Immortal Druid

[POV: Little Crow]

She’s a crow. She’s a girl. And she’s going to evolve.

Of course, that would take time, because the murder had only just begun walking the path of cultivation, a path the old crow had forbidden for generations. For reasons none of them fully understood, he had changed his mind without warning, as though some unseen current in the world had shifted and forced his wing. Crows were naturally clever creatures, far more receptive than most beasts to human-born ideas such as cities, morality, grudges, and even the strange, dangerous concept of cultivation itself.

Depending on bloodline, a beast might awaken to power in its own instinctive way, but crows were different in that they could choose. This freedom was not entirely unique among awakened beasts, yet it was far more common among crows than most, which was why they had long been regarded as thinkers rather than mere survivors. Not all of them lived up to that reputation, however, and Little Crow was reminded of that fact every time she listened to them talk.

“He just doesn’t want to share,” one crow cawed indignantly as they flew. “Humans must be some rare delicacy, and the old crow is hoarding it all for himself.”

“That’s stupid,” another, a younger crow, shot back. “I heard humans taste weird. Too salty. Or bitter. Or both.”

“No, no, you’re both wrong,” a third interjected with absolute confidence. “It’s a conspiracy. Humans are probably in on it. Maybe they’ve been poisoning themselves on purpose just so we can’t eat them.”

“The reason isn’t any of that nonsense!” Little Crow snapped, her wings cutting sharply through the wind as she turned her head toward them, dark eyes gleaming with irritation. “It’s poison to our cultivation, you idiots!”

Her outburst silenced them for a moment, though only briefly. They had once lived purely by instinct, guided by hunger and opportunity, and in those days, eating human flesh had not been forbidden. But things had changed the moment they began cultivating.

The old crow had warned them severely of the consequences.

Predators who stepped onto the path were often drawn to humans, lured by a taste that seemed to resonate with something deeper than flesh. Consuming them brought rapid gains, a surge of power that was difficult to resist. Humans, after all, were natural vessels of the world’s energies, constantly absorbing the flow between heaven and earth throughout their lives. Yet that same quality made them dangerous, for they also carried impurities such as resentment, greed, or despair, and those who devoured them would absorb those stains as well. Over time, such beasts would lose themselves, descending into something twisted and insatiable.

“Focus on the mission,” Little Crow said firmly, cutting off the murmurs before they could spiral again. “If you can’t control yourselves, you’ll end up as mindless demonic beasts, and I am not cleaning up after that.”

Her small group flew in a loose formation high above the forest canopy, a dozen black shapes against the pale sky. They had separated from the main murder for this task, entrusted with something the old crow deemed important enough to risk their inexperience. The wind howled softly around them as they rode the currents, but even that could not drown out the inevitable complaints.

“Why are we even flying this far?” one crow grumbled. “Couldn’t we just… not?”

“Yeah,” another added, flapping lazily. “Why did we leave the murder? It was comfortable there. There were trees. And food. Mostly.”

Little Crow let out a long, weary sigh. She was the smallest among them, her wings narrower, her frame lighter, yet none could deny she was the sharpest mind in the group. That was precisely why the old crow had chosen her to lead, though at times she suspected it was less a reward and more a test of endurance.

“We’re watching over Xing Ning,” she explained, her tone measured despite her thinning patience. “He was a friend of the late master of the forest. That alone makes him important. The old crow wants eyes on him, and we are those eyes.”

“Oooh, a human with connections,” one crow said, impressed.

“A special human,” another echoed. “Do you think he tastes—”

“Don’t finish that sentence,” Little Crow cut in sharply, and the offender wisely fell silent.

For all their foolishness, these were considered the elite among the newly awakened crows, each possessing the strength of Qi Condensation. It was a small step on the path, but a significant one nonetheless. Ahead of them, the world began to change, the familiar flow of qi thinning until it became something hollow and distant. The sky seemed wider there, emptier, as though even the wind hesitated to cross.

They had reached the threshold between domains.

Below them stretched a series of bottomless trenches, vast scars in the land where qi simply did not exist. It was said that only those at the Core Formation could cross such a boundary safely, their cultivation strong enough to endure the emptiness. For humans, it was an impassable barrier at their level, but crows were not bound in the same way. They had wings, and with those wings came a freedom others lacked.

“Stay close,” Little Crow called out, her voice steady as she angled forward, leading them over the abyss. “Do not lose sight of me. If you drift, you fall, and if you fall…” She did not bother finishing the thought, trusting that even they could grasp the implication.

“Hey… what happens if we fall?”

The question came from somewhere behind her, light and almost curious, as though they were discussing the weather instead of the yawning abyss beneath them. Little Crow felt something in her mind snap ever so slightly as her wings stiffened mid-glide, and for a brief moment she seriously considered diving just to prove a point.

“Are you serious right now?” she hissed, not even bothering to turn around. “We are flying over a qi-dead trench that swallows everything, and that’s your question?”

Before the unfortunate crow could respond, another cut in with a sharp caw. “You must be an idiot. Crows don’t fall. We glide. We descend gracefully. It’s called control. Maybe try it sometime.”

“I was just asking!”

“Well, don’t!”

Little Crow closed her eyes for half a heartbeat, feeling the beginnings of a headache pulse behind them. This was her team. The so-called elite of their generation. She exhaled slowly, forcing her wings into a steady rhythm as she pressed forward, choosing silence over further engagement before she said something she might not regret, but would certainly not take back.

They crossed one threshold, then another, the world subtly shifting each time as the density of qi rose and fell in uneven waves. The sky itself seemed to change texture, currents behaving differently with each domain they passed, and the land below morphing from dense forest to sparse rock and back again. Time blurred into the steady beat of wings and wind, days folding into nights and nights into days until the journey itself became a single, drawn-out motion.

“We’re here,” a gravelly voice finally said.

Little Crow glanced to her side, where Murk flew slightly behind her, his feathers darker than most, almost dull in their lack of sheen.

Below them stretched a vast expanse of jagged terrain, gray and unyielding. The land rose in harsh ridges and broken slopes, like the bones of the earth had been forced outward and left exposed. There were no visible settlements, no curling trails of smoke, no signs of human life at all.

This was the Steel Mountain Domain.

The journey had taken over a month, even with their relentless pace, and yet the place felt… wrong.

“There’s something different,” Murk muttered, his gaze fixed downward.

It was rare for a beast to have a name, rarer still for one to keep them. Murk had once belonged to a cultivator, a pet in another life before he became something more, and though he had only recently joined their murder, his familiarity with this domain was precisely why he had been included in the expedition.

“What do you mean?” Little Crow asked, her tone sharpening as she slowed her pace slightly to match his.

They circled high above the rocky expanse, their formation loosening as their attention shifted to the land below. From this height, the silence was almost tangible, pressing upward like an invisible force.

“It’s too quiet,” Murk said after a moment. “When I fled this place, it was already wartime. You couldn’t go a single day without hearing something like clashing steel, collapsing structures, and beasts scattering from the aftermath of battles. Even the ordinary animals would move differently, disturbed by the chaos. But now…” He trailed off, his wings faltering for the briefest instant. “Now there’s nothing.”

Little Crow followed his gaze, scanning the terrain again. He was right. There was no distant tremor of conflict, no ripples of disrupted qi, no signs of life reacting to something larger. It was as though the domain had been emptied of its own noise.

Murk continued, his voice quieter now. “My owner was a hunter. Old. Found a cultivation manual late in his life and decided to try his luck. Well, he’d been lucky and managed to rise in cultivation, buying him a few years. When the war between the Stone Spire Sect and the Sky Steel Sect began, people like him were the first to suffer. Unaffiliated cultivators, wanderers. They were either recruited, forced into service, or removed.”

Little Crow listened without interrupting, her expression unreadable.

“The invading forces treated them like tools,” Murk went on. “Offer them a place as mercenaries, and if they refused… they became liabilities. Some were killed so they couldn’t join the other side. Some were driven out, forced to cross the thresholds even if it meant falling into those trenches. Others hid, or were pushed into banditry just to survive.”

His wings dipped slightly as he spoke the next words. “My owner tried to flee. He didn’t make it far. Bandits got to him first.”

Little Crow’s gaze shifted to Murk for a moment before returning forward. Internally, she marked him as a potential liability. Crows remembered. They held grudges with a persistence that bordered on obsession, and Murk had more reason than most to cling to the past. That could be useful… or dangerous.

“So,” one of the others spoke up, breaking the tension. “What’s the plan now?”

“Yes, fearless leader,” another added, their tone suddenly eager. “What do we do?”

Little Crow inhaled slowly, gathering her thoughts before answering. “We split into smaller observation units but remain within signaling distance. First, we connect with the local wildlife, awakened or otherwise. They’ll know what’s been happening recently. From there, we locate the nearest human settlement and observe movement patterns, especially anything related to sect activity.”

She paused briefly, ensuring they were still listening.

“We’re looking for information on the Sky Steel Sect,” she continued. “Specifically, any trace of someone known as Sword Frenzy Kang Wen, or a man named Xing Ning. Xing Ning should be easier to identify, since he carries a sword bestowed by the master of the forest. That alone will make him stand out.”

The crows cheered.

“Big sis is amazing.”

“Yeah, big sis already thought of everything.”

“She’s so reliable.”

Little Crow’s wings nearly faltered.

Outwardly, she maintained her composure, her flight steady and her posture firm, but inwardly she felt a flicker of embarrassment she refused to acknowledge. She was not their “big sis.” She was simply the only one thinking ahead.

A beat later, Murk spoke again. “And the mission?” he asked, his tone more serious than the others. “What exactly are we here to do?”

“Surveillance,” she said. “We observe Xing Ning and report back. That’s the primary objective.” Her gaze hardened slightly as she added, “If he’s dead… then we retrieve the black sword.”

Little Crow had no idea what the old crow had been thinking. Even now, as she hovered above unfamiliar land with a dozen half-reliable companions at her back, she could not fully grasp the intent behind this mission. Still, she did not question his authority. He had led their murder longer than any of them had been alive, and there was a reason for that. Wisdom alone did not sustain leadership for so long. The old crow possessed knowledge carved from experience, the kind earned through survival, loss, and time.

“How do you even know all this?” one of the crows suddenly asked, breaking her train of thought. “Like seriously, who’s that Kang Wen guy? And what’s so special about that black sword?”

“Yeah,” another chimed in. “You talk like you’ve been spying on humans your whole life.”

Little Crow clicked her beak softly, annoyed but not entirely dismissive. “I don’t know everything,” she admitted, her tone measured. “The old crow didn’t explain much. He rarely does.” She hesitated for a fraction of a second before adding, “As for Sword Frenzy Kang Wen… I heard about him from someone else.”

“Someone else?” they echoed.

She did not elaborate. Willow the Wise Owl had been her source, a creature she quietly admired for her depth of knowledge and calm authority. The others, however, found the owl unsettling, even arrogant, so Little Crow kept that connection to herself. There was no point inviting unnecessary commentary.

Fortunately, they did not have to dwell on it long. It took far less time than expected to locate Xing Ning, a result that spoke volumes about the efficiency of Little Crow’s planning. Yet as they descended toward the clearing that marked their destination, a strange unease settled over her.

“This is it,” Murk murmured.

Below them stood a lone tombstone.

The name etched into it read: Xing Ning.

A stray wild dog stood nearby, finishing its work as it kicked dirt into place with its hind legs, completing the grave it had dug. The soil was fresh, the scent of earth still sharp even from above, yet something about the scene felt incomplete.

“There’s no sword…” one crow whispered.

“And… where’s the body?” another added, voice trembling with confusion.

“Oi!” the wild dog barked suddenly, looking up at them with sharp, expectant eyes. “I did what you asked! Now where’s my payment?”

Little Crow stared at the grave a moment longer before exhaling. “Pay our laborer,” she said flatly.

One of the crows reluctantly dropped several freshly killed bunnies. The dog’s tail wagged immediately as it snatched them up, clearly satisfied.

“I dug deep,” the dog continued between bites. “Just like you wanted. Nothing down there. But I heard the funeral myself with humans crying, talking about this Xing Ning. Figured it was worth something. I’m glad I was right. Anyway, is that all? You have more work for me or something?”

“That’s all, thank you.”

The dog barked, and left with his payment.

Little Crow’s gaze darkened. The grave was empty. No corpse. No sword. Just a name carved into stone.

Before she could process further, a shrill scream pierced the air.

“Crows! Why are there so many crows here!?”

A human servant stood at the edge of the clearing, her face pale with terror as she pointed upward.

“Scatter!” Little Crow snapped instantly.

They took to the air in a chaotic burst of black wings, abandoning the site without hesitation. The wind rushed past them as they gained altitude, the clearing shrinking below until it became nothing more than a scar in the land.

Murk flew up beside her, his expression grim. “What are we supposed to do now?” he asked.

Little Crow did not answer immediately. Her thoughts raced, piecing together fragments of what they had seen and what they had heard along the journey of silent forests, missing wildlife, and villages that had seemingly vanished without a trace. Now, an empty grave for a man they were meant to observe.

Something was deeply wrong.

“We’re leaving,” she said at last, her voice firm despite the unease coiling in her chest. “Immediately. This isn’t something we handle alone.”

She glanced back once, toward the direction of the Steel Mountain Domain, as if expecting it to reveal its secrets if she stared hard enough.

“We report everything to the old crow,” she continued. “As soon as possible.”