Target Slain: Rare beast(Shadow Lynx)
Soul Armament Acquired: companion type-soul pet
Devour Requirement: Consume flesh to extract rare essence
Target Slain:Epic beast(Golden horned Addax)
Soul Armament Acquired :Overlords Cloak
Devour Requirement: Consume flesh to extract epic essence
“Well, aren’t I favored by fortune today,” he murmured, turning the artifact over.
“A genuine Life Prominence.
It shares the exact same hallmarks as the soul weapons crafted by the Witch Race.
Truly fascinating.”
At a mere thought, the item responded.
A hooded cloak of rich, golden-brown fur materialized around him, draping over his frame in a seamless cascade.
The fabric shimmered with a brilliant metallic luster, mirroring the flawless hide of the Tropical Addax.
Yet, for all its armored sheen, the material defied expectations—slipping over his shoulders with a weightless, fluid flexibility that felt remarkably warm and cozy.
He checked the system interface.
“Overlord’s Domain and Force Field…
Let’s find out what these can do.”
• Overlords Domain
Deploys a gravitational field on surroundings [×7] Range:0.5km
• Force Field
• Deploys a protective film on the wearer [100%]
• Rare Beast slain:Shadow Lynx
• Soul Armament Acquired: Soul pet
• Devour Requirement: Consume its flesh to extract rare essence.
So, this is a Life Prominence?
Fascinating,” he murmured, observing the cloak’s residual energy.
“Now, let us see what the Shadow Lynx can do.”
With a flick of thought, an ethereal beam of midnight-black light erupted from his glabella.
It struck the stone floor and coalesced into a dark silhouette, materializing as a black lynx.
To be precise, it was a miniature manifestation—barely the size of a newborn kitten.
“Meow!” the tiny creature chirped.
It stood tall before Asterius, puffing out its minuscule chest to gaze up at its new master with absolute devotion.
Asterius narrowed his eyes, studying the creature with a cold, analytical gaze.
The sharp scrutiny sent an involuntary shiver through the tiny lynx.
“A separate but dependent consciousness,” Asterius noted.
“Unlike weapon-type Life Prominences, it can execute basic functions autonomously.
Once it unlocks its battle form, it will be capable of independent offense and defense.”
However, triggering that transformation required a specific catalyst: the flesh of higher-tier beasts.
The greater the fundamental grade of the familiar, the more potent the devoured essence needed to be to trigger its true combat state.
Because Asterius’s lynx belonged to the Rare tier, it would require the flesh of Rare-grade monsters or higher to evolve effectively.
“Which means,” Asterius muttered, “it is completely useless to me right now.”
As if grasping the weight of his words, the little lynx’s ears pinned back, and its head drooped low in sheer shame.
Asterius let out a heavy sigh, turning his back on the creature to face the waiting spectators.
herds that were covetously eyeing his trophies.
“I think it is time I addressed this issue,” he muttered.
Despite the primal wariness in their eyes, the beasts closed in on Asterious, guided by their respective pack leaders.
The vanguard of the buffalo herd made the first move, heavy hooves trekking toward the lynx’s corpse.
Yet, the moment it reached its prize, a bone-chilling weight of dense killing intent slammed down upon it, freezing the massive beast dead in its tracks.
Within heartbeats, the entire horde stood paralyzed, shuddering in absolute terror.
Their spirits fractured under the weight of the suffocating aura; the weaker beasts instantly lost consciousness and collapsed.
Those still standing forced their heads up toward the source, locking eyes with the cold, emotionless, crimson-blue gaze of Asterious.
They realized instantly that pressing forward meant certain death.
Beaten, they retreated slowly into the shadows of the woods, abandoning their fallen brethren without a second thought.
With their own survival on the line, loyalty mattered little.
Moments later, Asterious retracted his aura, immediately wincing as a sharp headache throbbed behind his eyes.
“Dammit…
this body desperately needs cultivation, or it will collapse entirely.
It can barely withstand a meager release of intent.
How pathetic.”
A low, rumbling “Meow…” broke the silence.
Thick slabs of flesh now hung over a crackling bonfire, sizzling as golden-brown fat dripped into the flames, releasing an alluring, savory aroma.
Asterious sat by the hearth, lazily turning the meat over the heat.
Beside him rested the small, dark creature.
“Little Black,” he murmured, settling on the name for the cub.
“Here, it’s done.” Pulling a juicy slab from the fire, he handed a portion over and sank his teeth into his own meal…(a few minutes later )Asterius sat cross-legged beside a mountain of picked bones.
At his side lay Little Black, its tiny belly bloated to near-bursting.
To any outside observer, the scene would have been utterly unbelievable: two massive beasts completely devoured by a single man and a small cat.
Asterius had consumed the remainder of the Addax and nearly half of the lynx himself.
The rest went to Little Black, who somehow managed to gorge down a carcass five times its own size.
His gluttony was well rewarded, yielding a harvest of eight epic essences and four rare essences.
• Ceres Turner {STATUS} [Unevolved]
• Ordinary Essence: 20/100
• Extraordinary Essence: 0/100
• Rare Essence: 4/100
• Epic Essence: 8/100
• Soul Prominences Gained: [Tropical Cloak – Epic], [Shadow Lynx – Rare]
“Things are looking up,” Asterius muttered, a faint smile tugging at his lips.
“But it’s still not enough.
I need to max out these essence points quickly if I want to cultivate the [Primordial Physique of Chaos] and my other techniques.”
Staring into the glowing interface of his evolutionary status, a wave of conflicting emotions washed over him.
He felt a strange mix of profound satisfaction and nagging restlessness.
Contentment, because his efforts had finally begun to yield results.
He had even managed to secure 8 epic essence points—a feat that should have been utterly impossible for someone of his meager level.
Yet, a stubborn dissatisfaction lingered.
His raw strength was simply inadequate to face such monstrous beasts head-on.
Under perfect conditions, he could successfully hunt rare-grade creatures.
He could even hold his own against epic-level threats, provided he played his cards flawlessly and caught a lucky break.
But Unique-level beasts?
Attempting to face them in his current state was nothing short of suicide.
Ultimately, these victories were mere flukes rather than guaranteed outcomes, and that harsh reality kept him on edge.
“Well, there’s no use crying over spilled milk,” he muttered with a heavy sigh.
“It’s time to piece together what I know about Ceres’ life and chart a path forward.”….(he sifted through Ceres’s memory)….
“Ah, I see.
I kept wondering why someone of his talent would wander into such a death trap.
Now it all makes sense…”
As it turned out, Ceres had crossed paths with Morgan Rosendale, a scion of the prominent Rosendale clan.
Morgan was the quintessential young master—arrogant, entitled, and thoroughly spoiled.
His family was a Tier-2 powerhouse within the Federation, commanding immense wealth and political leverage through their ownership of a Mystic Steel mine and their monopoly on Mystic Steel weaponry.
During Ceres’ tenure at the Battle Saint Academy, Morgan had been his senior.
The entire bitter feud had sparked over something incredibly trivial: the previous host, Ceres, had dared to confess his feelings to the academy’s premier beauty, Amy Lawrence
Even though the confession ended in rejection, it still ignited the wrath of Morgan, a rival suitor whose own pride had been deeply wounded by the very same girl.
To Morgan, Ceres was nothing more than an insignificant insect.
The mere thought of someone so low-born daring to profess love to the girl he coveted was a profound insult to his noble status.
Consumed by spite, Morgan sought to make Ceres’s life a living hell.
As fate would cruelest have it, the two were stationed at the exact same fort, instantly escalating an already tense situation into open hostility.
The arrogant scion publicly decreed that anyone who dared associate or cooperate with Ceres would be branded his personal enemy.
Backed by Morgan’s immense wealth and influence, the decree worked flawlessly; Ceres was utterly ostracized by the fort’s inhabitants.
Even those indifferent to Morgan’s whims shunned Ceres out of sheer contempt, viewing him as a weak, fragile bookworm.
Consequently, Ceres’s progression ground to a halt.
Stranded without allies to hunt stronger beasts and lacking the strength to venture into danger alone, he was reduced to farming low-tier Red Minks.
Yet, even that meager lifeline soon vanished.
His body grew entirely immune to their essence, rendering the low-level creatures useless for his cultivation.
Desperate, he attempted to migrate to new hunting grounds, only to encounter a different wall.
Morgan’s lackeys had thoroughly monopolized the territory to nurture their own factions, and they brutally beat Ceres back each time he approached.
He sought out alternative sectors, but every path led to the same violent dead end.
It seemed that…
Rend]: A technique that cloaks the edges of a weapon in a razor-sharp aura.
Rank Mastery: Rudimentary → Expert → Master → Grandmaster → Transcendent
Morgan was hellbent on making his life a living hell.
Recognizing the absolute futility of staying, Ceres made a desperate choice: he ventured into the Dark Woods—a treacherous territory that even elite genetic hunters with maxed-out, rare-tier essence counts feared to tread.
Fully aware of the danger, Ceres stuck strictly to the outer perimeter, hunting only the weaker monsters that roamed the fringes.
He had recently upgraded his primary offensive skill, [Rend], which brought a welcome surge of confidence to his otherwise wavering spirit.
Yet, fate is a cruel master.
Before he could even catch a glimpse of his unseen attacker, he was completely blindsided.
“As a man lives, so shall he die,” a voice echoed in yhe deep recesses of his memories.
He sighed, eyes reflecting a sudden, stern wave of nostalgia.
“A foolish but brave effort, young warrior.
You have earned my respect.
Rest now—I will take it from here.” Asterius’s gaze flared with absolute resolve.
‘Now, it is time to plan for the future,’ Ceres thought, bracing himself.
‘First priority: strengthen this vessel.
Luckily, I have the perfect solution.
The Primordial Physique of Chaos and my Life essence points complement each other seamlessly.’
In this world, harvesting beast flesh granted vital essence points.
Those who relied entirely on consuming this meat were known as Body Cultivators, while those who channeled structured arts and techniques were called Essence Cultivators.
Beyond them both lay the most enigmatic practitioners of all: the mysterious and subtle Cultivators of the Soul Path.
rare as phoenix feathers, easily counted on a single hand even among the upper echelons of the Federation.
As for Asterius…
he commanded all three paths, mastering them through the finest methods and techniques imaginable.
It was a terrifying, sobering reality.
“Second on the list: wealth, and a mountain of it,” he muttered.
“I need to amass a fortune—not just coin for myself, but the means to secure premium resources and equipment.
And not just for my own sake, but for Ceres-my sister and…” He cut himself off, the phantom name of Ellen Turner—Ceres’s sister—hanging heavily in the air.
Shaking off the sudden melancholy, he shrugged.
“Well, since I’ve inherited Ceres, they are effectively my family now.
I will ensure they receive the protection and respect they deserve.”
He paused, staring into the dark canopy.
“Last on the list: backing.
A powerful ally.
It isn’t a permanent necessity, of course, but it’s essential for the time being.
True strength is a slow, methodical pursuit; it cannot be rushed.
For now, I just need a shield to guarantee their safety.”
Uncoiling from his cross-legged stance, Asterius rose to his feet.
He extended his limbs in a deep stretch, a satisfying volley of pops echoing from his joints.
“Ah, much better.
Now that my priorities are straight, it’s time to execute.”
He peered through the dense, claustrophobic expanse of towering, black-barked trees.
Their twisting branches cast jagged, haunting silhouettes across the tangled undergrowth.
A slow grin spread across his face, his eyes burning with an intoxicating mix of anticipation and raw battle lust.
“Time for an adventure, Little Black…”
A soft, low meow vibrated in response.