Karl opened his eyes with a gasp, as though resurfacing from a dream. His hands trembled against the glowing panel, heart pounding with revelation.
The Sanctuary was alive. Not just wood and leaves—it was a partner, a fortress, a seed of empire.
The Summoning Gate Shard in his pouch pulsed faintly, as though urging him to take the next step. The knowledge the Sanctuary had given him echoed again: Special buildings can only be rooted within the true territory of the Sanctuary. Bound by its heart, they draw power from the living core.
Outside the 100-meter domain, they would be nothing more than lifeless husks of wood and stone.
Karl clenched his jaw. That meant every placement mattered. Each building would be a part of the Sanctuary's body, linked by invisible roots back to the colossal trunk. Together, they would thrive—or wither.
He exhaled slowly. Then let's start with the first.
Placing his hand onto the control panel, he willed his intent into being. The wooden veins of the panel pulsed, light surging outward like ripples on water. For a heartbeat, the map of his territory glowed, and a dozen faintly shimmering outlines appeared across the land—possible anchor points.
Karl chose a rise just east of the Sanctuary, close enough to watch over, yet far enough to stand as its own sentinel.
The instant he confirmed, the ground beyond the windows trembled. Roots as thick as his arm surged upward, weaving themselves into a vast circular arch. Vines coiled and twisted with impossible precision, interlocking until a towering structure rose—ten meters high, pulsing with emerald light.
The Summoning Gate had taken form. Its frame glowed faintly, veins of light pulsing like a heartbeat. At its center hung a translucent film of energy, faintly rippling as though waiting for the first crystal to awaken it.
Karl gripped the railing, awestruck. It wasn't built—it was grown, just like the Sanctuary. A living thing bound to him.
And yet, he wasn't done. His eyes shifted back to the panel, where another option shimmered: the Portal Node.
If the Summoning Gate was his bridge to allies, the Portal Node was a bridge to worlds. His breath quickened at the thought— Earth. A return to his home. Back to his friends. Back to his family. Back to a place where he wouldn't need to gamble every breath against death.
Once again, he pressed his will into the choice. The Sanctuary answered.
This time, the growth was slower, heavier—roots curling into the ground like anchors, vines braiding upward into a squat, circular platform of living wood. At its center, a pedestal emerged, carved from twisting bark, etched with glowing runes that pulsed in rhythm with the Sanctuary's trunk. The air above it shimmered faintly, distorted as though the space itself longed to part.
Karl swallowed. Even dormant, the Node hummed with restrained potential. It would take twenty crystals to wake it fully, but he could feel its hunger, its purpose.
Both structures stood now as silent sentinels, pulsing in time with the Sanctuary, bound by roots that ran unseen beneath the soil. He could feel the link through the control panel, a web of connections stretching outward, alive and responsive.
"This is it…" Karl whispered. His voice trembled with awe, with weight. "The beginning of a domain."
For the first time since stepping into this world, he felt not like prey scrambling for survival, but like a Lord—master of a territory that would only grow with him.
And the Summoning Gate, humming faintly in the evening air, seemed to call to him. Waiting for the first crystal. Waiting for the first ally.
Karl lingered near the Summoning Gate a moment longer, the temptation pressing at him like a whisper in the back of his mind. But when he lifted his gaze to the tree line, the sky beyond was already bruised with shades of orange and violet.
"Not now," he muttered under his breath.
To summon a creature at dusk would be reckless. The night would come within the hour, and with it, the unknown. A new ally would need food, water, maybe shelter—and summoning now, when it's going to be dark soon, wouldn't be worth it.
A new ally wouldn't have time to orient, to settle, or to contribute. They'd be forced to endure the long night idle, consuming resources, straining what little he had.
"No," Karl murmured. "Morning will be better."
At dawn, with light and time on his side, he could summon with purpose. Not desperation.
But that didn't mean he could simply wait.
The control panel in the Sanctuary had already shown him glimpses—patches of land rich in wild herbs, strange clusters of glowing moss, a shallow crater that might hide something.
Opportunities scattered across his newly expanded hundred-meter territory, all waiting to be claimed. Resources he would need if he wanted to build, survive, and one day summon without fear. Or dangers I don't know yet. The thought of hidden opportunities stirred his resolve, but the hatchling's soft chirp pulled him back.
Can't leave it out here. The barrier's expansion might have pushed back predators like the wolf, but smaller threats—venomous insects, toxic plants—could still linger, deadly to the fragile creature.
He crouched beside the nest, the mossy vines soft under his fingers, and gently scooped the hatchling into his palms. Its feathers were smoother now, its vitality steadier, but still delicate, like a candle flame in a draft. You're coming with me.
Karl climbed the vine ladder to the Treehouse Sanctuary, the living tendrils warm and responsive under his grip. The interior welcomed him with its soft glow, the air humming with the Sanctuary's life.
He fashioned a new nest in a corner of the main chamber, weaving vines and moss into a cozy cradle near his bed, where the faint warmth of the living wood would comfort the hatchling. Safe here. No bugs, no beasts.
He placed his hands over the tiny creature, summoning Breath of Spring. A gentle green glow seeped from his palms, sinking into the hatchling's frail form. Its vitality flared brighter, the last traces of internal bruising fading, its heartbeat steadying to a strong, even rhythm. making it fully recovered.
Karl exhaled, relief softening the tension in his chest. He dropped a grub from the woven basket into its beak, watching as it snapped up the morsel with eager gulps, its coos settling into contented silence. That'll hold you for a while.
The effort drained him, though, his stats flickering in warning:
[Status Panel]
Name: Karl Varn
Lord Level: Bronze II (0/10)
Strength: 10 (8 → 6)
Agility: 11 (7 → 5)
Vitality: 14 (8 → 5)
Intelligence: 9 (4 → 3)
Abilities: Breath of Spring
Skills: Herbal Resonance, Vital Touch
Low again. He frowned, popping a golden fruit into his mouth. The sweet, nutty juice burst across his tongue, easing the ache in his stomach and nudging his stats up slightly:
Vitality: 14 (5 → 6)
Enough to keep moving. He grabbed his spear—one of the three he'd crafted, its bone-tipped point gleaming faintly—and headed out. The Sanctuary's vine ladder lowered him to the ground, the forest's twilight glow casting long shadows across the clearing.
The timer ticked in his vision:
[3 days, 20 hours, 45 minutes].
Plenty of time to explore before dark.
Beyond the familiar stream he had once followed, there were paths uncharted, shadows untested. He had seen them only at a distance—now it was time to walk them. To learn what truly lay within his claim.
Karl adjusted his grip on the spear, his pulse quickening with both caution and anticipation. Tomorrow, he would summon. But tonight, before the darkness swallowed the forest, he would know his land.
And with knowledge, he would shape his future.
Karl adjusted his grip on the spear, his pulse quickening with both caution and anticipation. Tomorrow, he would summon. But tonight, before the darkness swallowed the forest, he would know his land.
And with knowledge, he would shape his future.