"Thank you for your appreciation, my lord! Your subordinate will definitely give it his all!"
Jack's voice was fervent. Grateful. But then—a pause. A flicker of hesitation in his eyes.
"But… your subordinate cannot guarantee that he will be able to possess strength comparable to a Dragon-level cadre in such a short time."
"No matter." Great Eyes' tone was mild. Unconcerned. "Just do your best."
The massive single eye regarded Jack with something almost like patience.
After years of Monsterification experiments, Psykos knew well how difficult strength advancement was for ordinary Monsters. Only a rare few—those with astonishing potential or outstanding talent—could directly possess Demon-level or even Dragon-level destructive power upon transformation.
The vast majority? From the moment of their birth, their strength was locked. Fixed. Immutable.
At such times, the sole successful case of near-death evolution theory—the existence of Monster King Orochi—seemed especially precious. Countless terrifying transformations between life and death. A birth process filled with too many coincidences. Too much irreplicability. One wrong step meant complete death. Twisted, rotten flesh and blood.
And now? Jack's growth potential was comparable to Orochi's in those early days. His extremely high compatibility with Monster Cells further reduced cultivation costs to the bare minimum.
This was the fundamental reason Psykos was so attentive to Bug God. Almost giving him whatever he wanted.
Great Eyes' single eye fixed on Jack. Light blue Psychokinesis fluctuations spread out. From the darkness, a heavy cloth bag flew forward, enveloped in that azure glow.
"However… if Bug God can meet His Majesty Orochi as soon as possible…" The voice carried a faint, almost teasing note. "I believe he will also be very pleased~~"
The sofa throne began to turn. Slowly. The intent was clear.
"Your subordinate understands!"
Jack grabbed the bag. Retreating step by step into the darkness. Gone in the blink of an eye.
Psykos couldn't help but snort. Bug God's aura had vanished so quickly—as if afraid she might change her mind.
She controlled Great Eyes to tap the armrest. The massive finger drummed once. Twice.
Her gaze returned to Flame of Impure Ardor, still unconscious on the ground like a dead dog.
A thought surfaced. Unbidden.
"Wait a minute…"
She reviewed the conversation. The details.
"According to what that kid just said—Flame of Impure Ardor, before he was 'educated' by Bug God… seemed… not to have completed Monsterification yet…?"
The massive pink-purple Monster body—six meters tall—froze in place.
A crucial detail. Overlooked.
"…That bastard never mentioned giving Flame a Monster Cell. From beginning to end."
Silence. The main theme of the night.
Deep underground, Psykos' true self—fully awake now—had fire in her beautiful eyes. Her silver teeth nearly shattered from the pressure.
Her fingers trembled.
In the room, an expensive antique vase was instantly enveloped in light blue glow. It collapsed inward with a series of sharp cracks. Within seconds—nothing but fragments.
(Angry and shivering.JPG)
My people. Who understands this?
I rewarded that scoundrel so much! He actually—
A mere Monster Cell for a newcomer. He wants to embezzle it?!
I have never seen such a shameless Monster!!!
"IN—SECT—GOD—!!!!"
M City – Municipal Hospital
The corridor smelled of disinfectant. The atmosphere was heavy. Oppressive.
Outside the ward, a group of burly men in various vests paced restlessly. Muscles clearly defined. Each one stronger than the last. At the head stood a short-haired, golden-haired strong man in a dark blue tight-fitting vest.
S-Class Hero. Vest Sage.
His expression was calm. But his clenched fists—the engorged veins on his arms—told a different story.
"Damn it!" Vest Tiger—yellow-haired, camouflage tiger-striped vest—roared. He punched the wall. Plaster crumbled. "Who dares lay such a heavy hand on someone from the Vest Army!"
Vest Black Hole—middle-aged, black vest—snorted coldly. His voice was sharp. Gritted.
"That Vest Vegetarian Faction—always rambling about his vegetarian theory—saying only by eating vegetarian can one unleash the true power of the vest…" He shook his head. Then his jaw tightened. "Boss. We need to drag that scoundrel out. Let him know the consequences of angering the Vest Army."
His fists clenched.
"I'll make him taste my 'Black Hole Iron Fist'!"
These two were biological brothers. Hero levels: C and B respectively. They usually fought as a team—considered two reliable hands within the Vest Army.
Now, the brothers fed off each other's anger. Spittle flew. They looked ready to rush out and turn M City upside down to find the culprit.
Beside them, Vest Girl—neat short hair, ripped jeans, sports vest outlining a beautiful figure—frowned.
"I say, don't get so excited. We don't even know who the enemy is or what their purpose is yet!"
Vest Racer—motorcycle helmet revealing only the lower half of his face—chimed in with a muffled voice.
"Exactly, exactly. That Vest Vegetarian Faction always runs around on his own. Maybe he picked a fight with someone he shouldn't have."
Vest Swimmer—beach shorts, tight vest—nodded vigorously.
"Yeah! Let's figure out the situation first. Wait for Vest Sage to decide."
The Vest Gang was a chaotic mess. Spittle nearly flooded the corridor.
Vest Sage took a deep breath. His temples throbbed.
As a physical hero who'd nearly trained his muscles into his brain, complicated matters were not his strength. His chest rose and fell like a bellows.
"Wait until Vest Vegetarian Faction wakes up." His voice was low. Final. "Then we'll ask him what happened."
He scanned the group.
"Now—everyone, be quiet."
S-Class Hero aura radiated outward. The Vest Gang immediately fell silent.
Doctors and nurses finished their routine checks and departed. Vest Sage pushed open the ward door, stepped inside first.
The rest followed. The small ward became suddenly crowded. The air seemed to thin—too much muscle in too small a space.
On the hospital bed: Vest Vegetarian Faction. Bandaged from head to toe. A giant white mummy. Only his face was exposed.
That face—now swollen like a steamed bun. Bruised purple. Barely recognizable. Comical, perhaps, but the sight made hearts tighten.
"Ugh… cough, cough…"
As if hearing the commotion, the figure on the bed let out a pained groan. Swollen eyes—mere slits—slowly opened.
He saw familiar faces. Angry faces. Surrounding the bed.
His swollen lips trembled. His voice was muffled.
"B-Boss…"
A pause.
"My… my vest…"
His voice cracked.
"It was torn to shreds!!"
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