The Crystalized Sap was a miracle. A single drop after a Rootbound Meditation session didn't just soothe the pain; it actively repaired the micro-tears in my mana channels and surrounding tissue, turning a four-day recovery into a two-day one. My training cycle doubled in frequency. Pain was still the constant currency, but now progress flowed in a faster, sharper stream.
Within a month, the changes were undeniable, both inside and out.
My Status finally shifted:
[Rank: E]
[Mana: E+]
[Mana Control: D]
[Mana Channel Cultivation: E (65%)]
[Node Integration: Right Palm - 21%, Left Foot - 15%, Solar Plexus - 8%]
Breaking into full E-rank was more than a number. It was a qualitative shift. The distributed power of my Sylvan Circuit reached a critical mass. I no longer just had mana channels; I had the beginnings of a secondary circulatory system. When I ran, the node in my foot provided a subtle, spring-like rebound. When I channeled mana for a spell, the palm node acted as a pre-processing filter, smoothing the flow before it left my body.
But the physical changes were harder to hide.
My eyes, always a bright green, now held faint, dendritic patterns of deeper emerald in the iris when I channeled mana heavily—like looking into a forest canopy. My hair, dusty brown, began to show strands of an unnatural, vibrant green at the roots, especially after training. They were subtle, easy to dismiss as a trick of the light or a peculiarity of my half-elf heritage, but they were there.
So was the attention.
I was summoned to the guild assessment office. A different clerk, a severe man with the pin of a Church of Light lay-brother on his lapel, looked over my updated registration.
"White, Roy. Age twelve. Rank increased from E- to E in under three months. Class: Support Magician. Element: Plant." He looked up, his gaze like a probe. "Rapid advancement for a support class. Your mission reports note... unconventional methods. Biological manipulation. Creating non-standard plant hybrids. You have also registered an interest in the heretical Greenwarden lore."
He let the word heretical hang in the air. The Church of Light tolerated nature magic, but viewed any tradition that rivalled their spiritual monopoly with deep suspicion. The Greenwardens, with their druidic independence, fell into that grey zone.
"I am rediscovering lost herbal techniques to better perform my support duties," I stated, keeping my voice respectful but firm. "My advancement is due to diligent training and a focus on mana efficiency, as befits a support role."
The lay-brother's eyes narrowed. "Efficiency is one thing. Changing the nature of plants is another. There are approved methods for herb enhancement under the Imperial Alchemist's Guild. Deviations can lead to... unsafe outcomes. Or," his voice dropped, "to paths that skirt the edges of Life Magic, which is the sole purview of the Church's blessed healers."
It was a warning, veiled in bureaucracy. Stay in your lane. Don't innovate too much.
"I serve the guild and the Empire," I replied, the lie tasting like ash. "My work is solely for the benefit of adventurers and the town."
He stared at me for a long moment, then stamped my updated guild card with a definitive thud. "See that it remains so. The Light sees all growth, White. Ensure yours is towards the sun, and not into twisted shadows."
I left, my back stiff. The walls were closing in. My unique path was a beacon I couldn't fully hide. I needed my Greenwarden cover to solidify, and fast.
Mara, the herbalist, became my sanctuary. Her temple gardens on the hill were a world apart from the guild's metallic clamour. Among the ancient, whispering herbs and under her observant eye, I could practice openly.
She taught me practical things: how to distill essential oils that could soothe channel burn (a welcome addition to my recovery regimen), how to prepare poultices that drew out poison (practical for the dungeon), and the proper way to harvest a Mandrake Root without being deafened by its scream.
In return, I helped her decipher more of the Lore Tree fragment. Each session expanded my understanding of plant axioms. I learned the principle of "Rapid Cellular Division"—not just growth, but explosive reproduction. A dangerous principle, but one that could be used to accelerate the healing of grievous wounds, or, if misapplied, create horrific, fast-spreading plant-based tumours.
One afternoon, as we worked, she spoke without looking up from her mortar. "The Church man spoke to you."
News travelled fast in a small town.
"He did."
"He fears what he does not understand. The Greenwardens understood that life is not just light, but also the dark soil, the decaying log, the parasite and the host. A complete cycle. The Church prefers only the blossom, pretending the root does not exist in darkness." She ground her herbs with more force. "You carry more darkness in your green than you should for a boy, Roy. Not evil. But... depth. The depth of old forests and deep earth. It is what lets you speak to the fragment. It is also what will draw their eye."
"I need to be strong," I said simply.
"For what?" she asked, finally looking at me.
I couldn't tell her about the Gravewyrm Bloom, Gorek, or the apocalyptic future. "For the Dragon Academy," I said, which was also true. "To not be left behind."
She nodded slowly. "A worthy goal. Then you will need more than herbs and axioms. You will need a focus."
She led me to the very back of her garden, to a plot of bare, rich black soil. "This earth has been fed on compost and prayer for a century. It is ready. Your Plant Creation skill is a seed. But a seed needs a purpose to grow into a specific tree. You must give it one."
"What do you mean?"
"Choose a form," she said. "Not a temporary manipulation. A permanent construct. A tool grown from your own mana and will, integrated with your growing... inner network." She had clearly sensed my Sylvan Circuit. "It will be an extension of you. It will level with you. It will be the public face of your Greenwarden art."
The idea was revolutionary. A signature weapon or tool, not forged, but grown. It perfectly fit my cover and my real needs.
I knew immediately what my first construct should be. I needed defense, utility, and a way to control the battlefield. A simple weapon like a thorn-whip was too aggressive for a support mage's cover. Then I remembered the mold, and the principle of boundary.
"I want to grow a shield," I said. "Not of metal or magic. Of living wood. One that can root itself, that can absorb and filter hostile energies, that I can nourish and that can, in turn, nourish me."
Mara's eyes gleamed with approval. "A Living Bulwark. A defender's focus. Excellent. The process will be long. It will tie up a significant portion of your mana for weeks. You must feed it your intent, your mana, and a part of your own life force daily. It will be linked to you. If it is destroyed, you will be wounded."
"I understand."
And so, the next phase began. Each day, after my brutal Rootbound training and guild work, I came to Mara's garden. I knelt before the black earth, placed my hands upon it, and began.
Using Plant Creation (F), I didn't summon a plant. I poured the concept of the shield into the soil: Resilience. Patience. Protection. Filtration. I fed it my mana, visualized its form—a circular, interwoven lattice of heartwood and living bark, with a core that pulsed in time with my own heartbeat.
For days, nothing. Then, a green shoot, thick and purposeful, broke the soil. It did not reach for the sun. It spread laterally, knitting itself into a disc. It grew slowly, drinking my mana and the unique nutrients of the holy soil. The node in my right palm, the most integrated, throbbed in sympathy with it. A faint, green filament of energy connected us.
Weeks passed. The shield, now the size of a large dinner plate, lay on the earth, a beautiful, intricate pattern of wood and faintly glowing green veins. It was alive. I could feel its simple consciousness—an awareness of self and protector.
It was my first true Greenwarden Construct. My focus.
And just as it reached a stable state, the outside world intruded again. A well-dressed servant arrived at my cottage with a sealed letter bearing the Mark of the White.
Baron Boron White, my father, was summoning me to the mansion.
The walls weren't just closing in. They were remembering I existed.