traps, the beast's quality fur, flesh, and bones would undoubtedly be damaged, unable to fetch the highest price.
But if there were Sleep Powder, capturing them alive would be a whole different story, and the intact fur and internal organs would fetch another price entirely.
Fur materials and various processed products from Sublimation Plants were the core of the trade between the Empire's immigrants and the Redwood Natives; as long as there was supply, there would be no concern about not being able to sell.
"Such clumsy scouting, who would do such a thing in broad daylight?
Doesn't he have work to do?"
"Or could it be that he's not after the Sleep Powder but has some other purpose…"
Muttering to himself in a low voice, and seeing the bustling crowd around, Ian decisively opened the window.
He took a deep breath and then shouted out the window at the man who was still 'passing by': "Brin, why are you loitering around my front door?
Sacrificial Rite (Thanks to the alliance leader who doesn't pray for a 10-string reward!) The boy's voice wasn't soft, especially because it was so abrupt, everyone else passing by on the street looked up in surprise, turning toward where Ian was, then turned their heads to look at the frozen White Folks man.
"You, you…"
Curious, measuring, and thoughtful gazes converged, and in just a few seconds, one could see Brin's pale face flush with blood, quickly turning beet red.
The startled apothecary raised his hand, shaking as he pointed at the smiling Ian, but to the very last, he couldn't muster any words—the exposed herbalist could only trot away, while the passersby on the street exchanged looks, clearly having noticed something.
"It's hard to say whether that was bold or cowardly."
Watching the other vanish around the corner of the street, Ian shook his head, closed the window with a sigh, "The public safety in Harrison Port really is poor, should I maybe set up some more traps at home?
That's indeed something to consider…"
He decided to wait until Hiliard returned at night to inform his teacher of the situation.
When he had time, he would also go to Elder Prude and report Brin's behavior.
Eyeing money wasn't a big deal, but after all, there was a child in the house—if Brin was still not discouraged and broke in while he and Hiliard were out, it would be terrible if the kid, Elan, was accidentally hurt.
"There's no such thing as guarding against a thief for a thousand days."
Shaking his head, Ian turned back around and continued to cook porridge.
He reached out with the ladle, stirred the bottom of the pot, and mixed the settled barley grains back in evenly.
Meanwhile, in the Redwood Native Tribe.
Great Shaman Animu Deepswamp extended a bone stick, stirred the bottom of the pot, and mixed the settled dregs evenly once again.
At this moment.
He was also cooking porridge.
Located at the foot of Ivorybone Mountain, Redwood Forest Swamp was originally a coastal lake, but due to a massive earthquake over four hundred years ago, the geological structure changed abruptly, the converging river changed course, becoming the Ivoke River that now surrounds Harrison Port, the lake lost its water source and dried up, but due to the perennial storms along the tropical coast, it gradually turned into the shallow watery marsh that it is today.
The ancestral land of the Redwoods Tribe was at Ivorybone Mountain; according to historical texts, they once had the skill to domesticate elephants, to communicate with them, to work together and fight alongside them.
However, with changes in the environment, the Redwood elephant herds gradually went extinct, and this skill was lost over the centuries, transforming, finally evolving into the Redwoods Tribe's craftsmanship of training ordinary wild animals as companions and hunting partners.
Great Shaman Animu Deepswamp now stood at the mouth of the large shaman's tent halfway up the hillside, slowly stirring the light purple medicinal mud in front of him, while at both sides of the tent entrance, thirty-two thinly built, but fiercely determined Native Hunters respectfully knelt on the ground, heads bowed, with bows and short spears laid beside them on either side, awaiting the summons of the Great Shaman.
Animu lifted his head, violet fog glimmered at the distant horizon of the Southern Sea, blurring the far-off scenery.
Ordinary people might not notice, but this was a sign of a tremendous storm brewing.
The air was suffused with the furious and humid scent of the impending tempest, and at the swamp forest at the base of Ivorybone Mountain, those tangled woody roots, colorful mosses, vines, and shrubs intertwined with dense branches seemed to connect into one entity.
The many snakes, toads, centipedes, mudfish, and more active creatures made this entity teeming with life.
The entire jungle was like a living being—it was breathing, whispering, issuing warnings that only the Great Shaman could understand.
The Totem Pillars trembled ever so slightly.
—— Mountain and Tide Spirits were warning, as were the Spirits of the Jungle.
Animu Deepswamp closed his eyes and said faintly, "Blood."
The two Hunters closest to the Great Shaman slowly stood up; their movements were so slight, as if afraid of disturbing the omnipresent Spirits.
They took out an ancient clay pot, engraved with green Inscriptions, from their bosoms, then carefully approached both sides of the cauldron to present the pots to the Great Shaman.
They didn't raise their heads, nor did they dare to.
The two highly respected and feared Hunters in the tribe, covered in blue-black tattoos and scars—proof of their honor and courage—were submissive like children before the Great Shaman.
Animu picked up the clay pots; he was old, his nose had long been unable to smell anything of the human world, but he could smell that these pots were full of fresh blood, spicy and rich, containing fragments of an angry adult man's soul.
The scent of the other pot of blood, however, was pure and innocent, as clean as a mountain spring, sweet-scented, like a young and naive child unaware of worldly affairs.
—— It was not quite satisfactory, but it would do.
Animu took a deep breath, poured the two pots of blood into the cauldron, and stirred.
The medicine mud boiling and bubbling inside the cauldron absorbed the two different jars of fresh blood, giving rise to faint hints of crimson within the pale purple and an almost invisible glimmer of light began to dance and converge, quivering the air, emitting sounds like the desperate roars of men and the terrified cries of children.
This soft chime brought with it a hushed breeze, swirling around the Shaman's gaunt figure.
"Bones."
The initial two hunters had already stepped back, and following Animu's command once again, the next pair of hunters also stood up.
They held two wooden cases, one large and one small, and presented them respectfully to the Great Shaman.
Inside the cases were two skulls, one of an adult human, and one of an infant no more than two years old.
"This one is better."
After a glance at the two skulls, already stripped clean of all flesh and meticulously cleaned, Animu slightly nodded in approval, and instantly a look of joy appeared on the hunters' faces as they slowly receded.
Without further words, the elderly man with white hair and brownish-black skin extended his hand and grasped a skull.
His skinny hand seemed feeble, and his breath was like the flame of a candle in the wind, but with a gentle knead, the skull turned into the smooth dust of bones, disappearing into the cauldron with a quiet breeze.
The wind around the Great Shaman grew stronger.
Just Pop This Bad Boy On Your Skin And Watch It Reduce Swelling
Herbeauty
10 Most Praised Historical Movies
Brainberries
"Flesh."
At this summons, the next pair of hunters rose and presented the offerings they had diligently gathered.
Blood, bones, flesh, tendons.
— The power of life.
Brains, eyes, tongue, skin.
— The senses of life.
Lungs, liver, kidneys, spleen.
— The endurance of life.
Intestines, stomach, gallbladder, heart.
— The vitality of life.
Starting with blood and ending with heart, sixteen of the most tender, sixteen of the most robust, a total of thirty-two parts of different lives, the essence most rich in spirit substance and power, are what is needed for the "Pure Sacrifice."
"What happened to Atchetu?"
Last of all, when the two hunters presented the 'Heart of a Child' and the 'Heart of a Warrior', the Great Shaman suddenly spoke, "Is he dead?"
"Yes, yes, Great Shaman."
The two hunters addressed paused for a moment, then spoke in a fearful and anxious manner: "Shaman Atchetu's infiltration into Harrison Port failed; he was killed by the Imperial People…
Viscount Grant paid no heed to this."
"So it is us who have taken his place, offering this most important…"
"Hmm, I know."
But Animu didn't wait to hear the rest, he waved his hand signaling the hunters to retreat, and then slightly shook his head: "They indeed noticed the signs, Atchetu was too reckless."
Stirring the medicine mud in the crucible, Great Shaman Animu Deepswamp mixed the essence of flesh and viscera, stirring the essence of life with an indifferent expression: "But those Imperial People, they too must pay a price."
"The price of life
The blood of a warrior," he pronounced, "shall be repaid with a hundred lives of Imperial People."
His mouth spoke these words, but his hands did not cease their work.
The Great Shaman gently picked up the two hearts that, although long removed from their chest, still beat vibrantly with a fresh red hue.
Then, he tenderly placed them in the crucible, onto the medicine mud that had turned thoroughly blood-red—a hue like molten lava or boiling blood.
As the hearts sank into the medicinal clay, the ritual reached its completion.
In the moment of bated breath, a visible spiritual brilliance flickered.
Inside the crucible, the murky medicine mud instantly turned pure and profound, and within a few breaths, the red slur of blood transformed into a kind of ink-like medicinal juice.
A clear and pure 'Blood Ink'.
And just as the Blood Ink took shape, a whirlwind burst from nowhere, and from the mountainside outside the Great Shaman's tent, there came a series of mountainous chants, as if ancient ancestors were shouting and calling out, causing all the Totem Pillars to tremble.
This sudden gale spread all the way to the Redwoods Swamp at the foot of the mountain, sweeping through every branch and trunk within the forest, turning the entire jungle into a cacophony, and the fog and miasma above the swamp rose and spread, diffusing a dappled array of colors.
Thirty-two hunters kneeled on both sides of the tent at this moment, prostrating by its edge.
Animu held up the medicine pot; he reached out, plunging his hand inside, utterly indifferent to the fact that the fresh red medicinal juice—the Blood Ink—in the pot was many times hotter than boiling water.
Afterward, using his hand as a brush, the old man dipped it in the Blood Ink and motioned for the hunters to lift their foreheads before slowly tracing blood-colored patterns on their brows.
Each hunter could not help but reveal a joyous expression, which then turned to agony, even as they clenched their teeth and forcibly endured.
The fresh red patterns spread from their foreheads into their flesh and blood, spreading and taking root between muscles and organs in the span of a breath, making their breathing thick and heavy.
In the bodies of a few hunters who were extremely receptive to the Blood Ink, tiny scales began to emerge.
The air was filled with the scent of soil and the maritime breeze—a smell of mountains and tides, a sign of the awakening of the Spirit of the Mountain Tide.
Animu drew patterns with Blood Ink on thirty-two warrior hunters one by one, but he did not stop there and continued towards the Redwoods Swamp.
In his ears, the trembling of many Totems and the calling of spirits slowly converged into one, like a surging tide.
As time passed, this roaring and surging sound became more distinct, finally turning into a deep murmur emanating from the swamp's depths.
"[Life…]"
As the vague yet soul-shattering spiritual sound whistled back and forth by his ears, Animu's face was solemn, and the Blood Ink in his crucible had dried up; the medicine dregs had solidified, turning pale.
Only the larger and smaller hearts remained vividly red and pulsed violently, containing an intense vitality.
"Lord of Mountains, Child of the Sea, the pulse of the tide, the mountain's call…this is the offering made solely for you, the life dedicated to you."
Muttering the ancient words of sacrificial rites, the Old Shaman stepped into the center of the swamp.
Then, he placed the medicine pot on the murky swamp water and turned to leave.
The Redwoods Swamp trembled slightly, all the trees in the forest shaking.
In the center of the swamp, the mire began to churn, drawing the medicine pot into its depths.
The invisible spiritual sound let out a resounding roar, followed by a greedy sucking noise.
Should one look down from halfway up the mountain, one might faintly discern a chillingly massive shadow in the depths of the swamp, held sacred by the Redwoods Tribe, pulsating and expanding.
It slithered and spiraled, with six points of scarlet light glowing beneath the mud.
It writhed at the bottom of the mire, emitting rumbles and howls inaudible to humans.
The pure sacrifice that took place in the ancestral land of the Redwood Natives did not cause any anomalies in a short time.
But without a doubt, something had occurred.
Some time later, the sky darkened, and Harrison Port entered dusk.
As evening approached, Ian inside the house lit the stove.
He used the poker to stir the charcoal within, sending a shower of golden-red sparks through the gaps between the stove and pot, carrying a trail of smoke.
As the flames grew stronger, he added some wood.
Once the porridge for dinner was well underway, the boy rose to fetch the Spirits Focusing Herbal Water from the cabinet that had been sitting for a day.
—Boom!
A white flash cleaved the dark sky, and thunder rolled as a heavy rain fell upon Harrison Port.
Holding the herbal water, Ian turned to look out the window.
Raindrops blanketed the land, the churning clouds above teeming with unformed lightning, occasionally unleashing real bolts that lit up the entire port and coast.
"Tropical weather is normal, but it shouldn't be this severe."
He shook his head slightly; five thunderclaps in three minutes meant that Ian was aware that the weather in the Otherworld had evidently more variables compared to his homeland.
However, the frequent summer thunderstorms in Harrison Port, capable of attracting a large swarm of Thunderhunter Jellyfish to nearby Sigh Cliff, certainly fell outside the realm of normal circumstances.
The lightning that flickered and vanished within the clouds carried a disquieting energy that instinctively unsettled Ian.
He had a vague feeling that his teacher's mission was somehow connected to the true cause of this strange weather.
But now was not the time to think about these things.
After sitting for a day, the Focused Spirit Potion exuded a peculiar fragrance.
If Ian were to describe it, it was like mint-flavored cologne mixed with the scent of mentholated oil—just a light sniff was enough to bring a cool sensation from the tip of the nose to the lungs.
Upon close observation, Ian noticed that the top layer of the potion appeared different from normal water.
With his Foresight View activated, the pale blue glow emanating from the upper half of the container confirmed his suspicions.
"It seems that the effective components in the Spirit-Focusing Herb and other herbs are lighter than water, and after boiling and settling overnight, the medicinal quality floats to the top—providing the simplest and most effective step of purification,"
Although Ian was summarizing his thoughts in his mind, his hands did not stop.
After he arrived in the room where his brother Alan was, he swiftly followed Elder Prude's instructions, scooped up a spoonful of water with a freshly cleaned wooden spoon, and fed it to his still dozing brother; then, he took the light green powder that had settled at the bottom of the medicinal jar and applied it to Alan's temples and the surrounding area of his forehead.
"~"
Alan was still asleep when the effects of the potion prompted him to open his eyes.
The child looked at Ian with wide eyes, locking gazes with his brother for several seconds before showing a very comfortable expression and closing his eyes to fall into a deep sleep.
"The effect is quite good; his eyes look much more spirited,"
Ian wasn't surprised at this, for before he administered it to Alan, he had already used Foresight View to predict that the potion contained no dangers and was, in fact, highly beneficial.
Soon after, he himself also took a small amount of the remaining Focused Spirit Potion, as instructed.
As the potion went down his throat, he initially felt nothing, but soon Ian involuntarily shivered slightly.
A cold sensation spread from his throat, throughout his stomach, and down his entire digestive tract, diffusing through his body.
This sensation instantly made Ian, who had felt dizzy and exhausted from practicing his Spirit Energy all afternoon, suddenly awake.
It was as though he had taken a cold shower while groggy, momentarily filled with energy.
Even if one's physical strength was replenished with food and drink, prolonged use of Spirit Energy could still lead to an excruciating feeling as though one had overworked their brain through consecutive sleepless nights.
At his most tired in the afternoon, Ian had felt as though his brain was a glowing-hot iron block—hot, painful, and swollen as if inflamed.
After resting for a while, this discomfort had lessened considerably.
But upon taking the Spirit Focusing Potion, Ian immediately noticed his previously overheated brain and body rapidly 'cooling' down, and a continuous, comfortable chill emerged.
If he had to make a comparison, Ian felt this sense of comfort was akin to running around outside on a forty-two degree summer day, and then finally coming home to chill in an air-conditioned room and enjoying ice cream.
"The medicine is really good!"
Ian couldn't help but admire, but he was also well aware that the Spirit Focusing Herbal Water was extremely valuable; just this small packet alone could easily sell for seven or eight Talle, and a few packets together might equal his uncle's annual salary.
The Elder handing over a whole box of the medicine was not just generous; it was as inconceivable as throwing money into water to hear it splash.
It could only be said that such resources, precious to ordinary citizens, were probably just consumable items for trial to the Nobles and the great personages.
Camilla's Not A Fan Of These King Charles's Odd Habits
Brainberries
8 Of The Creepiest Ghost Towns Around The World
Brainberries
"Since it's harmless, it'd be a waste not to use it,"
Hiliard had not returned yet, and Ian didn't wait for him.
He finished the porridge by himself and settled his dinner.
After he ate and drank his fill, he sat quietly beside the window, closed his eyes, and took the opportunity while the effects of the Focused Spirit Potion were still present, the time when his spirit was clear and invigorated, to try sensing the Primordial Seed.
Thanks to the guidance of his teacher Hiliard, and having recently consumed a Beast Salmon containing a large amount of Origin Quality,
Ian quickly sensed the presence of Essence within his body, as well as the Virtual Primordial Seed.
He then heard a faint 'whooshing' sound, reminiscent of surging tides.
Ian knew it was the synesthesia from Essence Fragments flowing through the blood in his veins, circulating in every corner of his body and subtly enhancing his physical qualities.
"The Essence flows faster today than before; this afternoon's practice was indeed beneficial,"
The Essence circulated through the blood circulatory system within Ian, and his muscles, internal organs, and even his cells greedily absorbed it, drawing this life energy.
However, the bulk remained in the Virtual Primordial Seed located at the heart.
A vast number of Essence Fragments flowed into it, being absorbed and compressed by the actively cycling Primordial Seed, condensing into a more regular form of Origin Quality.
Ian concentrated, and the previously blurry details of the Virtual Primordial Seed became crystal clear.
By leveraging his past professional experience, along with the past two days of practice and observation, he had gained a considerable understanding of the Primordial Seed's structure.
Stripping away all the fancy adjectives and cultural connotations, simply put, the Primordial Seed is a storage and conversion device.
It's structured like a turbocharger, operating via the force of the heartbeat and breathing.
The Origin Quality produced from digested food enters the bloodstream, where it is collected by the Primordial Seed, refined, stored, and then released when necessary.
Origin Quality is a special form of life energy.
Even a small amount of Essence Fragments circulating in the bloodstream can improve a person's physical qualities.
When highly pure Origin Quality is released by the Primordial Seed into the body's organs, it can significantly increase physical qualities in a short period.
This includes absolute strength, neural reflexes, endurance, regenerative capabilities, and overall body resilience, all of which are enhanced across the board.
In Terra World, an ordinary person who lives a regular life with normal eating habits can, if pushed to life-threatening limits, unleash the Origin Quality innately stored in their body and exert strength far surpassing their own limits for a short period.
Stories like a mother pushing a carriage off her child or kicking away a large rock to protect them are not remarkable news in Terra World, but rather, something incredibly normal.
In fact, it would be strange if it didn't happen.
If ordinary people could do this, what about the Sublimator Reservists who possess the Primordial Seed?
Taking Ian as an example, after consuming a Demon Beast Level salmon, even though he was still weak at his core and just a child over eight years old, if he fully released the Origin Quality accumulated in his Primordial Seed, he could exert the strength of an adult man for about fifteen minutes.
Of course, the real function of Origin Quality is not to be used as a consumable in this way.
As the essence of life, a Sublimator accumulates Origin Quality to forge a Sublimation Organ.
If Origin Quality only temporarily enhances physical qualities, using up all energy and even over-exerting oneself, then with the Sublimation Organ in a regular state, one would possess a strength comparable to—or most often surpassing—the surge brought on by releasing Origin Quality.
Therefore, unless truly faced with desperate circumstances, Ian believed that no Sublimator would recklessly use the Origin Quality they had stored.
Blood Red "Beginning the condensation of the Sublimation Organ is indeed the first step for a Sublimation Apprentice to truly embark on the path of the Bloodline True Form."
Ian shook his head slightly, "That's still a long way off, what I need now is to condense a high-quality Primordial Seed and then rely on it to quickly accumulate Origin Quality and nourish my body."
Although as a Mechanical Engineer in his previous life, Ian was very familiar with the structure of a turbocharger, to the extent that, given materials and tools, he could even craft one with his bare hands.
However, a Primordial Seed is only similar to a turbocharger, not identical.
Even though he indeed felt that a few structures within the Virtual Primordial Seed could be modified without affecting the overall operation, potentially greatly enhancing the efficiency and quality of Origin Quality extraction.
But that was merely a guess, who would dare to experiment with their own body and life?
Most people, even geniuses, when it comes to condensing Primordial Seeds, would rather play it safe than aim for the best.
After all, efficiency can be piled up with resources, but life comes only once.
But, that applies to most people only.
Ian was slightly special.
"Let me see…"
Muttering to himself, Ian chuckled softly and activated Foresight View.
His azure eyes opened, and for a moment, everything around him turned into clumps composed of mist, with gray, white, and blue interweaving to form this peculiar world.
Ian opened his eyes and looked at himself.
Just as every time before, he could not see his own color or what kind of mist he was made of.
In fact, he had only seen the color on himself once when he Awakened Spiritual Power.
At that time, the color he saw was that of Child Ian, whether it was his own or not was another question.
—Prophecy is unable to predict oneself.
Only in the region around what seemed to be his heart could the boy see a glint of golden light flickering.
The Virtual Primordial Seed made of Hiliad's Origin Quality was currently spinning in a void surrounded by mist, like a constant star, drawing in tiny white specks like stars, which then condensed into pale blue dust resembling chips, accumulating on the inside.
The tiny specks were Essence Fragments, and the dusty chips were in fact Origin Quality.
Essence Fragments were of white grade, Origin Quality was of blue grade.
Because the Virtual Primordial Seed was a 'foreign object' given by Teacher Hiliad, Ian could see it through the Foresight View.
"Interesting, Origin Quality also has grades."
As he watched the condensation process of the Origin Quality within him, Ian couldn't help but become contemplative.
He looked at the golden Virtual Primordial Seed on the outside and already had a guess, "Indeed, the quality of Origin Quality varies.
Simply by the color of Origin Quality, I can judge the strength of a Sublimator."
"And the most important…"
Raising his head, Ian looked in the direction where his brother Alan was.
The white-haired Child drank down the potion, applied the medicinal mud, and was now sleeping peacefully.
It was apparent that the side effects of the Sleep Powder could not be mitigated with just one treatment; it might take several months of care to restore Alan to normal.
The mist on Alan's body was a pale gray mixed with some blue-white, probably due to the effects of the Focused Spirit Potion.
But not just that…
"Alan's destiny is connected to mine.
My actions will cause the mist on Alan to change as well."
Ian gazed at the changing colors on his brother's body, recalling the warning his brother's mist had given him when he chose where to abandon the corpse—undoubtedly, that warning and premonition had changed his own destiny.
His meeting with Hiliad was largely due to Alan.
This time, Ian had a bold idea.
—Could he, by contemplating modifications to the structure of the Primordial Seed in his mind, use the changes in the mist's color on Alan's body to determine whether his adjustments to the Primordial Seed's structure were successful and beneficial?
In simple terms, could he use Alan to indirectly predict the success or failure of his own Primordial Seed modification?
The feasibility was significant!
Although he did not know the principle, since his ability could predict the future to a certain extent, such utilization was most typical!
"The better the Primordial Seed I condense, the better Alan's future destiny will be, and vice versa."
"Let's do it this way."
The moment he thought of trying, Ian immediately closed his eyes and pondered.
On his first attempt, Ian did not choose to optimize, but rather deteriorated the structure of the Primordial Seed in his mind on purpose, making it simpler, but also much less efficient.
Opening his eyes, he looked at Alan and could not help but widen his eyes slightly.
"Red!"
A dense fog as thick as blood entwined around the child, causing Ian to blink in mild surprise, "Is it that bad?
Is it almost a certainty of death?"
Although he had anticipated that if he carelessly formed a substandard Virtual Primordial Seed, it could lead to extremely bad outcomes, the situation was so dire that it filled Ian with great doubt, "If the Primordial Seed I form is too poor, Teacher Hiliad is very likely to leave me, after all, if I have no potential, staying with him might actually hasten my death."
"But even so, I won't be too much danger in the short term…
Such a dense, blood-red fog clearly indicates something major is going to happen soon, and it's a threat to our lives, both of my brother's and mine!"
Though puzzled, Ian knew it was pointless to dwell on these thoughts.
He closed his eyes and began his second attempt.
This time, Ian still did not optimize but instead followed the process methodically, trying to form the Primordial Seed normally, as instructed by Hiliad.
Upon opening his eyes again, Ian looked towards Alan.
This time, the fog surrounding his younger brother was still vivid and bloody.
Although it had lessened in darkness compared to the first trial, it was still undeniably the 'certain death' level of danger!
"How strange!"
Standing up, Ian furrowed his brows, closed his Foresight View, and rested for a moment to recover his strength.
Then, he took a deep breath and turned his head to look outside the window, "By aggregating the Primordial Seed as Teacher has instructed, I am one hundred percent confident of achieving perfection, and then everything will be under control, and my strength will also improve under Teacher's guidance.
Yet the fog remains blood red."
"This means that the crisis does not lie with the Teacher or even with me…"
With a thought, Ian had another deduction in his mind.
Without saying more, he closed his eyes and for the second time, opened his Foresight View.
This time, he pondered the structure template of the Primordial Seed, which was the optimized template he had decided upon after deep consideration.
Then, Ian harnessed the Origin Quality and once again tried to form the Primordial Seed.
He looked towards Alan for the third time.
The crimson fog was still there—even though the concentration seemed to have thinned slightly, the fog that enveloped Alan like a cloud of blood had its edges faded to a pale pink, but its core still glowed like fresh blood.
"I understand now."
With that realization, Ian's frown deepened slightly, "The Natives have targeted me, haven't they?
They've already infiltrated Harrison Port?"
——No matter how he aggregated the Primordial Seed, the result was the same: extremely dangerous.
This could only mean that a character or force far stronger than Ian was targeting him, which was why no matter the progress, the danger he was about to face would not change by much.
Yet even so, Ian's efforts could slightly 'defy the heavens and change fate.'
Clearly, Ian's optimization was successful; the quality of Ian's version of the Primordial Seed was a notch above Hiliad's.
Although it lost some stability, the efficiency was indeed higher.
That was exactly why, each time he observed the fog on Alan, its color and the crisis both seemed to diminish slightly.
The effect was minor, but there was indeed progress.
"No, that's not right!"
Even though he had roughly figured it out, before Ian could feel pleased with the success of his optimization, he immediately thought of a possibility that made him feel a sense of crisis and even fear.
Ian's brow knitted tightly, "I'm not so arrogant and self-righteous…
Who am I?
Do I deserve such targeted attention from the Natives?
Is it necessary to kill me in such a hurry?"
"The aftermath of a disaster can easily kill a few children, no matter how talented I am…
The same goes for me!"
Of course, there was one more critical point—not even assassinations targeting a still young Ian could possibly put an already matured Ian in a blood-red situation of certain death!
"It's not that simple."
Musing to himself, Ian suddenly felt a chill spreading from his spine, "I might not be the main target!"
"Then who is it?
The Teacher, or could it be…"
He immediately got up and walked to the window, then activated his Foresight View, looking out at the rain-drenched streets of Harrison Port.
Outside the window, beneath the pitch-black sky, the central port area was brightly lit, with the surrounding residential areas dimly illuminated by street lights, casting a faint, flickering home light from which he could see the shadows of a few people moving and chatting behind the windows, warm and harmonious.
Children were playing and laughing, playing games with their parents, their shadows elongated by the light.
Elderly were nagging, half-open windows letting through gusts of wind that caused the lights inside to tremble slightly.
There was also silence, the flickering of lights inside homes, barely discernible food aromas mixing with the rain.
With aqua-hued eyes sweeping across the city, Ian's gaze shimmered with a faint blue glow.
But, reflected in his eyes, was only red.
Crimson red.
Blood red.
The color of death.
At this moment, the red fog swirling around every person seemed to coalesce into a river that formed a sea of blood.
And then…
It surged tumultuously throughout Harrison Port!
Just as he caught sight of the crimson scene filling the streets, Ian was shocked to feel an intense, unheralded pain suddenly emerge deep within his brain, or rather, an organ that seemed independent of his body yet still undeniably his own.
This extreme agony was as if someone had placed a sea urchin soaked in seawater and poison inside his brain and was vigorously shaking it, causing Ian to struggle to breathe and promptly collapse to the ground without making a sound.
"Huff!
Huff…"
The pain arrived swiftly and departed just as quickly.
When Ian regained control of his body, he immediately began to breathe deeply, his entire being like someone who had been dragged out of the water, with large beads of cold sweat falling from his forehead and temples, dampening his collar.
Ian wasn't the kind of ultimate tough guy who endures screaming in agony when alone; the only reason he didn't cry out in pain was that he was too exhausted to muster any extra energy, and besides, his brother was right beside him.
Trembling and leaning against the wall, he slowly stood up, his heart still racing from having disentangled himself from Foresight View.
Ian looked out the window and said, "It seems…
my Spirit Energy can't actively observe targets that are too large or involve too many people…"
Just moments before, while observing the street, Ian felt his vitality draining like floodgates being opened, nearly causing him to faint with exhaustion.
This was when the downside of Foresight View became apparent.
It could indeed predict the future on a small scale, determine the value of items, and even guide Ian to better decisions to some extent…
But everything in excess is opposed to nature.
He could only observe the fates and future trends of a few individuals at most.
With a larger number of people, he could exhaust himself to death.
However, this was merely a matter of excessive physical exertion, not that he 'couldn't' do it.
If Ian's physical strength were sufficient, he guessed that his future could possibly break this limitation and observe the future trends of 'a group of people,' 'a street,' 'a city,' or even 'an entire port'!
"What exactly happened just now?"
Standing up slowly, Ian looked puzzled: "The port shrouded in blood…"
"What exactly is Harrison Port facing?!"
Even though there was no other evidence, the omens from his Spirit Energy made it clear that everyone in Harrison Port, or at least the vast majority, was in a 'certain fatal crisis'!
The streets were engulfed in a crimson mist, even turning into a raging tsunami that echoed between heaven and earth…
Ian immediately heightened his vigilance to the max, but he did not know when the crisis would arrive.
"Is it a storm?
A tsunami?
Or perhaps thunderstorms, earthquakes?"
"Beside Harrison Port, there are the Bison Mountain Range.
It could also be a landslide or mudslide caused by heavy rain."
Running to the backyard, Ian looked up at the sky over Harrison Port and the surrounding terrain, murmuring to himself, "Only a few things could cause so many to die at once…
Of course, there's another possibility."
"That is a large-scale invasion by the Natives."
"Even worse, the possibility that several of these events might occur simultaneously."
The current calm appearance was deceptive, and Ian knew that recently the Natives had indeed been carrying out Pure Sacrifices—a grand ritual known even to the Imperial People, which requires the lives of dozens of living beings and many rare materials.
The Redwood Natives, with their several dozen large and small tribes, would lay down their disputes and each offer their best tribute to the 'Great Shaman,' the nominal leader of all Redwood Tribes, during a Pure Sacrifice.
Ian himself had nearly been offered up as a sacrifice.
Typically, a Pure Sacrifice is conducted every dozen years or so, and the Magic Potion produced in each sacrifice can create several Sublimators of the First Energy Level—it is the most common and simplest method for the tribes to create Sublimators.
Of course, these manufactured Sublimators have major flaws.
Moreover, when sensing imminent great danger, the Redwood Natives would also carry out Pure Sacrifices to gain the protection of the spirits and temporarily enhance the strength of the tribe.
"The last time the Natives conducted a Pure Sacrifice was eight years ago, during that super typhoon that swept across the entire Southern Frontier of the Empire…"
Ian gazed at the dark clouds churning in the sky, but the heavy rain and the rumbling thunder could not frighten him, they merely provoked his thoughts: "My father in this life also perished in that storm.
A disaster that not even Sublimators could survive…"
"If the Natives have restarted their sacrifices, it suggests a great likelihood that another typhoon of equal or even greater intensity is coming."
"Besides, Teacher Hiliad quietly came to Harrison Port, and it seems to be related to the 'anomaly' this time."
Clues were converging, Ian turned his head and looked towards the direction of the coastline.
The surging waves crashed against the rocks, the beach, and the stony base of the port, issuing a dull roar upon collision, reminiscent of thunder on the ground.
"In the sea, then," he murmured softly to himself, gazing into the deep shadows within the sea.
At this moment, Ian, to be honest, couldn't help wanting to activate his Foresight View to watch the sea; he had a strong premonition that if he did so, he would definitely see some omens and clues.
But equally strong, and perhaps even more intense than that premonition, was another warning him.
—Try it, and meet your death!
Barely surviving a glance at a street, and now daring to look at the sea?
This wasn't bravery; it was madness!
"Having a premonition is better than having none; at least it proves that there is something in the sea beyond the scope of what I can currently foresee."
Closing his eyes, suppressing the desire to observe, Ian shook his head slightly, "I need to tell the teacher about my discovery when he returns."
"It's a matter of life and death for the entire town…
New Ninja Covid: What Makes This Variant So Much More Contagious?
Brainberries
They Were 4 & A Half Weeks Early, But Luckily Everything Was Fine
Herbeauty
This is not something that can be concealed."
Returning to the house, Ian took a deep breath, calming his emotions.
Then, he once again came before his brother Alan and continued the training he had begun earlier.
He continued to condense the Primordial Seed.
—No matter the future, no matter the omen… Condensing the Primordial Seed, increasing one's own strength, would at the very least change one's own and brother's future.
"The previous foresight has proven that my direction of modification is correct, and indeed, I can rely on the mist on Alan's body to predict the correctness of my decisions."
"With this, I just need to correct some minor details once more, and I can begin to accumulate Origin Quality, and when it's sufficient, I will be able to form the Primordial Seed in one fell swoop."
Although Ian didn't know why, just thinking in his head seemed to reflect changes in the future reality…
Perhaps this was also the special aspect of Foresight View.
For things without answers, there is no need to overthink.
With a tranquil mind, Ian closed his eyes.
Amidst the storm and thunder, when lightning slashed across the sky outside the window, he began to train again.
Meanwhile.
At the Elder's Hall of White Folks near Central Avenue in the east of the city.
This square old house, built from white slats and covered in creeping vines, was located next to the city's Furnace Core, with a tributary of the Ivoke River passing through the city just in front, and behind the house was a small yard where some commonly used herbs were planted for the physicians in the Elder's Hall to treat White Folks for free.
This place is where the White Folks' high-level meetings are usually held, and Elder Prude himself often works and rests here; but unless there's an issue, no one would come here to trouble the elder, so it's considered quite tranquil.
But today, there was a figure tiptoeing through the rain, hurrying along to the hall.
"Elder, Elder!"
The forager Brin, who had appeared at Ian's doorstep earlier, skulking as if up to something, was now looking panicked as he urgently said to the elder's guards, "I have critical information to report to the elder…"
The two guards, one on each side, had already grabbed Brin's shoulders, ready to throw him out, but then from upstairs, they heard a somewhat weary and elderly voice, "Let him come up."
The guards complied, releasing Brin, and the relieved forager then straightened his attire and walked nervously upstairs.
"How is it, have you found anything?"
Inside the second-floor study, Elder Prude set down the official documents and reports in his hand, and looked indifferently at Brin bowing respectfully in front of him, and said, "From the look on your face, it's as I guessed."
"Ian has discovered you, hasn't he