Ten seconds later.
Theo gasped, his eyes snapping open in the real world.
He stumbled backward, clutching his chest as he fell hard onto the floor of the vault.
He coughed, feeling an illusory burning sensation deep in his brain.
He hadn’t been injured, but the mental backlash was intense. His Lv. 3 Parasite class simply hadn’t possessed the "bandwidth" to download a creature of that magnitude. It was like trying to swallow a mountain whole.
"Okay... point taken," Theo wheezed, wiping a bead of sweat from his forehead. "Seems like I need to level up my class or hit my evolution before I try to eat the ancient sect mascots."
Looking back at the core, Theo decided to play it safe.
He wasn’t going to get a massive meal today, but the ambient pressure radiating from the nine pedestals was absolutely perfect.
Theo crossed his legs and sat down on the cracked stone floor, letting his Abyssal Meridians open wide to devour the overflowing aura.
He just needed to sit here for a few hours, and his body would naturally cross the evolutionary threshold.
...
At the edge of the Ninth Peak’s outer perimeter.
The few disciples who had witnessed Malakor enter the containment block were now standing in stunned silence.
Malakor, who had marched up the path with the arrogance of a tyrannical warlord, had crawled out of the doors.
His robes were shredded. The armor-like scales that covered his arms were cracked and bleeding, as if his own body was rejecting the demonic grafts.
He hadn’t even been attacked, yet he looked like he had barely survived a fight with a sect elder.
"I’m still not strong enough..." Malakor hissed through clenched teeth, his eyes wide as he stumbled into the forest path leading away from the peak.
He walked for a mile until he reached a secluded clearing shrouded in dark pines.
Waiting for him, leaning against a tree with his arms crossed, was a man named Rengar.
Rengar was another one of Elder Silas’s inner enforcers, a man whose physique was modified to resemble a walking boulder.
"You look like garbage," Rengar noted, raising an eyebrow. "What happened to you? Where is the chimera Elder Vespera promised us?"
Malakor ignored the question, his hands trembling as he clenched them into fists behind his back.
"The new vessels," Malakor grunted. "Are they prepared?"
"Garrick and the other high-vitality recruits?" Rengar smirked, a cruel glint in his eye. "Yeah. The beast-seed arrays have already been planted in their dorms. They think they’re absorbing high-grade spirit qi, but they’re just ripening themselves for the harvest. Garrick even thanked me for the extra cultivation resources this morning."
"Good."
Malakor’s eyes gleamed with a twisted satisfaction.
Knowing his junior brother’s volatile temper, Rengar added a word of caution. "Patience, Malakor. Stick to Master Silas’s plan. Wait for the outer sect resource expedition next month to make our move. We can harvest them in the wild and blame their deaths on rogue beasts."
"I know what I’m doing," Malakor snapped.
After a tense pause, Malakor lowered his voice.
"Those outer sect laborers who deliver the supplies," Malakor said. "When the expedition happens... we should target them too."
Rengar studied him carefully. "The supply carriers? Why bother risking exposure for garbage?"
Malakor scoffed. "They’ve enjoyed the Silent Thunder Sect’s protection and eaten our food. Do they think they can just sweep floors in peace? If those trash can be of some final use to fuel my blood array, it’s the greatest honor of their wretched lives."
The Blood-Iron rituals... it was no wonder the sect elders strictly monitored Silas’s peak.
Practicing the forbidden arts too deeply always rotted a cultivator’s mind, replacing logic with blind malice.
Rengar sneered inwardly but feigned hesitation on his face.
"Don’t forget who dragged you out of the outer sect slums, Rengar."
Rengar had no intention of refusing anyway. After putting on a show of reluctant agreement, he nodded his head.
"Fine, I’ll see what I can arrange."
Rengar turned to leave the clearing, but before he could take more than two steps, Malakor’s grating voice called after him.
"That new janitor assigned to the Ninth Peak. The one named Theo," Malakor said, his eyes narrowing. "What is his background?"
"Theo?" Rengar paused, glancing back with a frown. "He’s the kid who allegedly cheated on the Path of Howling Thunder. You’d better not set your sights on him. Elder Vespera has taken a weird liking to him. If you provoke that crazy alchemist, not even Master Silas will stick his neck out to save you."
"Elder Vespera... Theo."
Malakor muttered the names to himself, engraving them into his memory.
He had seen the boy walk into the third-tier vault!
Only sect elders or those at the absolute peak of the inner court with body refinement could even survive the pressure of that ancient room.
There was no possible way a sixteen-year-old mortal janitor could do it on his own.
That kid must have a supreme defensive treasure on him!
Yes, it had to be because of an ancient artifact protecting his mortal body. That was the only logical explanation!
The shame and anger in Malakor’s heart slowly faded, replaced entirely by a burning greed.