The clay Converts obeyed Gauss’s orders to the letter, hugging the trail of the real Convert that led the way, lding into the trees and slipping through the underground web of roots.
Along the route more Converts kept joining the moving line, as if summoned by so special presence, all hurrying the sa way.
Through the shared link Gauss could roughly fix their position; even at a distance he could sketch the path in his mind.
The deeper they went, the taller and blacker the trees grew. Twisted bark and trunks sotis showed eerie, face-like lines. Yet with more bioluminescent fungi around, the gloom brightened sowhat.
Gauss swung down from his chocobo. He left Golden Sheaf and Slingshot where they were, with Ulfen to guard them. The ground ahead wasn’t fit for mounts. He marked the spot on his ntal map, then he, Alia, and Serandur pressed on warily into the Black Forest.
“Chirr-chirr—”
Aside from insect song, there was no sound.
Not wanting to startle anything, Gauss didn’t loose the clay spiders to “hit the buffet.”
They moved carefully, eyes on the dark around them, and pushed deeper. They still ran into monsters a few tis. The Powderwing’s veil didn’t make them truly vanish, and plenty of senses could still pick them up.
Gauss’s index gained two more basic entries—Blade Ants and Gem Beetles—bringing his total to thirty-five. The ants had forelegs like knives. The “gem” beetles only looked jeweled; what glittered was an irritant dust they blasted several ters when anything ca close.
Common monsters weren’t a threat to Gauss. He ended the skirmishes cleanly with a short knife, wiped the sli, misted deodorizer, and moved on. In tight quarters, cold steel is the simplest, quietest, most efficient tool.
“More bugs,” Alia muttered, shrinking from the dense creep of insects over trunks and ground.
Gauss had no interest in normal bugs for now and didn’t split his focus. So might evolve into monsters soday; right now they were just animals.
Monsters arise in many ways. So species breed male-to-female; so, like goblins, seed themselves into other hosts; so even reproduce alone. And how did monsters first appear? Scholars argue endlessly—like the old “chicken or egg” riddle. If most monsters are born from monsters, where did the first ones co from?
A few main guesses:
Chaos Origin: monsters, like humans and other life, condensed out of primordial chaos—always already here.
Elder God Creation: naless powers, for their own ends—experint, war, or boredom—made the first monsters, whose blood tangled with other lines to birth today’s diversity.
Mana aberration (a mainstream view): monsters are a natural phenonon; in saturated or tainted mana—or other special environnts—local creatures undergo guided mutation over generations until their form, habits, and essence change irreversibly into sothing unlike the original.
There are also planar theories, natural evolution, and blends of all the above.
The Black Forest sits on an anomalous mana node. Standing in it, feeling the charged field, Gauss found mana aberration ever more convincing. Environnts can make monsters.
Suddenly he stopped—not because sothing blocked him, but because the second feed in his head finally changed. The clay construct that had shadowed the real Convert broke the surface—light returned to its vision.
Gauss, who’d been splitting his attention to watch the construct, exhaled. The underground glide had already burned a lot of its banked mana. Any farther and he’d have worried about running dry. That’s Clay Shaping’s big downside: it’s hungry. Everything a clay construct does draws from the mana Gauss stored beforehand—and that store isn’t infinite. It depends on his own power, the construct’s essence, and the materials used. Without a deep well, clay magic is hard to run.
Through the clay Convert’s eyes he finally saw where they’d co out. Dark trees packed thick; and within its view, many moving lesser treants.
“Lesser” only compared to the towering giants around them; to ordinary monsters they were still huge. Elder faces—barked wrinkles for deep eye sockets, lipless mouths—were etched across their trunks. Branches like desiccated arms drifted as their roots pulled free and they trudged, slow and heavy.
“Another elite species,” Gauss thought, a spark of pleasure. He was sitting on 43 Elite Points; one new entry and he’d have enough to evolve.
But… he set aside the idea of using the infiltrated constructs to attack. The place crawled with Converts and lesser treants. The living-briar Converts seed symbiotic with the treants; so clung to their boughs like hatchlings on a host.
The two clay fakes tucked themselves into a corner, “huddling for warmth.” If he started anything, the next heartbeat would drown them in a tide of blows. They wouldn’t die, exactly—but after all the work getting them in, throwing them away would be wasteful.
He ordered them to stay put and kept watching through their eyes. The site was a closed pocket, ringed in many layers of black trees—impervious from outside, a guarded sanctum. The air held a heavier, older pressure, the mana denser than elsewhere. The bug-chorus fell away; in its place was a grave hush, as if the ground drank every sound.
The Converts went still—so roosted on treants, others flattened to the earth as if in worship. Hair-fine rootlets extended from their bodies and pierced the soil, linking them to the land.
The ground everywhere was carpeted in glowing moss—soft green light, like a giant mycelial rug spread underfoot. Tiny insects lay quietly on it.
It was a contradiction—teeming yet silent. Intelligent monsters and mindless crawlers rged into a single, solemn stillness.
Sothing was wrong.
Gauss and his team had reached the edge of the grove—the black trees were right there if they lifted their heads—but he didn’t step in. He stayed behind an ordinary trunk. There were too many inside. He couldn’t promise he’d walk out again. He signed to Alia and Serandur and went back to the clay eyes. From what he’d seen so far, nothing here noticed anything “off” about them.
The clay Converts inched toward the center. Three colossal treants stood there, far taller than the lesser kind, crowns like dark green canopies blotting out the sky—like black hills from afar.
Their presence hamred at him—far stronger than the normal Converts; the three in the middle heavier still. He couldn’t peg the level—only that it felt crushing. Likely above 5—into another tier entirely.
Push on, or pull back?
He hesitated. He trusted his power, but judged he could only escape from a rating 5. Above that was a different world. And it wasn’t just “maybe three over-5s”—it was the mass of lesser treants and Converts around them. A Level 2–3 party like his—even a full master-tier team—might do poorly here.
Advancing rank is never easy; each step changes strength and standing; tiers are gulfs. In a town, master-tier is the top of the heap; even in Barry, masters get special treatnt and high posts.
Caution fird.
Retreat wouldn’t be “empty-handed.” He’d found sothing crucial—a location he could report to Ritchie. He could bring higher-tier adventurers down on it.
But…
“…energy… in disarray…”
“…the Great One was disturbed…”
“…don’t let these humans find it…”
“Drive the outsiders out—drive all humans… out!”
Those broken tavern whispers seed to rustle in his ears again. His gut told him: sothing was here—a chance. Handing the lead over might an losing that chance forever.
And now, with his true body near, he felt a strange call tugging him in.
Gauss…
Gauss…
How did it know his na?
“Gauss…” Alia whispered, leaning close. “What do we do?”
Her voice drew him back. He shook off the pull. He realized they’d been waiting while he drove the construct; they couldn’t see past the black trees and had no idea what lay beyond. He didn’t hide anything, not with the party’s safety in play, and relayed what he’d seen.
A short silence.
“Then keep the clay on recon,” Alia said, steady now despite the surprise. Part duty—their contract was for scouting; part hope—treasure. Having co this far, how could they just walk away without at least finding out what it was?
They were thinking the sa way. With the other two on watch, Gauss set the clay Converts crawling again—slow. The hush here ant any quick movent would stand out. And the nearer they got to center, the fewer Converts there were.
Here, ordinary Converts seed low status—ringing the outside, then the lesser treants, then the three giants, with pure-white special Converts coiled on their boughs.
A few treants noticed the two little lurkers, prodded them with twig-arms, found nothing wrong, and let them be.
At length the constructs reached the center. Beneath the three giants lay a sunken patch. Not soil—but a pool, glassy and green-clear, drinking in the moss’s glow and the currents from every monster present. As it did, it shed a peculiar field.
And in the heart of the pool, sothing floated.
About a ter tall, hard to see cleanly at this distance in the light—a smooth, pristine white egg, shedding a strange radiance.
And… it was beating.
Alive.
“What is that?” Gauss breathed. Even seeing it through clay eyes instead of his own, his pulse jumped—beating in ti with the egg.
For a mont, the whole world fell still.
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