The Redwood Forest was no longer a stranger.
Its breath filled Ramon's lungs. Its silence became his companion. Its dangers—his mentors.
The days blurred into each other like brushstrokes of the same color: gray skies, cold mornings, and the endless canopy of twisting redwood trees above. But below, Ramon carved out something new—himself.
He awoke at dawn in the crude shelter the old Ramon had once called home. A low hut of woven branches and bark, just enough to shield him from the rain and wind. It was hidden, tucked into a hollow between three massive roots, the forest floor carpeted with moss and brittle leaves.
Each morning began the same: he sat cross-legged, drawing slow breaths, cycling through the Cloud Refinement Technique. Spiritual energy trickled in faintly from the withered atmosphere—almost nothing—but inside him, it pulsed stronger with each day. He felt it sink deeper now, not just into flesh and muscle but into bone.
He was advancing.
And fast.
It made no sense. The Cloud Refinement Technique was basic, inefficient, meant only to guide the earliest steps. Worse, he had inferior-grade talent—or at least, the old Ramon had. By all logic, his cultivation should've crawled. But instead… it leapt.
He could feel it, even if he didn't understand it.
Still, he didn't dare grow complacent. Strength wasn't earned through meditation alone.
After cultivation, he scavenged and hunted. At first, he kept to the edges of the forest, tracking prey that offered minimal risk—spirit-touched hares, copper-scaled snakes, slow-moving wild boars with faint traces of spiritual energy in their tusks.
Each hunt was practice. Each breath in battle, a lesson.
He refined his footwork. He honed his reflexes. He learned the way different beasts fought—their rhythms, their habits. A venom-spitting lizard always flicked its tail twice before shooting. A two-horned buck would feint to the left when injured. A bristlecat only pounced when cornered.
He survived. He grew. He pushed deeper into the Redwood.
By the second week, he was seeking out more dangerous prey. Packs of night-furred wolves, shoulder-high and unnaturally quiet. Apes with stony skin and arms like tree trunks. Each battle left him bruised, sometimes bloodied. But never broken.
And each night, as he sat cross-legged again under the whispering trees, the spiritual energy flowed a little easier. His muscles felt denser. His bones ached—not with fatigue, but with growth.
Halfway through Bone Refinement, he estimated.
He stared at his hands one night, baffled. "This… shouldn't be possible."
But no matter how he searched his memories or reasoning, no answers came. Only questions. The old Ramon's body should have capped out long ago. Was it the merged soul? Was it the black castle? Was it—
A growl snapped him from his thoughts.
It wasn't near. But it was close enough.
Ramon rose slowly, hand reaching for the spear he'd crafted days prior—reinforced with spirit beast bone, sharper than any branch should be.
Another growl.
It rumbled through the clearing like thunder caught in a throat.
Then it appeared—between two trees thick as pillars.
A lion-like beast stepped into the fading sunlight. No ordinary spirit beast. Its fur gleamed golden, laced with streaks of bronze. Each muscle rolled beneath its coat with regal power. Its mane crackled faintly, like static—thick and heavy. And its eyes—deep amber—were intelligent. Watching.
Not prey. Not threat. Rival.
It roared, and the trees shook.
Ramon didn't think. He moved.
The lion pounced.
He barely dove in time, the beast's claws gouging a crater where he'd stood. He rolled, sprang to his feet, and thrust his spear toward its flank. But the beast twisted mid-air, faster than it had any right to be.
The spear scraped fur, nothing more.
Ramon pivoted, landing hard behind a boulder. His breath came fast.
The lion circled. Slow. Measured.
It wasn't rushing. It was toying with him.
Ramon felt it in his bones: he couldn't win head-on.
He needed a plan.
He darted left, snapping a branch underfoot. The lion lunged.
He turned at the last moment, sliding under its leap, using the shaft of his spear to drive upward into the beast's exposed belly.
The point bit deep.
The beast screamed, a bloodcurdling roar of fury. But it wasn't a killing blow.
It thrashed, sending Ramon tumbling back. He crashed into a tree, ribs screaming in protest.
The lion charged again.
Ramon grabbed a broken fang from a past kill—bone-sharpened, tied to his belt for emergencies—and braced.
As the lion lunged, he threw dirt into its eyes. The beast blinked, just for a second—but that was enough.
He rolled under it, drove the fang into its hind leg with all his strength, and scrambled out of range.
The beast staggered.
Blood poured from its side and leg. But its eyes still burned.
Ramon's lungs burned. His vision swam. One more strike. Just one.
He ran toward it—pretending to attack the front.
At the last second, he dropped low, sliding under its paw and driving his entire bodyweight into the injured leg.
The lion collapsed, roaring in agony.
Ramon didn't hesitate.
He grabbed a jagged piece of his broken spear, jumped atop the beast's neck, and stabbed deep—again and again—until it stopped moving.
Silence.
He slumped beside it, chest heaving. Blood—some his, mostly not—coated his arms.
He was alive.
Barely.
And humbled.
That night, he didn't cultivate. He didn't clean. He didn't even eat.
He just sat at the edge of his shelter, staring into the forest's endless dark.
"I'm not invincible," he muttered. "This world doesn't care where my soul came from."
But even as pain throbbed through his limbs, even as his heart still raced from the battle, he smiled faintly.
Because he was still here.
And tomorrow, he'd be stronger.
A month passed.
Ramon hunted. Cultivated. Healed. Fought again.
His progress had slowed now—but it hadn't stopped.
He estimated himself to be just beneath the peak of Bone Refinement. His bones hummed with power. His reflexes were sharper than ever. He moved with practiced confidence.
But the puzzle of his progress remained.
Why was he advancing so fast?
Was it truly his merged soul?
Was it something more?
For now, there were no answers.
Only the forest. And the road ahead.
And that road… led back to Cloudpetal City.
He packed his belongings—the beast cores, salvaged pelts, and a small pouch of herbs he'd gathered. He extinguished the firepit one last time, letting the smoke curl into the morning sky.
Then, spear in hand, he walked toward the city.
Back to the world.
And toward the next step of his ascent.