The City itself was a sprawling contradiction; a cobble of ancient stone towers loomed over ramshackle wooden stalls, their weathered facades bearing scars of time while the outer walls were cracked but stood as silent sentinels against the encroaching wilds.
Wuhlou moved briskly, his tattered rags brushing against the elbows of strangers, the weight of Ellinger's Rot pressing against his back. The blade, its edge dulled by years of neglect, was a relic of a past he rarely spoke of, its presence a quiet anchor amid the chaos. He felt small, dwarfed by the city's relentless energy yet the fire of purpose burned steadily within him, urging him forward.
Ahead, a figure danced through the crowd with an effortless grace that caught his eye. The woman stepped backward, her dark hair swaying like a cascade of ink in the evening breeze, her green eyes held a mischief that cut. A wooden club hung at her hip, its surface etched with faint runes that shimmered with an emblem of the Creeping Hollow sect. Though Wuhlou couldn't yet decipher its meaning, he noticed it distictions. Noticing his gaze on her hips, she tossed a question at him with her voice bright and lilting, a stark contrast to the weight of the moment.
"Let me ask you, kid, why are you trying to join up with someone?.. Oh, I am Li Ongchum." She giggled, spinning lightly on her heel, her movements fluid and playful as if the world were a game she'd already mastered.
Wuhlou stopped short, planting his feet against the uneven cobblestones. His gaze locked onto hers, steady, betraying none of the uncertainties in his mind. "What benefits do you offer?" His voice was firm, each word deliberate. He wasn't here for games—he needed a path, a means to hone the strength he felt simmering beneath his skin. They had a goal, Whispers would teach him how to fight but they were in need of cultivation materials.
Li Ongchum's grin widened, her eyes sparkling with amusement as she took in his intense persona. "Normal initiates get one Spiritshard a month," she began, her tone light but precise. "Advance a rank and you earn five Spiritshards monthly with rewards for promotions. Otherwise, we're experimenting or gathering resources." She spun again, her club swaying with the motion, her grace hinting at the strange, unpredictable ways of Creeping Hollow. "It's not a bad deal if you've got the stomach for it."
Wuhlou took a few more steps, the cobblestones cool beneath his worn boots, his mind turning over her words. Spiritshards were currency among cultivators, a means to fuel techniques or trade. The promise of more with advancement wasn't even tempting but she had mentioned of experiments that gave him pause. "I'm not sure research fits me," he said knowing his limits, his voice ringing with a quiet resolve. "I want combat training." The words carried the weight of a need he couldn't fully articulate—a hunger to test himself, to forge his body and spirit into something unbreakable.
Li Ongchum paused mid-step, her playful demeanor softening as she studied him. She tilted her head, dark hair falling across one shoulder, her gaze measuring the grit in his stance. "Hmm… The Demon Hunters Association might work," she mused while tapping a finger against her chin. "But what just said.. you're nowhere near their standards. Major Families are an option but they'd bind you with a contract, blood oaths and all that mess. With us, you're no medicine slave." Her tone grew quieter, almost like she knew personally. "Creeping Hollow doesn't chain you to a cauldron."
Inside Wuhlou's mind, Whispers chimed. "Experiments could betray secrets," its voice a cool thread of caution weaving his thoughts. Whispers was right to be concerned, any probing into his essence might reveal the what he kept hidden, a power he didn't fully understand himself. "I'll try it," he said aloud, his decision firm, trusting the spirit's judgment over his own doubts.
The crowd had thinned around them, the other passersby slipping away into the maze of streets, leaving Wuhlou and Li Ongchum alone beneath the flickering lanterns. She glanced back at the fair, its lights still blazing in the distance, then turned to him with a small shrug. "The Street Fair's still alive, shame but tomorrow's another chance. Err, we should move." Before he could respond, a glow erupted around her, a veil of energy that enveloped them both. With a flick of her wrist, she lifted off the ground, pulling Wuhlou with her. The city blurred beneath them as they glided over rooftops, the festival's hum fading into a distance, replaced by the rush of wind against his face and cooler air.
The streets carried a smell that lingered but as they covered some distance, the aroma turned to rot.
They descended at the edge of town, where the stone walls gave way to a poorly constructed path overgrown by sprawling root and mosses, fungus lined every crook. The buildings seemed to crouch against the earth. A laboratory loomed before them, its walls coated in a faint sheen of Medical Essence—a potent, herbal aura that pricked against Wuhlou's skin. The air inside was thick with the scent of crushed leaves, bitter roots, and something scorched. Signs of a past explosion still lingered in the blackened streaks along the walls, the cleanup stalled amid piles of shattered glass and overturned tables.
Wuhlou stepped inside, his boots sinking slightly into the floor, the Medical Essence lending his movements an odd buoyancy. He glanced at Li Ongchum, who lingered near the entrance. Her expression unreadable. "Umm… Miss Li, what entrance requirements are there for this… what are you, exactly?" His voice echoed faintly in the cavernous space, the walls tinted with a soft, greenish light.
She sighed, leaning against a table strewn with cracked vials. "Testing is key. It's how we unravel things. It's a lot of calculations but I get to dabble with research beyond my expectations." Her tone carried a wistful edge and her gaze drifted toward the open sky beyond the door. "I prefer the wilds; discovery's out there." She straightened, pointing to door at the end of a shadowed corridor. "He knows you're here," her voice dropping to a solemn whisper, laced with an expectation Wuhlou couldn't place.
"No surprise," Whispers chimed in his mind, its tone dry as Wuhlou approached the door. He gripped the handle and a spiritual surge swept through the hallway like a gust of invisible force that pressed against him, testing his resolve. He tightened his grip, his knuckles whitening and pushed forward. The suppression a problem he already knew was coming.
"Ongchum, you may go now," a voice called from beyond the door, deep and resonant, stirring the air. "Enter. I will see you with my own eyes." The command carried an undeniable weight, pulling Wuhlou inward.
He stepped through, each stride meeting another surge as if wading through an unseen storm. Whispers had hinted at a trial and he braced himself. His will was forged by years of scraping by in Vivverok's harsh western wilds. The surges battered but he pressed on, his rags still flapping, the Palauan Talisman warm against his chest.
The chamber opened before him, vast and shadowed, its stone pillars rising like the bones of some ancient beast. Each was topped with a fungal-carved statue, their grotesque forms twisting in the dim light—spores seemed to drift from their hollow eyes, though it might have been a trick of the mind. The floor was etched with glowing patterns while faint tendrils of luminescence snaking across the tiles, illuminating in time with an unseen rhythm. At the chamber's center a raised dais loomed and atop it stood a figure cloaked in shadow, his aura a shed weight that pressed against Wuhlou.
"His stance is firm. More than that, he's gifted. I sense him growing stronger with each step." The figure sounded calculating, his voice low and to himself. With a soft cough he quelled the surges, the air settling as Wuhlou reached the chamber's heart. "I am the Leader of Creeping Hollow. Stay back. I cannot ensure your safety, even with all precautions. Call me Orik." He raised a hand and a long stele dropped to the floor with a heavy thud, its surface smooth and cool, carved with cryptic sigils that seemed to shift under scrutiny.
Wuhlou glanced up, his breath catching as he spotted dozens more steles hovering above, suspended in the air like silent judges. Their runes glow cast an eerie light across the chamber. He approached the fallen stele, his hand steady as he pressed it against the stone, his determination unshaken.
Tiny motes erupted around him, swirling like restless gnats, their faint shimmer dancing in the air. They were drawn to his essence, yet unable to define it, masked by the talisman he defied their probing. The stele's runes flared to life momentarily, faint flames licking along its edges, their heat a whisper against his palm.
"Sense your own force, kid. I have other matters to attend." Orik said, his tone easing, though a flicker of curiosity lingered in his shadowed gaze. With rags like those, he's likely never seen these, he thought, his eyes narrowing as he watched Wuhlou.
A force stirred within the stele, yellow bars spiraling around Wuhlou, their gleam wavering like sunlight through storm clouds. The motes buzzed louder, their motion a frenzied hum, resonating with the tablet's pulse. Wuhlou stood firm, his hand still pressed against the stone, feeling the energy coil around him, testing him in ways he couldn't name.
Orik gestured sharply, and the stele darted back to his side, hovering before him. "What the 99 Hells is that supposed to mean?" His voice mixed vexation and intrigue, his silhouette leaning forward, the shadows parting briefly to reveal a glint of sharp, amber eyes. "Your essence—it's muddled, unreadable."
"I don't understand," Wuhlou replied, clasping his hands before him, his voice calm despite the unease creeping up his spine. "But maybe this place isn't right for me. If there is nothing further, I will be on my way." He turned ready to leave if Creeping Hollow had no place for him, his mood unshaken by the strange trial.
The doors slammed shut with a resounding boom, barriers rise from the floor in a flash of light. Their runes flared, caging Wuhlou in a lattice of glowing stone. The air grew tense and the fungal statues' eyes shined, their carvings faintly strobed as if alive. He tensed, his hand reaching for the hilt of Ellinger's Rot though he knew drawing it would be futile.
"This kid's truly odd." Orik muttered softly while probing Wuhlou from afar. "Don't fear, this won't harm you." His tone softened, his bedmanner retured but the barriers tightened, a silent threat underscoring his words.
Wuhlou struggled slightly, more for appearances than any real hope of breaking free. A strange wooden puppet scuttled toward him from the shadows, its movements jerky and unsettling. It carried a tray bearing a talisman, the surface was etched with spiraling runes and complicated spellwork that glowed blue. The puppet paused before him, tilting its head in a mockery of curiosity, then retreated to Orik's side.
"Pity, I thought you were more interesting," Orik sighed, his interest fading as he examined the talisman.
"Rank 0, not even at the Qi Breathing stage… from Vivverok in the West, you're young." He waved a hand and the barriers dissolved, their runes dimming into the stone floor. "Head to the Third Cap and meet with Captain Loren. She will have assignments for you and direct you to training groups."
Wuhlou clasped his hands, bowing slightly. "Thank you, I will see what training Captain Loren has in store then." His voice remained calm to mask the whirl of thoughts beneath —relief at escaping scrutiny and a flicker of anticipation for what lay ahead. The Talisman against his chest, its enchantments steadying him.
"Harrod. Take this one to the Third Cap. Captain Loren's squad," Orik commanded, his voice fading as Wuhlou stumbled, pulled through the air by another unseen force. A lean figure in fungal-etched robes appeared —Harrod, his face half-hidden beneath a hood, his steps silent as he guided Wuhlou outside. The chamber's heavy aura gave way to the damp, earthy air of Creeping Hollow's enclave, a stark shift that made Wuhlou's skin crawl.
As they traveled, balls of water hung suspended in the air, like captured raindrops. Wuhlou pointed, his curiosity breaking through his usual reserve. "Is this normal?" He motioned to poke at one but Harrod stopped him short.
Harrod's reply was curt, his voice a low rasp. "Of course, this is the Collection Point for the whole region. Humidity and condensation arrive at this enclave constantly. Everything here rots, except fungus. If you don't protect your belongings they'll decay swiftly." He quickened his pace, leading Wuhlou through a winding path lined with twisted fungal growth in the dim light.
They reached the Third Cap, a sprawling fungal mound that rose from the earth like a living fortress. Training yards dotted its surface, their boundaries marked by low walls of packed dirt, while squat structures huddled in clusters, their roofs sagging under the weight of moss. Harrod stopped abruptly. "Do not interrupt her; she will be with you shortly," he said, kicking the ground with a sharp motion. A ripple spread through the air and he vanished, leaving Wuhlou alone in the humid stillness.
Wuhlou settled onto a low stone bench, his eyes drawn to the figure dominating the nearest training yard.
Captain Loren hovered midair, her body suspended, her fingers weaving intricate patterns that guided towering fungal golems across the dirt. Each was twice her height, their bulbous forms lumbering with slow, deliberate force, striking targets with a dark, shrouded aura that sent tremors through the ground. Her movements were precise, her focus absolute, yet there was a stillness to her stance that felt oddly vulnerable.
Whispers stirred, its voice filled with critique. "She controls her minions well but standing there like a rooted weed does her no favors." The spirit's words carried a faint amusement, its analysis sharp as ever.
"Rooted weed?" Wuhlou muttered, the phrase slipping out before he could catch it, his voice a faint whisper against the yard's low rumble.
A fungal golem faltered, its strike missing its target, the earth trembling slightly when it struck.
Capt. Loren's head tilted slightly, her sharp gaze peering toward him. Realizing he'd been heard, Wuhlou clasped his hands and sank into a cultivation stance, feigning focus to deflect her attention. He drew a slow breath, attempting the Qi Breathing exercise Whispers had drilled into him —drawing vitality into his body, reaching for the Qi pool to form. His abdomen tingled faintly, a focal point for his efforts in his mind though the effects remained elusive.
Whispers chuckled softly in his mind. "Good job, kid. Your act's not half bad." The rare approval carried a hint of pride, bolstering Wuhlou's resolve.
Twenty minutes passed, his breath steadying into a rhythm, the humid air cool against his skin. Captain Loren dismissed her fungal golem puppets with a flick of her wrist, the creatures sinking into the earth with a low groan. She landed nearby, her boots soft on the spongy ground, her presence sharp and probing as she stood over him. Her eyes narrowed, observing his development. His capability seemed common for a child, yet his vitality flickered oddly, defying her understanding.
Wuhlou opened his eyes and was startled by her direct glance, her gaze attempting to unravel a mystery. She said nothing but the weight of her scrutiny loomed, a silent challenge that lingered.