Devor stood on a floating island, hovering peacefully above a dense forest. The mist below blanketed the land in a quiet, ethereal stillness. A bead of sweat traced down his temple, a quiet reminder of the long hours and effort he'd put into the day’s work. Nearby, Nyuru moved with practiced ease, carefully organizing the freshly harvested Spiritual Plants, sorting them with swift, sure hands.

  "Everything's accounted for, right? The team has what they need?" Devor's voice was steady, but there was an edge of concern beneath his calm exterior.

  "Not a single thing left behind," Nyuru replied, holding up a strand of Holy Sun Grass to the light. Its golden leaves shimmered softly as she inspected it. "This is the Holy Sun Grass Guyin needs to enhance the team’s weapons. It's all here. And honestly? The quality of these plants is better than anything you'd find in the Main World."

  Devor let out a quiet sigh of relief and tilted his head toward the sky. Above, a golden mist hung like a living canopy, casting a soft, nurturing glow over the garden.

  "This golden mist... it could be the key," he murmured, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "I wonder if the plants would be as good if we tried growing them in the Main World."

  Nyuru laughed, her eyes twinkling with both amusement and seriousness. "If you could recreate a garden like this in the Main World, you'd have cultivators lining up for miles. This isn’t just any field of plants—it’s a treasure trove for anyone looking to cultivate top-tier Spiritual Plants."

  “Selling a garden like this?” Devor blinked, momentarily thrown by the idea.

  Nyuru nodded, her expression thoughtful. “It’s not out of the question. But there’d be some conditions. They’d need a floating island to start with, and you’d have to make sure the energy flows stay balanced before you hand it over. Without that, the results wouldn’t come close to what you've got here.”

  Devor rubbed his chin, considering the idea. “Huh, interesting. Maybe I’ll think about it sometime.”

  Nyuru smirked, her tone turning playful. “If you do, make sure I get the first slot. I want to be your first customer.”

  “You’re interested too?” Devor raised an eyebrow, caught off guard by her bluntness.

  “Of course,” Nyuru replied with a light laugh. “Even most Inner Disciples would kill for a garden like this. Sure, they’ve got their own little cultivation plots, but nothing on this scale or with this quality. This place is something else, Devor.”

  Devor nodded, the weight of her words settling in. In the sect, Inner Disciples had small plots for personal cultivation, but the bigger, higher-quality gardens were reserved for the sect's use. For most cultivators, farming was a side skill to support their main path.

  Nyuru’s voice broke his thoughts. “Done!” she said, sliding the last batch of plants into her Spatial Ring. She brushed off her hands and turned to him with a satisfied smile. “I’ll take these to the team. What about you?”

  “I’ll stay here a bit longer,” Devor said softly. “I need to cultivate after all the work today.”

  “Got it,” Nyuru replied with a warm smile. “I’ll let you know if there are any changes to the schedule.”

  She reached out to touch the shimmering energy barrier surrounding the floating island, and it parted effortlessly at her touch. With a graceful leap, she descended and landed lightly on the forest floor below. The stillness was broken as she moved purposefully, distributing the harvest to the rest of the team.

  Devor remained on the island, now alone in the peaceful garden. Sitting cross-legged in the center, he closed his eyes and began circulating the Five-Dragon Cultivation Technique. Almost immediately, the energy in the garden responded, flowing toward him like a gentle tide.

  The floating island seemed alive, its golden mist wrapping around him as if it recognized him as its caretaker. The warm energy surged through his body, seamlessly merging with his internal flow. Devor took a slow, deep breath, guiding the golden energy into his Spiritual Root, expanding its capacity to hold more power.

  After several minutes of refining the energy, Devor reached into the pouch at his waist, pulled out a small Cultivation Pill, and swallowed it. A cool, soothing sensation spread through his body, enhancing the effects of his cultivation.

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  The golden mist seemed to heighten his absorption rate, making each breath sharper, more focused. With every cycle of the Five-Dragon Cultivation Technique, his Spiritual Root grew more pliable, stretching to accommodate the growing power within him.

  For the next hour, Devor repeated the process, taking another pill and carefully refining the energy with focused precision. By the time he opened his eyes again, his Spiritual Root pulsed softly, a subtle reminder of its expanding limits.

  “At this rate, I could hit Stage-9 Qi Refining in a few months,” Devor murmured, his voice a mix of excitement and caution.

  But he knew better. Every step closer to advancing realms brought greater challenges. The deeper his cultivation went, the harder it would be to strengthen his Spiritual Pool.

  Still, as he looked at the glowing mist swirling around the garden, he felt a renewed sense of purpose. This garden was more than just a collection of plants—it was his sanctuary, a place where progress was real and within reach.

  For now, though, he would take things one step at a time.

  Straightening his robes, Devor stood and leapt down from the floating island. He landed lightly on the forest floor, just as Nyuru was finishing her work with the alchemy furnace. With a swift, practiced hand seal, she shrank the island, storing it away for later.

  The island rapidly shrank, shrinking down to a small orb that hovered behind Devor like a loyal companion. But Devor knew better than to think it was his cultivation that commanded the island. That kind of control was beyond him for now. At this stage, it was Nyuru and the other senior members who had full responsibility for managing its size and movement.

  “Devor, catch this!”

  Guyin’s voice cut through the quiet hum of the forest. Devor instinctively raised his hands just in time to catch two objects flying toward him. In his grip, he found a sleek black bow, its surface gleaming like polished glass, and a quiver of finely crafted arrows made of smooth, polished wood.

  “A bow and arrows?” Devor’s brow furrowed as he looked up at Guyin, the team’s Forging Master. Confusion laced his voice.

  “Using your sword up close is too risky in certain situations,” Guyin explained, a sly grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. “This bow gives you range and flexibility. You can attack without putting yourself in direct danger. Trust me, it's the best option for someone at your level.”

  Devor glanced at the bow in his hands, his expression a mix of uncertainty and awkwardness. “But… I’ve never used a bow before.”

  Guyin shrugged, his grin widening. “All the more reason to start now. Don’t worry, the captain will teach you. Right, captain?” He gestured over to Versti, the team’s captain, who stood a few meters away, his expression as calm as ever.

  Versti sighed quietly, his gaze steady. “Fine,” he said, his tone flat. “Devor, shoot at me with everything you’ve got.”

  Devor froze, eyes wide. “Wait… are you serious? How is that even allowed?”

  Versti’s lips twitched into the faintest smirk. “I’m not allowed to take part in this world’s challenges directly, but training a team member is an exception. So yes, this is totally within the rules. Now stop hesitating.”

  Devor paused for a beat longer, then nodded and gripped the bow more firmly. “Alright, I’ll give it a shot.”

  Guyin’s point made sense. If Devor could master the bow, he’d be able to fight from a distance, reducing the risk of getting hurt in close combat. He tested the bow’s weight, then carefully pulled an arrow from the quiver. His hands shook slightly as he nocked the arrow onto the string.

  But the bow wasn’t as simple as it seemed. As Devor drew the string back, he realized how much strength it required. Despite putting most of his effort into it, the string barely budged. This was clearly a weapon made for someone much stronger than him.

  “Aim for my head,” Versti’s voice rang out, calm and steady. “Don’t worry, you won’t hurt me.”

  Devor swallowed hard, his nerves getting the better of him. But he didn’t want to let Versti—or Guyin, who’d trusted him with this weapon—down. Taking a deep breath, he steadied his trembling hands and aimed carefully at Versti’s head.

  For a moment, it felt like time stood still. Then, with a sharp exhale, Devor released the arrow.

  Twang!

  The string snapped forward, launching the arrow at incredible speed. It whistled sharply through the air, slicing toward its target—or so Devor thought. But instead of striking Versti, the arrow veered violently to the left, disappearing into the forest with a distant, muffled thud echoing from somewhere deep in the trees.

  Devor stood frozen, eyes wide in disbelief. He quickly checked the distance between himself and Versti—just ten meters. How had he missed by so much?

  From the sidelines, Guyin burst into laughter, unable to hold it back.

  “That bow isn’t ordinary, Devor,” he said, arms crossed as he casually leaned against a tree. “The string’s elasticity gives the arrow insane speed, but you’ve got to have total control when you release it. Otherwise… well, you saw what happened.”

  Devor scratched the back of his head, clearly embarrassed. “So… what now? Do I have to go fetch that arrow?” he mumbled, half-joking.

  “Of course you do,” Versti replied without missing a beat. His tone was dry, but his sharp gaze left no room for debate.

  Devor sighed and slung the bow over his shoulder, heading toward the forest.

  “Don’t worry,” Guyin called after him, still grinning. “We’ll wait right here.”

  As Devor disappeared into the trees, Versti shook his head slightly. “He’s got potential, but he’s got a long way to go.”

  Guyin smirked, leaning back with a relaxed posture. “Everyone starts somewhere, Captain. At least he hit the forest and not his own foot.”