"Hmm… Actually, there's no need to be so aggressive."
Long accustomed to Bug God's rampant bloodlust—he was, after all, the de facto representative of the martial faction among her subordinates—Great Eyes' singular orb twitched in exasperation. When he spoke again, his voice was wrapped in Psychokinesis, seeming to emanate from everywhere at once.
"I've observed that little guy before. The potential he's shown is quite valuable. Personally, I'm curious to see just how far he can go."
As he spoke, a cloth sack, its opening tightly bound, floated forward on a cushion of psychic energy, coming to rest before Bug God.
"Here's what I propose, Bug God. Deliver this to him for me. And while you're at it, have a word with your junior in the Insect race. Set him straight."
Great Eyes' tone was calm, unhurried. "It's fine if he wants to control more territory, accrue more power. But those low-level Monsters still have their uses. They cannot be so easily eradicated. That is all. Convey my words exactly."
Bug God was silent for a beat. Then, with a simple nod, he reached out and took the sack, hefting it onto one shoulder. The order was accepted. He would see it done.
"Understood. I'll handle it."
He turned and strode from the hall at a leisurely pace, the faint rustle of his carapace plates rubbing together marking his exit. A slow, predatory smile curved his mandibles.
"A promising junior, favored by Great Eyes, is it? Heh heh… I do hope this so-called junior can offer me a little surprise."
The Underground World – Another Monster Territory on the Verge of Collapse
Jack's clawed hand tightened. With a sickening, wet crunch, the head of the Tiger-level Monster he held aloft burst like an overripe melon. Gore sprayed in a wide arc, painting the cavern floor in red and white—a messy declaration that another Tiger-level reign had ended, violently and decisively, beneath his intervention.
Liberating slaves, however, was not on the itinerary.
As always, he'd butchered his way through most of the territory's inhabitants. By the time he was done, his dark armor was streaked and splattered with a rainbow of monster ichor. The survivors huddled together, collectively paralyzed with terror.
[Killed 7 Tiger-level Monsters | Origin Points +231]
[Killed 437 Wolf-level Monsters | Origin Points +1183]
He'd left… well, a small portion of them alive. Psykos could be watching from some shadowy corner at any moment, and Jack knew he had to at least pay lip service to the idea of restraint.
The truth was, these low-level Monsters were just too weak. He'd spent days carving a bloody path through the chaotic ecosystem the Monster Association had deliberately cultivated in the lower levels, and the total Origin Points he'd accumulated barely surpassed what Great Eyes tossed his way in a single feeding.
On the bright side, he'd uncovered a small treasure trove in the lairs of various Tiger-level leaders: dozens of Monster Cells. Naturally, he'd exercised his authority as boss and collected them all.
After all this effort for such meager returns, Jack couldn't help but feel a gnawing urge to pay Lord Pochi a visit and just… nibble a little. Those were fresh, piping-hot Monster Cells, after all!
"Sharp Fang." Jack exhaled a plume of hot breath, burning away the filth caked on his claws. "Standard protocol. Find a few Tiger-level leaders to absorb the survivors into our ranks."
"Yes, Lord! Consider it done!"
Sharp Fang snapped to attention and immediately began gesturing imperiously, delegating tasks with an air of self-importance that belied his actual combat power. Though any of the Tiger-level leaders present could obliterate him in an instant, none dared to disobey the rat Monster's commands. Not when he spoke with the Boss's authority.
Watching his subordinates scurry about their grim work, Jack turned from the blood-soaked battlefield, his gaze fixed on the distance ahead.
According to Sharp Fang's newly formed intelligence network, a Demon-level Monster of the Evil Ghost race had entrenched itself in the mines up ahead. It was the single strongest entity in this region—other than Jack himself.
The Monster Association was a diverse menagerie. Its members could be classified in countless ways: by ability, by origin—human mutations, biological evolutions, psychic types, special life forms, possession-induced manifestations, divinely blessed abominations. Or by form and race—Insect, Beast, Sea Folk, Evil Ghost, Demon, Rock Life, Plant Monster, Grotesque… the list went on.
Some Monsters banded together based on shared lineage. Others fought alone.
The one in the mines was a solitary Demon-level. Its name was Mountain Child, and it commanded the power of earth veins and rock.
Demon-level battles were not the domain of low-tier cannon fodder. Still, Jack selected a few of his newly subdued Tiger-level subordinates to accompany him. He'd handle the enemy personally. But if Mountain Child had collected anything of value in its territory, he'd need some porters.
And besides, if Mountain Child's Monster abilities turned out to be genuinely useful…
Well, Jack felt his ability slots still had plenty of room for expansion.
The path to the mine was hardly hidden; in fact, it was almost excessively spacious. Rough excavation marks scarred the cave walls, and the air hung thick with the acrid bite of rock dust.
Jack advanced leisurely toward the target area, accompanied by five Tiger-level subordinates he'd selected at random. These five were all survivors of the recent low-level purges. They had witnessed firsthand the gruesome aftermath of his campaigns—corpses strewn like discarded ragdolls—and deeply understood the new boss's terrifying strength and utter lack of mercy. Since being incorporated into his forces, none of them dared so much as a twitch of disobedience.
"Lord," a wild boar Monster with long, bristly fur and curving tusks reported cautiously, his voice barely above a whisper. He was terrified that speaking too loudly might accidentally cast him in the role of the new boss's next meal. "According to the intelligence we gathered, the Demon-level Monster 'Mountain Child's' lair should be just ahead."
They had just reached the cave mouth when their footsteps faltered as one.
From the shadows ahead, a figure wobbled into view. It was black, its design almost comically crude. It had no neck to speak of—its head and torso seemed fused into a single blocky unit, and its limbs were stubby, almost vestigial in their shortness. A pale face was plastered onto the top of its head, features crowded together in an expression of leering idiocy, like a grotesque clown from a third-rate traveling show.
In one hand, it held a bone from some unidentified creature, which it was using to leisurely pick its teeth.
If Jack had seen this creature in a manga, he might have laughed.
Here, in this world, he felt an icy chill creep up his spine.
His experience as a transmigrator had taught him an irrefutable truth: the cruder the art style, the faster the kill. Leaving aside other examples, the two most overwhelmingly powerful beings he knew of—Caped Baldy and Terrible Tornado—both shared that same deceptively simple, almost crude aesthetic.
And the creature before him, unassuming in appearance, even ugly and comical, triggered instant recognition.
Black Sperm.
A Dragon-level executive of the Monster Association. An entity composed of 54 trillion individual cells, each one capable of effortlessly defeating an A-class hero. A living nightmare given a ridiculous form.
With Black Sperm's appearance, Jack could already conclude that the Demon-level Mountain Child was almost certainly dead. Possibly that very bone Black Sperm was using as a toothpick.
Jack's thoughts raced, but his expression remained placid. He knew that facing an opponent of this level, even a flicker of hostility could invite destruction.
"Oh? Quite a crowd."
Black Sperm finally finished his dental hygiene and tossed the bone aside carelessly. His lecherous little eyes swept over Jack and his entourage, his tone carrying a hint of idle curiosity.
"Tch. Where'd all these small fry come from? Hey. What are you punks doing running around out here?"
His questions were flat, delivered without the oppressive weight one might expect from a Dragon-level Monster. That, somehow, made it worse.
Jack's expression didn't flicker. He stepped forward, executed a slight bow, and pitched his voice with just the right amount of deference.
"Lord, I am Lord Pochi's personal chef. By order of Great Eyes, I am currently searching for fresh ingredients for Lord Pochi."
"Oh? Pochi's chef?"
Black Sperm wrinkled his nose, shuffled a few steps closer, and gave Jack a thorough sniff. His expression shifted to one of profound regret.
"Tsk. There really is a bit of that dumb dog's stink on you…"
He shook his head mournfully.
"What a shame. All this good protein, going to waste."
Jack: ????
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