SSS-Rank Evolving Monster: From Pest to Cosmic Devourer-Chapter 39: Not a small cost

The High Priest's ghostly face looked almost translucent under the flickering light, yet his voice carried supreme weight, each word laced with an eerie resonance. As he chanted, the raging tongues of flame twisted and turned unnaturally, like resentful souls clawing their way out from the deepest abyss of hell.

The dark fire crackled and danced, casting long, burning shadows across the masked faces of every cultist in the circle. Their expressions were solemn—entranced—some nearly trembling as the atmosphere thickened with reverence and dread.

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One particular cultist, both arms amputated at the shoulders, shivered uncontrollably, his body swaying as if in divine ecstasy. It was as if he were merging with something greater, something monstrous. A breath away from ascension—or maybe destruction.

The High Priest's expression shifted, his hollow eyes snapping toward the cultist with burning intensity.

Husss!

A fork-tongued snake coiled tightly around his neck suddenly hissed, tongue flicking with agitation. It slithered in a small circle, as though sensing a ripple in the fabric of reality.

Then—

The High Priest's eyes glowed with an unnatural light. His next words came not in his own voice, but in an unnervingly feminine and melodic tone that echoed across the forest.

"The Lord has spoken. The sacrifice... has succeeded."

The moment the words fell, ripples of excitement surged through the gathered cultists. Their breaths quickened, bodies quaking, some dropping to their knees as divine revelation bathed the area in sinister glory.

It was then—

BOOM!

A wet, sickening pop rang out as the head of the armless cultist exploded like a ripe fruit, sending a fine mist of blood arcing through the air. The crimson spray sizzled as it landed on the flames at the center of the altar.

Upon contact, the fire devoured the blood, turning it into curling gray smoke.

From the smoke, a giant silhouette began to emerge—its outline twisting into the unmistakable form of a gigantic mosquito. The beast's massive wings shimmered with ethereal veins, and its crimson eyes pulsed with demonic allure. Despite being smoke, the gaze felt alive—cunning, ancient, and powerful.

The High Priest's feminine voice returned.

"The Lord's message is clear. This mosquito will lead us to Demon Queen Noctyss' tomb."

A chill swept the clearing.

"Use Soul Search on every single animal in the forest. Don't stop until you've found it."

The voice, though sweet as honey, dripped with an edge that made spines stiffen. Cold sweat trickled down a few foreheads.

"We follow the High Priest's command..."

Ten masked figures stepped forward, their presence distinct from the rest. Their robes fluttered despite the absence of wind, and a barely concealed madness danced in their eyes. The air around them warped subtly, revealing their chaotic and unstable auras.

The High Priest threw a single glance in their direction and nodded once.

In the next heartbeat, the ten shadows blurred and scattered in different directions, vanishing into the forest like ghosts of vengeance.

...

Unaware of the gathering storm, Ricky sat cross-legged on a large boulder in the middle of thick woods. His slender mosquito body was still, wings tucked in tight, as if in deep meditation.

His antennae twitched now and then, absorbing the stillness of the forest as he attempted to sense the mana in the surroundings, following the cryptic instructions found within Demonic Beings Howling in Ten Directions.

"Empty your mind..."

He whispered the words to himself, trying to emulate the calm presence of the mosquito that had once appeared to him in a vision, when he learned the technique—an ancient being that had spoken of surrendering the self to the vastness of the world.

According to the technique, mana was everywhere—woven into the air, the trees, even the soil—but its density varied greatly. The Emerald Green Forest was one such place where mana was barely present, thinner than a thread of silk.

Cultivators had long developed specialized methods to draw this elusive force from their environment, using breathing techniques and spiritual tools.

But Ricky...

He had none of those spiritual tools. Just instincts and fragments of memory.

Time slipped away quietly. Minutes blurred into hours, but Ricky didn't budge. His focus never wavered.

His thin proboscis trembled slightly.

Why can't I feel it?

Did I mess up?

Is my talent too low...?

Just as doubt began to seep into his mind, everything shifted.

Suddenly, Ricky felt his consciousness pulled inward—dragged through space—and in the blink of an eye, he found himself surrounded by a thick, swirling mist.

The air here wasn't normal. It was dense, radiant, and sacred.

The aura it released reminded Ricky of something beyond the mortal realm—divine, eternal.

He recognized it instantly.

"...My spiritual space..."

The words slipped from his lips in wonder.

If this was the inner realm formed by spiritual force... then the fog enveloping it...

"Nascent Mist of Creation."

The name echoed in his mind, not as a thought, but as a truth—a recognition etched into his very soul.

When a cultivator's spiritual force reached a critical threshold, their spiritual space manifested. And this mist... this divine fog... was its foundation.

The amount and density of this mist varied from person to person, depending on one's talent and accumulation before breaking into Stage 2.

Ricky stared in awe.

A single realization dawned on him.

"...I can only sense mana after forming the spiritual seed."

With newfound clarity, he rummaged through the fragments of memory passed down by the technique, quickly finding the steps to form the spiritual seed.

There were many methods of seed creation, each leading to seeds of varying grades. But this method—mentioned in the Demonic Being Howling in Ten Directions—it claimed to create a superior seed, with no detailed classification needed.

Just as he was preparing to begin, a system prompt flickered in his mind.

---

[Requirement for creating spiritual seed met.]

[Use 100 years of lifespan to create the perfect spiritual seed?]

---

Ricky stared at the message, blinking.

"Damn system... your timing is just too perfect..."

He chuckled, speaking aloud as though chatting with an old friend. There was no fear in his voice, only amusement and excitement.

He knew the system wouldn't answer. It never did.

Still, he grinned.

Perfect spiritual seed.

The words alone were enough to stir anticipation in his heart.

But his joy was tempered with hesitation.

A hundred years of lifespan... it wasn't a small cost. Especially not for someone who, just a month ago, had only an hour left to live.