SSS-Rank Evolving Monster: From Pest to Cosmic Devourer-Chapter 121: fog

Ricky slowly turned his compound eyes away from New Moon City.

Not a single whisper across the entire Emerald Green Forest territory escaped his perception. Every emotion—every shifting worry, every trembling breath taken in the quiet corners of the refugee camps—was known to him.

The rising tension, the fear of another undead assault, the desperate meetings—he had seen it all.

But unlike the mortals scrambling to prepare, Ricky’s gaze remained calm. Focused.

Yes, he was concerned about the undead invasion.

But concern did not mean panic.

He had already planned for it.

"If one Stage 3 isn’t enough... then I’ll deploy ten."

That thought echoed in his mind like a blade sharpening against a whetstone.

His wings fluttered once in silence, and his gaze narrowed dangerously.

A razor-thin glint passed through his multifaceted eyes—a flash of lethal promise.

But that would come later.

For now, there was something more important—something far more personal.

It was time to begin the creation of his third Spiritual Seed.

A new Spiritual Space—a domain of power that would push him even closer toward true transcendence.

Now that his lifespan had once again surged past the one-million-year mark, he had the capital to proceed.

"Strength first. Then war."

With a faint ripple, his form shimmered and vanished from the castle, leaving behind no sound, no footprint—only stillness.

The forest did not notice.

The winds didn’t howl.

Even the grass didn’t bend beneath his passing.

Only one soul sensed the disturbance.

From a small wooden platform perched on the castle’s outer balcony, Crown Prince Darius slowly opened his eyes.

Still seated in a meditative pose, he frowned faintly and turned his head toward the open sky.

Just for a moment—just for the briefest of instants—he had seen something dart across the clouds.

A mosquito-shaped blur. Almost translucent. As if reality itself had folded around it.

He blinked.

It was gone.

"Was that... him?"

He couldn’t tell.

Darius exhaled slowly and ran a hand through his snow-white hair before shaking his head.

"No, just my imagination."

He lowered his gaze once more and looked across the open fields where dozens of new recruits were sparring under the stern gazes of Alexandria and Boar.

Their discipline was passable.

But their movements?

Their stance?

Their footwork?

Sloppy.

Even from his distance, Darius could spot a dozen mistakes with every exchange.

A parry held too long. A stance too low. A delayed shift of the hips.

He shook his head in visible disappointment, his silver eyes narrowing.

"At this rate... they’ll need a thousand years before they’re ready for a real battlefield."

He said nothing else—he simply returned to his silent vigil.

Meanwhile, far above the clouds and hidden beyond the veil of perception, Ricky soared through the skies like a wraith carved from shadow and wind, his mind solely focused on one thing:

The birth of his third domain of power.

And this time...

It would be unlike anything the world had ever seen.

The most important thing a soldier needed—above strength, speed, or skill—was an iron will.

A conviction so deep it could bend reality.

The kind of belief that even a wooden sword, if wielded with resolve, could slice through armor forged of mythril.

That was the heart of a true warrior.

And yet, as Darius watched the recruits struggle through basic drills, he could see that decisiveness was sorely lacking.

These young ones flinched too quickly, hesitated too often. They were still green—too green. What they lacked wasn’t technique, but the bitter taste of death’s shadow breathing down their necks.

"No battlefield scars. No understanding of loss. No taste of blood or madness. And it shows."

This kind of willpower—this bone-deep resolve—couldn’t be taught through lectures or repeated drills.

It was forged in the fires of real battle.

Just as he was lost in thought, a chilling sound shattered the air.

A long, scraping shriek echoed through the skies—a grotesque howl that sounded like glass bottles grinding against each other, sharp enough to pierce bone.

Darius’s eyes lit up instantly.

The scouts are here.

The undead legion had finally arrived.

He could sense it.

A grin slowly crept across his face. A savage, almost pleased expression.

"Perfect. I’ve found a battlefield for the recruits."

---

While death began its approach at the northern gates of the Emerald Green Forest, Ricky had already traveled to its opposite edge—the deep south.

Far removed from the chaotic whispers of war, he glided silently above an untamed stretch of ancient forest, thousands of kilometers from the undead incursion.

Unlike the vibrant and lively heartlands of the Emerald Forest, this region pulsed with a deeper, more primal energy.

Each step forward brought a gradual transformation.

The trees here were taller—colossal.

Towering titans that loomed like guardians of time itself, their bark gnarled and twisted like ancient runes etched into living stone.

They stretched so high that they seemed to pierce the heavens—reaching far beyond the clouds like wooden spires from a forgotten age.

The air thickened with raw mana.

It coiled between the roots like serpents and shimmered through the canopy like a breathing mist.

Even the wind seemed to move with purpose, whispering secrets Ricky chose to ignore.

"This is where it must begin."

Ahead, a haze began to slither through the gaps in the trees.

Smoke—but not the kind that comes from fire. It had no scent, no heat. It was cold, twisting, alive.

It slithered between the trees like a coiling serpent, dancing just beyond reach, reacting to Ricky’s presence.

And as he stepped deeper into its embrace, the smoke thickened.

It wasn’t just obscuring his vision anymore—it was watching him.

Testing him.

This place was no ordinary grove.

It was a realm unto itself.

And Ricky had come here for one reason—to forge his third spiritual seed.

A place like this... it would do just fine.

"Won’t let me go ahead?"

Ricky mused, his compound eyes narrowing as his mandibles twitched upward in amusement.

The smoke writhed before him—an unnatural wall of twisting mist that pulsed like a living creature. Every time he tried to advance, it shifted, blocking his path with eerie precision, as if responding to his intentions.

It wasn’t just fog.

It was a boundary.

A deliberate one.

Ricky had passed through this region before, back when the trees were tall but silent and the air had been still. Back then, this smoke didn’t exist. It was a new addition.

Its timing? Too coincidental. It had manifested just around the time the undead began their march.

"So whoever—or whatever—is responsible for this... they’re not targeting me. They’re stopping the undead."

He clicked his mandibles together, sharp and deliberate.

"How noble. But if you think a bit of ghost fog can stop me..."

A sharp grin spread across his face, mandibles curling upward like scythes.

"Then you’re sorely mistaken."

A sharp gust of wind blew through the trees, rustling the ancient leaves above. But the smoke didn’t move. It stood still, resisting even nature’s breath.

It was clear: this was no ordinary barrier.

And what lay beyond was no ordinary land.

According to fragmented reports and whispered rumors from the few sentient beasts that had wandered too close and lived to tell the tale, this place was the threshold to spiritual beast territory.

A region sacred and untamed, older than many human kingdoms.

Unlike monsters like Ricky—born of mutation, adaptation, and the primal laws of the lower world—spiritual beasts were creatures of pedigree.

They bore the bloodlines of ancient titans—beasts who once roamed the high heavens and brought kingdoms to ruin with their roars.

They weren’t just powerful—they were proud.

To them, monsters were mangy scavengers, freaks of evolution with no noble lineage. Unworthy of being treated as equals.

That was the fundamental divide.

Monsters were wild.

Spiritual beasts were royalty.

And Ricky... was something in between.

His origin was monstrous. But his strength? His cunning? His ever-growing spiritual mastery?

All signs pointed to something more.

Something other.

The smoke shifted again, curling like a warning fang in front of him. The mist coalesced into faint serpentine patterns, as if a guardian beast were watching, silently questioning his intent.

Ricky stood unmoved, compound eyes glowing faintly with a silvery hue.

"I don’t care if you’re a guardian, a beast king, or a goddamn ancient wyrm."

He lowered his stance slightly, his wings twitching behind him.

"I’m here for my third spiritual seed. And I won’t leave until I get it."

The smoke thickened in response.

The forest trembled faintly.

And the true trial...

Was about to begin.

"Just wait for me to form my third spiritual force, and we will see."

Ricky’s voice echoed through the dense, smoky air like a promise carved into stone.

His compound eyes lingered on the thick mist one final time. It curled and pulsed in place, still trying to block his path, unaware that it had already lost the moment it challenged him.

There was no need for further confrontation.

Not now.

Without another word, Ricky’s form shimmered—his body growing translucent as spatial ripples spiraled around him. The emerald hues of the forest and the towering, skyscraper-like trees blurred as he disappeared into thin air like a phantom vanishing between realms.

He was gone.

The smoke stirred once more, sensing the sudden absence of the intruder—but no response followed. It resumed its watchful stillness.

Meanwhile, Ricky was already reappearing in a familiar space.

The Inheritance Ground of the Divine Researcher Saint.

A plane detached from the outside world, silent and undisturbed. The air here was pristine and dense with pure, crystalline mana—so thick and potent it was visible in delicate silver threads drifting through the sky like divine mist.

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