The fox let out a short, incredulous laugh—sharp, almost breathless.
"Yeah. I know," it said, shaking its head. "Beast cores aren't some mystery to me."
It lifted a paw, ticking off points as it spoke, its voice turning precise—almost instructional.
"Cultivators can consume or absorb demonic beast cores. That's common knowledge. If the core is **below your own stage**, it can supplement cultivation—speed things up a little, maybe help stabilize a bottleneck."
Its eyes hardened.
"But the rules are clear. Consume a core at the **same stage**, and you're gambling with meridian collapse, qi deviation, or permanent damage. Screw it up once, and you cripple yourself for life."
The fox's paw clenched.
"And consuming a core **above your stage**?" It scoffed. "That's suicide. Your body can't handle the pressure. You don't refine it—you explode."
It looked back at the lizard slowly.
"But you didn't explode."
Its voice dropped.
"You consumed **five** cores. Two from the third layer. Three from the fourth. While you were barely at the fourth yourself."
A pause.
"And you didn't just absorb them," the fox said quietly. "You **refined** them."
Its gaze traced the lizard's form again, lingering on its chest, its wings, its unfocused golden eyes.
"And instead of crippling you… they pushed you forward. Cleanly. Two layers. No instability."
The fox exhaled slowly.
"…That breaks cultivation common sense."
It met the lizard's gaze.
Rubbing its muzzle with a paw, the fox let it fall, staring with an expression caught somewhere between disbelief and resignation.
"…Honestly," it said with a low chuckle, "I don't even know what I'm supposed to feel anymore."
Its ears twitched.
"Surprised? Yeah. Scared? A little. Amused?" The fox snorted. "Definitely."
It shook its head.
"I really thought I'd reached the point where nothing you do could shock me anymore." Its eyes slid back to the lizard's blank stare. "Looks like I was wrong."
A pause.
"You just keep doing things that shouldn't be possible."
The fox clicked its tongue and paced once.
"If breaking through layers is *that* easy for you—just by consuming demonic cores—you could've mentioned it earlier," it said pointedly. "Do you have any idea how ridiculous that is?"
It stopped and turned sharply.
"With that kind of speed, you won't just be 'strong.' You'll be operating on an entirely different level from ordinary cultivators."
Its tails swayed, eyes gleaming—not with greed, but calculation.
"…Which means," the fox continued, voice warming with intent, "from now on, I'm not letting a single core go to waste."
It grinned—sharp and unapologetic.
"I'll stuff you with demonic cores until even heaven starts asking questions."
A beat—then softer, almost amused:
"Of course, we'll still be careful. I'd rather not explode my most valuable asset."
The fox glanced at the lizard again, shaking its head with a faint laugh.
"…Seriously. You're a walking calamity."
After a brief pause, it added:
"But you're *my* walking calamity."
The fox straightened, tails flicking once, as if drawing a line beneath the moment.
"Alright," it said decisively. "We've rested. We've recovered. And we've made a killing—literally."
It glanced around the room, then back at the lizard.
"It's time to finish our business in the Night Market."
Its ears twitched.
"You said earlier… twenty days left before your eyes fully recover, right?" The fox frowned. "That's almost a month."
It scoffed lightly.
"After eating *that* many corpses and cores, it only shaved off forty days? That feels like a scam."
The fox waved a paw dismissively.
"Fine. Then we do it again. Same amount. More, if needed. Eat another pile of corpses, another batch of cores—problem solved."
The lizard replied immediately, voice flat.
"No."
The fox blinked.
"…Huh?"
The lizard continued, calm and matter-of-fact:
"Eating more will no longer reduce the recovery time. My eyes will only fully recover after twenty days."
Silence fell.
The fox stared.
Then its mouth twitched.
It went quiet for a moment, ears lowering slightly as it processed that.
"…So," it said at last, smoothing its tone, "you're staying blind for another twenty days."
It paused.
Then shrugged it off.
"…That's not really a problem."
Its tails swayed with renewed confidence as it stepped closer.
"We're both stronger now. A lot stronger." Its eyes gleamed faintly. "You're at the **sixth layer**. I'm solidly stabilized at the **fifth**. And we're not fighting alone—we're fighting *together*."
It let out a low, confident laugh.
"Even blind, with your senses and my control? Someone at the **sixth layer** goes down easily if they're alone."
The fox's grin sharpened.
"And an early **late-stage** cultivator?" It tilted its head. "Still doable. Risky, sure—but as long as they don't have backup, they'll fall."
It tapped the floor lightly with a claw.
"Your smell, hearing, qi perception. My formations, talismans, spirit tools." The fox smirked. "That's not a weakness. That's a different fighting style."
A brief pause, then softer:
"So take your twenty days. We'll move carefully, pick our targets, and finish our business cleanly."
Its gaze settled on the lizard—steady, certain.
"Blind or not," the fox said, "we're already dangerous."