The first day in the Inner Herbal Forest passed like a slow, dangerous dream.
When dawn rose again, the once chaotic forest had already grown quieter. The scents of crushed herbs and faint blood mingled in the air. The first wave of eager disciples — hundreds who had charged through the glowing gates with blazing confidence — had now dwindled to half that number.
Some had returned triumphantly to the outer edges, clutching satchels full of rare herbs and beast cores. Others were carried out on stretchers of spirit wood, pale and broken, their vitality drained by venom or claws. And a few… never came out at all.
It was a reminder that this was not a trial of luck, but of endurance — of how long one could keep walking through the ancient heart of the forest without being swallowed by it.
Far from the bustle of those outer clearings, Mo Han moved alone, deeper and deeper into the forest's interior.
