Chapter 235: Going Into A Spiral

It took well over a day of dashing and slashing in order to destroy every single tree in the region. Dasha counted up to eight-thousand seven-hundred and eighty-two redwood trees and two-hundred Will-o’-wisps. The sheer efficiency in which he sliced and slashed was comparable to a small-time guild. He was fast, efficient, and strong. He didn’t waste a moment’s time. Breaks were promptly fifteen minutes and no longer.

Kill them all.

KILL THEM ALL.

That was the main objective said so that was what he did. Some players that witnessed or heard the massive crunch of the redwood tree failing were ignored. As Daughter advised him, it was better to stay hidden. Killing a group or two, while easily doable and hideable in this mist, wasted his real goal: the gate. The gate was all that mattered. Everything else was merely for him to stop on or ignore.

THUMP!

’The trees are in a Fibonacci spiral.’ THUMP. ’Specifically, three separate layers of the spiral, hence why some trees are so close together. The three spirals are overlapping.’ THUMP! ’Making it child’s play to fill in the blanks.’

THUMP!

THUMP!

THUMP!

He followed the spiral. He understood it. He followed it. He went faster, faster, faster, till invisibility was unnecessary and he was a blur to those around him.

THUMP!

[ Congratulations! Gate 13 : Silent Forest

Main Objective: Kill all the redwood trees and the Will-o’-wisps in the area! Kill them all! KILL THEM ALL — Complete!

Receive:

1,000,000 XP

1,000,000 PP ]

[ Congratulations! You are the first player to complete the Gate 13 Main Objective! ]

[ Congratulations! You are the first player to ever complete the Silent Forest’s Main Objective! ]

[ Bonus Receive:

15,000,000 XP

1,500,000 PP ]

[ Level up! ]

[ Level up! ]

[ Level up! ]

[ Level up! ]

[ Level up! ]

[ Level up! ]

[ Level up! ]

[ Level up! ]

[ Level up! ]

[ Level up! ]

[ Level up! ]

[ Level up! ]

[ Level up! ]

[ Level up! ]

[ Level up! ]

[ Level up! ]

The last redwood tree fell. Dasha exhaled as the Qi inside him bolstered. He was levelling up. He was growing stronger. The sensation was akin to gathering natural Qi, except hundreds of times more potent. For a moment, he saw his own black energy whip out.

“Haa…”

He relaxed as his newfound power settled in his belly. Dasha put an arm in his gi and waited. He waited and waited and waited. Equipment was unnecessary. He was officially Level 44 and on the cusp of class three, if not already so. He couldn’t relax. The sheer increase in Qi forced him to sit down and meditate.

Dasha hummed. The seed planted in his belly, the Lower Dantian, was leaking. He needed it to stabilize.

“Phoo…”

Inhale, exhale. He was unfamiliar with this level of Qi. His stomach felt like it was about to burst. He had meditated for three days and drank two elixirs yet the impurities had built after a twenty-nine hours of fieldwork. The sheer amount of Qi inside him suddenly made the impurities all the more visible, like gunks within his teeth that refused to leave. He needed to get rid of them. If only he could stop meditating. If only his Qi wasn’t so absurdly heavy now…!

His eyebrows twitched. He let too much Qi accumulate in his arm and his veins became black. This wasn’t going well. He couldn’t afford to fail and die here. Dasha was—

Ah. When in the world did he begin thinking in such ways? Was it Jack? No, when he mediated, Jack’s influence waned. This was Dasha. This was all him. A new him, corrupted and weakened. He was beginning to consider failure. He was beginning to visualize his death. It happened once before; his immortal body failed him in his sleep and he died like a nobody. After gaining so much, after reaching such a critical point, he died. Dasha Pang died.

He was agitated by that reality. The fact that his body, after everything he tempered it with, was just human. That agitation led to the tiniest misalignment in his current self. In that moment of pain and irritation and failure

, he realized he was acting like his parents.

“A baby…? Wong, we can’t afford one! We said in two years after we get a home! After you get promoted!”

…

“L-laid off…?”

…

“We should take him to an orphanage…”

…

“Why is he even alive? Couldn’t he have come later?”

He remembered being four years old and hearing a thud. Then, a scream as his mother’s leg was bent the other way. He tasted metal in the air. Blood. He looked down at her, his creator, and failed to understand her pain. But he did want to understand. He cocked his head to the side and his mother’s tearful eyes went from his father to him. It wasn’t like he pushed her off. So why was she looking at him like that?

“Send him off! Send him away! I just…I just can’t take care of him. I’m a failure of a mother!”

He didn’t see her much in the following weeks. She fell down a long fleet of stairs and both her legs were messed up. One broken, one twisted and swollen. She was bedridden. Weak.

One day, his father beckoned him over. Holding his hand, he took him to the car—

Huh. He…he didn’t remember this. What was this? The drive was long and he was given a Rubik’s cube to play with. He solved it hundreds of times, bored. He asked for something else. His father silently handed him a small sudoku gaming console. That took a half an hour longer to complete. All the levels, all the difficulties, he understood it all and turned to look at the window.

He was in the countryside. At the time, they lived in Alberta. His father was an oil rigger; or used to be before he was laid off. Apparently, they didn’t like immigrant employees and wanted locals. That was that. There was nothing his father could do about it.

So what was this memory? Where was he going?

His father was a silent man. Kind and never boisterous and always considerate of others. He was very observant and smart too. His lack of English and dyslexia prevented him from excelling in any academic field. He specialized in trades and left in panic after Singapore’s 1985 recession. He and his mother thought they could find a better life. They were wrong. Skills mattered but human biases mattered more. They didn’t accept his credentials because he was from elsewhere. His father was forced to start from the bottom—and slowly, he climbed his way through. He didn’t explain. After all, this was what he signed up for. This was what he was supposed to do anyway. This was the way of the world.

That same silent expression remained on his face as the car stopped and he took him out to a small homey building. Dasha remembered looking around and seeing farmland. Just where was this? What was this—

“So this is little Dasha.” A woman that had been playing with some children came over, smiling. Who was she? How come he didn’t know her? She kneeled down. Her smile was big and her hair was dark and short. “You’re going to be staying with us from now on.”

His viewpoint turned. Suddenly, he was staring at his father’s old maroon car and watching it leave. The woman next to him held his hand and beamed down at him. “Dasha Pang, right? I hope you know how to spell it.” She laughed.

Ah.

Now he remembered. This occurred a long, long time ago. It occurred when his parents were at their lowest. When they were exhausted, when reality was bleak, and there was no one to take care of him.

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