Art of Creation [Eco-Cultivation Prototype]

A few days later, Devor shifted the focus of his experiments.

Inside the workspace of his residence, piles of hand-scribed notes were beginning to take over every table and shelf.

Sheets of parchment were scrawled with symbols, diagrams, and trait trees—an evolving lexicon of poison.

By now, he had categorized over a dozen toxic properties—everything from aggressive and symbiotic, to reactive, adaptive, and Illusive.

These traits would serve as the foundational logic for plant mutation going forward.

His plan was simple in theory, complex in execution: identify a plant's strongest trait, then use that trait to steer its mutation path. If a plant carried traits A, B, and C—with B being dominant—then trait B would form the mutation base.

Under specific conditions, that base could evolve into an entirely new trait: a fourth, hybridized property—trait D.

This, Devor called trait fusion.

It wasn't just cultivation; it was design.

For the next week, Devor worked with relentless focus.

He combed through every plant in the Venom Garden, guiding their mutations individually, recording changes with meticulous care in his ever-growing notebook.

But while his mind was locked into research, his body reminded him of reality: Venom Mode was steadily fading.

The time gifted by that transformation was running out.

Still, he had no regrets. Even as his strength declined, his understanding grew exponentially. And that, in his mind, was a worthy trade.

To prepare for the day Venom Mode would vanish completely, Devor began a second line of experimentation—partial activation.

Could he limit Venom Mode to just his right arm? Could he temporarily enhance only one section of his body to wield domain energy with surgical precision?

Over the following days, he practiced with increasing accuracy.

He learned to flood his right hand with Venom Domain energy while keeping the rest of his body in its natural state—allowing for powerful but controlled applications of his techniques without taxing his entire system.

It wasn't perfect, but it was progress. A step toward mastery.

Meanwhile, the newly planted World Tree had grown a few centimeters taller, a gentle shimmer dancing across its young leaves.

And the little bird-shaped energy form—Venom's temporary vessel—still visited the sapling often, for reasons unknown.

Devor watched the two trees quietly from his window.

"With the Boundless Seal in place," he muttered, "I doubt Venom would ever harm the World Tree… even if his pride still stings a little."

The Boundless Seal. A tool of absolute loyalty—one that could, if abused, reduce a living being to a puppet.

But that wasn't Devor's way.

His worldview, shaped by a life once lived on Earth, didn't believe in slavery or blind obedience.

He sought respect, not subjugation. Partnership, not power imbalance.

One month later, the final trace of Venom Mode had vanished from his body—and with it, Venom's temporary avian form, the borrowed body of a bird, dissolved into nothingness.

For the first time in weeks, Devor felt truly himself.

And Venom, though reduced to his true form—a rooted tree—continued his silent vigil nearby.

Seated beneath the Venom Spiritual Tree, he sank into meditation.

His cultivation technique—refined and redefined—was now his own. Heavenly Creation, he had named it. A technique forged not from ancient scrolls, but from instinct, logic, and evolution.

The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

With slow, steady control, he took a pair of high-grade cultivation pills and swallowed them.

A surge of power roared through his meridians.

Pain radiated through his muscles, but he endured. Moments later, he took a third pill… then a fourth.

Energy burst from his body in a wave of brilliant blue light. A swirling cyclone of essence formed around him—then compressed into a radiant shield.

It pulsed once.

Twice.

Then shifted—becoming something deeper, more refined.

The swirling blue condensed into molten gold, filling the garden with blinding radiance.

His eyes snapped open. "Stage-Four Foundation Building…? Already?"

Inside his soul realm, the great mountain that symbolized his cultivation path had surged upward—its peak now reaching over 400 meters.

He could feel it: the raw power humming in his limbs. But more than that—he could sense something guiding his growth.

"This can't just be the technique," he muttered, stunned. "The Boundless Seal… and Venom, anchored in my soul realm… they're accelerating everything."

It had always been part of the plan—to intertwine the seal with his cultivation. But even Master Nie hadn't predicted this kind of amplification.

Reflecting back, Devor realized how much of his time had been consumed by experimentation—immersing himself in the study of Spiritual Plants, refining the volatile energy of his Venom Domain, and endlessly theorizing mutations in his notebooks.

But after his recent breakthrough, a new sensation had taken root within him.

It wasn't just the satisfaction of advancement—it was something richer. Deeper.

Like stepping through a long-forgotten doorway and finally understanding what lay beyond.

"So this is what those so-called cultivation geniuses feel like," he muttered, marveling at the golden energy swirling gently in his palm.

A ripple of envy fluttered through his chest, but it faded as quickly as it came. "No wonder they can lock themselves away for years. This feeling alone… it makes the isolation worth it."

He'd never understood before—why those with talent often chose quiet seclusion over real-world application.

Swordsmanship. Dueling. Practical exploration.

But now, he got it.

...Almost.

"No," he said aloud, grounding himself as he dismissed the energy in his hand. "That's not for me."

The Venom Garden was still alive, still shifting.

The World Tree pulsed faintly in the distance, growing by the day.

His experiments, his companions—even the soil beneath his feet—all required his hands.

He had no intention of becoming one of those reclusive cultivators, locked away behind walls of jade and incense.

"I'll cultivate for a few hours a day. That's enough," he said softly. "The rest belongs to them."

His gaze dropped to his hand, and he focused.

The golden energy returned—more stable now, more vibrant.

He could feel its alignment with nature, its underlying intent. It no longer just moved through him—it resonated with everything he stood for.

"My cultivation base is about seventy percent complete," he mused, "but someday, I want this energy to nourish the land—to help seeds bloom with a single breath."

He smiled.

Progress didn't need to be fast to be meaningful.

"So? Big Brother Devor, did it work?" came Venom's voice, bright and hopeful, transmitted through telepathy.

He meant, of course, whether he had discovered a way for him to regain his bird form—without needing him to reactivate Venom Mode again.

Devor chuckled, half amused and half tired. "It's only been three days, you know. I figured out how to anchor your consciousness into my Soul Realm through the Boundless Seal. But stopping your energy from flooding my body again? That's... still tricky."

Venom huffed in reply. "Hmph! And what about the World Tree? It can't take care of itself, can it?"

"What, now you're worried about that?" Devor raised an eyebrow. "It's doing fine. Strong vitality, no signs of withering. Why—did something happen?"

"You don't get it, Big Brother Devor! What if a worm latches onto it? Or dust? Or some dirty sand from the wind?" Venom rattled off, his voice growing shrill with every imagined threat.

He blinked. "That's... not really dangerous, you know."

"Yes it is!" Venom protested. "Just imagine—you're meditating, and suddenly your whole body's crawling with bugs. Or you're trying to grow, but sand's rubbing against your bark! Would you feel comfortable?"

Devor glanced at his original tree form in the distance. The bark was pristine. No dirt. No insects. Not even moss dared cling to his roots.

And in that moment, a realization struck him.

"Wait. You've been keeping yourself clean this whole time?" he asked, half impressed, half bewildered.

"Of course!" Venom said proudly. "A proper Spiritual Tree should shine like jade!"

Devor's expression slowly crumbled. "I... spent years not even cleaning myself properly."

The memory hit like a brick.

His early years in the sect, before he'd even learned how to cleanse himself with spiritual energy.

He'd worked in gardens all day, dirt under his nails, sweat drying on his back—never thinking twice.

He grimaced.

"Wait, wait!" Venom gasped in horror. "Big Brother Devor used to be... dirty?!"

A twitch ran through his jaw.

"Well, I didn't stink, alright?" he snapped. "I worked with plants all day. My body just smelled... naturally earthy."

That was technically true. Probably.

Venom tried to hold in his giggles, but failed miserably. His laughter echoed in his mind like tiny bells.

"Anyway," Devor said, changing the subject with an air of authority, "the World Tree doesn't have a consciousness yet. So all that dirt and bug stuff? It can't feel any of it. It'll be fine."

Venom mumbled something inaudible and sullen.

"And besides," he added with a faint smirk, "classes start again in a few months. When you get your body back, you'll be attending mine."

Dead silence.

"And if you fail," he added, voice teasing but unmistakably serious, "there'll be consequences."

Venom immediately stopped laughing. The thought of studying—of attending Devor's intensive lectures again—made him want to curl up in his roots and disappear.