The forest trembled with shrieks and the snapping of branches as the macaques surged forward. Dozens of them, eyes gleaming with feral, bloodthirsty light, their wiry bodies leaping through trees and skittering across the ground. They attacked in a maddened frenzy, as if driven by some unnatural will.
Oliver's four swords quivered, their edges snarling against the roots that still coiled around them like iron shackles.
The first macaque leapt at him with a screech, claws raised to tear flesh.
Kaede darted forward before it could land. Her blade caught the beast mid-air, cutting clean through its chest. Blood sprayed across the bark, but she didn't pause—her strikes flowed sharp and precise, a dancer's steps laced with killing intent.
Beside her, Sana's eyes glowed faintly as her spirit sense spread outward, a ripple of awareness brushing against the chaotic mass of beasts.
"There's more behind them!" she shouted—then hundreds of Asura Needles shot into the oncoming swarm, piercing pressure points and disrupting the flow of energy in several macaques, leaving them paralyzed mid-charge.
She turned and caught Oliver's gaze—his hand lifted, wrapped in that unmistakable asura-blue light. I need to learn that move, she thought, her grip tightening on her weapon.
Luna lowered her horns, charging with a roar, hooves tearing grooves into the dirt. She skewered two beasts at once and hurled them aside like broken dolls.
Takara, still flushed from earlier, pushed herself upright and clenched her fists. Slower than the others, breath ragged, yet when her strike caved in a macaque's skull, the blow was decisive and final.
Oliver's lips curled into a humorless grin.
"Not bad," he muttered. His free hand flared with light, a thread of will tugging at the roots ensnaring his blades. They rattled, quivered—then with a sharp crack, his killing intent burst outward. The roots split apart like brittle bones, and the swords shot skyward, swirling into formation around him.
Now free, the blades carved arcs of silver through the horde, cutting down macaques by the handful. Limbs fell. Heads rolled. Their howls grew shrill and desperate—yet still they pressed on.
Oliver's gaze narrowed.
The roots… they weren't simple. They pulsed with life, infused with the resonance of the earth itself.
An Earthly Treasure.
He felt it—a hum reverberating through his spirit sea, striking chords against the yin cauldron he carried within.
Heavenly and earthly treasures—gifts birthed not by man's hands, but by the natural rhythm of the world. Manifestations of heaven and earth's will, their forms could be countless: stones filled with qi that never depleted, flames that burned without fuel, and herbs that defied time. They were rare beyond measure, each one carrying the essence of the Dao.
By contrast, a cultivator's Foundation Establishment treasure was but a mimicry—an imitation forged by stealing slivers of the world, refining and branding them into one's body to ascend to a higher state. These man-made treasures were permanent, locked to the cultivator's path, never to be altered once set.
But Earthly Treasures… They were free, unattached. They could be wielded, traded, equipped, or stolen. Every cultivator, from the lowest rogue to the grandest immortal sect master, hungered for them. For they could elevate one's strength without bounds.
And here—one had taken root.
The ground trembled again. Heavy steps shook the forest. The lesser macaques stilled, some backing away with uneasy chattering. Their gazes shifted—reverent, fearful.
From the treeline lumbered a beast larger than the rest—its fur streaked with silver, eyes burning with unnatural intelligence. Its torso was broad and scarred from battle, but below the waist its body was no longer flesh. Roots, thick and gnarled, burst out of its lower half, anchoring deep into the soil as though fused with the earth itself. Each step made the forest shudder, vines sprouting in its wake.
The Alpha Macaque.
Oliver's smirk returned, his blades humming with anticipation.
"Well," he muttered, licking his teeth, "looks like we've found the one holding my treasure."
The alpha surged forward, its lower half a writhing nest of roots dragging soil and stone as it charged. Its aura was more than beastly—it carried the pulse of the earthly treasure itself, raw and alive, qi leaking into the surroundings until the ground quaked beneath its steps.
The lesser macaques howled and swarmed again. Kaede's borrowed blade flashed in tight arcs, cutting them down, her breathing heavy but steady. Luna tore through fur and bone in a blur of steel and horn. Takara steadied her stance, saber carving through flank after flank, each stroke layered with intent.
But Oliver's focus never wavered.
The alpha raised an arm, vines lashing like whips. Oliver leapt back, talisman blade flashing—steel met hardened roots with a crack, the clash erupting into a shockwave that flattened brush and hurled dust skyward.
"Good," Oliver chuckled under his breath, eyes gleaming as his four swords tore free of the last roots binding them. They spun back into formation, trembling with his will.
The alpha roared, pounding its chest. The roots at its waist sank deeper into the soil, drawing strength from the earth itself. Stones lifted, moss spread like wildfire, and the ground beneath Oliver turned soft and treacherous.
Then something bizarre happened.
Wooden hands burst from the earth. One after another, figures clawed their way up from the soil—twisted doppelgängers of the alpha. Their torsos mirrored its form, but their lower halves were like the other macaques, crude and feral. Each was tethered by strands of root to the beast, like unripe fruit still clinging to the branch.
Oliver's smirk curved sharper, grip tightening on his blade. "Looks like your roots run deeper than your kin, huh?"
The beast's only answer was a thunderous roar. Vines lashed in a storm, tearing through trunks like paper. Oliver met it head-on, talisman blade flashing, his four swords scattering into spirals of steel. Each clash split the air, qi colliding, roots exploding into splinters as his formation shredded through defenses.
The alpha's clones rushed in, the closest one's claw descending like a hammer. Oliver slid low, sparks flying as his blade scraped across its arm, his grin never fading.
"Oh, how I'll love ripping that treasure out of you…" he murmured, eyes sliding toward the rooted alpha. His blades ignited, flames roaring to life as he slashed. Fire charred the clone's limbs, devouring its body before it collapsed into ash. The tethering roots snapped and recoiled into the soil.
Oliver's grin widened as the firelight painted his face.