Chapter One: Ascension

As the saying goes, joy sharpens the mind. Although Ashen was drenched in sweat, his spirits remained high. After settling various minor affairs with the operations center manager, he logged out of the game and entered the discussion group, only to immediately receive a friend request from Not-a-Sword-Immortal.

“How did it go? Did you make it?”

No sooner had the request been accepted than Not-a-Sword-Immortal sent an eager message.

“Just barely,” Ashen replied, prompting a heavy sigh of relief from the other side. Not-a-Sword-Immortal was exhausted and could barely keep his eyes open, but he insisted on waiting for Ashen’s news. Upon finally receiving the answer he’d hoped for, he promptly fell asleep in the massage chair of his support pod. Even as he disconnected, he didn’t forget to remind Ashen not to share his strategies lightly with others, even if certain crucial points had already leaked.

This reminder stemmed from the fact that some players hadn’t joined the game right away but were waiting for guides. Since everyone was a competitor and the final assessment would affect the official launch, it was best to keep such things under wraps.

“All right, I’ll keep that in mind,” Ashen agreed to Not-a-Sword-Immortal’s request, though he felt that such secrecy was rather pointless. Only those who had fought the Gardener could truly grasp how difficult it was to achieve a perfect rating.

Even if all players faced the exact same trial, the requirement to obtain a level-three Peashooter cultivation set would trip up most. After all, each level of the Peashooter doubled its output; if someone faced the Gardener with only a level-two, the time needed for victory would be much longer.

Time was a critical factor in this test. Once the Cursed Fox and Mutant Seed were powered up, their combat prowess soared. If someone tried to force out a level-three Peashooter at all costs, they would inevitably lose their time advantage, miss out on vital upgrade items, and ultimately gain nothing.

Even if someone copied Ashen’s steps exactly, they might still fall before the Gardener. The suffocating attack rhythm allowed for no mistakes—one slip meant instant defeat. The Gardener’s terrifying strength was simply unreasonable.

Few players had been eligible to enter the Shadowed Forest, and even fewer could handle the difficulties at the hardest level. If someone could perfectly replicate Ashen’s path, it meant they already possessed the skill and determination to clear the challenge; at best, the guide would only increase their chances. Most others would still stumble on the road to “perfection”—but that wouldn’t affect Ashen much, as his outstanding performance in both trials had left the rest of the beta testers far behind.

Ashen then quietly skimmed through the players’ posts in the discussion group. Among the flood of messages, a particular thread caught his attention, posted by someone named Dotty Bean.

Although Dotty Bean had fled the scene at the last moment and missed the main quest—and thus the “Outstanding” rating—he was still quite pleased with his “Excellent” result, which was an unexpected delight. After the settlement, he had rushed to the discussion group to post, lamenting how he’d narrowly missed the “Outstanding” mark on hard mode.

“Hard mode” and “Outstanding” together naturally piqued everyone’s interest. Amid a flurry of congratulatory, flattering, probing, and dismissive replies, Dotty Bean shared everything he knew, even roping in the names of Not-a-Sword-Immortal and Drifting After Wine. As for Ashen, his name appeared as a mere afterthought in one sentence, making him seem like an unknown hanger-on.

Moonlit Waters replied to confirm Dotty Bean’s account, but when pressed about achieving a higher rating, he didn’t answer—too embarrassed, perhaps. Still, he couldn’t save face in the end: Dotty Bean, unable to withstand the barrage of questions, “helped” him lose it.

Drifting After Wine’s battle performance was painted as nothing short of spectacular by Dotty Bean, with plenty of embellishments. Moonlit Waters, who had been bluntly called a “rookie,” was left speechless with frustration. In Dotty Bean’s telling, during the later battle with the Mutant Seed, Drifting After Wine became the team’s backbone, with even Not-a-Sword-Immortal relegated to a supporting role—Ashen was scarcely worth mentioning.

Ashen thought this wasn’t far from the truth. In the fight against the Mutant Seed, Drifting After Wine had indeed been the main source of damage, outshining even the level-three Peashooter. Since Dotty Bean couldn’t see health bars, he had no idea how much damage Ashen had dealt, nor did he witness Ashen’s heroic, last-minute boss kill, as he’d already fled.

So after reading the thread, Ashen only chuckled at how Dotty Bean glossed over his own escape and prettified his death. He had no intention of replying or correcting the story.

...

After a shower, Ashen lay down, closed his eyes, and, in a blink, the sun rose as usual.

Following his routine, he entered the studio to paint. This time, he used oil paints, though he hesitated over what to depict—there were several evocative scenes from the recent adventure. He could paint the bloody moment of his confrontation with the Gardener, the perilous instant he was engulfed by the Mutant Seed’s flames, or perhaps a teammate’s moment of brilliance.

“Hmm… I’ll let the coin decide: tails for the Gardener, heads for a teammate, and if it lands on its edge, I’ll paint the Mutant Seed.”

Buzz! Ding! Clatter...

The coin spun through the air, flipped countless times, and finally landed heads up—no splash, just a perfect dive.

“So now the question is, do I paint Sword-Immortal or Drifting After Wine?… No, wait, why would I paint a man? I’m a man myself!”

Ashen paused, the face of Drifting After Wine appearing in his mind. His skill quickly provided a path forward, but instead of painting her delicate features, he focused on capturing the burning cloak that shrouded her face.

Flames licked the wine-red cloak, its plush fur catching fire and sending sparks outward. The scene froze at the moment the cloak’s edge began to burn, a single dazzling ember clinging to its surface. A gust of hot wind lifted a corner, revealing black hair falling across a pale forehead. Two willow-shaped brows arched above, and a small tuft of crimson flame rose at the end of the left brow, as if about to ignite it—yet even this spark could not outshine her eyes.

For those eyes, reflecting the firelight, were brighter than any flame.

Their shape was exquisite, like peach blossoms in bloom; their spirit, lively, as if they could speak.

Determined to truly capture the sense of “eyes that speak,” Ashen poured his efforts into this detail. It was far more demanding than painting the wine-red cloak that covered the lower half of her face, leaving only a delicate nose visible. Yet, his effort paid off: when an uninvited guest quietly pushed open the studio door, she was instantly captivated by those bold yet tender eyes.

“Wow, what beautiful eyes! Who’s caught your fancy?”

Miaomiao hopped up behind Ashen, examining the freshly finished portrait. Pinching her neat chin, she put on an air of maturity. “So you, who always seem so aloof, have finally fallen for someone!”

“What are you even talking about?”

“When you paint someone else, you make them look so good; when you paint me, I look like a demon!” Miaomiao protested, hands on her hips and her tiger teeth bared in mock anger. “What, have I ever treated you badly?”

Ashen ignored the girl’s occasional antics, put down his brush, and looked up. “Aren’t we supposed to spar today? Let’s get going—it’s getting late. Afterward, we’ll eat, then train.”

At this, Miaomiao gave him a surprised look. “Are you all right? Aren’t you usually slow as a snail, like you’re being marched to execution? Why the sudden change?”

“I feel like I’ve made a breakthrough and want to test it out,” Ashen replied. Ever since he’d decided to face the Gardener’s fists head-on, he had overcome his fear of taking a hit. He now dragged Miaomiao to the sparring room, suited up in exoskeletal gear, and began their match. Victory wasn’t decided by beating the other, but by accumulating technique points through strikes, blocks, and dodges—the first to a thousand points won.

Miaomiao, suited up and protected, glanced at Ashen, who seemed more confident than usual. In the first match, he scored fifty more points for technique than normal, jumping from three hundred to three-fifty. In later bouts, he stabilized around four hundred—a remarkable improvement, though still far behind her.

Miaomiao frowned, recalling their bouts. Ashen’s offensive skills hadn’t improved much, but his defense was steadier, earning him higher scores through continuous blocks and dodges. Their main difference lay in attack—Miaomiao had long since mastered high-scoring combos and excelled at timing, so she always suppressed Ashen. Now that his mindset had shifted, improving his offense was only a matter of time.

She was pleased by this. Flashing her perfectly white teeth against her wheat-colored skin, she grinned: “Not bad, you’ve improved! Keep it up. If you want to learn combo techniques, I’ll teach you for free! I hear ‘Anomalous Paradise’ also retains combo mechanics. The stamina limits make them less effective for now, but they could become crucial later!”

Ashen’s gaze lingered on her striking tiger teeth as he smiled and nodded. “If I ever beat you, I’ll paint you a proper portrait.”

“Really?” Miaomiao tilted her head, eyes sparkling with delight. For all her bluster, she was sensitive at heart. Seeing Ashen paint Drifting After Wine as a celestial beauty had made her own demonic portrait unbearable. Desperate to see a beautiful likeness of herself, her mind began whirring, plotting how to help Ashen improve faster.

Yet for all her excitement, Miaomiao hadn’t forgotten that once Ashen learned her secrets, she’d lose her edge entirely. So she kept a few tricks up her sleeve.

“Whatever, I’ll let him paint me first. Worst case, I’ll throw the match!” Miaomiao narrowed her eyes, puffed out her chest, and took on the air of a drill sergeant. “All right, let’s start with the basics. This isn’t a brawl—games are about skill, not brute force. Forget equipment and stats; it’s all about technique and timing. Ever watched boxing? Don’t stand stiff—bend your knees, lower your center, one foot forward, one back; find your most comfortable stance…”

Miaomiao taught with real care, and Ashen learned with undivided attention. What he didn’t know was that, during this period of focused training, the name “Ashen” had sparked a flurry of discussion among the players.