Jo Yuan stood at the center of Riverstone Town, his heart racing with excitement. He could feel it deep within him—a sense of power that surged through his veins like a river breaking free from a dam. This is it, he thought. I've done it!
He had transformed his blood core into a spiritual root. This was not just any transformation; it was the start of something new. Instinctively, he knew he had established a new starting point for his regression. No longer would he simply die and return to the past with no changes. Now, every time he died, he would wake up here, in this same place, with this new spiritual root in his dantian. The thought filled him with a bubbling joy he had never felt before.
As he looked around, the town was eerily still. The streets that had once felt so mundane were now bathed in the aura of death. The night air was silent and the smell of blood spread in the air, and the moon peeked through the clouds, illuminating the scene like a spotlight on a stage. Jo Yuan felt a smile spread across his face, and he couldn't help but let out a small, gleeful laugh.
Tears prickled at the corners of his eyes. They spilled over as he realized how far he had come. I'm no longer just a victim of fate, he thought, overwhelmed by the moment. The tears flowed freely now, a mix of joy and relief. He laughed and cried, feeling like a child who had just received a long-desired gift.
He looked down at his dantian, and his heart swelled with pride. The spiritual root, unlike anything he had ever seen, glowed a brilliant crimson. In his past life, he had heard rumors that spiritual roots were supposed to be green, the color of life and purity. But this—this crimson hue was vibrant and alive, pulsing with energy like a heartbeat. It was raw and powerful.
Why is it crimson? Jo Yuan wondered. Perhaps it was because he had transformed it using his blood core instead of the usual methods. The thought intrigued him. It felt unique, different, and he liked that.
He couldn't ignore the urge to investigate this new spiritual root further. What did its color mean? Would it grant him different abilities? The curiosity tugged at him. He decided then and there to name it Bloodroot. The name felt fitting—strong, fierce, and reflective of its origins.
As he spoke the name aloud, "Bloodroot," he felt a thrill run through him.