SSS-Rank Evolving Monster: From Pest to Cosmic Devourer-Chapter 166: Awake

Emerald Green Kingdom – Spiritual Tree Grove

All the Stage 3 figures were gathered beneath the colossal spiritual tree, its jade leaves shimmering faintly as if reflecting the weight of the meeting itself. A heavy silence hung over the grove, pressing down like a tangible curtain.

Dark Shadow stood at the forefront, Alexandria by her side, and even Forty-Two—usually irreverent and playful—wore a solemn expression. From a distance, the gathering looked united, yet closer inspection revealed the fractures within.

Three distinct groups had already formed.

The first, the core, were those who had followed Ricky from the very beginning, bound by loyalty and trust. The second consisted of allies who had pledged themselves before the invasion of the undead. And finally, the third—outsiders forced into service—Stage 3 beings shackled to Ricky’s will after the war, their obedience purchased not with trust but with power and fear. 𝗳𝚛𝗲𝕖𝕨𝕖𝗯𝚗𝚘𝕧𝕖𝗹.𝗰𝗼𝕞

Everyone of influence within the kingdom was here. The grove seemed to hum faintly with their combined auras, a reminder that this was no ordinary assembly. The only notable absence was Valemont.

No one spoke. It was as if their lips had been sewn shut. Only restless glances darted between the three groups as they waited for him.

Minutes bled into each other. The silence grew heavier, so much so that even the rustling leaves seemed reluctant to disturb it. Several of the enslaved ones shifted uneasily, their spiritual fields flaring faintly before being suppressed again.

Dark Shadow’s violet eyes narrowed. She had been patient—far more patient than the others—but the stillness was beginning to gnaw at her. Her thick purple hair fluttered in the wind as she gazed off into the distance.

Where are you now, thief? she thought, her mind sharp, her aura simmering with impatience.

And then—

A ripple.

The air behind her distorted like a veil being pulled aside. Dark Shadow’s body stiffened instantly. Before she could even turn, a voice brushed against her consciousness, smooth and unshakable.

"Were you looking for me?"

The words caressed her thoughts, firm yet calm, with that familiar undertone that had haunted her for so long.

Dark Shadow’s eyes trembled. Recognition slammed into her like a storm. That voice...

Ricky.

The atmosphere shifted the moment Ricky’s voice faded.

Yet the shift was not uniform.

Beneath the canopy of the colossal tree, the gathering splintered into three distinct responses—each group betraying their thoughts without needing to speak.

The core group, those who had followed Ricky from the very beginning—Alexandria, Dark Shadow, and a few others—were the first to relax. Their eyes brightened with relief, as though the world itself had steadied now that he stood among them once more. For them, Ricky’s presence wasn’t just reassurance; it was proof that their faith in him hadn’t been misplaced. They remembered the days before war and blood, when he had been little more than a clever thief carving out his place in the world. And they had witnessed his rise, his battles, his survival against impossible odds. Their bond wasn’t bound by chains—it was built on shared struggle.

The second group, those who had joined before the undead invasion, were quieter. Their relief was real, but cautious. They had seen Ricky’s strength, yes, but had not walked with him through his earliest fires. Trust was there, but thinner—more fragile. Some exchanged glances, silently weighing whether Ricky’s return truly meant salvation, or whether it merely delayed the inevitable doom that loomed over them.

And then there was the final group—the enslaved. Stage 3 experts who, under other circumstances, would have been lords of their own domains, yet now stood bound under Ricky’s will. Their reactions were the hardest to read. Some masked their faces with stone, unwilling to reveal weakness. Others—those who had once defied him before being subdued—allowed flickers of unease to pass through their eyes.

Hope was dangerous to them. It meant their master’s power still burned brighter than theirs. It meant escape was as distant as ever.

But among the enslaved, a few carried expressions different from the rest. Quiet calculation gleamed in their eyes. For them, Ricky’s return was both a blessing and a curse. If he triumphed over Eldros, then his dominion over them would only grow deeper, perhaps permanent. If he fell, then their chains might shatter.

The tension was like an invisible storm winding through the roots of the great spiritual tree.

Dark Shadow noticed it too. Her violet gaze slid from the relieved smiles of Alexandria and Forty-Two, to the sharp, wary eyes of Thraxil and the enslaved, then back to Ricky.

Even now, he stood as the center of gravity for all of them.

And though not a word of doubt had been spoken, the divisions in their hearts were as plain as the lines etched into the bark of the colossal tree that towered over them all.

....

Saint Selene Veylor’s Inheritance Space

Purple light flowed like water, cascading in soft currents that gave the grand chamber an ethereal glow. Ricky stood amidst towering mountains of books, their spines worn with age yet still brimming with a timeless authority. Some of these tomes had been handpicked from the personal collection of Saint Selene herself, their pages carrying the weight of her obsessions, theories, and failed breakthroughs.

On the surface, the place was serene—quiet, sacred, as though knowledge itself had been crystallized into air. Yet for Ricky, every step felt like walking with a blade pressed against his throat.

The rune carved deep within his body pulsed with that dreadful, gravitational pull again. The attractive force was no longer a faint hum—it had grown sharper, heavier with each passing moment, like an invisible star collapsing inside him. His spiritual seed trembled under the pressure, and it was only his sheer willpower, his teeth-gritted defiance, that kept his existence from unraveling.

Time in the inheritance ground slipped strangely, but by Ricky’s estimate, several days had already passed. In that time, he had poured over hundreds of manuscripts, loose parchments, and even fragments of Selene’s personal notes. She had dissected the heavens, catalogued spiritual seeds, affinities, and cultivation pathways in more detail than anyone he had ever heard of—yet not a single clue about his condition could be found.

As if she had never even conceived of something like this happening...

Ricky slammed shut another tome, his expression dark, veins faintly visible along his temple.

"Damn! Not a single clue. If this continues... absolute death is absolutely certain."

The rune pulsed again in response, mocking him with that constant, insidious pull. What had once been his greatest weapon—an endless source of power that dwarfed his peers—now coiled back, threatening to devour him whole.

His mind twisted with bitter irony. The firepower that let him tear through enemies was turning into the very noose around his neck.

And then—

His eyes fell upon a worn, dust-coated book lying on the far corner of a desk, apart from the neatly organized rows of manuscripts.

"The Man with Three Affinities..." Ricky murmured, reading the faint letters etched into its cover.

For some reason, his instincts sharpened. He reached for it and flipped it open.

At first, the text seemed like a madman’s rambling—scattered notes, fragmented experiments, diagrams that looked like they would shatter a sane man’s mind if pondered too deeply. Yet, the further Ricky read, the brighter the gleam in his eyes grew.

The book told the tale of a cultivator who refused to be bound by convention. A man who rejected the rule that affinity must be singular, dictated by the cultivation technique one chose. Instead, he sought to fracture his own spiritual seed—splitting it into three equal parts, each nurtured separately, each carrying a different elemental affinity.

Impossible. Dangerous. Blasphemous, even.

Yet the book claimed he succeeded.

Ricky’s fingers tightened around the brittle pages.

If what was written here was true, then perhaps—just perhaps—the burden of the rune within him could be tamed, diverted, or even reshaped.

But splitting a seed...

That was no simple theory. It was a gamble where the price of failure wasn’t just death—it was erasure. A shattering of self so complete that not even ashes would remain.

And yet, standing under the heavy purple glow of Saint Selene’s inheritance space, with the rune clawing at his core like a starving beast, Ricky felt the corners of his mouth curve into a sharp, dangerous smile.

"This... might be it."

.....

Eldros Kingdom – Capital City

Rumble!

The heavens split with a deafening crack, thunder rolling like the wrath of ancient gods. A violent storm engulfed the skies above the capital, clouds twisting in a vortex of ink-black shadows. If one listened closely, they would hear—hidden beneath the crash of lightning—the faint wailing of souls, ghostly cries echoing through the downpour.

It was no illusion. Each mournful howl was birthed from the remnants of slain Stage Three experts, their lingering wills being scoured away by thunder. The heavens themselves were erasing their existence.

Deep within the heart of the capital, in a palace chamber wreathed in oppressive silence, sat a figure. He was taller than most giants, his frame forged from layers of muscle so dense it seemed carved from iron itself. His eyes were closed, his expression one of deathly calm.

Then—

Boom!

His lids snapped open. Twin flames surged forth, burning like smoldering embers, casting sparks into the storm-darkened room. A crushing pressure unfurled from his body, enough to make the very air tremble.

"A concentration of Stage Three beings this thick... here?"

At first there was confusion in his gaze. His heavy brows furrowed as though struggling to reconcile the impossible. But then—slowly at first, and then uncontrollably—laughter thundered from his chest.

"HAHAHAHAHA!"

It rolled through the chamber, shaking the pillars, reverberating across the storm-lashed city like the roar of some awakened beast.

The capital shuddered.

The King of Eldros had awoken.