Art of Creation [Eco-Cultivation Prototype]

On the surface, Devor had no idea what was truly unfolding in the background of the inter-sect gathering. Yet, despite the cordial atmosphere and polite formalities, there was something unnerving in the air—an unnatural stillness.

It was too quiet.

Cultivators were warriors by nature. Their Dao paths varied, but rarely did so many from different sects gather in one place without the undercurrent of tension. The way everyone smiled too easily, spoke too lightly—it all left Devor with a quiet sense of unease. It felt like the world was holding its breath.

But his meeting with Fariel had been an unexpected relief.

Despite her reputation and status as one of the Elven race's finest warriors, Fariel had listened to him with patience and curiosity. And although she didn't specialize in the types of plants Devor worked with, her connection to nature ran deeper than most cultivators could ever hope to achieve.

It was that bond—intimate and instinctual—that gave Devor a new lens through which to view his own path.

He had assumed, at first, that the Elves—those paragons of harmony and tradition—would reject anyone whose understanding of nature diverged too far from their own. Especially someone like him.

But Fariel had proven otherwise.

"Elves don't reject decay, Devor," she had said, her voice steady and serene. "We see death, destruction, and ruin not as enemies of life—but as its partners. Without decay, there would be no soil rich enough for new life to grow."

Of course, she added, the Elves would never tread a path as harsh as his. They avoided extremes, preferring balance. But that didn't mean they failed to recognize the truth behind his logic.

"If you destroy life without creating anything in return, that's not nature. That's erasure," Fariel had said calmly. "But you bring new life from what you ruin. You restore meaning to destruction. That's the difference."

Her words reminded Devor of something from Earth—a practice from the modern world called sustainable logging. For every tree cut down, a sapling was planted in its place. Not for balance, but for continuity. Without that intention, destruction became permanent. Without restoration, ruin became absolute.

"Nature," he realized, "wasn't about stillness. It was about motion. And destruction wasn't its enemy—it was simply another stage of growth."

Fariel, though not deeply versed in Spiritual Plant cultivation, had been curious enough to ask more. So Devor, feeling an unexpected sense of trust, chose to share his work with her.

He spoke of the Poison Codex.

Of course, he didn't mention the deeper truth—that it was the key to stabilizing his Venom Domain, or the experimental spiritual ecosystems he was nurturing within it. Instead, he explained the Codex as a compendium of plant properties—how they interacted, repelled, or fused with one another.

He spoke of his methodology: studying not just the final result of a plant's cultivation, but its core nature—its temperament, its latent potential, its capacity to resist or assimilate toxicity.

Fariel listened, fascinated. She had expected complexity. She hadn't expected philosophy.

Devor wasn't studying plants to understand nature.

He was doing it to remake nature.

"Is it your goal," she asked softly, "to control every seed?"

Devor thought for a long moment before answering.

"No," he replied. "Not control. I want to give every seed a path it wouldn't find on its own. One beyond instinct. Beyond the cycle."

That's when she understood: Devor's cultivation wasn't a reflection of nature—it was a rival to it.

His path diverged from the laws of harmony that governed Elven understanding. Where they walked with nature, he reshaped it. Where they listened, he rewrote.

To walk such a path would not be easy.

Nature wouldn't open its arms to him—not unless he gave something first. A part of himself.

And that was the curse of Devor's Dao: everything in existence would ignore him… until he bled a piece of his power into it. Until he earned recognition through sacrifice.

The longer they spoke—especially as Devor unveiled more of his techniques, philosophies, and research—the more Fariel came to realize just how layered he truly was.

He wasn't flashy. He didn't boast vast arrays of mystical techniques or legendary secret arts. In fact, his methods were deceptively simple. But simplicity, repeated with depth, could become something terrifying.

It reminded her of a sword master.

Not one who chased dozens of forms or artful stances—but one who honed a single strike. Polished it. Refined it. Until that lone technique could sever mountains and sky alike.

Devor's cultivation was much the same.

He wasn't chasing nature—he was deconstructing it. Layer by layer, piece by piece, until only its raw essence remained. He didn't seek to imitate the natural world; he sought to understand it down to the bone. Not to blend with it, but to rebuild it from within.

In the grand scheme of the universe, perhaps Devor was nothing. But in his own realm—within the domain he had shaped with his will alone—he was already an emperor.

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Fariel could see it now: if Devor ever created a forest of his own, filled with spiritual flora molded by his Dao… even the most devout nature cultivators wouldn't be able to comprehend, much less control, what bloomed there.

His authority wouldn't stem from harmony—it would come from dominion.

That realization made a chill run down her spine—not from fear, but from awe. Because the real threat Devor posed wasn't his presence.

It was his creations.

What he forged.

What emerged from his hands and mind might one day reshape nature itself. And when that day came, even nature's oldest guardians might have no choice but to yield.

The two spoke until the sun dipped low into the horizon, casting long golden rays through the courtyards of Heavenly Cloud City. Though their Daos diverged, they met at one common point: reverence for life's essence, even if the methods differed.

Venom listened silently, perched as always on Devor's shoulder—eyes half-lidded, but ears sharp. He stirred only once: when Fariel handed over a small pouch and a jade box, gifts for him personally.

"Elven seeds," she had said with a smile. "A few varieties we grow deep within the Heartgrove."

Venom's eyes gleamed. The moment he nibbled one of the samples, his entire demeanor changed. "These aren't seeds. They're heaven's candy!" he declared with reverence.

From that moment onward, his opinion of Elves improved dramatically. And Fariel earned the rare distinction of being added to his personal "seed-guardian" list—a rank he had, of course, just invented.

The next morning, their discussion came to an end.

Devor politely bid farewell and made his way through the vibrant walkways of Heavenly Cloud City, weaving past disciples, beasts, and floating merchant pavilions suspended by formation arrays.

As he walked, the weight of the new green spatial ring on his finger felt heavier than it should have. Not physically—but with meaning.

He raised it slightly and murmured, "All this… from just one meeting?"

He hadn't expected such generosity from someone like Fariel.

Inside the ring was an assortment of spiritual flora that could only be found in the ancient lands of the Elves. Dozens of rare species. Dozens more extinct elsewhere.

But what truly made his heart pound were the ten Immortal-grade Spiritual Plants—plants that had never once passed through his hands until now.

He'd read about them. Studied diagrams. Catalogued their properties through ancient texts and speculative reports. But this was different.

Now, he held them.

Technically, he could've purchased some at great expense, but even the richest sects hesitated to use Immortal-grade plants for research. They were treasured more for what they could produce—alchemy, medicine, or cultivation breakthroughs—not experimentation.

Their volatile nature made them incredibly difficult to harmonize, and no one had yet developed a reliable method for studying them at the core.

But that's what he did.

Devor didn't treat Spiritual Plants as tools. He treated them as puzzles—truths to be unwrapped.

Alongside the seeds and specimens, the ring contained dozens of notebooks, each packed with detailed Elven research: records of growth cycles, reaction logs, cultivation attempts—even failed experiments.

To someone like Devor, this wasn't a gift.

It was a treasure vault.

"This is… strange," he muttered aloud, brows furrowed. "They're being too generous."

It didn't match what he'd heard about the Elves.

Fariel's openness, the depth of the gifts, the sincerity of her tone—none of it aligned with the aloof, distant image painted by cultivator gossip. Even their most trusted trade partners didn't receive this level of goodwill.

"Maybe they just think you're really handsome, big bro Devor? I heard some folks say the Elves are into you because you give off this… deep nature aura or something," Venom drawled, sprawled lazily across Devor's shoulder like a content house cat in bird form.

Devor exhaled a slow, tired sigh. "Don't believe every bit of nonsense you hear."

In the world of cultivation, appearance might draw attention, but it didn't earn trust—or favor. Not from those who had power. Especially not from races as old and insular as the Elves.

Charm and good looks were worthless without cultivation, insight, and—most of all—value.

This wasn't some fairytale where powerful women fell for men based on poetic eyes and wildflower auras. Cultivators weren't driven by romance or sentiment.

They were pragmatic. Strategic.

Even kindness came with a price.

Devor had learned that lesson early. The hard way.

Just like that time with Senior Juyin—who had gifted him and Venom Spiritual Tree.

"I'm not against accepting gifts," Devor muttered aloud. "I just want to understand why they're giving them to me."

"You're overthinking it," Venom replied nonchalantly, seeds from the Elven pouch tucked under one wing as he nibbled contentedly. "Sometimes a gift is just a gift. Especially when it comes with this many snacks."

Devor gave him a wry look but didn't press further. Venom's mind was much simpler than his own. He didn't question motives. He didn't need to.

Still uneasy, Devor made his way back to his quarters—modest but peaceful, with the faint scent of medicinal herbs drifting through the ventilation arrays.

He sat cross-legged and sank into meditation, sorting through everything that had transpired over the past few days.

Fariel's generosity. The Elven research. The seeds. The Immortal-grade plants. All too convenient. All too much.

He hadn't seen Yulin since their arrival in Heavenly Cloud City. He asked around, discreetly, among the other Azure Sky Sect disciples, but she had vanished without a trace.

No one had seen her. No one even seemed concerned.

Instead, they'd turned their attention to him—peppering him with curious questions about the Elves. Was it true they were drawn to him because of his connection to nature? Had he really received personal gifts from a Green Lotus?

Devor's mouth twitched at the memory. He gave vague answers and escaped the conversation as quickly as he could. The truth was more complicated—and far less romantic—than any of them imagined.

For the next three days, he buried himself in study, devouring the ancient Elven texts Fariel had left him. They weren't just informative—they were insightful. Rich with forgotten theories on spiritual growth, balance of decay and rebirth, and detailed descriptions of Spiritual Trees Devor had only seen referenced once or twice in ancient cultivation lore.

Then, on the third morning, one of his communication tokens began to vibrate with a faint pulse of spiritual light.

He drew it from his robe and saw the emerald leaf-shaped insignia etched into the crystal core.

It was from Fariel.

Devor poured his spiritual energy into the token, activating the voice imprint.

"Daoist Devor," Fariel's calm voice echoed into his mind. "One of our high elders would like to meet you in person. If you're willing… we can make arrangements today."

Devor's brows furrowed. A personal meeting with a high-ranking Elf?

He didn't doubt their sincerity. Not after the knowledge they'd entrusted to him.

But still… he'd never once believed gifts came without expectations.

Without hesitation, he retrieved a second token—this one black and blue, edged with starlight silver. It belonged to Sect Master Zinqi.

He composed a concise report and transmitted it through the token, laying out everything: the prior meetings, the recent invitation, and his own concerns.

A trap? A test? Or something deeper?

Zinqi's response came almost instantly.

"Go. Nothing bad will happen."

Short. Confident. Not the slightest hint of uncertainty.

It was like Zinqi had already foreseen this—and had simply been waiting for Devor to catch up.

Devor stared at the message for a long time.

"…I guess we're going," he muttered.

Venom, now perched atop a windowsill, fluffed his wings and chirped, "Sounds like they're finally ready to tell you their real reason."

Devor gave him a sidelong glance. "And what do you think that reason is?"

"I dunno. Maybe you're the reincarnation of an ancient Elven Tree God," Venom said with a straight face. "Or maybe they think your hair is really soft and want to use it for rituals."

Devor stood and headed for the door without responding.

But in his mind… he couldn't deny the whisper of curiosity starting to grow.