The fox exhaled slowly, letting its thoughts settle.
"Offense can wait," it said quietly. "Defense comes first."
With a flicker of qi, one of the **defensive spirit tools** lifted from the bed and floated before it—a compact, earth-grade artifact etched with layered sigils, still cold and empty after the erasure of its former imprint.
The fox closed its eyes.
Its posture shifted—not tense, but *focused*.
A single, thin strand of **divine sense** extended from its consciousness, careful and precise, threading into the tool like a needle through silk. There was no rush. No force. The sensation was delicate, probing, shaping rather than pressing.
Imprinting was not domination.
It was **agreement**.
Qi flowed in measured pulses, each one leaving behind a faint echo of the fox's will—calm, sharp, controlled. The tool trembled once, then steadied, its surface warming as the foreign presence accepted the fox as its master.
Behind it, the room remained quiet save for a single sound—
*crunch.*
The lizard finished tearing through another corpse, blood slick along its jaws.
{System}
**[Evolution Points Gained: +5,000]**
There was no reaction.
Not even a pause.
The lizard shifted immediately, dragging itself toward the next body, claws scraping softly against the floor as it began feeding again—methodical and focused, much like the fox itself.
Time passed.
The fox remained unmoving, eyes closed, tails still, divine sense fully engaged. Minutes stretched on. The sigils on the defensive tool dimmed, then flared once—softly—before settling into a steady, obedient glow.
Finally—
The fox withdrew its divine sense.
Its eyes opened.
A faint glimmer of satisfaction crossed its gaze as it reached out and grasped the tool physically for the first time since imprinting.
"…Good," it said simply.
The tool responded instantly, qi flowing in perfect harmony with its own. No resistance. No delay.
"One down."
It set the defensive tool aside with care, its eyes already drifting toward the next.
Behind it, the lizard continued eating, oblivious to everything but the feast before it—growing stronger, bite by bite, while the fox quietly prepared for what came next.
An hour slipped by without either of them noticing.
Time inside the room bent around **purpose**.
The lizard was already on the **eighth corpse**.
Blood stained the floor despite the fox's earlier neatness, flesh and bone vanishing piece by piece. Its movements had slowed—not from exhaustion, but from **density**. Each bite was heavier. Each breath carried more qi than before.
It had gained **22,000 Evolution Points** and **33 Earth Gene Points**.
Still, the lizard kept eating.
Its scales faintly glimmered as qi circulated through its body in deeper, steadier currents. Its frame looked subtly different now—denser, heavier, its presence more *anchored* to the ground.
At the same time—
The fox opened its eyes.
Before it, the **jade spear** hovered silently.
Then—
It moved.
The spear sliced through the air in a smooth arc, curving around the room with flawless responsiveness, answering thought faster than muscle ever could. The fox's ears flicked once, and the spear corrected instantly—spinning, reversing, stopping on a breath.
The fox smiled.
A second weapon rose.
The **glaive** lifted from the bed, its long blade humming softly as qi poured into it. With a flick of intent, it followed the spear—slower, heavier, but devastating—sweeping through the air with crushing momentum.
The fox stood.
Its storage pouch opened.
From within, the **black spear** surged out like a shadow given form, snapping into position beside the other two.
Three weapons.
All moving.
All controlled.
The fox took a step forward.
The jade spear darted.
The glaive swept.
The black spear hovered—waiting, patient, lethal.
Not one wavered.
"…Good," the fox murmured, eyes gleaming.
It rotated its wrist slightly, and the jade spear and glaive crossed paths without colliding, flowing around one another as if they had trained together for years.
"Mid-stage Foundation Establishment…" the fox said calmly, almost thoughtfully.
Its tails swayed once.
"…killing one now won't be a problem."
The weapons halted midair, tips angled outward, radiating quiet pressure.
Behind it, the lizard crunched through bone, indifferent to the declaration—already preparing, instinctively, for whatever feast would come next.
The fox let the weapons drift back into its pouch, the black spear dissolving into shadow as the opening sealed with a soft pulse of qi.
Then it turned back to the bed.
One pouch after another floated up, their mouths opening with a flick of its paw—**all eighteen**, now obedient, empty of lingering will. No resistance. No backlash. Clean.
The fox's eyes gleamed.
"Good," it murmured. "Let's see what you were all hoarding."
The first pouch spilled its contents onto the bed in a controlled stream.
Spirit stones—dozens at first, then **hundreds**—clinked together softly as they piled up, their glow reflecting in the fox's narrowed eyes. Mixed among them were talismans: defensive seals, concealment slips, a few movement charms. Most were ordinary, but several bore clean inscriptions and stable qi.
"Mm. Not bad."
The next pouch opened.
Bottles rolled out—pill bottles sealed with wax and jade stoppers. The fox swept them aside, reading labels with a glance.
**Spirit Recovery Pills.**
**Qi Circulation Pills.**
**Bone-Tempering Pills.**
A few made its ears twitch.
These bottles were packed far tighter than the last batch—high-quality seals, no wasted space. Several labels made the fox pause.
"Spirit Marrow Nourishment Pills… Bone Cleansing Pills…" it murmured. "Earth-tier. Expensive."
It snorted softly.
"All that, just to wear human skin for a few hours."
Still—it stored them carefully.
Another pouch.
This one smelled *alive*.
Bundles of **spiritual herbs** slid out, wrapped in preservation talismans: moon-veined grass, frostleaf stems, red-root vines still faintly pulsing with vitality. Some were common. Others were rare enough to make the fox pause and look twice.
"Oh?" it muttered. "Someone had connections."
It separated them neatly, already considering refinement, resale, or future use.
Another pouch.
This one held **jade slips**—techniques, notes, partial manuals. Some incomplete. Some clearly stolen copies. The fox skimmed one, then another.
These could wait.
One pouch after another opened.
More stones.
More pills.
More plants.
A few **rare materials**—demonic beast bones, refined blood crystals, spirit metals.
A handful of spirit tools appeared as well—low-grade ones dismissed with a glance and tossed into a separate pile. Mortal items were sealed away elsewhere.
By the time it finished, the bed was crowded again—but now the fox's expression was sharper, more focused.
"This," it said quietly, "is the real harvest."
Behind it, the wet sound of tearing flesh echoed.
The lizard was still eating.
Still calm.
Still efficient.
The fox glanced back briefly, noting the subtle change in the lizard's body—heavier, denser than before. Its gaze lingered for half a breath… then it turned away.
"Keep going," the fox said absently. "You'll need it."
With practiced ease, it began transferring the **second haul** into its own storage pouch, movements precise and methodical.
Not rushed.
Because now it understood something important.
This wasn't just profit.
This was **momentum**.
The fox moved again, slower now—no rush, no excitement clouding its judgment.
This was the part it enjoyed most.
**Organization.**
With a flick of its paw, **spirit stones poured out**, hovering briefly before settling into neat, glowing rows. The fox scanned them once, then began sorting with ruthless precision.
"Low-grade only," it muttered. "But even among these… there are differences."
It separated them cleanly:
• **Poor-grade** — dull glow, uneven qi.
• **Normal-grade** — stable, serviceable.
• **Mid-grade** — brighter, smoother flow.
• **High-grade** — rare among low-grade stones.
• **Top-grade** — only a handful, but unmistakable.
It swept the normal-grade stones together.
"No need to overthink these."
Each category vanished into its **own storage pouch**, sealed and labeled in its mind.
Next came the pills.
Recovery pills together.
Cultivation aids together.
Rare earth-tier pills isolated and stored separately.
Talismans followed—offensive, defensive, movement, concealment—each type assigned its own pouch. Nothing usable was discarded.
Weapons came last.
Spirit tools were inspected briefly, then sorted by grade and function. Anything too weak went into a "resale or feedstock" pouch. The rest were packed with care.
The **spirit herbs**, however—
Those never touched secondary storage.
The fox gathered them personally, tail curling protectively as it slipped them directly into its **main storage pouch**, preserving them with a thin layer of qi.
"These are too valuable to misplace," it said quietly.
One by one, the now-empty pouches floated up.
The fox didn't hesitate.
It folded them, compressed them with qi, and stored all of them inside its **main pouch**.
When it finished, the bed was bare.
Nothing left out.
Nothing forgotten.
Only the fox's **main storage pouch** remained, hanging across its neck—heavy now, full to the brim with neatly categorized wealth, tools, and materials.
The fox sat back on its haunches and released a satisfied breath.
"…Clean. Efficient. Perfect."
Behind it, the soft sound of tearing flesh continued as the lizard ate on, indifferent to wealth or order.
The fox glanced back once, ears flicking.
Then it closed its eyes briefly—already planning the next move, the next use for everything it had claimed.