Chương 8: Dormancy and Return

Navigating the complex, primeval underbrush, Rowan moved like a nimble panther. On his AR retina display, the [Path Recording Module] he had activated upon arrival projected a hair-thin, spectral green dashed line, guiding him through the dim forest. The return journey would take roughly an hour. Although he had distanced himself from the territory of the Tier 1 Armored Rhino, in this uncharted primeval forest, even the sudden cessation of insect chirps stretched Rowan's nerves to their absolute limit.

He deliberately avoided any puddles that looked like perfect ambush spots for predators, opting instead to walk along the edges of thorny bushes. For someone wearing a magitech stab-proof liner, these thorns were natural barriers. After a full hour of stealthy maneuvering, the familiar sight of the towering ancient tree with its massive natural hollow finally appeared. Only then did Rowan let out a long, heavy breath.

Slipping into the hollow, he quickly camouflaged the entrance using dry branches and broad fern leaves that carried a strongly astringent scent. Once done, Rowan's stomach let out a resounding rumble. The high-intensity mental tension and frantic sprinting had practically wrung every last ounce of glucose from his body. He pulled out the chunk of meat he had carved from the Tier 1 bull rhino. The meat was a dense, dark red color. Even in death, a very faint earth-element fluctuation lingered on its surface.

"I need to replenish my energy." But lighting an open fire in an environment fraught with danger was the same as lighting a beacon for the grim reaper. He drew his tactical dagger and dug a narrow, deep pit into the dirt floor at the back of the tree hollow. Next, he quickly slipped outside to gather several broad, sticky leaves. He cut off two-thirds of the dark red rhino meat and wrapped it tightly in three layers of leaves.

After a moment's thought, he fished out a crumpled plastic packet from a hidden compartment in his tactical backpack—a packet of "Complex BBQ Flavoring Powder" he had bought from a vending machine for 2 Terra Credits. He carefully pinched out a small amount, sprinkled it evenly over the meat, and then used wet mud to completely plaster over the leaves, forming an airtight mud ball.

Tossing the mud ball into the bottom of the pit, Rowan used his low-grade alchemical combustion powder to ignite a tiny, hidden, smokeless fire. Finally, he covered most of the pit with dirt, leaving only a hairline crack to supply oxygen. This was the otherworldly version of "Beggar's Chicken." The firelight and heat were perfectly sealed underground, and the scent was entirely trapped within the mud shell. While waiting for the meat to cook, Rowan didn't stay idle.

Leaning against the damp wooden wall of the hollow, he pulled up the offline video recordings on his AR terminal.

"Zoom in. Frame by frame," he commanded internally. On his retina, the footage of the previous battle began to replay frame by frame. Rowan's gaze skipped past the heavily muscled martial artist and locked dead onto the white-robed mage who could cast the "100% conversion rate" shield. He froze the frame on the exact moment the matriarch's beam pierced the white-robed mage's chest, and narrowed his eyes.

"Zoom in further on the left chest." As the image magnified, details previously blurred by distance and motion became clear. On the left breast of the white-robed mage's seemingly plain robe, a corner of a prayer book was exposed. And on its cover, intricately embroidered in dark gold thread, was an emblem: a triangular tower with a pure white flame burning at its center.

"A standardized sect emblem..." Rowan muttered to himself. Coupled with the fragmented "... Your radiance... grants shelter to the lost lambs..." from the torn parchment, Rowan's mind spun rapidly. This white-robed mage was definitely no simple mercenary. There were highly organized religious factions in this alternate world. Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

Sizzle— A faint aroma of roasting meat finally managed to seep through the cracks in the dirt, snapping him out of his thoughts. Rowan immediately extinguished the embers in the pit and used his dagger to pry the scalding mud ball out. He cracked open the baked-dry mud shell and peeled back the scorched leaves. Instantly, an intense, wildly savory aroma of meat dominated the cramped tree hollow.

The harsh chemical tang of the synthetic flavoring powder mixed with the pure, unadulterated meat aroma of a Tier 1 mana-beast, creating a bizarre yet overwhelmingly mouth-watering scent. Ignoring the scorching heat, Rowan tore off a massive chunk of meat and shoved it into his mouth.

"Mmph!" The moment it entered his mouth, it wasn't tough and dry as he had expected. Instead, it had a dense, layered texture. But what truly shocked Rowan was the fiery heat that erupted in his stomach the moment he swallowed. This heat was entirely different from the manic, destructive waste heat of the Aether Core in his left arm. It was gentle, yet filled with resilience. The warm current spread from his stomach to his limbs and bones.

Rowan almost felt—though he couldn't tell if it was an illusion—that his joints, which constantly ached from years of malnutrition, were experiencing a faint, tingling numbness as the warm current washed over them. He was born in the underhive. He had grown up eating chemically synthesized nutrient paste. This body of his was like a rusty, broken-down machine. This was the first time in his twenty years of life that he had ingested such highly concentrated, pure natural mana flesh.

Even though he didn't know any ancient body refinement breathing techniques or physical tempering arts, the sheer violent yet pure earth-element nutrition within the meat of the Tier 1 Armored Rhino was brutally, instinctively, and passively repairing his damaged muscle fibers. After downing several kilos of meat, Rowan didn't feel bloated at all; instead, his body felt significantly lighter. He clenched his fist. His knuckles let out a crisp pop, and the sense of physical strength had tangibly increased.

"If this stuff hit the Terra black market, it would drive those martial arts meatheads absolutely insane..." Rowan licked the grease from the corner of his mouth, took a deep breath, and pulled out the pigeon-egg-sized "Mana Primordium" he had looted from the corpse. Even in the pitch-black tree hollow, the primordium emitted a soft, gentle halo. Becoming a Tier 1 Mage. That was the sole, unbridgeable chasm that divided social classes in the world of Terra.

According to Terra's magical theory, for a mortal to step into the supernatural realm, they had to use a "Mana Primordium" as the initial catalyst. With the primordium, they then had to etch their first "Source Rune" onto the mage's Source Crystal Core—the translucent crystal located near Rowan's heart—to truly possess casting capabilities. But the first etching was incredibly dangerous. The fragile Source Crystal Core could easily be damaged by the etching fluid.

If the etched surface was ruined, at best he'd suffer permanent injury and lose a source rune slot for life. At worst, the crystal core would shatter on the spot, killing him instantly. A severe consequence meant the crystal core shattering on the spot, resulting in instant death. And the Mana Primordium was the absolute necessity for this stage—an external shield to reinforce and protect the crystal core.

"As long as I can buy the etching fluid..." Rowan gripped the primordium tightly. Although etching fluid was expensive—costing around five to six thousand Terra Credits—the good news was that it wasn't a controlled substance. Having bypassed the hardest threshold—the primordium—the rest could be solved with money. And right now, he urgently needed to reconnect to the Akashic Network and download the latest etching data. Time slipped away, second by second, in the dark and silence.

The moment the countdown on his AR projection finally hit zero, the Möbius ring on Rowan's right wrist erupted with a profound blue light. A fleeting sensation of weightlessness washed over him. Hummm— The familiar low-frequency buzz of electricity, the faint rumble of a distant mag-train, and that unshakable sour stench of the sewers instantly flooded his senses. He was back. The time flow between the two worlds was 1: 1; it was currently deep into the night on Terra as well.

Rowan instinctively lowered his center of gravity, his left hand instantly dropping to the tactical dagger at his waist. But he didn't draw the blade immediately, because the sight that greeted him made his brow furrow deeply. His already cramped rented room looked as though it had been ransacked by a tornado. The workbench pieced together from scrap metal plates had been flipped over. The mattress had been slashed open by a sharp blade, exposing the blackened industrial sponge inside.

Scattered parts and garbage littered the floor. And that drafty iron door was now hanging half-crooked off its hinges. Slapped haphazardly onto the back of the door with strong adhesive was a piece of paper bearing the electronic seal of the Public Security Bureau: [Contraband Search Warrant (Copy)].

"Julian works fast," Rowan sneered coldly. He swept the room with sharp, practiced eyes. There were no living creatures, nor were there any traces of surveillance or wiretapping devices installed. For an underhive rat, the Consortium's black hands didn't even bother wasting the budget to bug his room. He checked his personal belongings.

Aside from his makeshift server chassis, which he had used as a decoy and was now smashed to pieces, the slightly valuable copper wiring and old chips he had scavenged and hoarded over time had all been pocketed by those so-called security officers—thugs in uniform, every one.

"Nothing vital was missing." Except for a scent. Lingering in the air.