Tiran gazed blankly at grandpa as he pounded the iron block with a hammer, lost in thought. He remembered grandpa saying that he had found him twelve years ago.

At that time, grandpa was passing through the Worma Forest on his way to the Day Gate from Bichon. Due to an unexpected turn of events, he entered deep into the Worma Forest and found Tiran under a large tree near the seaside.

Grandpa lived alone, making a living as a blacksmith and occasionally cultivating herbs to treat the minor ailments of the villagers. Since finding Tiran, the pair had relied on each other for survival. Because grandpa's surname was Sikong, he named the boy Tiran, hoping he would grow strong quickly.

Tiran snapped back to reality, looking at the small thatched cottage in front of him, along with the various iron tools and the short swords and bronze axes piled at the entrance. Grandpa, in his seventies, was getting old, and after half an hour of hammering, he was panting heavily. He had no choice but to stop, sit down on the ground to rest, but soon started to cough violently.

Seeing this, Tiran rushed over and gently patted grandpa's chest, saying, "Grandpa, let me take over." With that, he stood up, skillfully picked up the hammer, and began to work. The rhythmic sound of hammering echoed throughout Ginkgo Valley.

Grandpa, with tears in his eyes, said gruffly, "Good boy! You really understand!"

Aside from helping grandpa with blacksmithing, doing chores, and foraging for herbs, Tiran rarely played with the other children in the village. Perhaps the hardships of life had consumed his childhood time, making him feel that he did not truly belong to this Marfa continent. Sometimes, he sensed in his dreams that he was from another world.

Tiran and grandpa lived in a small village outside Ginkgo Valley in Bichon Province, which was a frontier wasteland of the Divine-Dragon Empire. Grandpa often mentioned that the Divine-Dragon Empire was thousands of miles away. To reach it, one must not only navigate through venomous snakes and ferocious beasts, but also traverse high, arduous mountains and deep snow capped peaks. Legends spoke of a fire dragon suppressed within the snowy mountains, where only through the snow cave could one reach the capital, Dragonfly City, of the Divine-Dragon Empire.

Thus, Tiran and grandpa lived in Ginkgo Valley for twelve years. Tiran enjoyed peace, meditation, and reflection, studying the changes of the world. One day, as usual, he set out to gather herbs.

With a basket on his back and a sickle inside, he wore rough clothes and took a short sword for protection before setting off.

Tiran walked along a small river that flowed through the village. Along the way, many chickens pecked at the ground for bugs. Continuing on, he gradually entered the forest.

Inside the forest, numerous deer grazed calmly. Tiran remembered grandpa saying that some deer shed blood, a very precious item, but he had never seen it.

Tiran followed the path worn by others deeper into the forest, where only the herbs grew. As he walked, he suddenly spotted not far ahead, a ruffian cat with a rake attacking a peasant woman. The woman was terrified, crouching on the ground, trembling.

Seeing this, Tiran thought for a moment, and without hesitation, drew his short sword and dashed towards the ruffian cat, aiming a strike at its back.

While the ruffian cat was busy raking the woman and making cat-like sounds in delight, Tiran's sword plunged into it from behind. Caught off guard, the ruffian let out a yowl, blood gushing as it staggered back.

Upon realizing the attacker was only a 12-year-old child, the ruffian's fury ignited. It yelled in rage and rushed forward, brandishing its rake with a roaring sound, threateningly approaching Tiran. Undaunted, Tiran swiftly thrust his sword before the rake reached him, piercing the ruffian's chest and causing it to collapse, lifeless.

Tiran had encountered ruffian cats before while gathering herbs, so he navigated the situation calmly. He checked on the peasant woman, finding her unharmed except for the shock, and after comforting her, he continued on his way while she expressed her heartfelt gratitude.

After walking a bit further, Tiran finally discovered the herbs he needed sunning on a hillside. He pulled out his sickle and began collecting them. In no time, his basket was filling up, and he continued searching for other types of herbs.

The forest stretched endlessly, only a small path showing where people had walked. Luckily, Tiran had been there before and remembered some of the route. By a river, he gathered more herbs, and as his basket filled, he looked up to see the setting sun casting golden hues through the tall trees amidst the sounds of birds and wolves.

It was time to head back, Tiran thought, and prepared to return home.

Tiran tried to recall the path he had taken before, but still became lost due to the earlier confrontation with the ruffian cat. Despite being only 12, he found himself going in circles, worrying as he strayed further into the forest.

He realized he had returned to where he started after wandering for half the day and, after contemplating for a moment, decided to walk in the opposite direction. This time, instead of following the worn path, he ventured off aimlessly.

Time passed, and despite walking for what felt like an eternity, he still could not find his way out of the forest. The small river that led home was nowhere in sight. Tiran’s anxiety began to rise; his provisions were running low, the sky darkening. His legs felt heavy, as if filled with lead, from the long trek, and he was on the verge of tears. Eyes brimming with moisture, he pushed forward, passing through a birch grove with tall, straight trees standing proudly to the sky.

Tiran stumbled upon a massive birch tree, its trunk towering with pale gray bark and autumn leaves sparkling like gold. Yet, amidst such beauty, Tiran felt incongruity; he had no spirit left to admire the sights as fear gripped him, dreading how he would spend the night in this unending wilderness.

With each step slowed by despair, he eventually came to halt and decided he would rest at the base of the enormous birch tree. Even though it was getting late, he paid no heed.

Sitting beneath the tree that few could encircle with their arms, Tiran drew deep breaths, his eyes filled with fearful visions of the night ahead in the forest, and he couldn’t hold back his tears any longer.

Through misty eyes, Tiran desperately looked around, hoping someone would come to his aid. As he scanned the surroundings, a scene caught his eye—a mysterious girl appeared just ahead.

This girl stood several meters away from Tiran, looking distressed as she wielded a dark wooden sword weakly. A cut on her snow-white arm bled, and beside her lay several fallen guards.

Before the girl, Tiran noticed two tall, green-skinned creatures—Orcs—drawing closer. Their beast-heads and human bodies were draped in animal skins, with their large hands wielding enormous clubs. One was a leopard-headed orc, while the other surprisingly had a bear's head.

One orc inspected the fallen guards while the other, seeing the girl was trapped and unable to escape, approached her slowly with its club.

Tiran observed the orcs, thinking about their origins, and suddenly remembered grandpa mentioning Half-Orcs had been recently ambushing villagers, not just robbing them but actually consuming them. They were immensely brutal; warnings had been posted on village boards for locals to be cautious.

As the orc moved closer to the girl, it spoke an incomprehensible beast language to the other orc, seemingly discussing how to deal with her.

Seeing this, Tiran stifled his sobs, summoning his last ounce of courage and rushed toward the girl, shouting, "Watch out!" He drew his short sword and hurled it with all his might at the orc.

The orc, startled by the noise, turned in disbelief to see a mere child facing him. Its disdainful expression turned as it noticed the sword flying toward it. It raised its club to block, producing a clang as the sword fell to the ground.

The leopard-headed orc, furious at a child daring to attack it, ignored the girl entirely and charged towards Tiran, swinging its club with lethal intent.

At this moment, Tiran was empty-handed, drained of energy, unable to retaliate or flee. He sighed, closing his eyes, waiting for the inevitable.

Just then, a gust of wind surged. Tiran opened his eyes to see a middle-aged man who resembled a Daoist priest swooping down to pick him up and swiftly sidestepping, causing the orc to miss its strike.

The middle-aged man gently set Tiran down. In his hand, he held a long sword adorned with dragon motifs, its hilt intricately designed.

The man chanted incantations, starting slowly before building pace, and then aimed the dragon-marked sword upwards, tracing a circle. Suddenly, something fell from the sky with a whoosh.

As it descended, it slowly took form, revealing itself to be a mythical beast, crimson all over, its large feet touching the ground. It lifted its front legs, its head topped with two horns and eyes like copper bells, as it ambled around the Daoist.

The middle-aged man pointed the dragon-marked sword at the leopard-headed orc, and the beast charged at it. With a gaping mouth, it expelled a stream of fire that engulfed the orc. Taken by surprise, the orc screamed in agony, dropping its club as it attempted to flee, but the beast unleashed a second torrent of fire.

This fire had an extraordinary range, and the orc was ultimately overwhelmed, collapsing to the ground, its body consumed until only a pile of ashes remained.

Seeing the fate of its companion, the bear-headed orc abandoned the girl and turned to escape. The Daoist did not pursue but walked toward the girl, inquiring, "Are you alright?" The girl, brimming with relief, hurriedly replied, "Thank you!"

The middle-aged Daoist exchanged a few words with the girl and then joined Tiran, where they relayed the events that unfolded. It turned out the girl was named Ziva and was the daughter of the Bichon city lord. She had wandered into the forest, enticed by its beauty, and then encountered the Half-Orcs, who were of a mutated kind.

The Daoist was a disciple of The Venerable One, the legendary hero, wandering the world seeking disciples, and had fortuitously crossed paths with them.

Tiran recounted his own ordeal, and The Venerable One remarked, "I see great potential in you. Your understanding of nature is extraordinary. Would you like to learn my techniques on mental mastery?"

Tiran had just witnessed the legendary figure summon a mythical beast to incinerate an orc, and his heart filled with desire. Thrilled at the opportunity to become a disciple of The Venerable One, he bowed deeply, sincerely saying, "I wish to become your student, Master!" The Venerable One chuckled heartily!

Just as he was about to speak, Ziva, having watched Tiran bow, and having seen the overwhelming power displayed by The Venerable One, admired him greatly. She quickly exclaimed, "Master, I also wish to learn from you!"

The Venerable One scrutinized Ziva, pondering for a moment, before finally saying, "Ziva, I see your aptitude is more suited to studying spells rather than my mental mastery techniques. I have a senior brother, Master Essien, who is currently seeking disciples. If the opportunity arises, I can recommend you to him; how does that sound?"

Initially, Ziva felt disheartened at being turned down, but upon hearing that she would be taught spells, she hesitated and reluctantly agreed.

The Venerable One glanced at the setting sun and produced a horse charm, tossing it to the ground. A fine steed appeared, and he lifted the two children onto its back before mounting himself. With the sound of galloping hooves, they soon vanished into the forest.

Climbing mountains and traversing hills without a sense of time passing, The Venerable One eventually arrived at the entrance of a cave, engraved with the words “Cloud-Treading Cave.” He set both children down, instructing the gatekeeper to accommodate their stay.

Thus, Tiran began his training in the cave under The Venerable One, practicing mental mastery, spells, meditation, and the understanding of the forces of nature. Having always been interested in these subjects, Tiran learned swiftly. He mastered combat techniques, healing arts, poisons, soulfire symbols, invisibility arts, sacred armor techniques, and ghostly shields, leaving practical experience as the final hurdle.

As for Ziva, after resting a few days, The Venerable One took her to Master Essien to seek apprenticeship.