The Forbidden Garden's deciduous heart pulsed with ancient, vibrant life. Towering oaks and majestic maples, their massive branches draped in winding vines, formed a dense, emerald canopy overhead. Their leaves whispered secrets in a gentle breeze, creating a soft, continuous symphony of nature. Sunlight filtered through the intricate foliage, dappling the forest floor with shifting patches of golden light, illuminating the rich, damp earth. However, an almost imperceptible undercurrent of danger lingered in the air, thick with the earthy scent of moss and the faint, unsettling musk of unseen beasts.
Song crouched low beside Vind in a shaded hollow, his body instinctively seeking cover.
Song's Current Status: Health: Recovering (a steady, albeit slow, process bolstered significantly by his ruler tattoo's enhanced healing properties. Despite this, his cracked ribs still ached with a dull, persistent throb with every shallow breath, a constant reminder of his recent ordeal). Spiritual Energy: Low (stretched thin, a faint glimmer after successfully pinpointing the spiritual herb two hundred meters away with remarkable precision).
The Trawa of Slicing Stems, a rare and valuable third-rank spiritual herb, lay hidden in a nearby depression, a shallow bowl screened by dense bushes and tall grasses. Its sharp, almost metallic blades glinted faintly in the dappled sunlight, a silent beacon of its power. Vind's initial shock at Song's incredible perception still hung between them, a palpable mix of awe and outright disbelief, a silent acknowledgment of Song's unexpected talent. The deeper they ventured into the Garden's heart, the more its depths revealed both tantalizing promise and unforeseen peril, and Song's instincts screamed at him to stay relentlessly alert.
Vind, his initial shock now replaced by a focused determination, pulled a pair of reptilian-skin gloves from his belt pouch. His movements were deliberate, almost ritualistic, as he carefully donned them.
"That there is the Trawa of Slicing Stems," Vind explained, his voice low and cautious. "It's worth a decent ten merit points. It doesn't possess true intelligence, but it has extremely sharp defensive reflexes. Stay back, Song, and watch."
Song nodded silently, his eyes fixed on Vind as he began to creep slowly, meticulously toward the depression. The herb's numerous stems, thin and razor-sharp like miniature blades, swayed ever so slightly, as if sensing an impending intrusion, their delicate movements belying their deadly nature. Vind paused frequently, his entire body tense, coiled like a spring, before he suddenly lunged forward with a burst of speed, snatching the herb with a gloved hand and rolling swiftly to the side, narrowly avoiding a potential counter-attack. Song rushed closer, his breath catching in his throat, to find Vind clutching the captured stem, a deep, crimson cut oozing blood slowly down his cheek. The herb, resembling common sedge grass but undeniably sharp, writhed almost violently in Vind's tight grip, seemingly struggling for freedom.
Vind, despite the fresh wound, swiftly and expertly stowed the squirming herb in a specialized collection sack hanging from his belt, a wide grin splitting his face.
"Great haul, Song!" he exclaimed, his voice filled with genuine enthusiasm. "First find of the day, and it's a third-rank herb! Your perception is truly monstrous—even warriors of the Fusion Stage rarely sense spiritual herbs that far out, let alone pinpoint them with such accuracy!"
Song frowned, a subtle unease settling over him at the effusive praise.
"Just luck, maybe," he muttered, trying to downplay his ability.
"Luck doesn't do that, Song," Vind countered, wiping a streak of blood from his cheek with the back of his gloved hand. "That's pure talent. Keep using that sense, and we'll rake in more points than we ever thought possible."
They moved deeper into the Garden, the forest growing wilder, its undergrowth becoming a dense, tangled thicket of thorns and strange, exotic flowers that bloomed in vibrant, unnatural hues.
Song's Perception Update: Perception: Moderate (scanned constantly, a mental net cast wide, picking up faint, scattered spiritual signatures but nothing as clear or as distinct as the Trawa had been).
Vind, sensing Song's continuous efforts, began to teach him the more nuanced art of identifying herbs not just by their physical appearance, but by their unique energetic signatures, his enthusiasm for the craft proving infectious.
"You need to feel the pulse, Song, like a heartbeat," Vind explained, his voice earnest. "Low-rank herbs are subtle, barely a whisper, but high-rank ones… they truly sing with energy."
Song tried, closing his eyes to focus more intently, his perception brushing against the underlying rhythm of the forest, its complex laws tantalizingly close to his own innate fire concept. He wondered briefly if nature itself possessed a fundamental concept, much like the inherent laws governing fire, but he quickly pushed the thought aside, forcing himself to refocus on the immediate task at hand. Vind's earlier rant about the great clans, their arrogance and indolence, resurfaced vividly in Song's mind, the gatherer's deep-seated bitterness a stark mirror to Song's own struggles and frustrations as a mere first-stage ruler, dismissed and undervalued by those with more power. Rill's impressive seventh-stage status continued to awe him, her strength a guiding beacon in his journey, but Vind's confident claim of betrothal still felt like mere bravado, a protective shield rather than a deeply rooted truth. Song chose to remain silent, wary of stirring any unnecessary tension between them.
"Any more finds, Song?" Vind asked, his eyes meticulously scanning the dense tangle of trees and undergrowth around them.
Song closed his eyes again, stretching his perception further, pushing its limits. A faint tug came from the east, weaker than before, about a hundred meters away.
"Something there," he said, pointing precisely in the direction, his voice quiet.
Vind raised an eyebrow, a flicker of surprise in his eyes, but nodded.
"Lead the way."
They wove carefully through the dense underbrush, Song's cracked ribs protesting with a fresh wave of pain with each awkward step. The spiritual signal grew clearer with every meter, revealing a cluster of low-rank herbs, their energy a soft, gentle hum, almost like a lullaby. They quickly harvested three Bloodroot Sprigs, each worth a modest two points, Vind's collection sack growing noticeably heavier.
"Not bad for a rookie," Vind teased, a genuine smile on his face, but his tone now held a distinct, newfound respect for Song's abilities.
As noon approached, the subtle sounds of the forest began to shift, growing louder, more ominous—distant roars, the sharp snapping of branches. Song's perception, now finely tuned, caught a new, more immediate presence, closer this time, roughly fifty meters to the south, moving with alarming speed.
"Something's coming," he whispered, his body tensing, every muscle coiled for action.
Vind froze instantly, his hand dropping instinctively to the pouch at his belt, where his hidden dagger lay.
"Beast or gatherer?" he hissed, his voice low and urgent.
"Not sure," Song admitted, his heart pounding in his chest, a frantic drum against his ribs. "It's definitely not an herb, though."
Vind's eyes narrowed, a grim line forming on his face.
"Night gatherers shouldn't be out here yet. Stay low, Song."
They both crouched quickly behind a massive fallen log, its bark rough and cold against their skin, the ominous presence drawing nearer with terrifying speed.
Song's Critical State: Spiritual Energy: Low (struggled to maintain his heightened perception, his lingering injuries sapping his focus, making it difficult to sustain the effort).
A fleeting shadow flickered through the trees, too swift and fluid for any known beast, its spiritual signature sharp, hostile, and distinctly human. Vind's earlier warning about the volatility of the nocturnal gatherers echoed ominously in Song's mind, their unpredictable nature a threat he felt utterly unprepared to face. The shadowy figure paused, a brief, chilling stillness, as if sensing their hidden presence, then vanished as quickly as it had appeared, leaving only an unsettling silence in its wake.
"We're not alone," Vind muttered, his voice barely a whisper, strained with newfound apprehension. "Keep moving, but stay sharp, Song. Very sharp."
Song nodded, his pulse still pounding, the Forbidden Garden's subtle dangers now closing in, tightening their invisible net around them.