SUPREME ARCH-MAGUS

A warm golden mist drifted through the Divine Herb Forest as dawn bled across the sky. But where others saw dawn, Kent saw a ticking clock—a timer on fortune.

The divine valley whispered with the soft rustle of spiritual leaves and the breath of elemental qi. Above the trees, Elder Jill floated quietly atop a leaf-shaped flying treasure, arms folded, eyes narrowed in silent observation.

What she witnessed was not a youth in search of herbs—it was a divine harvest in the flesh.

Kent King moved across the mountain slopes with disciplined precision, like a seasoned herbologist rather than a battle mage. Instead of rushing for wide clusters of common herbs, Kent picked his way carefully across steep cliffs, through damp caves, and over sun-bathed ledges—each location housing rare, high-priced herbs many would miss.

He ignored the common Cloud Dew Grass and Thunder Mint.

Instead, he crouched beneath a crumbling stone arch, carefully brushing away the soil to expose the Three-Eyed Ice Fern, its shimmering blue leaves pulsing with a freezing aura. Beads of condensation froze on his eyelashes as he whispered, “Careful…”

With a flick of his spiritual scalpel, he sliced the roots and preserved the soil clump, gently placing the herb into his spirit ring—where a dedicated spiritual field mimicked the exact cold aura of the mountain.

Not just collecting—but preserving.

Deeper in the Earth-element Mountain, he scaled a jagged incline to a narrow ledge where the Golden Root Vine snaked like an ancient script. It grew between two stones, its tendrils needing heat and pressure to mature.

“Five-hundred-year grade,” Kent smiled as his fingers hovered just above it. He heated his palm with a mild fire spell to mimic the root’s natural bonding process before lifting the vine with two hands like a sacred scroll.

Behind him, a Rockback Gorilla let out a deafening roar.

Before the beast could charge, three of Kent’s battle pets leaped from the treetops—his Gale Hawk screeched, slicing its eyes, while the Earthscale Lizard slammed into its knees.

The battle raged. Kent never turned.

He simply moved to the next herb—a rare Earthen Flame Lotus growing between stone cracks, pulsing with both fire and earth elements.

Elder Jill, watching from above, furrowed her brow. “That herb has a pulse like a sleeping beast. How does he even know how to extract it?”

But Kent did not just know—he felt.

Using a calming qi chant, he aligned the spiritual rhythm of the lotus with his breath, waited for the flames to cool, then cupped it gently in both hands and moved it into the red-soiled sector of his spirit field.

From mountain to mountain, he moved like a silent reaper, never rushing, never panicking.

On the Metal Mountain, he fought off a trio of Steel Beak Owls, their wings slicing air like swords. Kent called upon the Storm God’s Wrath, shooting condensed sound-burst pulses from his fingertips. The echoing boom scattered the birds. He claimed the Silver Thread Moss, known to enhance mental focus, from the stone carcass of an old shrine.

On the Wood Mountain, he found the Soulfruit Bark Tree, a rare species whose bark could store spells like talismans. He harvested slowly, humming a spiritual tone that calmed the tree’s defense spirit, allowing him to slice off curled fragments without waking the ancient guardian spirit.

All this time, his pets worked tirelessly—not as simple guards, but as a battlefront, clearing beast lairs, creating safe paths, bringing back dead enemies that could serve as alchemy materials later.

And Kent?

Kent never stopped.

Not for food. Not for rest. His robe grew dark with sweat and dust, and his fingers bled where the roots bit back.

Elder Jill could no longer stay still.

She descended, floating beside him as he carefully planted a rare Crimson Moon Orchid—a herb that bloomed only in places that had witnessed life-and-death combat.

“Why are you working like a possessed cultivator? This forest isn’t going anywhere.” she asked softly, watching him carefully plant the herb inside him spirit ring land.

Kent didn’t look up.

“This isn’t just a forest, Elder Jill,” he said. “This is a god-given treasury. The storms awakened the forest’s core. Every herb here… has advanced by at least a century in potency. Beasts are being pushed away. The natural order is weakened. That won’t last.”

He pointed to the hills behind him. “If not for the restrictions, people will flood this place like locusts. Sects, mercenaries, rogue immortals. This valley will be stripped bare.”

She looked at his spirit ring, at the spiritual land inside it already divided into elemental sectors, housing herbs by affinity.

“You’re not just harvesting,” she realized. “You’re building a moving alchemy garden.”

Kent nodded. “And with this… I’ll buy a weapon which can withstand my strength.”

As the sun began to dip behind the seventh peak, Kent stood at the edge of the Water Mountain’s glimmering slope, his robe drenched in dew and blood. His hand glowed faintly with spiritual energy, holding a translucent herb—the Flowing Vein Lily, which shimmered like living water.

Behind him, Elder Jill hovered in silence, eyes filled with awe.

–

The sun hovered like a burning coin above the peaks, and the heat that rolled off the slopes of Fire Mountain made the surrounding air quiver. Elder Jill hovered silently beside Kent at the base of the slope, her brows drawn tight with concern.

“This mountain… Don’t go too deep.” she said after a pause.

Kent raised an eyebrow. “Why?”

She pointed toward the jagged crags where the red mist shimmered like dragon breath. “There’s an old ancestor of the Naga Clan that dwells in the inner layers. He’s in serpent form, half-asleep, half-aware. Not even Saint-tier Alchemists dare venture past the periphery. They say his breath alone can melt bones.”

Kent’s gaze narrowed. “So, all those inner herbs…”

She nodded. “Left untouched for millennia.”

That was all Kent needed to hear.

He turned toward the mountain, and with a quiet but firm tone, said, “Stay here. All of you.”

His pets bristled but obeyed. Even the usually proud Sparky lowered its wings with a rare look of hesitation. Kent looked once more at Sparky. “If I’m not out by nightfall, take my ring and get the herbs to the Amelia.”

Then he stepped onto Fire Mountain—alone.