Art of Creation [Eco-Cultivation Prototype]

Two weeks passed in the blink of an eye.

And as the day of departure arrived, Devor walked the quiet paths of his hilltop residence one final time.

He checked each garden personally. Not just to ensure that the Spirit Arrays were intact, but because part of him still hated the idea of leaving them behind.

These weren't just plants—they were companions. Creations. Living testaments to the years he'd poured into building a life here.

Though the bird-shaped projection of Venom would be traveling with him, the tree's true body remained rooted in this place. Should anything threaten it while he was gone, the tree would detect it instantly and alert him through their spiritual link. The Boundless Seal made sure of that.

And if the danger proved too great?

He'd left instructions with the Sect.

The elders would intervene.

Still… the thought of being too far to protect his own garden made his hands curl unconsciously at his sides.

He descended the slope with Venom's bird form perched on his shoulder, the wind stirring the tips of his hair.

Waiting at the base of the hill was Yulin, her posture graceful, her blade hovering mid-air at her side like a silver-winged spirit beast. Sunlight caught in her robes, casting her silhouette in gold.

For a moment, she looked less like a cultivator—and more like an immortal descended from a higher realm.

She turned as he approached, smiling lightly.

"Come on," Yulin said. "I'll take you there."

Devor's gaze shifted to the floating sword beside her—and he immediately swallowed.

That old fear crept up his spine.

He forced a laugh. "I don't ride flying swords often. Not really my favorite method of travel."

Then, in a clear act of pride shielding fear, he reached into his Spatial Ring and summoned his own sword—a sleek, jade-inlaid flying blade forged from Spirit Bamboo Steel and Wind Vine threads.

"Good time to practice," he added with another dry chuckle.

Yulin tilted her head and smirked—but said nothing.

From his shoulder, Venom's bird-form piped up, tone innocent and cutting all at once.

"Brother Devor, are you still scared of Sister Yulin's sword rides?"

Devor didn't answer—he just gave a wry smile and mounted his own sword.

"It's not the sword I distrust," he thought bitterly. "It's the pilot."

The two of them lifted off and flew in smooth formation across the outer ridge of the Sect.

Their pace was steady, unhurried.

From above, the Azure Sky Sect was a quilt of shimmering fields, mountain-tucked halls, and flowing cloud bridges. Devor had spent most of his life here. But never had the world below felt so far away.

Just past the outer gate, two Immortal Boats floated in wait—sleek vessels carved from Spirit Cloud Wood and anchored by reinforced flight talismans.

Disciples and elders had already begun boarding.

The air buzzed with energy. Anticipation.

This was the Inter-Sect Gathering of the Central Continent—an event held only once every several years. A sacred exchange between the continent's major sects: part alliance-building, part competition, part political theater.

For the disciples attending, it was a rare opportunity to:

Learn new cultivation insight

Test their strength against top talent

Sect Master Zinqi had mentioned there would be friendly sparring matches—but Devor understood. There would be nothing "friendly" about what was coming.

When they landed beside the boats, the division of status became immediately clear.

One vessel held Inner Disciples—its deck loud with excited chatter, its passengers still starry-eyed about what was to come.

But the second Immortal Boat—the one Yulin led him toward—was near silent.

This was the vessel reserved for Core Disciples, few Inner Disciples, and Sect Elders.

Not a single Outer Disciple had been permitted aboard.

Devor glanced around.

Only the most elite—those who had truly earned the Sect's recognition—stood on this deck. Cultivators with names already whispered beyond the Azure Sky's borders.

The wind slipped past the sails of the Immortal Boat, humming softly through the enchanted wood as it sailed through the sky at steady speed. Aboard, the sect's top disciples moved quietly, most immersed in meditation or light conversation.

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Perched on Devor's shoulder, Venom—clicked his beak softly, eyes flicking from one end of the deck to the other. The wind tugged at his feathers, and with a short, restless flutter, he took off into the air. Circling the Immortal Boat in a wide arc, Venom glided just above the sails, wings slicing cleanly through the air.

Near the center of the main deck, Devor and Yulin stepped around a carved sigil array and came upon a familiar figure.

Nyuru.

She sat cross-legged on a jade bench beneath a spirit-forged canopy, her robes still faintly dusted with powder from a recent alchemical session.

Her expression brightened the moment she saw Devor.

"You made it," she said, offering a warm smile.

Devor gave a slight bow, returning her greeting with sincerity. "I wouldn't miss it."

Like him, Nyuru had grown rapidly under her Master guidance. Since advancing to Core Disciple, she had taken on the challenge of alchemy—a path Devor deeply respected, especially because her approach mirrored his own: trial by cultivation fire.

Though the pills she crafted were… uneven—some too unstable to consume, others strangely effective despite their unorthodox structure—they'd given her something far more valuable than instant results.

Refined perception. Experimental insight.

Much of that progress had come from Devor's gift: a rotating supply of rare plant samples he cultivated in his Venom garden. Even the failures helped her build experience. And that mattered more than perfection.

Aside from Yulin, Nyuru was probably the person Devor felt closest to.

A few steps away, movement drew his attention.

Xiuji.

Devor's expression softened as he spotted the disciple of Master Nie, seated near the railing, gazing out at the drifting clouds. He was dressed in loose navy-blue robes, his long hair tied back with a simple vine band.

When he noticed Devor approaching, Xiuji grinned and waved him over.

"I was wondering when you'd show up," he said, standing. "Come. I want you to meet my junior disciples."

He turned and gestured toward two others seated nearby.

"These are my fellow disciples under the same master. You might've heard their names, but now you can match them with faces. This one here is Ronin—my junior brother. And the one half-hidden behind the spirit-urn like a startled fox? That's our little junior sister, Qiun."

Devor bowed politely. "Pleased to meet you, Senior Brother Ronin. Senior Sister Qiun."

Ronin offered a curt nod and a small smile.

Qiun peered out from behind the urn, blinked, and gave the faintest nod in return. She didn't speak—but her gaze lingered on Devor, thoughtful and unreadable.

Xiuji smirked.

"You know," he said, "most people just glance past Qiun and think she's shy or harmless."

Devor wasn't one of those people.

He didn't reply right away.

He just stared at the two newcomers, eyes slightly narrowed, his perception sharpening instinctively.

Ronin… felt like a walking mountain—not just in size, but in anchoring qi. Solid. Centered. Every breath he took resonated with grounded stillness, like someone who could crush a spirit beast underfoot with a single step.

Qiun, by contrast, gave off a completely different presence.

Subtle.

Distorted.

There was a faint warping of the air around her, as if her spirit created eddies in the natural flow of perception. The longer Devor looked at her, the more relaxed he felt—like someone gently sinking into warm water.

Too relaxed.

"Illusion? No… something more delicate than that." Devor's thoughts turned clinical. "She bends the perception of space. You feel safe… even when you're not."

That was dangerous—especially on a battlefield.

If a cultivator couldn't trust their instincts in combat, they were as good as dead.

"It's like planting flowers in poisoned soil," he thought. "You won't realize you're dying until it's too late."

Without meaning to, Devor's gaze lingered a little too long.

Xiuji chuckled. "See what I mean? You're not like the others. You can see the edges."

Snapped out of his daze, Devor blinked and scratched the back of his head, embarrassed.

"Sorry. Force of habit. I tend to analyze people like I do spiritual plants—check their flow, try to understand their nature."

"Can you sum up Ronin and Qiun in just one word each, Devor?" Xiuji asked, voice calm and unreadable.

Devor tilted his head thoughtfully, glancing from the quiet Ronin to the unreadable Qiun. Their spiritual presence still echoed faintly in his perception, like lingering notes in the air.

"Mountain… and… Perception?" he said at last, brow furrowed. He wasn't completely confident in his answer—but it felt right.

Xiuji grinned, clearly satisfied.

Without a word, he extended his hand.

Ronin and Qiun sighed in unison and removed their Spiritual Rings, placing them in Xiuji's open palm like surrendering chips at the end of a wager.

Devor's mouth twitched. "Wait… were you betting on whether I could figure them out?"

Qiun gave a small, mischievous smile. Ronin looked away, quietly defeated.

Xiuji simply slipped the rings into his sleeve. "Don't worry. I'll share the winnings."

Just then, Yulin strolled over, breaking off from her own small group of Inner Disciples. Her arrival pulled a few glances from nearby cultivators—but the moment she joined Devor's circle, Xiuji greeted her first.

"Fellow Daoist Yulin," he said respectfully, dipping his head.

Ronin and Qiun followed, offering polite nods in perfect synchrony.

Yulin returned the gesture with an unbothered grace, her expression unreadable but calm.

Devor blinked in confusion. "Senior, you know Sister Yulin?"

Before Xiuji could answer, Qiun chimed in, tone playful. "She might be the only disciple in the sect who gets along with everyone."

Devor turned to Yulin, visibly surprised. Somehow, he'd never imagined her as someone well-connected within the sect.

Yulin smirked at his reaction, lifting her chin slightly.

"You're the one who holes up in his garden all day," she said smugly. "Just because you think I'm ordinary doesn't mean the rest of the sect does."

Devor coughed, embarrassed. He knew she was right—Yulin was sharp, reliable, and socially adept in ways he had never bothered to be.

And yet… she never flaunted it.

"Typical," Devor thought. "She makes me feel like the recluse that I am."

Xiuji leaned closer, his voice dropping to a more serious tone.

"You should stick close to her when we arrive. She's good at navigating groups like the Elf delegation. They'll be there in force at this summit."

Devor stiffened.

"The Elf Race…?" he echoed, heart skipping.

He had read of them often—guardians of ancient forests, descendants of immortal roots, spiritual cultivators with insight into plant-based cultivation arts that surpassed even the oldest sects in the human realm.

But he'd never expected to meet one. Let alone interact with them.

"That's right," Yulin said, suddenly far more serious. "Their leader is said to be an ancient Spiritual Tree in humanoid form. You might have more in common with them than you think."

Devor's expression wavered. His fingers curled against his robes. "Is it even safe for me to meet them?"

That question stopped the conversation cold.

Yulin frowned. Xiuji raised an eyebrow. Even Ronin and Qiun looked momentarily puzzled.

"Why wouldn't it be?" Yulin asked, blinking.

Devor hesitated—then voiced the thought that had been gnawing at him for weeks.

"Because… they revere nature. They see plants and forests as sacred. I grow plants, yes—but I also cut them down, mutate them, splice their traits, and force them into unnatural harmony. My cultivation method is efficient—but brutal."

The group fell silent.

Because he wasn't wrong.

Devor's Venom Domain wasn't just a method. It was an art of pressure, manipulation, and forceful harmony. He used plants like soldiers, soil like strategy, and growth like war.

For someone like him to stand before a race that worshipped untouched natural balance…

It wasn't just awkward. It might be insulting.

Yulin folded her arms, thoughtful now. "You're right… they might take offense to your methods."

"Or worse," Xiuji added. "They might see you as someone who violates the natural order they protect."

Qiun's voice was barely a whisper. "A gardener who trains his flowers to fight."

Devor said nothing.

His mind drifted to the countless roots he'd reshaped, the fields he'd poisoned, the plants he'd forced into resonance through grit and will.

Was that cultivation?

Or coercion?