Art of Creation [Eco-Cultivation Prototype]

Devor lounged comfortably, gazing out at the carefully cultivated garden before him.

The rich scent of Spiritual Herbs mingled with the crisp hilltop air, a fragrance both calming and invigorating.

But after a moment of peaceful reflection, he turned, approaching Forly and the others.

His gaze settled on Forly, lingering for a beat.

Despite being one of the most skilled Spiritual Farmers in their group, Forly still remained a Nameless Disciple—an oversight that made little sense.

Devor's brows furrowed slightly.

"You should've been promoted to an Outer Disciple a year ago." His voice was even, but questioning. "How is it that you're still at the bottom?"

Forly hesitated before answering. "I just don't think the time is right for me."

There was no shame in his tone—only calm acceptance. "Outer Disciples have greater responsibilities, and that would cut into the time I have to study under Senior's guidance."

Devor studied him carefully, his expression softening.

Among all the disciples he had met, Forly had always been the most eager to learn from him.

Had their positions been different—had Devor already gained the rank of Elder—Forly might have sought to become his personal disciple.

Devor sighed lightly.

"You're always welcome to attend my lectures," he said with a faint smile. "Teaching is something I enjoy."

Forly nodded, listening intently.

"But at the same time, you need resources and status if you want to accomplish great things in the future."

Forly lowered his gaze slightly, deep in thought.

"You know the kind of person I am—how much I love gardening," Devor continued. "So why do you think I bother competing and teaching classes?"

Forly blinked, confused. He had assumed Devor was simply honing his craft, waiting until the perfect moment to rise to prominence.

Devor had never been the impatient type. He had always taught Forly the value of steady, stable progress.

"There's only one reason." Devor's tone remained calm, but his words carried weight. "To gain support and resources so I can fuel my obsession with Spiritual Plants."

Forly's eyes widened slightly.

Devor continued, "If an opportunity comes, don't hesitate to seize it."

He patted Forly's shoulder lightly, offering him a small but genuine smile. "My door is always open."

A warmth spread through Forly's chest. He clenched his fists, nodding firmly. "Thank you, Senior!"

But Devor knew—too much comfort weakens the roots of a cultivator.

Struggles existed for a reason.

A sudden shift in the air made Devor's expression sharpen.

He turned.

Forly followed his gaze, his own body tensing when he saw who stood before them. "The Sect Master?"

Standing just over ten paces away was Azure Sky Sect Master Zinqi.

Forly and the others bowed immediately, their movements swift and reverent.

Zinqi, as always, wore a gentle smile, his aura calm, like a still lake untouched by wind.

"There's someone who wants to meet you." His voice was steady, unreadable. "I promise you won't regret it."

Devor's brow furrowed slightly.

Someone?

His curiosity stirred. Who could warrant the personal involvement of the Sect Master?

He stepped forward, closing the distance between them.

As soon as he was within two meters, Zinqi extended his hand, his energy flowing outward—

And instantly, Devor's pupils contracted.

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Something was wrong.

His instincts screamed at him.

This wasn't Zinqi.

The energy flowing from him was—off.

Not in a forceful, hostile way—that would have been obvious.

No, it was more subtle, like a note played just slightly out of tune.

A fraction of a second passed.

Then Devor moved.

His body blurred, retreating ten meters in an instant.

The air where he had just stood hummed ominously.

Forly and the other disciples whipped their heads around in confusion.

"What's going on?"

Devor's eyes locked onto the man before him.

His voice was sharp, unwavering.

"Who are you!?" The words rang through the courtyard like a blade unsheathed. "You're not the Sect Master!"

Forly's breath caught in his throat.

The other disciples froze, their eyes darting between Devor and the man before them.

An impersonator?

Zinqi's expression didn't change.

He didn't falter.

He simply stood there, gazing at Devor with the same composed look as before. "What are you saying, Devor?"

His voice was the same. His demeanor was the same.

For an instant, doubt flickered in Devor's mind.

Had he made a mistake?

Before he could second-guess himself, a voice rang through the air.

Soft, distant—yet cutting through the moment like a sharpened blade.

"Don't let him touch you!

Don't accept his energy!

And don't try to fight him—just run!"

Devor's heart pounded.

The voice was familiar.

Forly and the other disciples snapped their heads toward the source, but they couldn't see anyone.

Who was it?

Why were they so certain this was a threat?

Devor's eyes darkened.

Whoever this imposter was, their disguise was perfect—but energy never lied.

And now, with that warning, his instincts were confirmed.

He had to make a decision.

Would he stand and fight?

Or heed the warning and flee?

Devor's pupils shrunk to the size of a needle.

"Run!!!"

His voice cut through the air like a blade.

At that moment, a surge of power crashed down from the sky—like a slumbering dragon roused from its depths.

Devor reacted instantly, his body moving on pure instinct. He leaped backward, preparing to escape.

But then—

Zinqi, who had been motionless just a breath ago, suddenly lunged forward—as fast as an arrow loosed from a divine bow.

Devor's eyes narrowed sharply.

He's not attacking him directly—he's intercepting his landing spot.

It all happened in a fraction of a second, but that alone told Devor everything he needed to know.

This wasn't a reckless strike. It was a calculated kill.

Cold understanding sank into him.

"I'm dead."

Zinqi wasn't impossibly fast—just slightly faster. But in a battle like this, a slight difference was fatal.

By the time he landed, Zinqi's hand would already be on his throat.

And then—

Devor saw Zinqi's face.

Twisted into a sinister grin.

He's savoring the moment.

But then—

Something unexpected happened.

A blur of motion cut through the air.

Forly.

His body collided with Zinqi's, blocking his advance just before he could reach Devor.

"Kill that man! Don't let Devor take his life!"

A voice rang out—Yulin's. This time, it was much closer, no longer distant.

Forly moved without hesitation.

A single punch.

His fist slammed through Zinqi's chest—piercing cleanly, effortlessly, like punching through wet paper.

Forly froze.

His breath caught in his throat. He hadn't expected the attack to land so easily.

Neither had Devor.

Zinqi didn't react—his face remained eerily blank.

His eyes flickered toward Devor, filled with something indecipherable.

Then, in a slow, almost regretful voice, he exhaled: "What a shame..."

And his body began to change.

Zinqi's features twisted—his bones realigning, flesh rippling.

The Azure Sky Sect Master vanished.

In his place stood a different man—one dressed in the robes of an Outer Disciple.

Devor's breath caught.

He know him.

A Spiritual Farmer.

An Outer Disciples in the sect's gardens, someone who had tended the fields alongside him, Yulin and the others.

"He wasn't my enemy before."

"Why is he doing this now?"

But before Devor could make sense of it, the man's body began to rot.

Dark, blackened blood oozed from his eyes, nose, and mouth, bubbling up in thick, unnatural waves.

Then—

It burst forth.

A seething mass of liquid darkness, writhing like a living thing, surged toward Forly.

Devor moved instantly.

He stepped forward, ready to cut it down—

"Don't..."

Forly's voice. Weak. Strained.

Devor froze.

The black blood seeped into Forly's skin.

Not burning him.

Not harming him.

It was merging with him.

Becoming part of him.

A sharp, bitter taste filled Devor's mouth.

Should he run? Should he save himself?

No.

He couldn't.

His sword flashed—a sharp arc of light cutting through the darkness.

His blade sliced cleanly through the tendrils of black blood, severing them midair.

The dark liquid scattered, splattering across the ground—but not just the ground.

Droplets of the foul blood struck Devor's robes, staining the fabric with inky blackness. Some of it even landed on his skin, cold and unnatural against his flesh.

For a brief moment, it simply sat there—like ordinary blood.

Then, without warning, it moved.

The black liquid seeped into his skin, vanishing beneath the surface as if it had a will of its own. A sharp, chilling sensation spread through his veins, unnatural and wrong.

Devor's breath caught.

It wasn't just on him. It was inside him.

For a moment, it worked. The connection between the black blood and Forly was severed, its movements halting unnaturally.

But then—

The blood quivered, as if resisting, before slowly pulling itself back together.

Reforming. Pushing forward.

No matter how many times he slashed, no matter how many tendrils he severed—

It wasn't enough.

Some of it was already inside Forly.

And then—

A sharp gust of wind blasted Devor backward, throwing him several feet away.

A powerful, commanding voice shook the air.

"Are you trying to get yourself killed?!"

Devor's head snapped up.

A tall, imposing figure had appeared beside Forly.

The real Zinqi.

His expression was grim, eyes locked onto the dark corruption now spreading through Forly's veins.

Devor scrambled to his feet, his heart pounding.

It's too late.

Even as Zinqi worked to suppress the corruption, the truth was clear—most of it was already beyond his reach.

And then—

A rush of wind.

Yulin arrived high in the sky, her sword gleaming as she hovered above.

At the same time, several high-ranking elders appeared, their robes fluttering as they took position around the hill.

The entire sect had been alerted.

This wasn't just a minor incident.

This was an attack on the Azure Sky Sect itself.

It had taken less than thirty seconds for everything to spiral into complete chaos.

And now—

Everything had changed.