SSS-Rank Evolving Monster: From Pest to Cosmic Devourer-Chapter 86: Dark Ages

"And the final domain?" he asked, excitement carefully contained beneath his tone.

The Guardian Spirit nodded solemnly.

"The most sacred part of this world... the Working Desk."

Her voice took on a weighty tone, and even the air around them seemed to still.

"The creator was not a warrior. Not truly. She was a seeker of truth. A researcher whose only ambition was to uncover the inner laws of the cosmos. The Desk is where she poured out her soul—her studies, theories, experiments... and failures. It holds her accumulated knowledge over millions of years."

Ricky gave a solemn nod. Though power tempted him, he was no fool. Knowledge could shape empires. And if this knowledge had come from a cultivator who touched the edge of the Seventh Stage—then even fragments of her understanding could elevate him far beyond his peers.

He turned toward the Guardian.

"Take me," he said. "Show me each of these places... one by one."

Without pause, she gave a respectful nod, her expression returning to calm professionalism. The flicker of dread had vanished from her features, replaced by the quiet reverence of a guide fulfilling her duty.

While Ricky delved deeper into the mysterious expanse of Lab 420, far beyond those silent halls, the Eldros Kingdom was shuddering under the weight of chaos.

Everything began with a sudden vanishing.

The Prince of Eldros—the future ruler—and the son of the Supreme Commander of the Iron Fang Legion—the military’s sharpest sword—both disappeared without a trace.

Two pillars of the realm, gone overnight.

The kingdom’s heart beat faster with every passing day. Noble houses whispered behind closed doors. Military strongholds tightened security. Merchants hesitated at borders. Fear spread like a quiet plague, wrapping itself around every corner of the land.

And just as the unease reached a simmer, the world was struck with a heavier blow.

Akros, the leader of the Radiant Knight Order, emerged from seclusion.

The man who hadn’t stepped into the sunlight for nearly a decade returned with eyes ablaze—his fury unrestrained, his movements like a rampaging storm. He tore through towns and border posts, scouring the land like a madman searching for something precious and lost.

None dared to stop him.

The heads of great factions watched from afar, troubled by his erratic behavior. A man of such power didn’t move unless the heavens themselves shook—so what had happened?

Then came the truth.

A piece of intelligence so sharp it cut through the kingdom’s breath.

The Radiant Order’s headquarters had been destroyed.

Not damaged.

Obliterated.

The grand fortress that once stood like a beacon of justice and divine power was now a blood-drenched ruin. Its walls had collapsed. Its sacred halls turned to ash. Thousands of radiant knights, squires, priests, and staff were slain.

A massacre.

A silence followed the revelation, deeper than grief—born not of mourning, but fear.

And then came the name.

Venom Fang Overlord.

It surged across the land like thunder on a cloudless day.

No banners. No warning. No negotiations. Only ruin in his wake.

From nobles to mercenaries, peasants to kings—everyone trembled at the sound. It was no longer a name. It was a shadow.

A curse.

No one dared speak it aloud unless they were certain none would hear. To utter it was to invite death. The name vanished from reports, from prayers, even from the lips of enemies.

It had become taboo.

The Eldros Kingdom stood on the edge, watching the abyss begin to stir.

And the one at the center of it all... was still exploring, somewhere far from the noise of the collapsing world.

---

Just as the kingdom had begun to digest the devastating news of the Radiant Order’s fall, another calamity struck—one that shattered any illusions of peace.

A forbidden ground, cloaked in ancient mystery and long-lost power, suddenly manifested on the eastern frontier of Eldros.

It didn’t come with a warning. No seers foresaw it. No legends prepared them.

Only dread and blood followed its arrival.

From its cursed soil, bloodthirsty undead spilled forth like a torrent from the abyss. Pale and shrieking, armored in decay, they moved without rest, without mercy.

In a single night—ten cities vanished.

Ten thriving cities. Millions of lives.

Erased.

The once-bustling streets turned into graveyards. The air was choked with ash and bone dust. Flames flickered where homes once stood, now nothing more than tinder for the endless hunger of the dead.

The undead weren’t just killing. They were feeding—growing more powerful with every soul devoured. The more they consumed, the more twisted and terrifying they became.

The kingdom stared at the eastern horizon and saw not land, not sky—but a writhing, black wave threatening to swallow everything.

Eldros declared a state of absolute emergency.

The royal decree rang out like a war horn, echoing across every corner of the realm:

"All warriors—no matter creed or blood—rise. Gather your strength. Stand for the Kingdom. Defend our people. Our home will not fall."

The response was immediate. Swords were drawn. Armor was donned. Ancient artifacts were unearthed. From mountain monasteries to desert clans, thousands upon thousands of warriors answered the call.

Some marched with purpose. Others marched with desperation. But all were ready to bleed.

They rode not for glory, but for survival. For if Eldros fell, there would be no one left to write songs or build monuments.

As the warriors assembled, the common folk—already wearied from fear and uncertainty—entered a new age of hardship. Crops failed under the unnatural chill that spread from the east. Trade halted. Towns sealed their gates. Families fled in caravans, seeking refuge that did not exist.

Life for the people became bleak. Grim.

And in the face of this overwhelming disaster, even the name Venom Fang Overlord began to fade from the whispers of the masses.

The fear of death by poison was drowned beneath the fear of death by decay.

But the silence around that name didn’t mean it was forgotten.

It had merely gone underground—waiting, like a buried serpent, to strike again.

---

Eastern Region

The rhythmic thundering of hooves pounded against scorched earth.

A group of monstrous horses galloped across the dead grasslands, their bodies wreathed in heat, nostrils exhaling jets of flame. Each hoofprint left a smoldering crater, burning away the blight-ridden soil beneath them.

Anyone with a discerning eye would have recognized these magnificent beasts—Inferno Chargers, a legendary warbreed reserved for the higher-ups of the Iron Fang Legion.

Leading the charge was a lone figure clad in obsidian armor, his aura sharp as a blade forged through centuries of battle. As he reined in his steed, the others followed without question.

The man removed his helmet.

His handsome face was worn by age and marked by a long, faded scar stretching down his cheek—a scar that carried countless stories of war and sacrifice.

Maximus Dorn, Supreme Commander of the Iron Fang Legion.

A name that resonated across the Eldros Kingdom. One of its apex defenders. A man whose very presence on a battlefield could change its outcome.

But today, he did not look like a man standing tall above the tide.

Today, he stared into the abyss.

In the distance, a tide of undead stretched as far as the eye could see—an ocean of shambling corpses, clattering bones, and lifeless eyes. They moved with one purpose: destruction. And with every step, the land beneath them withered further.

It was as if the world itself was bleeding.

Maximus narrowed his eyes.

Deep within that endless horde... something stirred.

Something watched him back.

He couldn’t see it. Couldn’t describe it. But he felt it—a cold, festering presence nestled at the heart of the tide.

He had faced abominations, demons, beasts of the abyss—but this...

This was something else entirely.

Something older. Something darker.

"Is it really true?" he muttered, more to himself than to his men. "The Dark Age is coming once more..."

His voice, usually thunderous, now felt like a whisper against the silence of impending doom.

The phrase Dark Age wasn’t thrown around lightly. It referred to the ancient cataclysms—eras when civilization was nearly wiped clean, leaving only whispers and ruin in its wake.

And for the first time in decades, Maximus felt fear.

His hand clenched the reins tighter.

And in that heavy silence... a face appeared in his mind.

A young man. His features strikingly familiar.

So familiar, they could have been his own—only younger, hungrier, more reckless.

His son. freewёbn૦νeɭ.com

---

Meanwhile... Inside Lab 420

Ricky stood atop a floating platform, staring at a sea of books.

Endless shelves extended in every direction, vanishing into the luminous mist that blanketed the library’s vaulted space. These weren’t ordinary books—they pulsed faintly with spiritual energy, bound in unique materials, some even whispering arcane truths to those who listened closely.

They were the personal collection of Divine Researcher Selene Veylor.

A lifetime of obsession. A hundred lifetimes of genius. The complete archive of a woman who had danced on the edge of forbidden knowledge.

Ricky picked up a thick, dustless tome. Its binding was stitched with silver thread, and upon the front cover, two words were etched in bold, shimmering script:

"Absolute Order."

Something about the title pulled him in.

His fingers tightened around the spine as his spiritual sense slowly seeped into the cover.

"Let’s see what secrets you’re hiding."

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