Echoed Lands

Colm rested for the night, the battle with the Grove Stalker taking a significant toll on him. Though the fight ended abruptly, it had been a long and grueling ordeal. He had spent hours running at full speed, his stats pushed to their limit, and he was utterly spent by the time it was over.

Despite finishing the fight with more health than his clash with the Stone Gnawer, Colm couldn't shake the feeling that this encounter had been far closer. A single swipe from the Grove Stalker's deadly claws would have ended him instantly. He knew he'd been lucky—the creature's cruel nature, toying with him and focusing on the Phantom Warrior, had been his saving grace. Without those quirks, he wouldn't have survived.

Upon waking, he stretched and let out a long yawn, followed by an unnecessary groan. "Definitely feel old," he muttered with a chuckle. "Don't even know why I groaned, but there it is." Shaking his head, he added wistfully, "I'd kill for a hot shower and a comfy bed."

Colm took a moment to enjoy the serene beauty of the Grove, his eyes wandering across the landscape. The soft rustling of unseen wildlife mingled with the gentle sway of the trees, their movements harmonizing with the faint glow of luminescent plants scattered across the ground. "This place really is something," he muttered. Despite the perpetual twilight—where night never truly came, and all light emanated from the plants—it had a strange, otherworldly charm.

I could live here, he mused, letting the thought linger. The Grove had so much to offer—abundant space, natural food, and multiple springs of fresh water. Aside from the Grove Stalker, which is no longer a problem, there weren't too many fierce creatures to worry about. It could truly be a sanctuary.

Honestly, he thought, after dealing with the undead, this place feels amazing. Would things have been different if I'd teleported here instead of that cursed undead forest? Would I have felt the same drive to grow strong so quickly? Or would I have let myself relax and settle into the peace this place offers?

The idea gnawed at him for a moment before he shook his head. As serene as the Grove was, staying here alone for the rest of his life would be its own kind of challenge. No matter how beautiful a place is, isolation always comes at a cost.

With a sigh, Colm let the thought drift away and refocused on the task at hand. After taking in the sights, he gathered more Celestial Blooms, eating his fill and stowing a few extras in his pocket. The cool, crisp water from a nearby stream provided a refreshing finish to his regular meal.

Feeling refreshed, Colm turned his attention to the newly crafted spear, its tip adorned with the Claw of the Grove Stalker. "Crafted" might have been too generous a term—it was essentially a sturdy stick with the claw securely strapped to the end.

Colm had tightly interwoven the vines binding the claw and spearhead, the result of several painstaking hours of work. Colm had spent that time tying and retying the vines, carefully adjusting them to balance sturdiness with practicality. He wanted the claw to hold firm without adding excessive bulk or risking the bindings loosening during use.

Despite its crude appearance, the finished spear exuded a raw, intimidating presence. Colm allowed himself a moment of satisfaction, running his fingers along the tightly secured bindings. It wasn't perfect, but it was sturdy enough to inspire confidence.

After a moment of quiet admiration for his new weapon, Colm began practicing with the spear against his phantoms, testing its balance and weight. He started with the Phantom Warrior. The warrior, seemingly aware of the spear's sharp edge, was more inclined to dodge, weaving deftly around Colm's strikes. At first, Colm gained the upper hand more frequently than before, the added lethality of the weapon giving his attacks a ferocity that caught the warrior off guard. But the phantom quickly adapted, forcing Colm back onto the defensive as it exploited openings in his technique.

Next, Colm squared off against the Phantom Spearman. Here, he noticed a distinction—the spearman's added reach gave it an even greater advantage. It could keep Colm at bay easily, deflecting his attacks and maintaining its distance. Despite the weapon's improvements, Colm found it harder to land solid hits against the spearman's precise thrusts and calculated movements.

The claw's added weight and heft made the spear feel heavier than Colm was accustomed to, but he gradually adjusted to it through repeated practice and minor adjustments. The awkwardness of the added weight faded, replaced by a growing sense of familiarity. Despite its crude construction, the weapon started feeling more natural in his hands. Colm gained newfound confidence with his sparring session against the phantoms, ready to wield the spear in an actual fight.

Leaving his temporary camp behind, Colm ventured back toward the crevice. "This Grove is so confusing. Everything looks the same," he muttered to his phantoms, half-expecting a response. Of course, they only stared ahead in silence, their steady presence unchanging as they all moved forward.

The journey was uneventful, and before long, they arrived at the crevice. Colm's eyes briefly lingered on the body of the Grove Stalker as they passed, its massive form now still and lifeless. His mind drifted back to the battle, replaying moments that sent a shiver down his spine. The many times I stumbled over roots while running? The moment it shattered my spear, right at the start? Or when it killed my phantoms before I even realized it was there? Each memory felt like a brush with death, closer than he wanted to admit.

He shook his head, trying to push away the lingering sense of dread. Despite his newfound strength, the encounter was a stark reminder of his fragility. There had to be creatures out there far stronger than the Grove Stalker—beings that could snuff him out as easily as blowing out a candle. The thought made his stomach churn.

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To distract himself, Colm turned his attention to a question that had been nagging at him. I wonder the difference between the claws of the beast and the one the system granted as loot. They look identical. I might see if I can scavenge a couple from the corpse later. He filed the thought away for later, knowing it would be worth investigating when he had the chance.

Standing before the crevice, Colm muttered, "How did I fit in here?" He took a deep breath, sighing as he surveyed the narrow gap in the stone covered in roots. Peering into the crevice, he saw it run deep into the rocky terrain, disappearing into the shadows.

Circling the mixture of trees and stone, he found little of interest. Aside from this large cluster of stone and gnarled roots, the area seemed uneventful. Still, the sheer size of the formation gave him a flicker of hope. This fixture seemed larger than the dimensions of the stone temple he'd seen before. He thought the crevice might lead to a broader cavern, holding onto that slim possibility.

Colm returned to the crevice and commanded his phantoms to approach the narrow crack, hoping they could scout ahead. However, their forms were slightly bulkier than his, and they couldn't squeeze through. Frustrated but unsurprised, he mentally instructed them to stand guard outside. If I find anything, I'll just re-summon them, he thought, though the idea of facing danger alone in the tight space made his stomach tighten.

Taking a determined breath, Colm began forcing his way through the crevice. "You know," he muttered, "without the panic of being chased by a giant beast, this is much harder to squeeze through." His hand brushed the rough stone walls and jagged vines as he moved. The coarse stone scraped against his skin, and the vines, sharp as tiny barbs, left minor cuts that stung with each movement. Thankfully, his Lingering Vitality healed the wounds almost instantly, though the brief pain was still enough to make him wince.

Despite the healing, the tightness of the space pressed on him more than he expected. In the heat of the moment, he'd joked about not being claustrophobic, but now, with no adrenaline driving him forward, the oppressive closeness of the crevice sank in. The walls felt alive, closing in on him, and he struggled to control his breathing as a cold tension gripped his chest.

Memories of videos he'd seen back home flickered through his mind—cave explorers navigating tight passages, only for some to meet horrific ends, stuck, alone, and terrified. The thought of a slow, suffocating death made his heart race. He gulped hard, shaking the image from his mind. That will not happen. Not to me.

Inch by inch, Colm pressed forward, the progress agonizingly slow. He had to calculate each movement, twisting his body to avoid the jagged edges that threatened to trap him—made even more challenging while holding his makeshift spear. The rough stone scraped against his arms, and he winced as he wedged deeper into the passage. After what felt like an eternity, he pushed about ten feet forward, only to find the narrow path veering off sharply to the side.

Twisting his body to follow the new angle, Colm peered ahead, but his flicker of optimism faded. The way forward still looked as tight and unyielding as the space he'd just struggled through.

After what felt like an eternity of tense minutes squeezing through the crevice, the path seemed to end. Colm let out a heavy sigh, frustration settling in as he assessed the situation. His eyes darted around, but there wasn't much to see—just rough stone walls intertwined with loose roots, offering no obvious way forward.

Annoyed and eager to escape the suffocating confines, Colm turned back, his free hand brushing along the coarse stone to guide his retreat. But then he paused. His fingers grazed a different wall section, and he felt a faint, cool, unmistakable draft whispering against his skin. He froze, his frustration melting into a flicker of hope. There's something here.

Frowning, he scanned the cramped space as best he could. That's when he noticed something unusual: a section of the wall where the roots seemed to cover something other than stone. Intrigued, Colm reached out and began peeling them away. The roots were thick and stubborn, requiring significant effort to remove. It wasn't a quick job—layer upon layer of tangled roots had to be wrestled free. By the time he'd cleared an opening, a small pile of roots lay at his feet, adding to the already cramped quarters.

But the effort was worth it. A hidden opening revealed itself as the last of the roots came away. Slowly, the outline of a room came into view, its walls wrapped in thick roots and vines. Faint light danced across the space, emanating from glowing petals embedded in the walls. A stone pillar at the center of the chamber stood softly illuminated, its surface carved with intricate patterns that seemed to pulse faintly with light.

Stepping inside, Colm took in the chamber, mentally noting its concealed entrance. I'm going to have to hit every wall I pass, he thought. Who knows how many more hidden spaces there might be in this world?

After surveying the room, Colm re-summoned his phantoms, who hadn't been able to squeeze through the crevice with him. He sent them to scout the chamber, but nothing seemed to stand out. Grumbling, he muttered, "I need some night vision. It's still dark in here."

After orientating himself, frustration bubbled over. He threw his hands up and yelled, "Why was this place depicted with a tree on the mural?! It's mostly stone and roots! I wasted so much time searching for something resembling the other temple. Damn it!" His voice echoed faintly in the dim, hollow space, amplifying his irritation.

As the echoes faded, Colm's thoughts turned inward. What else could be misleading if this is how the system represents things? He wondered, not for the first time, how much he could truly rely on the system that governed this strange world. It had already pushed him to fight far above his level; what other surprises did it have?

As Colm stewed in his thoughts, his eyes wandered around the dimly lit room until they settled on a dark corner. A sense of unease prickled at him as he tried to peer through the shadows. The longer he stared, the more his discomfort grew.

Reluctantly, he sent his phantoms ahead to investigate, their spectral forms gliding silently into the darkness. Colm cautiously moved closer when nothing happened, his heart pounding with every step.

When he finally reached the corner, his heart skipped a beat. Lying crumpled against the wall were the skeletal remains of an individual, their clothes and gear long decayed, leaving only brittle bones behind. The sight was haunting—a stark reminder of the dangers that lay ahead.

"Shit," Colm muttered under his breath. "I guess that sets the tone for this temple."