Chapter 40: Seeds of Power
After a few days of settling in, Frank resumed his training. He opened the booklet he had found in the ring and began following the mana circulation method described within.
To his surprise, he realized something new: he was passively absorbing mana, even while at rest. The method was unlike anything he had practiced before. Within a short time, he condensed five drops of refined mana, which then merged into a single, higher-quality drop.
This change came with a cost—he now required five times the mana and resources of a typical Master to grow.
But in return, his body strengthened with every breath.
His flesh absorbed ambient mana. Every time he circulated energy, his muscles, bones, and even his organs were subtly tempered—a phenomenon that hadn't happened before. Day by day, he grew faster, denser, stronger.
Every fourteen days, Frank returned to the garden tucked away in the folds of space. Each time, he harvested weeds—seemingly ordinary, but brimming with mana—and each time, the garden responded in kind. The ambient resistance lessened. The environment felt… friendlier. The beasts now attacked him he now carried a hint of threat in his aura and the mana he was giving of made him look like a tasty meal.
Still, he faced resistance.
The outer edges of the garden were infested with strange, mana-mutated pests: giant centipedes, armored caterpillars, and spiders with crystalline webs. He avoided fighting more than one at a time, and if u could he avoided the attacks. He was growing, yes, but he wasn't reckless. His only techniques were Phantom Walk and Mana Fold, and his swordsmanship, while disciplined, remained basic.
The garden was massive—hectares wide—and Frank had only ever explored the outer rim. Deeper inside, shrouded by mist and ancient wards, stood a colossal tree.
He couldn't see it directly, but he felt it—like a pulse in the world's heart.
Unbeknownst to him, that tree housed the Dryad, the guardian spirit of the garden.
For eons, the Dryad had been locked in a parasitic struggle with a giant worm curled around her crown. The worm gnawed endlessly at her life force, and in turn, she sealed it in a stasis of mutual consumption. Locked in this stalemate, the garden's care had fallen to ruin. Wards decayed. Weeds grew wild. Pests roamed free.
Yet lately, the Dryad had stirred in her slumber.
Some presence… a mortal… had been trimming the weeds, slaying the pests, and restoring a sliver of balance.
She couldn't see him. But she could feel the change.
Each weed trimmed meant a little less mana being drained.
Each pest slain gave her a moment longer to breathe.
And if the trend continued—if the garden could stabilize, even at the edges—then she might finally regain enough strength to break free from the worm's grip.
She had almost forgotten what hope felt like.
But now, somewhere in the vast garden, a human's footsteps echoed, and with them, came the promise of change.