Ch 100 - The Trek to Jarla

Luc and I had finally set foot on the Isle Continent, one of the five great landmasses of the Eldoria Realm. My knowledge of this world’s geography was patchy at best, but one fact stood clear: the Isle Continent was a wild, untamed frontier.

Unlike its sister continents, it sprawled with dense forests and uncharted territories, teeming with strange mana beasts. The hot, humid air—punctuated by sudden downpours—fueled a landscape that even seasoned adventurers struggled to navigate. And yet, here we were, just the two of us, trudging barefoot through its wilderness.

Luc strolled ahead, casually munching on a handful of sweets from his pouch, his steps light as if the tangled undergrowth and oppressive heat didn’t faze him. I, on the other hand, staggered behind, the bulk of our luggage strapped to my back. Sweat soaked my shirt, dripping into my eyes as I wrestled with the weight.

Since the Dagonir had left us on the beach, we’d ventured inland, climbing steep hills cloaked in a thick canopy of unfamiliar trees. Their gnarled branches twisted overhead, filtering the sunlight into a dappled haze, while exotic plants brushed against my legs, their leaves glistening with moisture.

The air clung to my skin, heavy and suffocating, each step an effort as I hauled our gear. Luc, though, moved like a ghost—his pale skin untouched by the sun’s relentless glare, his dark cloak swaying as if the humidity were a mere breeze. We’d been at it for hours, cresting a hill that still offered a distant glimpse of the beach below, shimmering like a mirage. I had no clue where he was leading us, and the uncertainty gnawed at me.

“Hey, Luc!” I called, wiping sweat from my brow. “You don’t even seem bothered by this heat. Now that I think about it, you wore that same outfit back on the snowy trail. Don’t you ever feel hot or cold?”

He glanced over his shoulder, popping another sweet into his mouth. “Hmm. You could say I’m immune to it,” he replied, his tone nonchalant. “Though I’ll admit, I prefer a chill in the air.”

I groaned, shifting the luggage higher on my aching shoulders. “Well, if it doesn’t faze you, maybe you could carry some of this for me? Please?”

“Nope.” He didn’t even break stride. “Think of it as training—a warm-up for what’s ahead.”

I blinked, baffled. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You’ll see soon enough,” he said, waving a dismissive hand. “Now quit pestering me. I’m trying to find the trail out of this mess before we end up properly lost.”

My jaw dropped. “Wait—so we are lost?” I shouted, frustration boiling over.

Luc didn’t answer, just flashed the faintest smirk—a flicker of amusement that tugged at his lips as he strode ahead. His eyes swept the trees with a confidence that felt more theatrical than real, and I glared at his back, caught between irritation and reluctant trust. He acted like he knew exactly where we were going, but I wasn’t so sure.

It didn’t take long, though, for us to stumble onto a faint trail—worn by footsteps long faded into the earth. We followed it deeper into the forest, trekking for days.

At night, we camped under the stars, huddling beneath makeshift shelters when the skies opened up. The rain here was relentless, descending in sudden, torrential sheets that turned the ground to mud. We fashioned canopies from the broad, waxy leaves of towering plants, draping them over our heads as we slogged through the downpours. I even wrapped some around our bags, hoping to keep our gear dry against the onslaught.

No predators crossed our path, which was a relief but also a problem—no game to hunt. Luc’s presence seemed to radiate a silent warning, an aura that kept the forest’s mana beasts at bay. Only the small creatures—chirping songbirds and darting fish in the streams—ignored it, oblivious to whatever menace he exuded. So we made do with them, supplementing our meals with foraged fruits and edible roots I’d learned to spot. The fish were slippery but plentiful, and the fruits, though tart, kept us going.

The rain was the real beast. It didn’t just fall—it roared, transforming trickling streams into flash floods that forced us to scramble up trees, clinging to branches as the water churned below. Each deluge slowed us down, stretching our journey longer than I’d hoped.

To pass the time—and distract myself from the ache in my legs—I practiced with seeds I’d tucked away. I coaxed tiny sprouts from the soil, willing shrubs to twist and bend at my command. It was clumsy work, far from mastery, but progress all the same. Still, I couldn’t shake the feeling that my so-called gift was more of a burden than a blessing.

Luc had a destination in mind: the Immu tribe. He claimed they could teach me to wield my ability properly, honing it into something useful. I’d once thought the grand academies of the Heirya Kingdom were my best shot—until I learned their “education” came with chains, a trap to harvest me like some rare herb for their potions. The memory still stung, souring my trust. I didn’t have high hopes for the Immu, but I clung to a flicker of optimism.

Perhaps they would be kinder. Perhaps they would genuinely teach me something valuable to learn.

It had been five days since Luc and I arrived on the Isle Continent, and the rain refused to relent. That evening, the downpour turned vicious, a torrential roar that battered the forest and churned the ground into a flood. As we’d done countless times before, we scrambled up a towering tree, its bark slick and cold beneath my hands. The branches groaned but held firm as I settled onto a thick limb, water dripping from my hair into my eyes. Across from me, Luc perched with his cloak drawn tight, his face shadowed but calm.

I fumbled with a seed from my pouch, frustration simmering in my chest. Channeling mana into it, I watched it sprout and twist into a small shrub right there in my palm. But no matter how hard I pushed, pouring more mana until my head throbbed, it wouldn’t grow beyond that pitiful size. Rain lashed my face, delays gnawed at my patience, and this useless ability mocked me. With a snarl, I flung the shrub and the remaining seeds into the flood below. They vanished into the dark, swirling water, swallowed without a trace.

Luc tilted his head, his voice cutting through the storm. “What’s with the tantrum? I helped you gather those, you know.”

I pulled my knees to my chest, the wet chill seeping into my bones. “It’s pointless,” I muttered. “I keep doing the same thing, day after day, and I’m still nowhere. At this rate, I might as well open a shop selling saplings—if I’m lucky.”

Luc sighed, his tone steady but edged with exasperation. “Listen, no ability is—”

“I know,” I snapped, glaring at him. “No ability is useless. It’s about how you use it. I’ve heard it before.” My voice softened, weighed down by doubt. “I just… I can’t see myself getting stronger with this. Not enough to matter.”

The list of impossible tasks loomed in my mind: finding my parents, tracking down the ones who attacked us, reaching the demon realm, exacting revenge—and now, somehow, facing the Virtues. All of it felt out of reach, and here I was, saddled with a support ability to heal and coax plants into growing. Not a warrior. Not a mage. Just a gardener with delusions.

I let out a long, pitiful sigh, the sound lost in the rain.

Luc watched me in silence, his gaze steady and unyielding.

Determined to shake off the gloom, I took a deep breath and focused. Mana gathered between my palms, glowing faintly as it formed a white orb—a basic spell, the kind any novice mage could muster. My head spun slightly, but I pressed on, stretching and shaping the orb into a rough, dagger-like blade. It wasn’t pretty, more like clay mashed into a point, but it held an edge. I swiped it through the air, slicing a cluster of leaves from a nearby branch. They fluttered down into the floodwaters below.

Luc’s eyes widened, a rare flicker of surprise breaking his calm. “Well, that’s a neat trick. I’ve never seen anyone shape a mana orb like that. Impressive.”

Hope sparked in me. “Maybe I could sharpen this instead—use it to get stronger!”

Luc let out a soft scoff, though his tone wasn’t cruel. “It’s a fine talent, I’ll give you that, but pure mana creations? They’re a waste. You’re not seriously thinking of using that in a real fight, are you?”

“Why not?” I shot back, gripping the blade tighter. “I can cut with it! Some time training and might excel in this somehow.”

He raised a hand, palm open. “Point that at me, then.”

I hesitated, the blade wavering in my grip.

“Strike me here,” he said, tapping his palm. “Quickly.”

His eyes were locked onto mine, serious and expectant. Swallowing my doubt, I thrust the mana blade forward, aiming for his palm. The blade was short, capable of inflicting a deep wound, but not fatal.

In an instant, when the blade made contact, it vanished. A wave of dizziness crashed over me, and I felt my mana draining away like water through a sieve. The blade had disappeared, leaving me feeling hollowed out, as if I had trained for hours in a single heartbeat.

“What… just happened?” I mumbled, steadying myself against the branch.

Luc leaned back, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. “I absorbed it. Thanks for the free mana, fool.”

I blinked, confusion swirling with my exhaustion. “What do you mean?”

“Any decent mage can do it,” he said, folding his arms. “Pure mana like that? It’s a gift to your enemy. They’ll soak it up, turn it against you, and leave you reeling. Shaping it into a blade might cut leaves or scare a child, but it’s inefficient. You’d be better off channeling that energy into your plants—making it count.”

He paused, then added, “I’ll admit, making it solid enough to cut is no small feat. But it’s still impractical.”

I slumped against the tree, the rough bark pressing into my back as the fight drained out of me. The rain fell relentlessly, soaking through my clothes, yet beneath the exhaustion, a faint spark of resolve flickered. Maybe Luc was right—maybe I was overthinking it. All I wanted was rest, to let the storm wash away the weight of my thoughts. It would pass, I told myself, and so would this slump. I’d find a way forward, one step at a time.

The next day, the rain softened to a drizzle, and after a grueling trek, the forest finally relented. The narrow path widened into something resembling a mud road, etched with faint, weathered wheel tracks. It wasn’t much, but it hinted at civilization—or at least a place where people had once been. After days of staring at Luc’s impassive, drooping face, the promise of a settlement lifted my spirits.

We followed the road until a weathered signpost rose at a crossroads, its crooked arrows pointing into the unknown. The script was a tangle of unfamiliar glyphs, meaningless to me. Luc gave a curt nod, as if it were as clear as daylight, and turned left. I trailed behind, unease prickling my skin—there were no fresh tracks here, just faint scars of old ones etched into the mud. Still, I followed. Luc always carried himself with a certainty I couldn’t quite unravel, and despite my doubts, I trusted it.

The path stretched on, winding through the wilds until it abruptly ended at the edge of a wide, rushing river. Mist hung thick over the water, curling like smoke, but what caught my breath were the figures on its surface. Two boats bobbed gently, and a lone silhouette hauled nets through the current. People—here, of all places.

Luc raised a hand and shouted, “Praise Zarnok!” His voice cut through the damp air.

The fishermen froze, their heads snapping toward us. Their eyes narrowed, wary and sharp, as they exchanged a glance before rowing to shore. As they stepped onto the muddy bank, I finally got a good look—and my jaw dropped.

They were beastmen, tall and broad-shouldered, with long, bushy tails swaying behind them. Fur coated their arms up to their wrists, and pointed, canine ears twitched at the sound of our approach. Beyond that, their faces were startlingly human, though their stern expressions carried an edge of the wild.

“Praise Zarnok,” the first beastman growled, his voice deep and guarded. “Who are you, and what do you want?”

Luc flashed a disarming smile. “Just humble travelers, nothing more. We’re bound for the Jarla Forest. There used to be a bridge here to cross over—” He paused, his gaze flicking to a splintered wooden pillar jutting from the river, half-submerged and rotting. “—but it seems that’s gone now.”

The beastmen’s brows furrowed, their tails flicking with agitation. “Aye, there was a bridge,” the second one said, his tone clipped. “Not anymore.”

Their hostility simmered just beneath the surface, though they answered readily enough. Luc scratched his head, feigning confusion. “Is that so? Any other way to reach the Jarla Forest, then?”

The second beastman snorted, a puff of breath visible in the damp air. “Not from this side, that’s for damn sure. Why’d you even want to go there? Anyone who does disappears—gone forever. Turn back while you can.”

“The bridge was torn down three years ago,” the first added, his voice low and bitter. “The tribefolk might’ve done it, but it doesn’t matter now. That forest is cursed. You’d be wise to leave.”

Luc’s smile didn’t waver. “Thanks for the warning, but we’ve got business there, dangers or not. Could you ferry us across to the other bank?”

The beastmen recoiled, their eyes widening in disbelief. “We’re not fools,” the first snapped. “That fog out there—it’s no ordinary mist. It twists your mind, drives you mad. We barely fish the edges as it is. No way we’re risking our necks to take you over.”

Luc reached into his cloak and pulled out a small pouch, letting it jingle faintly. The second beastman bristled. “We won’t go, no matter how much you—”

Before he could finish, Luc tossed a silver coin their way, catching the light as it arced through the air. “How about this, then? Lend us a boat. Surely this covers a simple rental.”

Their protests died as the beastmen grabbed the coin. Greed sparked in their eyes, and after a quick, wordless glance, they relented.

One of them shoved a weathered boat toward us, its hull creaking faintly.
“Take it,” he muttered. “But don’t say we didn’t warn you. The far side’s no place for the living.”

Luc waved off their caution with a flick of his hand, as if swatting a gnat. I sighed and climbed aboard, taking up the oars while Luc sprawled in the stern, lounging like a king on a pleasure barge. I’d been promoted from cargo to ferryman, but the steady pull of the oars kept my grumbling at bay—for now.

The mist thickened as we pushed off, swallowing the shore behind us. It draped the river in a ghostly shroud, muffling sound until the world felt like a dream. My arms burned, but I kept rowing, the boat slicing through water that seemed endless.

Luc shifted, his usual ease giving way to a furrowed brow as he peered into the fog. “We’re close,” he murmured, tension threading his voice.

After what felt like hours, the far shore materialized—a dark line of trees against the mist. My heart sank. “Not again,” I groaned, exasperation bubbling up. “Another damn forest?”

Luc leaped ashore, boots sinking into the mud.
“What did you expect? The Immu tribe lives deep in the Jarla Forest.”

The name Jarla Forest first reached my ears during my Ascension Ceremony Trial. Grandmaster Casia had spoken of the Aguvare Fruit, a rare medicinal fruit that manifested during the Metal Tree Trial. It was said to come from this very forest, but beyond that, I knew little.

Except for one thing—the Immu Tribe lived here.

Despite the air of mystery surrounding the forest, something about it felt… oddly familiar. Almost welcoming.

The trees here were different—taller, older, wiser. They exuded an ancient presence, whispering in a language I didn’t understand yet somehow recognized. Compared to the forest we had just crossed, this part felt like stepping into another world. I couldn’t quite put my finger on it, but…

It felt like home.

Luc and I pressed deeper into the mist-laden woods.

As the fog thickened, Luc abruptly stopped and pulled me closer by the shoulder. His movements were sharp, focused—something was off.

Then, with deliberate intent, he removed his glove.

I watched as he reached out and **grabbed at the mist—**as if grasping something invisible. That’s when I noticed it—a triangle encased in a circle, tattooed onto his palm.

I had never seen Luc remove his gloves before.

I had never even known he had tattoos.

As his fingers twisted through the mist, a faint pulse rippled through the air. The fog seemed to glow for just a second, reacting to his touch.

Then, just as suddenly, he pulled his hand away. The mist began to thin.

Without hesitation, Luc slipped his glove back on. Was he wearing them to conceal that marking?

“Well, that should take care of the barrier,” he muttered before turning to me. “Let’s move before it starts repairing itself.”

Luc hurried forward, and I quickly followed.

“So the mist was a barrier?” I asked.

He nodded. “Seems like the tribe has raised their defenses. That mist barrier is one of their secret arrays—it keeps intruders away. And if someone does try to force their way in…” He paused. “They lose their mind.”

I frowned. “No wonder the beastfolk were terrified.”

Luc gave a short nod.
“You’re sure the barrier won’t affect us once it's repaired?”

He shook his head.
“Don’t worry. It shouldn’t be a problem.”

Then, suddenly, he stopped mid-step.

His expression darkened for just a moment.

“…Although—”

A beat of silence.

“…Nothing. Don’t worry.”

And with that, he kept walking.

The two of us trailed through Jarla Forest, a place whispered about in myths and known for its overwhelming magical presence. The trees towered impossibly high, their bark laced with glowing veins of mana, while the undergrowth shimmered with rare herbs I had only read about.

The mana here was thick, almost intoxicating. I could feel it brushing against my core, stirring something deep within me. It was an odd sensation—one that made me uneasy. It felt as if the forest itself was… calling to me.

I shook the thought away and focused on my surroundings. If nothing else, this place was a medicinal goldmine. Back in the Citadel, during my homeschooling, I had learned to identify several of these plants. Some could heal wounds instantly, while others could kill in seconds.

I wondered if my old teacher had survived that incident. The instructors assigned to me by Celestia Mercy had been kind—perhaps out of pity. If they perished… well, that was that.

I silently hoped the Immu Tribe would be kinder—but I wasn’t holding my breath.

“Listen, Ben.”

Luc’s voice cut sharply through my wandering thoughts. It was the first time he’d used my name, and when I looked at him, his expression carried a gravity I rarely saw.

“We haven’t known each other long,” he began, “but I need to give you some advice.”

“Sure,” I said, curiosity prickling. “What is it?”

“Don’t trust that floating eyeball.”

I blinked in surprise. “Floating eyeball? You mean the one that calls itself Lysanthera—the One-Eyed Pupil?”

Luc let out a sigh. “I see, so you’ve met him, then.”

“Yeah,” I admitted, scratching my head. “He appeared in my dream—or was it in my mana plane?—and sealed the two divine spirits that were tearing it apart. I’m not sure if he’s still around, but I have a feeling he’s already moved on.”

“I see. Well, now that you’ve sought help from that thing, you’re as good as one of his henchmen.” Luc furrowed his brows, “But in the future, just try to avoid relying on it as much as possible. Don’t let it turn you into a puppet and lose yourself.”

I exhaled sharply, a chill crawling down my spine. “I won’t let him control me. But tell me—why is he determined to strip away the Virtues? He calls himself the ruler—well, the former ruler—of the spirits, yet I still can’t figure out why he bears a grudge against the Virtues.”

Luc sighed and leaned back. “He’s just an old ghost with an ancient vendetta. He devours everything in his path, fueling his relentless revenge. His anger runs so deep that he probably doesn’t even remember what started it all or who he should really be angry at.”

I shook my head. “Sounds like a tangled drama I’d rather avoid. If only there were a way not to get caught up in their mess.”

Luc scoffed. “What are you saying? You’re contractually bound to help him in his war. He gave you your power and mended your core—now it’s your turn to honor your end of the contract.”

“Contract?” I squinted, confused. “I never signed up for anything like that.”

He tapped my chest with a finger, his touch light but pointed.
“Think back. Ever had a moment where you craved power, and it answered—in a dream, maybe?”

A memory flickered in my mind, hazy and half-formed, during the first ceremony train trial. I had been struggling; the mana threads recoiled from my hands as if I were cursed, and my neurons deemed me coreless. I nearly failed, desperation clawing at me—then came that dream. A massive, unblinking eye was staring down at me, silent and looming. I had dismissed it as a strange nightmare, but now… was that Lysanthera?

Luc watched my face, reading the shift in my expression.
“Looks like something clicked. Not that it changes much now.”

I frowned as I pieced everything together. If Luc was correct, Lysanthera couldn’t be trusted. It had freed me from the Eternal Dendrite’s curse and repaired my core, but it was Luc who had first offered me that cursed object. I had narrowly escaped being harvested as a potion ingredient for some noble, thanks to his clanmates, but in the end, he wanted to use me.

What was worse was that Lysanthera knew my past and my goals. Luc's warning came too late—I had already struck a deal with that scheming jerk.

“Now, don’t get too worked up,” Luc said suddenly, shifting topics as his eyes flickered elsewhere. “Just stay calm and focus on what’s ahead. By the way, I’m picking up strange vibes from your pocket. Are you carrying an amulet?”

I reached in and withdrew the locket—a small glass capsule encasing a red feather, a keepsake my father had given before he vanished. “This?” I asked.

Luc examined it. “There’s a trace of divine energy in it. No wonder I’ve sensed that odd aura around you.”

“It’s a Sunfire Bird feather,” I explained, a smile creeping in. “My father said it would protect me.”

Luc tilted his head, studying the pendant. “A Sunfire Bird feather, huh? That explains the energy. You should wear it around your neck always.”

I turned the locket over in my hand, feeling its faint warmth seep into my palm. “Is it really that special?”

“More than you know,” Luc replied in a low tone. “It calms the mind, shields you from trauma and nightmares—and it’s the perfect ward to keep that eyeball from invading your dreams with its sweet talk. Quite the safeguard for you.”

“Oh, I see. So that was it all along,” I muttered as the realization sank in.

That explained why Lysanthera hadn’t been able to reach me at first. When Damien met me, he assumed that "the big guy" had briefed me, but I was completely clueless. In other words, the floating eyeball had tried to contact me about my escape but couldn’t get past the amulet’s protection.

We finally encountered each other face-to-face during that brutal operation—when I’d stripped off my clothes along with the pendant, and our paths crossed in the mana plane.

Still, I needed more information if I was to work for that one-eyed deceiver.

“Luc, about that eyeball—” I started,

But he cut me off, tensing suddenly, his hand grazing the hilt of his shortsword.
“Hold that thought,” he muttered, eyes darting toward the trees.

A faint rustle rippled through the branches—soft at first, then steadily growing louder.

Luc’s grip tightened. “Looks like the welcoming party’s here.”