Art of Creation [Eco-Cultivation Prototype]

Devor's classes had begun to stir something deep within everyone.

By the start of the second week, the audience seats were packed to the brim—overflowing with disciples, and even curious Elders disguised among the crowd.

It hadn't always been this way.

In the past, Devor's classes were quiet affairs—small groups huddled together as he spoke about theory, answering detailed questions about the "Harmony Method" he had pioneered within the Garden.

But that was before.

Before he embarked on his year-long training journey.

Before he returned carrying a sentient Venom Spiritual Tree.

Before he created a living, breathing Domain infused with venomous yet fertile energy.

Now, Devor stood on an entirely different plane.

He wasn't merely teaching students how to grow plants anymore.

He was shaping their Dao.

He was guiding their Cultivation itself.

He was offering lessons about the very nature of failure, survival, and ambition.

Over the past week, Devor's teaching style had grown sharper, harsher—at times, ruthlessly so.

Not because he had become cold.

But because he understood: true mastery could only bloom through trial—and error.

"Fail until you stop fearing failure," Devor had told them. "Because once you no longer fear it—nothing can bind you."

He didn't merely let them fail.

He forced them to fail.

Again and again.

And every time they stumbled, Devor was there—explaining the mistake, helping them rebuild, urging them deeper into understanding.

His teachings went far beyond gardening or Spiritual Plants.

They had become teachings of life itself.

Through the fragile life and death of a few simple seedlings, Devor was leading them to experience the natural cycle of existence—and to accept it.

By the final day of the class, many students still hadn't succeeded in stabilizing complete Harmony within their gardens.

On the surface, their results looked disappointing—gardens half-withered, layouts half-finished.

But inside their hearts, every disciple knew—they had gained something far more valuable.

Their perception had changed.

Their resilience had grown.

And most importantly—their Dao Hearts had been tempered by fire.

"Failure isn't the end," they realized, watching Devor's calm figure at the center of the field. "Failure is the beginning."

They now understood:

Devor hadn't become a pioneer of cultivation because he was lucky.

Or because his talents were extraordinary.

It was because he had endured—

Hundreds, thousands of experiments.

Endless setbacks.

Uncountable nights spent failing, and failing again—until he carved his own path through sheer will.

That was why Devor's Dao was now blooming with such unstoppable force.

That was why he stood here, today, as a true Creator.

Even Fujin, standing at the edge of the crowd, found himself quietly stunned.

He had always prided himself on efficiency, on precision.

He had built his life and reputation around minimizing mistakes, streamlining progress.

But watching Devor teach...

"From the beginning," Fujin thought, his chest tightening, "I've worked so hard to avoid failure at all costs... But am I truly capable of reaching perfection... Without ever letting myself break?"

It was a quiet, uncomfortable realization.

Fujin was a recognized Rune Formation genius—a budding Array Master whose innovations had even caught the eye of sect Elders.

But all of it had been built cautiously, carefully, avoiding the kind of brutal trial-and-error Devor had embraced.

"If I keep fearing failure..."

"Will I ever build the world I dream of?"

The question lingered, heavy in his chest.

While Fujin stood there, lost in thought, a bright voice called out.

"Big brother!"

Turning, Fujin spotted Fuyin approaching, her face flushed with excitement.

She was surrounded by her colorful insects, which flitted joyfully around her like living jewels—clearly healthier and more vibrant than before.

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Fuyin practically beamed as she rushed over, a dazzling smile lighting up her face.

"Senior Devor is truly something else!" she said, bouncing slightly on her feet. "He even helped me spot problems I didn't realize I had!"

Fujin chuckled, the heaviness in his chest easing slightly at her enthusiasm.

"He has that effect on people," he said, ruffling her hair affectionately. "His teaching isn't just about farming."

Fuyin nodded vigorously. "It's about daring to trust yourself—even when you fail."

Fujin smiled faintly, feeling an unfamiliar warmth in his heart.

Maybe... just maybe...

He didn't need to be so terrified of stumbling after all.

Because watching Fuyin glow with pride, seeing her grow stronger day by day, made one thing clear:

True strength wasn't never falling.

It was getting up—over, and over again.

And in that moment, standing there beside his little sister under the endless blue sky, Fujin made a quiet vow:

No matter how long it took,

No matter how many failures came first,

He would forge a future not through perfection...

But through relentless perseverance.

masterpiece!

Fujin finally snapped out of his daze and offered his younger sister a faint smile.

"So?" he asked casually. "Were you satisfied with Senior Devor's class?"

Fuyin's response was immediate—her entire face lit up like a sunrise.

"More than satisfied! It's amazing!" she said excitedly. "If I could, I'd love to attend his next class too. But... the upcoming slots are reserved for new students, right?"

Fujin nodded with a chuckle.

"There'll be other chances," he said, his voice soft and reassuring. "For now, focus on what you've learned—and keep refining your own path. I'll help you set up a few minor formations in your garden. It'll stabilize the energy flow and make practicing a little easier."

Fuyin beamed brightly, bouncing slightly on her toes. "Thank you, big brother!"

Seeing her genuine joy, Fujin couldn't help but feel a warm pang of pride in his chest. "She's growing stronger. Much stronger than I ever was at her age."

And with Devor's teachings shaping her foundation, she was bound to reach even greater heights.

Meanwhile, across the garden field, Devor was methodically bidding farewell to every student who had attended his class.

Though he had, by now, become a recognized figure within the sect—respected, admired, even revered by some—Devor remained humble to his core.

He bowed politely to each student, his gestures sincere, no matter their cultivation rank.

Pride in his path, not in his status.

That was Devor's way.

After all, he had no interest in clinging to false superiority. Power gained without connection or respect meant little in the long journey of cultivation.

Cold arrogance only created distance—while humility built bridges strong enough to shape the future.

When the last disciple disappeared beyond the hill, the once lively training ground finally fell silent.

Only Devor, Yulin, and Venom remained.

Venom, still in his small bird-like form, was hunched over his miniature garden plot.

He was focused, wings tucked tightly against his body, working diligently to stabilize the resonance between his plants.

Even though class was technically over, Venom refused to leave his garden unattended.

This plot wasn't just training. It was his home. His first true creation.

"Venom's even more fired up than before," Yulin said quietly, standing beside Devor.

Her voice carried an undertone of admiration.

A faint, rare smile touched her lips.

Devor chuckled, scratching the back of his head sheepishly. "I didn't think a few words from Sister Yulin would have that much effect on him."

Yulin tilted her head slightly, her expression unreadable. "When you've dealt with enough stubborn children, you learn how to handle them."

Devor blinked, startled.

"Wait... Sister Yulin," he said slowly, horror creeping into his voice, "Don't tell me... you actually have kids... outside the sect?"

The image of Yulin—cheerful, graceful, terrifying in battle—chasing after a gaggle of toddlers flashed through Devor's mind.

He shivered involuntarily.

The corner of Yulin's mouth twitched.

Before he could say anything more, her hand shot out like lightning and clamped down on his ear—twisting sharply.

"Y-owww!" Devor yelped, staggering forward.

Yulin's voice was cool as ice.

"I'm still young," she said slowly, dangerously, "Why would I have children when I'm still in the prime of my life?"

Devor winced, caught between laughter and pain.

Through watering eyes, he thought back to the sect's records.

He was pretty sure Yulin was at least seven or eight years older than him...

Still, his mouth moved of its own accord.

"B-But Sister Yulin, you're already—"

He didn't get to finish.

Yulin twisted his ear harder.

Much harder.

"A woman's age," she said sweetly, her smile anything but friendly, "is a forbidden topic."

Venom, still tending his plants nearby, snuck a glance at the scene and whispered under his breath:

"Big Brother Devor's a genius... but he's really bad at basic survival instincts." The birds fluttered and chirped cheerfully among the plants in his garden, as if mocking him.

Without another word, Yulin snapped her fingers.

A wooden sword materialized out of thin air, hovering lightly in her grasp—simple in appearance, but exuding a faint pressure.

"I just happen to need a sparring dummy to test some new skills," Yulin said coolly. "And you, dear Junior Brother, are the perfect candidate."

Before Devor could even react, she released his poor, abused ear and began forming a flurry of hand seals with lightning speed.

Energy crackled subtly around the sword.

Still massaging his reddened ear, Devor blinked in confusion. "Huh? Why do I feel like something bad's about to happen...?"

Then it hit him—the sword shot forward and slammed itself neatly against his feet, locking him in place as if some invisible seal had glued him down.

He flailed slightly, but the sword refused to budge.

Devor's instincts screamed at him, but before he could resist, Yulin snapped her fingers again—and the sword took off.

WHOOSH—!

The ground shrank rapidly beneath him as the sword hurled Devor into the sky, accelerating at terrifying speed.

"S-Sister Yulin wants to fly me around again? No big deal," Devor thought optimistically, gritting his teeth. "I'm not as scared of heights as before. I can endure it."

Indeed, he kept his face calm—for the first few seconds.

Then the sword abruptly spun midair.

And not just spun—it spiraled, twisted, dove, and somersaulted through the skies like a mad beast.

In less than ten seconds, the sky itself turned into a nauseating whirlpool.

Devor's legs wobbled, his stomach lurched, and his calm mask shattered like fragile glass.

"W-WAIT, THIS ISN'T NORMAL!!!"

The wooden sword, as if possessed by a sadistic spirit, drew wild figure-eights and dizzying circles across the training grounds—speeding up with each completed loop.

Down below, a handful of disciples still lingering at the edge of the fields gawked at the spectacle.

Some covered their mouths, trying not to laugh.

Others simply stared in horror.

"Is that Senior Devor...?!"

"What... what kind of formation is that?!"

Up in the sky, Devor could barely hear their stunned murmurs.

His mind was too busy spinning faster than the sword.

His body instinctively tried to channel his Qi to stabilize himself—but Yulin's custom-made flight seal locked him down completely.

"AHHHHH!! SISTER YULIN, I'M SORRYYYYY!!!" Devor's desperate cry echoed across the entire field.

His complexion turned ghostly white, his eyes glazed over, and his spirit sense warped into a dizzy mess.

And then, the strangest thing happened.

As his mind and body spiraled toward total collapse, faint streams of golden light began leaking from his skin.

The energy wasn't chaotic—it was pure, serene, almost holy.

Golden dust shimmered in the sky, drifting downward like radiant pollen.

It settled gently across the entire training ground, soaking into the soil, the plants, and even the surrounding air.

A spontaneous blessing of spiritual energy. Even amidst humiliation and terror.

Down below, the disciples watched, stunned into silence.

The fields that Devor had used for class shimmered subtly as the golden dust sank into the land—strengthening the Spiritual Soil without any deliberate effort.

Meanwhile, Yulin, standing with arms crossed and an utterly calm face, watched her "flying masterpiece" with mild satisfaction.

"Hmm... not bad," she mused aloud. "A little more spiraling and I can probably squeeze a few profound realizations out of him."

Beside her, Venom—still in his tiny bird form—peered up at the spinning dot that was Devor and muttered: "Big Brother Devor's cultivation path is truly profound... even getting spun around like laundry, he still nourishes the land."

Venom puffed out his chest, half impressed, half horrified.

"Note to self," he chirped solemnly. "Never anger Sister Yulin."