Every Precious Step

The gray light of pre-dawn filtered through the cracks in Li Chen's makeshift barricade. It was time. Every instinct screamed at him to stay hidden in the dark, but the System's relentless clock was ticking in his mind.

[Host Body Integrity: 15%. Time until systemic failure: Approx. 9 hours.]

The exertion from building the warning array had cost him precious time. There were no more margins for error.

He checked the status of his first creation. The [Resonance Cascade Warning Array] was still active, a silent, invisible guardian. It was his only real advantage.

"System," he rasped, his throat dry. "Highlight the location of the nearest patch of Sun-Sipping Moss and a viable Silverwood Sapling. Plot the safest, most concealed route."

A 3D map of the ruins materialized in his vision. Two points glowed with a soft green light. The moss was relatively close, on the shaded side of the collapsed outer wall. The sapling was further, near the desecrated shell of the old infirmary. A dotted blue line snaked between the locations, hugging shadows and taking advantage of every piece of cover.

With a groan, Li Chen pushed himself to his feet. He moved the planks of the barricade aside, the simple action sending daggers of pain through his torso. He poked his head out, his eyes scanning the desolate landscape. The air was cold and carried the faint, sweet smell of decay. The slaughter was two days old, and the mountain was beginning to reclaim its own.

His first step out of the cellar felt like stepping onto another planet. The world was too big, too bright, too quiet. The silence was the worst part, a heavy blanket over a place that should have been bustling with the morning routines of his fellow disciples. He pushed the grief down. It was a luxury he couldn't afford.

Following the System's path, he moved with a painful slowness, his body bent over, using a sturdy plank as a crutch. Every loose stone threatened to send him sprawling. The ruins of the training grounds, the shattered dining hall, the collapsed dormitories—he saw them all through a haze of pain and grim determination.

He reached the designated wall. Just as the System promised, a patch of velvety, deep green moss clung to the stones, cool and damp to the touch. It looked utterly ordinary. He pulled a flat, sharp-edged stone from the rubble and began scraping the moss into a small, cloth pouch he'd salvaged.

[WARNING: Spiritual Signature Detected. 80 meters. South-West. Unidentified Avian. Non-hostile trajectory.]

Li Chen froze, his heart seizing. He pressed himself flat against the wall, melting into the shadows. A moment later, a massive, vulture-like bird with dull bronze feathers soared overhead, its sharp eyes scanning the ground below. A Sky-Grave Vulture. It circled once, then twice, before banking towards a different section of the ruins where the concentration of corpses was thicker. It wasn't interested in him, a single living creature. Not yet.

He didn't move until the System confirmed the creature was gone. His hands were shaking, but he finished his task, securing the precious moss. One down.

The infirmary was a more harrowing journey. He had to cross what was once the central plaza, a wide-open space offering no cover. He scurried across it, his lungs burning, expecting a blade in his back at any moment. He passed the remains of the sect's alchemist, Elder Feng, his body surrounded by hundreds of shattered porcelain vials, their priceless contents seeping uselessly into the dirt.

Finally, he saw it. Pushing up through the cracked flagstones of the infirmary's garden was a single, whip-thin sapling, no taller than his waist. Its bark had a silvery sheen, and its leaves were a vibrant green. It was a picture of defiant life in a field of death.

He knelt, a wave of respect washing over him. With his sharp stone, he made a small, careful incision in the bark. A thick, clear sap, shimmering with faint spiritual light, began to well up. He used his last container, a small bamboo tube, to collect the substance drop by drop. It was an agonizingly slow process.

[Body Integrity: 14%. Exertion is accelerating cellular decay.]

The warning spurred him on. Once the tube was half-full, he knew he couldn't wait any longer. He gave the small tree a silent thanks and began the long, painful trek back.

The return journey was a blur of focused agony. His vision began to tunnel. The path laid out by the System was the only thing keeping him from collapsing. He stumbled through the cellar entrance, pulling the planks back into place, the dim light of his sanctuary a welcome relief.

He collapsed onto the floor, the pouch of moss and the tube of sap clutched in his hands like the world's greatest treasures. He had done it. He had the materials.

But as he looked at them, a new wave of dizziness assaulted him. The System's final notification flashed in his mind, its color a stark, terrifying red.

[CRITICAL WARNING: Body Integrity: 13%. You have approximately 4 hours until irreversible spiritual core collapse. The procedure must begin now.]