Several weeks had now bled together since Gù Tiānháo first stepped into the suffocating embrace of the Black Mist Forest. He had pushed deeper than most low-level cultivators would dare, his peak Level 2 strength providing a buffer against many dangers, though complacency remained a luxury he could not afford. The deeper wilds were quieter in some ways, the lesser beasts thinning out, but the feeling of being watched, of ancient powers stirring in the mist-shrouded depths, only intensified.
It was near a cluster of oddly shaped, dark grey rock formations, while tracking a rare type of luminescent moss mentioned in the Bead's archives (potentially useful for low-light situations), that he found the first undeniable proof he was no longer alone in this part of the forest – or at least, hadn't been recently. Partially hidden beneath a rocky overhang, almost missed, were the ashes of a small campfire. They were cold, likely several days old, but distinctively human-made. Nearby, almost buried in the damp earth, was a discarded, broken waterskin of a design unfamiliar to him, clearly not something a beast would carry.
A chill, unrelated to the forest's damp air, traced its way down Tiānháo's spine. He immediately abandoned his search for the moss, his senses flaring to their highest alert. Crouching low, he examined the area with painstaking care. He found tracks – multiple sets, booted footprints of varying sizes, partially washed away by rain but still discernible to his trained eye. These weren't the clumsy prints of hunters from Maplewood; these were the lighter, more deliberate tracks of cultivators, individuals who knew how to move through the wilderness.
He followed the faint trail for a short distance, moving with the silence of a predator himself. The tracks led towards a denser section of the woods before vanishing on hard, rocky ground. He found no other signs – no discarded items, no bloodstains – but the implications were clear. Other cultivators, likely in a group, had passed through this area recently. Were they explorers? Herb gatherers? Or something more sinister?
In the lawless expanse of the Black Mist Forest, far from the rudimentary order of settlements like Maplewood, humans were often a far greater threat than spirit beasts. Beasts typically attacked out of hunger or territorial instinct; humans attacked out of greed, malice, or simple convenience. A lone cultivator like himself, especially one who might appear to have valuable resources (like the Ironhide Boar materials currently secured in his pack), would be a tempting target.
His entire approach had to change.
Before, his primary concern was avoiding or defeating spirit beasts. Now, he had to assume any sound, any movement, could be hostile cultivators laying an ambush. He began employing counter-tracking techniques learned from the Bead – doubling back on his trail, using streams to hide his passage, deliberately leaving misleading signs. His already high vigilance ratcheted up to an almost unbearable level. Every shadow seemed to hold a hidden figure, every snap of a twig sounded like a drawn weapon.
He even considered turning back, retreating to the outer edges where human presence might be less likely or at least more predictable. But the thought of the 100-year Ginseng, the key ingredient for his Meridian Opening Pill, kept him pressing forward. Retreating now would mean wasting the progress he'd made, the risks he'd already taken.
Instead, he adapted. He moved even more slowly, spent more time observing from concealed positions before entering any new area, and minimized his own tracks and signs to an absolute minimum.
He avoided open clearings whenever possible, sticking to the densest parts of the forest where the mist and vegetation offered maximum cover. The discovery hadn't deterred him, but it had layered a cold, sharp edge of human danger over the primal threat of the wilderness, making his solitary journey exponentially more perilous. The forest wasn't just testing his strength against beasts anymore; it was testing his cunning and caution against his own kind.