SSS-Rank Evolving Monster: From Pest to Cosmic Devourer-Chapter 94: Foundation of something grand
Chapter 94: Foundation of something grand
"So you were sent here by Akroa?"
Ricky’s voice was calm, almost indifferent, yet his many eyes flickered with a faint gleam of interest. His tone may have sounded casual, but inside, he was evaluating every word Valemont had shared after receiving the scroll.
The young magus, still mesmerized by the golden script etched onto the parchment, nodded eagerly. His focus never wavered from the pill recipe, his expression a mixture of awe and near-fanatical obsession.
For the knowledge contained within that scroll, Valemont had shed all sense of loyalty. Like a dog that found a new master, he had turned his back on the Radiant Knight Order without hesitation, exposing their secrets with alarming ease.
"Yes," Valemont murmured. "His Royal Highness, Charles the Third of the Eldros Kingdom, called an emergency summit to address the undead disaster. Almost every Stage 3 expert in the region was summoned to attend."
Ricky’s antennae twitched slightly as his expression darkened.
So that was the reason.
The old cougar hadn’t come to greet him—not out of fear, or defiance—but because he was too busy attending political meetings.
Tch.
Ricky clicked his mandibles with a faint snicker. So even a monstrous old bastard like Akroa could be leashed by protocol.
Still, his amusement faded quickly, replaced by a more thoughtful frown.
The information Valemont had provided wasn’t just valuable—it was deeply concerning.
An undead disaster serious enough to summon all Stage 3 experts?
That didn’t sound like a simple outbreak. It sounded like war.
They continued moving through the forest. The air around them remained heavy with lingering traces of corrupted mana. The sky overhead remained bright and cloudless, but the atmosphere felt oppressive, almost as if the very forest was holding its breath.
Finally, the trees parted—and before them stood the remnants of the once-proud Stone Courtyard.
Tall stone pillars, half-cracked and covered in vines, jutted out of the earth like the skeletal fingers of some ancient giant. Spiritual trees, twisted but still vibrant, dotted the land like silent sentinels. Their leaves shimmered faintly under the sunlight, and nestled among them were glowing spiritual fruits—each one pulsing softly with nourishing energy.
Despite the damage from past battles, the area still radiated power, history, and a quiet defiance against the passage of time.
Ricky stopped and looked around with a sense of solemn satisfaction.
His voice echoed not through the air, but directly into the minds of the trio trailing behind him—Valemont, Noctyss, and Boar.
"The capital of our new kingdom will be constructed with the ruins of the Stone Courtyard as the center."
Those words hung in the air, heavy and absolute.
It was no longer a casual goal. It was a decree.
A declaration from the Venom Fang Overlord.
Valemont blinked in confusion, momentarily pulled from the golden scroll.
Noctyss stared at the ruins, her expression unreadable.
Boar scratched behind his ear, ears twitching as if trying to understand if he’d misheard something.
But Ricky said no more.
He stood there at the edge of the ruins, antennae gently swaying in the breeze, gaze fixed on the heart of the ancient site.
This place would become more than just a battlefield, more than a memory.
It would become a foundation.
A beginning.
And anyone who dared oppose it—human, beast, or undead—would be crushed beneath the fangs of the future.
Noctyss blinked, her breath catching ever so slightly. She hadn’t expected those words.
In the dark ages, when death came on skeletal wings and monsters crawled from the abyss, survival had been the only priority. Warriors, no matter how powerful, had once scurried like rats—hiding in ruined temples, long-forgotten caves, or crumbling strongholds. The idea of building something back then had seemed laughable.
And now... here stood a mosquito, declaring the founding of a kingdom.
She couldn’t help but feel a shiver run through her spine.
"This?" Boar muttered from beside her, wide-eyed and slack-jawed.
He still remembered that conversation long ago—a night when stars shimmered dimly through the thick fog of uncertainty. They’d spoken about it then, only half-serious. A kingdom... a dream in the darkness. Even Big Sister Dark Shadow had shown interest, her tone teasing but hopeful.
But Venom Fang Overlord had been silent back then. His stance vague.
And now he stood here, eyes glinting with vision and authority, declaring the ruins of the Stone Courtyard as his capital.
Boar didn’t know what had changed. Maybe it was power. Maybe it was madness. But something about Ricky felt inevitable.
Valemont, meanwhile, didn’t even blink. freёwebnoѵel.com
He simply nodded, as if kingdom-building were as routine as setting up a cauldron. As if the Overlord’s words were divine scripture to be followed without question.
Without wasting a moment, Valemont gently rolled up the golden scroll, carefully placing it inside a small jade ring on his finger. A faint pulse of mana shimmered around him as he activated his spiritual field and began clearing debris and broken stone from the courtyard.
Like a man possessed.
Watching him from a slight elevation, Ricky clicked his antennae together with satisfaction.
This one... is useful.
There was something refreshing about such blind devotion. He didn’t even need to manipulate the guy—just dangle a few recipes and the alchemist would throw himself into the fire. If only more humans were like this, the world would be far easier to rule.
The construction began in earnest.
Though crude at first, their efforts moved rapidly. The spiritual trees surrounding the courtyard remained untouched—natural guardians of the area—but all other rubble and ash was swept aside. Valemont’s spiritual field acted like dozens of invisible arms, lifting charred timbers and shattered stone, assembling makeshift frameworks with eerie precision.
By sundown, the skeleton of a fortress had taken shape. Half-burnt wood beams locked into place, held by bindings of earth and hardened mana.
Ricky didn’t lift a claw. He simply observed, occasionally giving short directives or adjusting a design with casual flicks of his leg.
Everyone had their role.
Boar, despite his bulk, turned out to be an adept hauler—grunting and dragging boulders like a seasoned construction beast.
Noctyss, after a few sarcastic remarks about "manual labor," eventually used her shadow tendrils to shape defensive walls along the perimeter.
Valemont, however, was the true architect. He drew designs into the soil with spiritual energy, adapting quickly to the terrain and material. He seemed born for this.
By the break of dawn the next day, a full three-story structure stood at the heart of the ruins.
It looked nothing like the spiritual temples of the past.
Dark and sharp-edged, the new fortress was shaped entirely from black, glassy obsidian stone—its surface shimmering under the golden rays of morning. It didn’t radiate warmth or sanctity, but something more primal. More resolute.
It was a declaration.
A kingdom rising from ash and silence.
Ricky hovered near the highest balcony, gaze sweeping across the structure, the forest, the ruined grove. This would do—for now.
Below, near the outer wall, a scene unfolded that pulled his attention for a brief moment.
On a wide slab of flat obsidian, a makeshift lounge chair had been placed. And there, almost scandalously reclined, was Noctyss.
Her dark robe had been stripped away, revealing softy milky skin that glowed beneath the early sun. Her long hair lay like a silken veil around her shoulders, and her snake-like waist twisted ever so slightly as she shifted to a more comfortable pose.
She basked in the sunlight like a queen on vacation, utterly indifferent to the war-torn ruins around her.
Ricky’s many eyes flicked toward her almost involuntarily. For a second, his gaze lingered—tracing her waist, her bare shoulders, the smirk playing at the corner of her lips.
Then he snapped his head away with a click of irritation.
Focus, he reminded himself.
There was no time for distractions.
His eyes locked back onto Valemont, who was now surveying the final defensive formations with all the seriousness of a master builder.
Yes, Ricky thought, antennae twitching with amusement.
This kingdom might actually work.
.....
Valemont stood still, his upper body bare, chest rising and falling in steady rhythm. A thin sheen of sweat glistened on his sculpted form, catching the early morning light that filtered through the open courtyard. His expression was solemn, eyes locked on the cauldron before him.
Today, he would attempt something bold—refining the Spiritual Force Strengthening Pill for the very first time.
Hovering just above the cauldron, an eerie white flame danced with ghostly elegance.
It was no ordinary fire.
Valemont’s alchemical flame pulsed with mana drawn directly from his spiritual field. Most alchemists cultivated a personal flame, each unique in property and purpose. Some burned with golden heat, others with emerald warmth or crackling red ferocity.
But Valemont’s fire was different.
Though white in color, it exuded no heat. Instead, a biting cold spread outward from its flickering tendrils, chilling the surrounding air. Water vapor in the atmosphere condensed into frost, coating nearby stones and even Ricky’s exoskeleton with a thin sheen of white.
It was beautiful. And dangerous.
Ricky hovered at a distance, his many legs crossed mid-air, clicking his antennae thoughtfully.
"Are you sure about it, young man?" he asked, voice calm but laced with subtle caution. "You must know the ingredients required to refine that pill are incredibly precious."
Even for someone like him, it was hard to come by the necessary components. Most were harvested from ancient beasts or plucked from spiritual trees grown in cursed soil.
He hadn’t expected Valemont to act so soon.
When the young man had arrived at his chamber early in the morning, declaring his readiness to refine the pill, Ricky had almost dismissed it as a joke. Only when Valemont repeated himself—with a quiet, steely resolve—did he realize it wasn’t.
The alchemist was deadly serious.
Either he’s extremely confident... or a complete fool.
Ricky mused silently, observing the youth’s unwavering expression. It appeared that Valemont had studied the recipe through the night and emerged convinced of his success.
A single day, Ricky thought, a small twitch running down his antennae. Just one day.
Most alchemists—careful, meticulous creatures that they were—would spend several days, even weeks, dissecting a new recipe. They would memorize the order of ingredient infusion, refine their control over flame temperatures, test spiritual compatibility, and simulate every step until they were confident.
After all, alchemy was unforgiving.
One mistake, one flicker of imbalance, and all the ingredients—along with possibly the alchemist—would go up in smoke.
But Valemont wasn’t hesitating. His movements were measured, precise. Every gesture of his fingers, every pulse of his spiritual field, carried intention.
He really believes he can do it.
Ricky kept his skepticism to himself. He had already warned the boy once. If Valemont still wished to proceed, he wouldn’t interfere. Perhaps a little failure would be a good lesson.
Or, just maybe... the boy would succeed.
The thought made Ricky’s mandibles click in amusement.
Valemont exhaled deeply, his breath fogging in the frozen air, then slowly extended his hand toward the ingredients neatly laid beside the cauldron.
Seven spiritual herbs and beast essences, each glowing faintly, infused with raw mana. A sliver of elemental crystal sat at the center—pale blue with streaks of gold, pulsating softly.
Without a word, Valemont began.
He floated the first herb above the flame using nothing but his spiritual field. The moment it entered the aura of the cold fire, it quivered—then cracked, releasing a soft white vapor that curled upward like a wisp of fog.
Then came the second.
Then the third.
One by one, the ingredients were introduced to the flame with delicate care. Each time, Valemont’s spiritual field moved like a sculptor’s hands—kneading, coaxing, tempering the ingredients into harmony.
Ricky narrowed his eyes.
There was no hesitation in Valemont’s technique. Each movement was confident, like someone who had done this a hundred times in his mind before the first try. The way his fingers curled when channeling energy, the fine control he exerted on the flame’s temperature...
Not bad at all, Ricky admitted inwardly. This kid might actually pull it off.
A low hum filled the air as the essence of the ingredients fused together inside the cauldron, forming a viscous, glowing liquid that pulsed with spiritual resonance. The temperature of the white flame lowered further, allowing the forming pill to solidify without cracking.
Valemont’s body trembled slightly, beads of sweat dripping from his brow. But his focus never broke.
He poured more of his spiritual energy into the concoction, stabilizing the formation.
As the mixture thickened and began to take shape, the courtyard filled with a peculiar scent—a mix of crushed snow petals, lightning-charged bark, and something older, almost metallic. The air shimmered with mana.
Ricky found himself leaning forward slightly.
This might just work.
And then, with a final gesture—a sweep of his right arm and a downward pulse of his mana—the flame extinguished in an instant, vanishing with a ghostly hiss.
Silence returned.
Only the faint sound of wind rustling through the nearby spiritual trees could be heard.
From the heart of the cauldron, a faint golden light flickered.
The pill had formed.
Valemont opened the lid, his expression calm but with the barest glint of triumph in his eyes. He plucked the small pill from within using a tool crafted from spirit jade and turned to face Ricky.
No words were spoken.
He simply held the pill aloft, letting its golden sheen reflect in the mosquito’s many eyes.
Ricky stared at the pill in silence for a long moment.
Then he laughed.
A low, slow, satisfied chuckle that echoed faintly across the ruined courtyard.
This boy... might just be the real deal.
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