Immortal Druid

The barn was steeped in a suffocating quiet, the kind that pressed against the ears and made even the smallest sound feel intrusive. Only Zhao Yan’s sobbing broke through it, uneven and fragile, as though each breath she took might be her last.

I stood across from the two figures before me.

“Zhou Tu, Cheng Ru,” I said, my voice calm, almost welcoming, “I’m so glad you could join us tonight. Your friend here has been very cooperative. Zhao Yan told me everything she knew about the two of you. Still, I have a few more questions, and I believe you’ll be able to answer them far more accurately.”

“Amusing,” said Zhout Tu with a light laugh, tilting her head as if studying something trivial, “but who even are you?”

Her eyes flickered faintly, and I felt a subtle mental intrusion brushing against my mind, delicate as a spider’s thread yet insidious in intent. It slipped in quietly, probing, attempting to latch onto my thoughts and twist them. I didn’t flinch. The memory of that Soul Transformation cultivator’s ambush surfaced, the sting of being caught unprepared still fresh enough to harden my defenses. Compared to that, this was nothing. The spell dissipated against my mind like mist against stone.

“Just who are you supposed to be?” demanded Cheng Ru. "I believe it's only appropriate that you introduce yourself."

I didn’t answer immediately. Instead, I let the silence stretch, bringing a hand up to my chin as though I were genuinely considering his question. Through phytokinesis, I guided the Thorn Whips into the earth, letting them slither through the soil like serpents seeking prey.

Honestly, the new meta had made things irritating. Nascent Soul cultivators and above wielded that absurd, short-ranged movement, something that resembled teleportation but wasn’t quite. I had studied it, dissected it through my past experiences. It wasn’t true spatial displacement but an explosive burst of speed tied to line of sight, a movement so fast it bordered on the imperceptible.

Even at my level, I could barely track it. Only the faint distortions in space, revealed through my Druidic Insight, allowed me to anticipate their positions. It was a troublesome ability, but not an insurmountable one.

The difference in our power systems had become increasingly apparent with each clash. Their techniques were refined, honed through rigid cultivation paths, while mine drew from something far less predictable and incompatible with this world’s energy system. It placed me at a disadvantage in some aspects, but it also gave me room to adapt, to evolve faster than they could comprehend. That gap, subtle as it was, had been shortening with every encounter.

“Something’s under us!” shouted Cheng Ru, panic bleeding into his voice as he reacted a heartbeat too late.

They moved instantly, their bodies blurring as they launched themselves upward, aiming to tear through the barn’s roof and escape into open air.

“Too late,” I remarked, my tone unchanged as I clenched my hand.

The barn came alive.

Thorn Whips erupted from every direction, bursting through the ground, the walls, the beams above. They lashed out with predatory precision, forming a cage that snapped shut around them mid-motion. I had layered the entire structure with them, casting repeatedly, patiently, ensuring there would be no gaps, no avenues of escape left unguarded.

“Wild Shape: Primal Nature Elemental.”

The transformation surged through me, my skin hardening into a silvered wood that gleamed faintly in the dim light. Power coursed through the Thorn Whips, amplifying their strength, their speed, and their lethality. They tightened around Zhou Tu and Cheng Ru, binding them before they could complete their escape.

Through Druidic Insight and my spiritual sense, I guided every movement with surgical precision. The vines pierced into their flesh, slipping past defenses, burrowing through muscle and into the intricate pathways of their meridians. I felt their energy flow, mapped it, and disrupted it. The thorns probed deeper, threading through vital points, hovering at the edge of delivering fatal wounds while ensuring they remained conscious. Then I drove them further, forcing them through their navels, anchoring into the cores that defined their cultivation.

Zhou Tu’s composure was shattered. “What—what is this?! This shouldn’t be possible!” she cried, her voice breaking as the realization set in.

Cheng Ru struggled violently, his earlier arrogance replaced by raw disbelief. “You’re insane! Let us go! Do you even know who you’re dealing with?!” he shouted, the words tumbling out in a frantic rush.

I didn’t respond. There was no need. Resistance was expected, so I made sure it would cost them. The Thorn Whips began to grind, not enough to kill, but enough to tear, to remind them of the control I held. Their regeneration kicked in, fueled by the unnatural seeds embedded within them, knitting flesh as quickly as it was damaged. I sensed those seeds immediately, foreign and invasive, pulsing with a corrupt vitality.

Focusing my will, I directed the vines inward. They shifted, sharpened, seeking out those anomalies with unerring accuracy. One by one, they found them buried deep and hidden within layers of flesh and energy. Then, without hesitation, I tore them apart.

“Man, I didn’t think it’d be this easy,” I said, laughing lightly. “I thought Long Xue had been scary for sure, but I guess I was just rusty back then.”

“Y-You… How do you know that name?” asked Cheng Ru, disbelief and fear tangling together in his tone as his face drained of color.

Zhou Tu’s eyes widened, then narrowed as realization dawned, something darker settling beneath it. “It’s you,” she said slowly, her voice no longer mocking but cautious. “Are you with the Willow Order?”

“I am not,” I replied evenly, tilting my head as I watched their reactions with quiet interest. “But does that really matter?”

It didn’t, not to me. What mattered was the implication behind their fear, the recognition they hadn’t expected to feel. It confirmed what I had been suspecting. Whatever organization they belonged to, whatever shadows they crawled out from, they had no idea about me.

I have to give it to the Willow Order. It wasn’t hard, confirming my existence through the stories, but it seemed the Willow Order was able to suppress the news enough.

“That’s good news.”

The Dark Order operated blind to my existence, and that ignorance was a weakness I could exploit if needed. I had no intention of hunting them down systematically; that responsibility belonged elsewhere. Still, if I stumbled across them? If I saw the imbalance they caused and the damage they inflicted? I wouldn’t hesitate to erase them.

I thumped my staff against the ground, the sound dull but final, and the Thorn Whips responded instantly. The vines embedded within their bodies constricted, tightening around their cores with deliberate pressure that made their breaths hitch.

“Now, speak,” I said, my voice losing all pretense of levity. “Tell me everything you know about the army of the dead stored within the Sky Stone Cave. Zhao Yan here claims she knows nothing. How about the two of you?”

A broken sound escaped from behind me, and Zhao Yan suddenly lurched forward, her voice raw and desperate. “I really didn’t know! I swear, I didn’t know anything about it!” she cried, her words tumbling over each other in a frantic rush, as if she could somehow outrun the fear clawing at her chest.

I glanced back at her, my expression softening just slightly.

“I believe you,” I said, and I meant it.

What I didn’t expect was for her to crawl toward me, dragging herself across the dirt with trembling limbs, her eyes hollow and pleading. “Please,” she whispered, her voice barely holding together, “please, kill me.”

The request caught me off guard, not because of what she asked, but because of how completely she had unraveled. I hadn’t done anything beyond intimidation, layering my words and actions with enough menace to break her resistance, but I hadn’t touched her, hadn’t inflicted the kind of suffering that should have reduced her to this state. And yet here she was, shattered all the same.

Okay, to be fair, I did strip her cultivation, but was that enough to break someone so completely?

I imagined power was like a drug, and now she was suffering from withdrawal.

“Slumber Pollen,” I murmured, releasing a faint wave of shimmering motes into the air. Zhao Yan’s body slackened almost immediately, her eyes fluttering shut as she collapsed into a quiet, dreamless sleep.

Zhou Tu’s laughter cut through the moment, low and amused, laced with something unhinged. “How did you break her like that?” she asked, her tone almost curious despite her situation. “Do you have any tips to share?”

Her lips curved into a grin, cheeks faintly flushed as her gaze roamed over me with unsettling interest. “Did you touch her? Humiliate her until all she could do was beg for death?”

She let out another soft laugh, shaking her head as if dismissing her own speculation. “No, it couldn’t be that simple. Breaking her cultivation wouldn’t be enough to do this either. You…” Her eyes gleamed. “You’d fit right in with us.”

My grip tightened around my staff, irritation flickering through me. I brought it down with a sharp thud, and the response was immediate. The Thorn Whips surged, crushing inward as they collapsed around her core. The scream that tore from her throat was raw, feral, but I didn’t let it escape. The vines wrapped around her mouth, smothering the sound, reducing it to a muffled, furious vibration.

“I’m not in a jesting mood right now,” I said coldly, my patience thinning. “Just now, you tried to cast an illusion spell. If my Druidic Insight is right, you have earth and shadow affinities.” I stepped closer, my gaze locking onto hers as she thrashed helplessly against the restraints. “Since you don’t seem to understand the power dynamic here, I guess I should show you.”

I thumped my staff a second time.

The vines within her responded with ruthless precision. They shifted, sharpened, and then began their work, tearing through her meridians in controlled, deliberate motions. Her body convulsed, pain rippling through her as muffled cries forced their way past the restraints. I held her in place, unyielding, as the Thorn Whips probed deeper, searching, mapping, until they found what I was looking for.

Her spiritual roots.

Once located, I didn’t hesitate. The vines tightened and tore, ripping them apart piece by piece, severing the very foundation of her cultivation. The moment stretched, filled with silent agony and the slow unraveling of everything she had built.

Then I cast Lifepulse.

A surge of vitality flowed through her, knitting flesh, sealing wounds, restoring her body to a state of fragile stability. But her cultivation… that was gone. Uprooted completely, beyond recovery.

“Impossible,” Cheng Ru breathed, his voice barely audible as he stared at what I had done. “So much fine control… to rip apart someone’s cultivation without killing them…” His eyes widened, horror settling in fully. “This is impossible. There’s no coming back from this kind of crippling. This is too much!”

I considered his words. Maybe he was right. Or maybe he didn’t know what he was saying.

“You’re next,” I said.

“I’ll speak, I’ll speak,” Cheng Ru blurted, the words tumbling out of him in desperate haste. “I—”

His sentence cut off as his expression twisted, resolve snapping into something reckless and final. Without warning, he drove his thumb into his own abdomen, right where his core lay, and the effect was immediate. His spiritual pressure spiked violently, erupting outward in a chaotic surge that rattled the barn itself.

Before I could fully process it, he vanished downward, tearing through the vines that had held him in place as if they were nothing more than brittle twigs.

“Tempest Sword Art: Swordless,” he declared, his voice steadier now, bolstered by whatever madness he had just unleashed. He extended both hands, fingers aligned, and wind qi gathered between them, condensing into invisible blades of cutting air that warped the space around him.

I didn’t hesitate. Nature’s Stride carried me forward, the world folding in on itself as I reappeared behind him in the same instant. My hand clamped down on his head, fingers digging into his scalp as I anchored him in place.

“I admire your decisiveness…” I murmured, though my tone lacked any real warmth.

At the same time, I cast Entanglement and Slumber Pollen, layering the effects without pause. Roots burst from the ground beneath him, coiling upward to bind his limbs and torso, while a cloud of golden pollen settled over his face. His movements slowed, then faltered entirely as his consciousness slipped away, the violent surge of power collapsing into stillness.

I exhaled quietly, adjusting my grip as I observed him. I was learning more than I had expected tonight. That explosive spike in strength… it wasn’t something I had encountered before. Striking one’s own core to force a temporary increase in power? There had to be a cost, a hidden mechanism behind it. I filed the thought away, already dissecting the possibilities in my mind.

Then I felt them.

Multiple presences converged from above. The air shifted, heavy with intent, and a moment later the barn’s already damaged roof was torn apart completely. Two figures descended through the opening with ease, their auras distinct and commanding.

An old man and a young woman.

Recognition came instantly.

“Sect Leader Xu Ping. Sect Leader Xing Mei,” I said, my tone measured. “Please tell me what’s going on. I’m under important business here.”

Above us, more cultivators lingered, their presence pressing down like a silent threat, while beyond the barn, the villagers had begun to stir. Flickering torchlight painted the night in restless shadows as the commotion spread.

Xu Ping’s gaze swept the scene before settling on Zhou Tu, his expression darkening. “I was looking for her,” he said, his voice carrying a quiet fury. “The traitor.”

Xing Mei’s eyes shifted to Cheng Ru, still bound and unconscious at my feet. “And I was looking for him,” she added, her tone no less severe.

I turned slightly, my attention drifting back to Zhao Yan stirring awake as I cancelled Slumber Pollen.

“You lied to me three times now,” I said, my voice calm but edged with something colder. “I’m hurt. The first time was when you didn’t tell me anything about the undead in the Sky Stone Cave. The second was when you secretly called your friends here, choosing this poorly lit barn instead of the forest like I instructed. And the third…” I paused, letting the weight of it settle. “This. Oh, Zhao Yan. Lying by omission is still lying.”

She scrambled forward the moment my words reached her, her face pale, eyes wide and glistening with tears. “I’m sorry! I’m so sorry, please, I didn’t mean to deceive you, I just—please forgive me!” she begged, her voice breaking as she bowed repeatedly, her entire body trembling with desperation.

The sight unsettled me more than I cared to admit. There was something deeply wrong about how completely she had broken, how every shred of dignity had been stripped away, leaving only fear in its wake. For a moment, I almost felt guilty. Almost. I steadied myself, forcing that hesitation down before it could take root.

“Who is she?” Xing Mei asked, her gaze narrowing as she observed Zhao Yan’s condition.

“A criminal,” I replied simply.

Xu Ping raised a brow, studying me with newfound interest. “And what manner of crime did she commit for you to instill such fear in her?” he asked. Then, after a brief pause, his eyes flicked toward Zhou Tu. “No… perhaps the more curious question is what kind of punishment you used to leave her like this.”

I didn’t answer with words.

Instead, I thumped my staff against the ground.

“This.”

Cheng Ru’s body jerked violently as he was forced awake, pain ripping him from unconsciousness in an instant. Before he could even process what was happening, the Thorn Whips within him surged, coiling tighter around what remained of his core. With a precise motion, I had them pluck it free of what little was left of it, and crush it completely. His scream tore through the barn, raw and unrestrained this time, as the vines burrowed deeper, crawling through his meridians and rupturing them one by one. They didn’t stop until they reached his spiritual roots, and when they did, I destroyed those as well, leaving nothing behind.

Silence followed.

Both Sect Leaders stood still, their earlier authority momentarily eclipsed by shock as they processed what they had just witnessed. Cheng Ru’s sobbing filled the void, broken and uneven, a stark contrast to the quiet that had settled over everyone else.

Then Xing Mei snapped.

“That’s not your decision to make!” she shouted, fury blazing in her eyes as she stepped forward. “That is a punishment that my sect—”

“But I caught him,” I interrupted, my voice calm, cutting through her anger with ease.

Xu Ping didn’t speak immediately. Instead, he turned his attention to Zhou Tu, who had gone completely still, her earlier arrogance replaced by a trembling fear she could no longer hide. “You inflicted the same punishment on this traitor as well,” he observed, his tone thoughtful rather than accusatory.

“Cultivation is a gift,” I said, meeting his gaze without hesitation. “Or at least, that’s what I’ve been told. Admittedly, I’m still trying to understand if that’s truly the case. But if it is, then it’s not something that should be abused so carelessly, especially not to harm the balance.”

Xu Ping’s lips curled into a grin, a low chuckle escaping him. “I like this,” he said, clearly pleased. “A fitting punishment!”

Xing Mei, however, remained unconvinced. Her expression tightened, conflict flickering across her features. “Is this truly right?” she asked, her voice quieter now, but no less intense. “My son spoke of you with such admiration, idolizing you as someone magnanimous… but this?”

A wry smile tugged at my lips. Xing Ning’s image of me was… flattering, in a way I didn’t deserve. I wasn’t some benevolent figure acting purely out of kindness. I knew that much, even if I didn’t want to admit it outright.

“I’m only doing my job,” I said simply.

The moment the words left my mouth, something shifted.

My Druidic Insight stirred, reacting in a way I hadn’t felt before, as though acknowledging the truth behind my statement. It wasn’t a surge of power or a sudden clarity, but something subtler, almost… aware.

I paused, the thought catching me off guard.

…Was it responding to me?

A faint unease crept in at the realization. The idea that my abilities, my skills, might possess some form of awareness was not something I had ever considered before.

And now that I had, I wasn’t sure I liked it.