The city of Dark Star Nocturne sprawled beneath a twilight veil, its obsidian spires thrusting upward, their rune-etched surfaces shimmering faintly in the dim glow of enchanted lanterns. The air carried a damp chill, mingling with the earthy tang of ancient pines, a whisper of the western forests claimed by the Lunar Phoenix sect. Song walked with measured steps, his boots clicking on slick cobblestones, the weight of his herb sack a constant reminder of the Forest Soul hidden within. His heart thudded, not just from the treasure but from the scroll Rill had given him—a lifeline of knowledge about Dark Star's factions. The Lunar Phoenix, a force teetering between second and third in the city's hierarchy, dominated his thoughts, its power both alluring and intimidating.
The scroll's details surfaced in his mind: the Lunar Phoenix controlled vast western territories, tens of thousands of hectares of ancient forest. Their army numbered five thousand elite guards, ranging from Seventh Lord to Pattern Formation stages. Four advisors wielded peak Incarnation power, while their sect master had reached the Fusion threshold years ago, nearly claiming supremacy. Only the Star Fortune and Frost Spirit leaders kept them from the top. A titan's domain, Song thought, his breath uneven, the scroll's cultivation method useless for his stalled First Lord progress.
His body trembled, a shiver born of weeks without sleep, every spare moment spent on grueling training. His muscles ached, his spiritual energy a flickering ember. Stay focused, he urged, suppressing the weakness as he neared the Lunar Phoenix quarter. The scroll's initial tattoo method offered no path forward, but the Forest Soul could open doors to the Battle Library—if he survived this gamble.
The quarter's gates rose, iron wrought with phoenix motifs, their flames dancing in torchlight. Song's interface logged the scene:
Location: Lunar Phoenix Quarter
Affiliation: Lunar Phoenix Sect
Spiritual Energy: High
A guard stepped forward, towering, his leather helmet elongated and oddly comical, though his piercing gaze was anything but. Song's interface updated:
Name: Unknown
Role: Lunar Phoenix Guard
Rank: Estimated Seventh Lord
"Who are you? Where to?" the guard demanded, voice dry, eyes dismissing Song as insignificant.
"Song, junior gatherer. Heading to the herb market, seeking buyers," Song said, presenting his square gatherer's amulet.
The guard inspected it, finding no flaws, and waved him through with a bored flick. Song exhaled, his steps quickening to blend into the crowd, his heart still racing.
The Lunar Phoenix quarter unfolded, a tapestry of stone and forest, paths lined with towering trees, their branches heavy with spiritual energy. The air buzzed, a faint hum that stirred Song's Spiritual Perception, its undeveloped pulse guiding his steps. He glanced around, noting cultivators training in distant courtyards, their movements fluid, their aura overwhelming. This is their world, he thought, his First Lord rank a shackle.
A plaza caught his eye, dominated by a stele engraved with names of sect members, each tied to Martial Pavilions—elite training grounds of unmatched prestige. Song's interface logged it:
Feature: Martial Pavilion Stele
Affiliation: Multiple Martial Pavilions
Purpose: Honors sect members
His month in the servant quarter had shown him cultivators' obsession with training, even gatherers dreaming of Pavilion entry. Pavilions, unlike sects, were independent, their resources forging warriors far beyond their peers. That's the path I need, Song mused, his ambition burning brighter.
The quarter's paths wound deeper, the forest's presence stronger, its spiritual energy a weight on his shoulders. Song's Perception picked up faint herb scents, a reflex from weeks of foraging. Focus on the market, he told himself, the Forest Soul's pulse a secret anchor in his sack.
He passed a training ground, where young cultivators sparred, their strikes echoing like thunder. Their tattoos glowed, marking ranks far above his. Song's interface noted:
Observation: Lunar Phoenix Cultivators
Rank: Estimated Third to Fifth Lord
The market loomed ahead, a sprawling square centered by a covered canopy, stacked with hundreds of herb sacks. Clan attendants bustled, scribbling in scrolls, their movements precise. Song's heart quickened, the Forest Soul's weight heavier with each step.
Gatherers lined up at a long tent, each pitching their wares to a sect buyer. Song joined the queue, his mind racing, rehearsing his pitch. No experience, just instinct, he admitted, gripping his sack, the Forest Soul a gamble that could reshape his fate.
The line moved slowly, each gatherer's fate decided in moments—some left with coins, others with rejection. Song's Perception hummed, urging calm, its pulse sharper in the quarter's energy-rich air. This is my shot, he thought, his resolve hardening.
He neared the tent, the air inside thick with herb scents. A young woman sat at a camp table, flanked by an elderly scribe. Song's heart skipped—she was the key to his future. Blue Fen? he wondered, stepping forward, the Forest Soul ready to change everything.
To be continued…