SSS-Rank Evolving Monster: From Pest to Cosmic Devourer-Chapter 95: A hundred

"Venom Fang Overlord, I have given my best. I hope my creation can satisfy you."

Valemont wiped the sweat from his brow with a dainty pink handkerchief, his usual composed demeanor tinged with theatrical flair. His voice carried both reverence and pride, as if he were offering a sacred relic rather than a freshly refined pill.

With a graceful motion, he extended his arm, and the still-warm pill floated into the air, gliding gently on currents of his spiritual energy. It hovered before Ricky, glowing faintly, as if the pill itself was eager to be consumed.

The scent struck Ricky before the pill even reached him.

A delicate, heady aroma—earthy yet tinged with something light and ethereal—wafted into the air. Just the scent alone caused a cooling ripple to pass through his veins, as if he’d taken a long breath atop a mountain peak. A subtle sense of vitality washed over him. His wings twitched involuntarily.

Something stirred deep inside.

Not bad, he thought, impressed despite himself.

Valemont remained silent, his eyes fixed on Ricky with quiet anticipation. He didn’t move, didn’t blink, waiting for judgment.

Ricky didn’t speak.

Instead, his proboscis extended with fluid precision. Razor-thin and wickedly sharp, it pierced the pill squarely at its center with a soft, wet crack.

The reaction was instant.

A warm, surging current of energy burst forth, flooding his body like molten honey. His antennae jolted upright, then fell limp as a wave of pure euphoria overtook him. For a brief moment, the world blurred.

It was a sensation he hadn’t felt in a long, long time.

It reminded him of that first night—ages ago—when he’d sipped fermented spirit nectar from a shattered glass jar left in the ruins of a battlefield. That reckless, dizzying warmth that crept through his limbs and made the stars spin.

Except this was cleaner. Sharper. Deeper.

His thoughts melted into silence.

No past. No future.

Just blissful stillness.

Within him, far from the physical realm, his second spiritual space—an undeveloped and stagnant sphere that had long lurked in the shadows of its dominant twin—suddenly stirred.

Like a slumbering beast catching its first breath of spring air.

The energy within the pill didn’t explode. It flowed, like a calm river slowly building into a surging tide. It seeped into the dormant space, not with violence, but with purpose. Layers of darkness peeled away. Hidden channels stretched and pulsed.

The spiritual space expanded.

Grew.

Evolved.

Walls that once felt brittle now throbbed with raw mana. The spiritual field around the second space thickened, solidifying inch by inch. There was no thunder. No chaos. Just the quiet inevitability of progress.

Time lost all meaning.

Whether minutes or hours passed, Ricky didn’t know. He simply drifted in that strange, weightless state, every part of his being immersed in transformation.

Then, at last, something shifted.

The growth slowed.

The flow receded.

The serenity faded like morning mist.

His eyes blinked open, vision still hazy. The taste of residual energy clung to the back of his throat—sweet, bitter, ancient. His wings buzzed faintly as his body recalibrated.

From somewhere just beyond the haze, a hesitant voice reached his ears.

"Venom Fang Overlord, is everything okay?"

Ricky turned his gaze toward Valemont, who stood with stiff posture, worry flickering in his eyes despite the composed tone.

For a second, Ricky didn’t answer.

Then, slowly, the corners of his mandibles curved into a rare, satisfied smile.

Valemont had been watching closely, eyes never leaving Ricky’s face. Every twitch of his antennae, every subtle shift in his mandibles—he noted them all with meticulous care.

At first, he was confident.

Then five minutes passed.

Then ten.

Fifteen.

By the thirty-minute mark, Ricky was still sitting motionless, gaze fixed somewhere far beyond the horizon. A dazed, unreadable expression hung on his face.

Valemont’s nerves began to fray.

The silence was unbearable.

In the end, he could no longer help himself.

"Venom Fang Overlord, is everything okay?" he asked, his voice respectful but strained, like a loyal attendant trying not to offend a slumbering god.

Ricky didn’t reply immediately. His proboscis twitched, and slowly, deliberately, he blinked. The world around him shimmered in vibrant hues.

He saw everything.

Everything.

Colors he had never noticed before painted the world in surreal clarity. The texture of leaves, the glint of dew, the shimmer of light bending through particles of mana in the air—each detail stood out like a painting crafted by the gods themselves.

Without even trying, his eyes honed in on a single insect crawling along a branch of a tree—dozens of kilometers away.

He could see the river of liquid mana winding high in the sky like a celestial stream, its flow slow and deliberate, weaving a pattern that felt almost... divine.

It reminded him of the day he first stepped into Stage 2, when his senses had expanded and his world had changed.

But this—this was even more pronounced.

This was evolution.

A wild thought struck him like a bolt of lightning.

He clenched his focus, and the familiar whisper echoed in his mind.

Status.

A soft chime rang in his consciousness.

A translucent blue window shimmered into existence before his eyes.

[Spiritual Force: 20.9]

His mandibles slackened slightly. A tremor ran down his proboscis.

"Holy fucking cow!" he blurted aloud, voice filled with stunned disbelief.

An entire point?!

His spiritual force had jumped by a full point.

From one pill.

The implications hit him like a war hammer. What if he had ten of them? Twenty? A hundred?

His entire path could accelerate at a speed unimaginable to most cultivators. This wasn’t just a breakthrough—it was a shortcut through the heavens.

Just as he began to dream of vaulting past barriers and smashing cultivation walls like glass, Valemont’s voice broke his thoughts again.

"Venom Fang Overlord, are you satisfied by the pill?" the young man asked eagerly, his expression shining with pride and the barely restrained excitement of a puppy waiting for praise.

Ricky didn’t answer right away.

Instead, his antennae and mandibles slowly shifted, adopting a stern, solemn posture. His tone dropped to one of ancient gravity, like a wise elder passing judgment from the peak of the heavens.

"Young man," Ricky said, voice heavy with gravitas, "you must not let a single successful item go to your head."

He paused for effect. Valemont straightened, hanging on his every word.

"If you can refine a hundred such pills," Ricky continued, "then I will truly consider you talented. Only then will you be worthy to be accepted... as my disciple."

He let the words settle, dramatic and heavy.

Valemont froze, lips parting in awe, but then a difficult expression crept into his features, a mix of humility and despair.

Ricky, observing this, inwardly grimaced.

Damn it... my greed again.

He cursed himself silently. That flash of hunger, of avarice—he had let it slip. Maybe he should’ve said ten. Or twenty. That would’ve been a reasonable ask.

But a hundred?

Even if Valemont was born under the constellation of the Alchemist God, crafting a hundred perfect pills of this caliber would be a titanic feat.

Still, the idea was now out there.

Ricky tried to mask his regret with a sage-like expression.

Inside, though, a single, greedy thought pulsed in his mind like a heartbeat.

Just imagine... a hundred of those pills.

Just as Ricky was reveling in thoughts of rapid cultivation progress and pill-fueled breakthroughs, he noticed a flicker of hesitation on Valemont’s face.

The young man’s brows twitched ever so slightly, and he opened his mouth half an inch as if about to speak—only to immediately shut it, lips pressed in a thin line.

That flicker didn’t escape Ricky’s notice.

With a knowing gaze, Ricky raised a brow and adopted the calm, patient tone of a benevolent overlord.

"Speak up, young man. What’s on your mind? If you think a hundred is too much—"

Before he could finish, Valemont bowed deeply and cut him off, voice strained with sincerity.

"Forgive me, Overlord, but I do not possess the alchemical ingredients needed to refine a hundred such pills. Many of the components are rare and hard to procure."

He paused, glancing up with a hopeful look.

"I would need at least a year to gather everything necessary. I hope... you would allow this little one a year of time."

Ricky blinked once. His compound eyes didn’t move, his face unreadable as ever.

Externally, he looked completely indifferent.

Majestic. Untouched by mortal concerns. Like a god weighing the worth of a single mortal request.

But internally?

This guy was worried about ingredients?!

Ricky nearly choked on his own saliva. A storm of thoughts thundered in his head.

Here I was, preparing to tone down my demand out of pity. I thought he was hesitating because he feared failure, or maybe lacked confidence in his talent. But no... this man—this absolute lunatic—just needs more ingredients?!

He was fully prepared to refine a hundred of them.

Ricky almost wanted to cry out.

Monster. You’re a damn monster, Valemont!

Still, he kept his expression cold and composed, like an ancient cultivator who had seen the rise and fall of empires.

Foll𝑜w current novℯls on fre𝒆web(n)ovel.co(m)