Spark kept striking.
The Trent retaliated slowly but powerfully. Massive roots lashed out. Branches swung like battering rams.
Spark dodged, ducked, and sometimes just absorbed the glancing blows with his immensely durable body. They hurt, sure. But they didn't stop him.
Lilith moved like a ghost around the periphery. Occasionally launching pure energy gunshot. Or charging close and stabbing with her cursed dagger. Before dashing away once more.
Similar to Spark's, her attacks seemed to momentarily flicker the Trent's regenerative energy. But never stopped it.
She was applying pressure. Still seeking any vulnerability. But the Mystic Trent was a creature of raw, simple life power. Not complex mechanics.
Minutes... Even hours passed. The sun set completely. Plunging the valley entrance into deep shadow. Lit only by the pale light of Anearth's twin moons. And the fainter glow of the Trent's relentless regeneration.
Lilith had to step back and rest a few times. But Spark didn't stop. Sweat poured down his face. His tanned skin was gleaming. His muscles screamed with exertion.
But he pushed through it. This was exactly the kind of brutal, grinding combat practice he needed. No tricks. No finesse. Just pure concentration. Applying maximum force for maximum duration.
He could feel the Trent weakening. Although it was ery slowly. Its regeneration wasn't as instantaneous now.
The green light flickered dimly sometimes. The regrowth was fractionally slower. Like a giant reservoir slowly being drained.
He kept hitting. Punch, punch, kick, duck, weave, punch. His body was a machine of destruction.
His mind, boosted by his Primal Mind talent, remained clear. It focused only on the rhythm of the fight. The pattern of the Trent's slow attacks. And the constant drain he was inflicting.
Finally, deep into the night, the green light began to dim noticeably. The regeneration stumbled. Leaving large swathes of damage. Unhealed for precious seconds.
The Trent's movements became even more sluggish. Its roots were dragging. Its branches were drooping.
Spark saw his opening. He didn't need one specific spot anymore. He needed to deliver a final, overwhelming series of blows.
He grunted. Channeling all his remaining power into his limbs. He launched himself at the weakened trunk. A furious flurry of strikes raining down.
He didn't stop. Didn't pause. He was hitting faster than the sluggish regeneration could possibly keep up.
He ripped, tore, and hammered at the wood. Creating damage that the dimming green light couldn't repair.
The Banyan Trent let out a final. Shuddering groan that seemed to shake the very ground. The last traces of the green light faded.
The immense trunk sagged onto itself. Its branches were cracking. And falling like giant bones. The air grew still. The oppressive presence was gone.
It was dead. Exhausted of its life force. Broken down faster than it could rebuild.
Spark stood, panting. His chest was heaving.
He was surrounded by splintered wood and torn leaves. Covered in dirt, sweat, and sticky sap. He felt the raw ache in his muscles. The satisfying exhaustion of pushing his body to its absolute limit.
Lilith approached hesitantly. Stepping carefully around the debris. "Master? Are you injured?"
"Just tired." Spark rasped. Wiping sap from his face. "And sticky."
He looked at the corpse of the Trent. "Took longer than I expected. Its regeneration was stubborn and troublesome." He flexed his aching hands. "But it worked."
He didn't waste time admiring his handiwork. The goal wasn't killing a monster. It was getting the damn roses.
"Let's go!" He said. Already moving past the fallen Trent. He would harvest the precious materials from the fallen monster later. As he didn't have enough space to take it.
The entrance to Rose Valley was now clear. The air inside was heavy. With the perfume of thousands upon thousands of roses.
Under the moonlight, the valley floor was a sea of dark shapes. The scent confirming their nature. Common roses. Fields and fields of them.
"Plunder time," Spark stated.
He and Lilith moved through the valley. Harvesting the roses with brutal efficiency. They didn't pick them delicately. They broke stems. Gathered armfuls. Working quickly to amass the sheer volume they needed.
They didn't care about thorns or beauty. This was a resource extraction operation.
They worked until they had gathered a staggering pile of roses. Their hands scratched. Their clothes snagged. It was more roses than Spark had ever seen in one place.
It felt excessive. Almost ridiculous. That this was the key to controlling a Tier-3 alchemist.
...
Back at a makeshift camp near the valley edge. Not too far away from the Trent's corpse, Spark sat down with the Slave Grimoire open.
The page for the captured alchemist pulsed faintly. He looked at the mountain of roses they had gathered. It was just about a fifth of the whole roses in the valley.
"Alright." He muttered. "Let's see how many of these things would be enough to modify her as I wish."
He began feeding the roses into the pulsing page on the Grimoire. The flowers vanished with a soft whoosh. Consumed by the magic. Hundreds, then thousands of them disappeared.
He stopped after a while, modifying some parameters on the grimoire. And then, he continued feeding it with rose petals.
He kept feeding and modifying. Watching with satisfaction as the parameters of the imprisoned character slowly changed.
He continued until the pile dwindled significantly. More than half gone. Then... three-fourths gone. He kept feeding until only a relatively small mound remained.
Spark was satisfied. The number of the rose petals they harvested exceeded the basic requirement he set. He now even modified small details not really necessary for the recruitment.
Finally, he slammed the Grimoire shut. A heavy satisfied sigh escaping him. That was a ridiculous amount of flowers.
Spark rested for a while. And then, he reopened the Grimoire. To the transformed slave's page. The charcoal drawing of the character had slightly changed. Not much. But it was quite significant.
As for the parameter...
=====STATUS PANEL=====
[Name: Feather Newfield]
[Gender: Female]
[Age: 21]
[Class: Battlemage]
[Level: Fortified (3rd Tier)]
[Loyalty: 100%]
[Modifier Currency: Rose Petal]
[Soul Power: Fortified Level (3rd Tier)]
[Mind Power: Awakened Level (1st Tier)]
[Body Power: Fortified Level (3rd Tier)]
[Talent: Verdant Soul]
[Talent: Moist Physique]
[Personalities: Submissive, Meticulous]
[Personalities: Observant, Affectionate]
[Soulcraft Fairy: ...]
[Framepath Monster: ...]
Spark read the panel. Most data were still the same. Name, Feather Newfield. Battlemage, Tier 3, Fortified level.
The talents didn't change either. Still Verdant Soul and Moist Physique. They were suitable after all. Deeply related to her original alchemy skill and poison master skills.
Loyalty 100%. Of course. He would never accept anything lower than that. He required a perfectky loyal companion. One that would never betray him.
He experimented with personalities. Now, she had a much more useful combination than whatever ruthless cruelty she had before. At least in his view.
Again, he could not assign random entries for dominant personalities. He must choose among the available options linked to the assassin's existing, minor traits.
First of all, he changed the [Cowardly] trait into [Submissive]. From his experience with Lilith, he had found out that he was a dom. One who enjoyed dominating his 'partner'. Thus, this trait was chosen.
Next, he replaced [Envious] trait with [Meticulous] and [Observant]. Two traits in her repertoires he found beneficial for her specialization. Alchemy. And poison study.
Finally, for the final [Ruthless] trait, he exchanged it into [Affectionate] one. A trait he found unexpected in her minor personality list.
He looked at all the changes with satisfied look. He had modified a dangerous, cowardly, and untrustworthy Tier-3 enemy. Into a fully loyal, Tier-3 slave.
He had gained a useful alchemist and poison master. Simply by sacrificing certain numbers of common materials. It was a big profit.
It was a good trade. Tiring hard work in defeating the Mystic Trent and harvesting flowers were quite inexpensive. Compared to the excellent value for securing another useful, absolutely loyal asset.
Once he summoned the alchemist, he would now have two Tier-3 females serving him. Both utterly compliant. Quite a luxury for the still Tier-1 character like him.
Spark smiled. Lilith would be his mobile, adaptable secretary and assassin. Feather would be his personal researcher. Playing the more suited role as support and logistic personnel.
"Feather Newfield." Spark mused aloud, looking at the name on the page. "She might need to change that name."
It was not that he disliked her original name. But, cleanly separating her new identity with the old one seemed necessary. At least, it would probably be more convenient and give less hassle.
He needed a few more loyal subordinates. He had a bigger dream after all. Being transmigrated into this world, during the Age of Exploration, and not doing any exploration would be... embarrassing.
He had power, wealth, and now, loyal underlings. With enough planning, resources, and more loyal subordinates, the world of Anearth would now be wide open.
He would be able to definitely acquire the treasures above the cloud.