Chapter 1: Should I Give Up My Only Cheat from Crossing Over?

In the silent forest, countless towering trees reached for the sky. Their broad canopies overlapped at varying heights, almost completely blocking out the sun, letting only a few scattered rays of sunlight lazily filter through. The ground was covered with layers upon layers of decaying leaves, who knows how long they’d been accumulating—stepping on them felt like walking on a soft, springy carpet.

Autumn Whitman gripped a lumberjack’s axe, hunched over, inching forward with cautious steps, using what little sunlight there was to guide him. His expression was extremely wary.

Even after seeing it many times, he still found this forest especially eerie. There were no beasts, no birds, not even insects—only the silent, black trees of unknown species stood tall, as if all the essence of this land had been sucked dry by these strange trees. Even the air carried a bone-chilling coldness.

And the deeper he went, the stronger that cold became.

Autumn Whitman tightened his grip on the axe and moved even more carefully. Even the mere rustling of wind through the treetops would make him suddenly crouch low.

He wanted to get out!

He wanted to cross this forest and see what lay beyond!

He wanted to see if he could cultivate immortality, if he could gain supernatural powers!

He moved forward, sometimes stopping, extremely cautious as he ventured deeper into the forest. Suddenly, he cocked his ear to listen, quickly held his breath, and shrank down beside the roots of a large tree, using its shadow to conceal himself.

Moments later, a faint scraping sound arose. A tree spirit, barely humanoid in shape, its whole body wrapped in old bark and nearly three meters tall, emerged from behind a tree.

Autumn Whitman held his breath completely, curling up as much as possible, hoping the tree spirit would just pass by. But fate was not on his side—the tree spirit walked right near his hiding spot, seemed to sense something, and slowly lowered its head.

Then, without hesitation, it raised two arms twisted from vines and lashed fiercely at the shadow beneath the tree roots.

“Fuck!”

Autumn Whitman couldn’t stay hidden any longer. Cursing, he rolled out of the way just in time to dodge the fierce blow, then raised his long-handled axe and swung it hard at the tree spirit’s waist, sending splinters flying and sap spraying everywhere.

The tree spirit was enraged. Its branches and leaves trembled wildly as it twisted and swung its arms at him again, but he dodged once more, causing only the thick layer of decaying leaves on the ground to fly up in all directions.

Immediately after, Autumn Whitman regained his footing and struck it with another chop.

In an instant, man and tree were locked in a fierce battle, fighting desperately. The tree spirit didn’t dodge the axe at all, just flailed its two vine arms madly, seemingly intent on smashing the intruder into a bloody pulp. Autumn Whitman, on the other hand, was nimble, circling the tree spirit and hacking at its waist with all his might.

The tree spirit was clumsy and slow, while Autumn Whitman, wielding a sharp axe and familiar with its habits, quickly gained the upper hand. But before he could celebrate, two more vine arms suddenly lashed out at him with a sharp, piercing sound—new tree spirits had joined the fight.

Now outnumbered two to one, Autumn Whitman was under much greater pressure. The space he could maneuver in shrank rapidly, and the trees in the forest shook as rustling sounds came from the dark corners—who knew how many more tree spirits were rushing over to SM him.

He didn’t dare keep fighting. His stealth had failed, and if he didn’t run now, once the tree spirits surrounded him, he’d almost certainly be pounded into a pulp on the spot.

He swung his axe a few more times, leaving fresh marks on the tree spirit that had ruined his plan, then turned and fled toward the edge of the forest. The tree spirits weren’t about to let the intruder go; even though they weren’t as fast as him, they still chased after him, and from time to time, more tree spirits blocked his path.

In the end, he even threw away his axe, scrambling and crawling out of the forest to finally see daylight again.

He didn’t dare linger near the forest, but kept running. Only after crossing a field of broken rocks and reaching the mouth of a valley at a stone mountain did he dare to stop. The tree spirits hadn’t chased him far from the forest; they just stood at the edge, “seeing him off,” countless vine arms waving in the air—a dense, writhing mass, like some indescribable monster. Just one look would be enough to give an ordinary person nightmares for three days.

“Those sons of bitches...”

Autumn Whitman rubbed the spot on his left arm where he’d been scraped, watching the tree spirits vent their “anger” and looking very grim.

He was helpless against this group of tree spirits. A single one was nothing to fear—he could already handle one, and could wear it down if needed. But these tree spirits didn’t play fair; they never fought one-on-one. Every time, the whole family would gang up on him, countless vine arms lashing out like a net from heaven and earth. Humans simply couldn’t withstand it, couldn’t even dodge—there was no choice but to run for their lives.