I Can Only Cultivate In A Game-Chapter 347: Tradition Feist

"You walk with purpose," the priest murmured. "But purpose does not always equal wisdom."

Rhozan exhaled. "We found him. The one who arrived through the doors. The one the prophecy speaks of."

Akaruun finally rose with staff in hand, turning toward him with eyes like old embers.

"And how are you so certain, Rhozan?" His voice carried none of the awe Rhozan hoped to hear. Only fatigue and doubt. "How can you be so sure he is the Iruhun? The savior who will protect our people?"

Rhozan squared his shoulders. "Because the signs align. He passed through the eternal temple... passed through the challenges and arrived here. All the signs..."

"—The last one passed too." Akaruun’s voice hardened, cutting him off. "And he accomplished nothing. He died accomplishing nothing. His coming changed nothing. The prophecy spoke of salvation..." His eyes narrowed as he stepped closer. "And what deliverance did he bring? What miracle?" The priest’s staff tapped the floor coldly. "Nothing."

Rhozan clenched his jaw, but he remained firm.

"This time is different."

Akaruun scoffed. "Hope makes fools of us all."

"You’re wrong." Rhozan leaned in, lowering his voice. "Do you know how powerful one must be to hide their mana signature to such a degree? I cannot sense even a speck from him—not a flicker. That is not normal. That is mastery. That is someone beyond us." 𝕗𝐫𝐞𝕖𝕨𝐞𝗯𝚗𝕠𝘃𝐞𝚕.𝐜𝗼𝚖

Akaruun went quiet.

The smoke from the altar curled behind him, forming a wavering silhouette of an ancient Kahr’uun spirit, as if eavesdropping.

The priest studied Rhozan’s face, searching for hesitation. There was none.

"You will cling to every sliver of hope," Akaruun finally said, "even if it turns into ash in your hands. Even if it destroys us again."

"And you," Rhozan shot back, "hold on to no hope at all—despite being the priest of our people."

Akaruun gave a bitter laugh. "I hold on to reality more tightly than dreams. Reality says our doom was written by our own hands. We awakened what should have been left asleep when we came here with a forbidden spell. And we are paying the price."

Rhozan stepped past him with his eyes glued to the altar.

"That does not mean our people must perish," he answered. "Everything we did was for survival."

"Survival?" Akaruun repeated. "Or fear?"

Rhozan stiffened.

The priest walked around him with his robes sliding across the stone. "Does the stranger know?" he asked quietly. "Did you tell him everything? About what we did? About the sin that birthed this prophecy?"

Rhozan didn’t flinch. "He doesn’t need to know everything."

Akaruun inhaled sharply in disappointment but he wasn’t surprised.

"So you hide the truth," he murmured. "Jus like always."

Rhozan turned to leave.

"Hope," he said without looking back, "is all we have left."

"And lies," Akaruun replied softly, "always walk hand-in-hand with hope."

---

Warm artificial light, created from magic, filtered into the room through the translucent stone panels as Victor’s eyelids fluttered open.

The bed cradled him like a mother’s embrace. The blankets were softer than anything he had touched in years and this had him wondering how they possessed such items while living underground.

The only explanation was magic.

He blinked slowly, adjusting to the brightness.

Then he froze because the room was full of people.

Dozens of Kahr’uun servants with blye glowing markings all over their skin and dressed in flowing vine-cloth robes, were filing in with trays of food.

Massive trays with enormous platters. The aroma hit Victor so hard his stomach roared like an angry beast.

"What... the hell," he muttered while sitting up.

At the center of the chamber stood a long curved table carved from smooth blackstone. The servants placed dish after dish onto it:

slabs of shimmering purple meat that steamed as though freshly cut from a living beast...

bowls of spiced orange grains that crackled with heat...

nests of vine-fruits dripping bright silver nectar...

plates of roasted winged creatures marinated in green fire-oil...

a massive rib rack that looked like it belonged to something bigger than a truck...

Victor stared with his mouth ajar.

One servant bowed deeply. "Iruhun," she greeted reverently. "Your breakfast is prepared."

"Iru— what? I’m—" He gestured helplessly. "I’m just a guy."

None of them reacted. Or maybe they refused to.

Another servant bowed. "Please, honored one. Eat. Strength is needed for the path ahead."

Victor blinked.

’Strength for what path? I haven’t even made my decision yet..." Victor still felt uncomfortable with how he was addressed by everyone like he was some chosen hero.

Yes he wanted to be a hero to humanity but this was literally another species and now more than ever, he questioned if it was the right thing to do.

Because what might be right for them, might be wrong for humanity...

But the smell hit him again, and with how long he had been starving out in the wilderness...

He didn’t need much convincing.

"Alright," he muttered before rubbing his hands together. "If this is a dream, I’m not waking up until I’m done eating."

He approached the table with shiny eyes.

This was a buffet fit for emperors... and yet, they gathered all this for him?

Victor reached for the first piece of gluterring purple meat and before he even took a bite, he swore he saw faint steam rising from it in the shape of a beast’s head.

He grinned.

"Now this," he whispered, "is how a man should wake up."

...

...

Victor finished the last bite of the roasted blue-scaled fish on the table . The savory and smoky flavour still lingered on his tongue with that strange mineral aftertaste everything underground seemed to possess.

He leaned back slightly in the stone-carved seat, exhaling.

He still wasn’t in a hurry to leave the under-ice Kahr’uun settlement. The people here treated him with almost sacred reverence, and while Victor wasn’t someone who cared deeply for worship, he appreciated the calm.

Yet beneath the calmness he projected, he could feel a quiet, persistent tug deep in his consciousness.

Gojo.

His mount hadn’t followed him down into the subterranean lake and cavern system. The massive magical beast hovered anxiously above the surface, waiting. Victor shut his eyes for a moment and sent a signal through their mental link.

’I’m fine. Calm down for now. I’ll come back soon.’

Gojo’s anxiety lessened, though not entirely. Victor could still feel its unease lingering like a faint vibration in the back of his mind.

He opened his eyes again just as the stone door rumbled aside, Rhozan, the four-armed Kahr’uun leader, emerged.

As always, the giant Kahr’uun bowed deeply.

"Great Iruhun," Rhozan greeted with a deep, resonant voice. "Have you reached a decision?"

Victor wiped his mouth with the cloth one of the servants had provided earlier. "Not yet," he answered truthfully. "I’m not exactly in a rush. But my mount is waiting above. I’ll need to return soon."

The bioluminescent markings on his skin shifted gently as he nodded. "Then perhaps... before you ascend, you may join us. Since the Great Iruhun has chosen to remain for now, he may witness the beginning of our Tradition Feist."

Victor raised an eyebrow. "Tradition Feist?"

"A sacred festival of our people," Rhozan explained. "It is held once every lunar cycle. Today marks the first day. Many rites take place—ritual duels, the frost-oath blessings, the dance of echoes, and offerings to the Ancient Spirits. Visitors are rare. An honored one such as yourself? Unprecedented."

Victor leaned forward with an expression of interest. "You make it sound lively."

"It is," Rhozan said proudly. "We Kahr’uun may live underground, but we celebrate life more fiercely than those who walk the sunlit world. If the Great Iruhun wishes, I shall guide him."

Victor didn’t even need to think. "Sure. Show me."

Rhozan’s four hands came together in something like excitement. "Then come. The first rite begins shortly."

---

As Victor followed Rhozan into the ice city, he immediately noticed that it was much livelier than yesterday.

Tall Kahr’uun from eight to twelve feet moved around, preparing for the festival. Many carried glowing stones, swirling mana spheres, woven banners made from hardened fungus fibers, or crystal drums.

And every single one of them stopped and bowed the moment Victor passed.

Some dropped to one knee. Others pressed a fist over their chest. Some even lowered all four arms in respect.

"Still not used to this," Victor muttered.

"Respect is never a burden," Rhozan replied without irony. "Your presence is unlike nothing we have ever seen. You are honored here."

Victor’s eye twitched slightly. ’Don’t make it sound like I performed a miracle by stepping through those doors.’

But he didn’t say that aloud.

The path expanded into a massive amphitheater-sized cavern, lit by floating mana crystals drifting like fireflies.

Victor couldn’t sense mana since he was a qi user but he could tell that these people were skilled.

Their formations, their control, their crafting... everything carried an ancient refinement and it made sense. They had long been using mana before humans.

Especially those with four arms like Rhozan. They weaved magical sigils effortlessly with each hand forming a separate symbol.

He whistled. "Not bad."

Rhozan smiled proudly.