Red trees covered the mountain, mist curling thick; clear spring water ran through emerald ravines.
At the edge of the cliffs above the sea of clouds, a hand stretched out and clawed fiercely into the hard rock, veins bulging. Then a head crowned with leaves appeared. The young herb gatherer seized a vine and hauled himself up to the summit. Once he was up, he collapsed onto the ground without a care for appearances, drenched in sweat and gasping for breath.
"So tired... huff..."
The hardship of climbing cliffs was difficult to describe in words. Only by trying it yourself would you understand.
The muscles in his arms burned and swelled with heat, especially his fingers, which hurt terribly. The strips of cloth wrapped around his palms were tattered beyond recognition; without them, his hands would likely have long since been dripping with blood. At some point, one of his toes had been cut, and the sweat stinging it hurt badly.
The breeze halfway up the mountain was cool and pleasant, driving away his fatigue. By coincidence, the clouds and mist drifted apart, revealing the magnificent scenery of the Southern Wasteland: egrets soaring into the sky, waterfalls hanging like white silk, and troops of monkeys leaping among ancient trees and vines. It was difficult to appreciate the beauty of the Southern Wasteland from within the town. The young herb gatherer smiled, rolled over to sit up, took out a rice ball, and ate it bite by bite, replenishing his strength as he rested.
"Grandma said the Southern Wasteland is prettier than the Central Plains. I wonder what the Central Plains are like..."
He could not remember much from when he was little. Grandma had brought him across mountains and rivers with a merchant caravan to the Demon Beast Forest, all