SSS-Rank Evolving Monster: From Pest to Cosmic Devourer-Chapter 127: Irrational and foolish

With an amused smile tugging at his mandibles, Ricky shifted his gaze, eyes glimmering with subtle interest.

Nothing that happened within the Emerald Green Forest could escape his senses. Not a leaf falling, not a whisper of wind out of place—and certainly not the interaction between Darius and the Federation’s representative. His focus, however, lay elsewhere.

Thanks to Darius’s observations, Ricky had gained insight into her peculiar ability.

"Maybe with her help, Valemont would be able to make a breakthrough," Ricky mused silently.

Not because Valemont lacked the talent. On the contrary, the young man’s alchemical brilliance was monstrous by any standard. But talent alone could not bend time, and time was the one thing they didn’t have in abundance.

Even if Valemont could eventually crack the mystery of the darkness poison, the question remained—would he do it fast enough?

"Some leverage might be needed to speed things up," Ricky thought, his gaze growing distant.

With that thought, his compound eyes drifted to the horizon.

In the far distance, beyond the reaches of the forest and the fertile fields that skirted it, a storm was brewing—one not of wind or water, but of death.

The undead wave was drawing dangerously close to the borders of the so-called "Union." The air itself had begun to shift, as if nature was preparing to hold its breath.

Even the birds flew lower.

And now that the approaching conflict was unavoidable, the Union had begun sending representatives to every ally and power they could find, desperate for assistance in what was shaping up to be a continent-wide war.

"Too late," Ricky thought with a tinge of derision.

Time marched on.

And like a cold tide rising with the moon, war finally came.

---

It was on the sixth day.

The eve of chaos.

The first tremors came as whispers on the wind—an unnatural hum carried across the open plains. But by midday, that whisper had grown into a deafening rhythm, the synchronized stomp of countless feet.

Tens of thousands of undead emerged on the horizon like a living shadow, stretching from one end of the border to the other.

They moved with chilling precision, a chaotic order that made the very earth tremble beneath their advance.

Their grotesque forms writhed with decay—hollow eyes glowing, jaws twitching, bones exposed in places where flesh had long since rotted away. Their guttural growls formed a dreadful symphony, echoing across the land like a war drum played by the dead.

From above, Ricky hovered silently, watching the tide approach with impassive eyes.

The shockwaves of their march shattered loose stones, cracked dried earth, and split ancient trees at the border’s edge. Each step of theirs carried death. Every breath of wind stank of rot and decay.

And yet...

"Just as I expected," Ricky whispered to himself.

There was no fear in his heart—only curiosity, anticipation, and the faintest trace of excitement curling through his veins like venom.

The game was about to begin.

And the Emerald Green Kingdom, under the shadow of death, would finally reveal its fangs.

Border of the Emerald Green Forest

On top of a colossal stone wall that stretched across the landscape like the backbone of a sleeping titan, the leaders of the three allied races—humans, beastkin, and spirits—stood united beneath the gray skies of dawn. This wall, a desperate marvel of wartime construction, was one of the few barriers between civilization and the rotting tide fast approaching.

The air was heavy with anticipation, charged with silent tension. Wind rustled cloaks and armor as sentries stood like statues along the battlements, their gazes locked onto the distant horizon where the undead would soon appear.

Beneath the walls, massive pits had been dug—deep scars on the land, each spanning hundreds of meters across and tens deep. Their jagged edges framed a vast network of traps and enchanted formations that shimmered faintly under the sunlight. Glyphs pulsed like veins of light, etched into the earth with painstaking precision. These pits were more than simple obstacles—they were weapons of last resort, designed to thin the horde and delay its momentum.

On the wall’s highest vantage point, three figures stood apart from the crowd, their presences distinct and commanding.

The first was Titu, the leader of the human forces—a tall, slender man dressed in dark robes that fluttered in the rising wind. His pale complexion and refined posture betrayed noble blood. Every movement he made was deliberate and composed, like a man who bore not only his own burdens but those of an entire kingdom.

Flanking him on either side were the leaders of the beastkin and spirit tribes—two women whose very bearing radiated strength and pride. One was lean and muscular, her beast-like features sharpened into elegance; the other shimmered faintly, her translucent robes and glowing eyes marking her as a high-ranking spirit. Both carried the weight of their people on their shoulders—but the subtle positioning of their bodies and the way their gazes occasionally flicked to Titu made it clear: he was the strongest among them, and they had accepted his leadership without open protest.

A hush fell over the group as the spirit race woman turned toward Titu, her voice soft and inquisitive:

"How many undead princes did you manage to identify?"

Titu didn’t answer immediately. His gaze lingered far beyond the horizon, as if trying to peer into the depths of some unseen abyss.

Then, in a voice lined with gravity, he answered:

"More than I could ever imagine."

His words struck like thunder.

The beast queen’s reaction was immediate. She stomped her armored foot into the stone floor, a growl rising from her throat, her eyes burning with indignation.

"Damn that good-for-nothing Venom Fang Overlord!" she snarled, voice rising with frustration. "If he’s really that powerful, why the hell can’t he just let us in?"

Her sharp claws curled, and her fangs bared as she glared in the direction of the Emerald Green Kingdom’s interior.

"Not only is he not lifting a finger to help," she continued, "but he’s also hoarding all the safe land, leaving us to rot and bleed on the frontlines!"

Her voice echoed across the battlements, drawing nervous glances from nearby commanders and soldiers.

She wasn’t wrong.

If Ricky had allowed even a fraction of their forces deeper into his protected lands, they could have bought more time—regrouped, reinforced, or prepared a better counterstrike.

Instead, they were here. At the very edge of the abyss.

The storm was coming, and they would be the ones to face it first.

And worst of all, there was no escaping this storm.

Titu looked at the beast queen’s outburst, his expression calm and unreadable, but deep within, he let out a long, weary sigh.

Still blaming others... even now?

The queen’s frustration was understandable, but to him, it was also painfully shortsighted. That the Venom Fang Overlord had allowed them even a foothold near his territory was not an act of cowardice—it was a rare, deliberate show of mercy. Ricky had no obligation to shelter them. In fact, Titu suspected he had done more behind the scenes than anyone truly knew.

To someone like Titu, born into nobility and refined through years of study in war, history, and statecraft, the truth was obvious: their so-called alliance, their massed armies, their painstaking strategies... none of it would be enough.

They were not fighting to win.

They were surviving for as long as they could.

No, Titu was not here to battle for hollow glory or the foolish pride of races who refused to bend. He was here to perform. To stage a grand show—one worthy enough to catch the eye of the only entity who might yet turn the tides of this war.

The Venom Fang Overlord.

If there’s a sliver of hope... it lies with him.

Ignoring the beast queen’s snarling indignation and the spirit leader’s quiet despair, Titu turned his eyes to the horizon, his back straight, his aura sharp and composed like a poised spear bracing against a tempest.

The wind picked up, rustling the folds of his robe as the air grew heavy with the scent of death creeping ever closer.

He raised a hand, voice steady and unwavering:

"Send the signal—let it be known that we are ready to die for the last breath of our civilization."

"Pass down the orders..."

The command echoed like a divine decree, washing over the troops gathered on the battlements.

Soldiers who had been trembling just moments ago straightened their backs. Generals who had doubted their purpose felt resolve bloom once more in their hearts.

This was no longer a simple war for land or pride. This was a battle for the survival of all things living.

And Titu—flawed, desperate, calculating Titu—was suddenly the embodiment of unwavering will.

Even the two female leaders, who had moments ago looked on with hardened, pragmatic eyes, felt something shift within them.

It was irrational.

It was foolish.

But it was hope.

Maybe—just maybe—they would witness a miracle today.

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