Chapter 18 – Plans For The Future
Eryndor Primordial Forest
Edem perched on an ancient branch, one leg dangling into nothingness as the wind tugged at the tattered hem of his vest.
Below him, the Primordial Forest sprawled like a sleeping beast — black trunks, scorched clearings, and pockets of smoke that still curled up from the places he'd razed.
Above, two moons hung low and bright: one a sickly pearl, the other a bruised orange that cast an unusual light across the world. Their presence dominated the scene, turning everything into a dreamlike realm — distant and undeniably inevitable.
He watched them in silence for a long time, letting the night fill his bones. The adrenaline had long since faded from his muscles. For the first time since the Flame Tiger, the reality of what he had become pressed against his skull like a reminder.
He couldn't help but think of ways to get money now that he was no longer a normal human.
His fingers closed around the orange glow in his palm: the intermediate-tier core he'd pried from the Flame Tiger's flank.
It pulsed faintly, warm as fresh blood. Under the moonlight, it looked like a heart made of fire.
He replayed the last fight in his head—the way the Crimson Howlers had sung, the Wolf Fang Gauntlet had taken and given, and the Nano Vest had absorbed so much damage before finally giving in.
All of it was a testament and a protection. The Creation Skill had given him these weapons, but the price was beast cores—rare, precious, and hard to gather. His gear had taken a brutal beating. Only the dual guns had survived that battle intact.
He recalled that Captain Luo and his men would not leave without conducting a hunt. They would patrol the area, search through the hollows, and set traps. Their boots would trample the delicate undergrowth, and their lanterns would shine like beacons, attracting both predators and opportunists. They were not searching for him specifically; they were hunting for cores.
"Maybe I can sell it to them. That's a great plan—I can solve Troy's problems and my own personal problems," Edem thought, smiling knowingly.
The soldiers would take carcasses and small cores for a while, maybe a Basic-tier or two. But to build the kind of things he was imagining—military-grade weapons, automated sentries, even small siege mecha—they'd need piles of high-tier cores. Dozens, hundreds, maybe even thousands. By the time the military realized what true power could be built from beast cores, he would already be leagues ahead.
He flexed his fingers and imagined the process: Creation summoned, runes braided with his blood, the core's essence shattering into patterns that the system re-forged into something new.
If he could refine that… if he could create repeatably and on a larger scale… the world would not be safe. And he wanted it that way.
"This is a brilliant plan," he whispered. "But damn it, Creation devours cores like a tyrant lays waste to empires."
The truth hit him hard: a single intermediate-tier core could transform a weapon into a force to be reckoned with. That alone was worth a fortune, but it wouldn't make him a king.
To forge military hardware—hull plating infused with beast resilience, auto-targeting servos derived from chaotic cores, and ammunition that detonates with beast-heart energy—required a massive reserve. He stared down at the orange core, allowing the weight of that realization to harden his resolve.
He would not spend it carelessly.
He would ensure it made an impact.
The memory of the Flame Tiger returned—the way it had closed the distance, the paw that had cracked his ribs, and the final claw-turned-tooth that had nearly ended him. If he had died that night, the intermediate core would have died with him. Fate had been cruel and generous in equal measure.
"Not just survive," he said into the night, his voice thin. "Conquer."
Conquer the portal. Conquer the market. Conquer a name so loud that nobody would dare toss a net over his head. That ambition felt warmer than the core in his palm. It set his breath into small, determined puffs that vanished into the cold air.
Down below, somewhere in the timber, he heard the small, telling sounds of soldiers settling—a campfire crackling, a muffled order, the clink of metal. They would gather carcasses and pick the bones. He imagined Captain Luo's face, weathered and cautious, barking orders to men who had not seen real war. Their task was to collect anything valuable and return.
Let them collect. Let them strain their hands on the little ones.
He knew how to play the long game. He would sell them some cores in whispers, trading a Basic-tier for a favor. He would seed the right rumors: that a hunter with strange tactics had passed this way, that a bandit sold rare cores on the edge of the city. He would be both hunter and broker, the invisible hand between blood and coin. And once he had enough…
He tapped the dual guns again. They were the only weapons left intact enough to be serviceable without total remolding. Everything else—the gauntlet, the vest—had fractures and missing nodes. The Howlers still functioned, but barely. The recoil had jarred their chamber alignment, and the crimson lines that once pulsed steadily now flickered intermittently. He could fix them; more than that, he could improve them.
A solution unfolded clearly in his mind. He could use the intermediate-tier core here and now, upgrading the Crimson Howlers from Basic to Intermediate.
The change would be immediate, brutal, and effective. The Howlers would become more than just pistols—they could be tuned to channel his blood manipulation talent, ignite rounds with molten core essence, and fire rounds that burrowed and detonated inside living tissue. Intermediate-tier firearms would make him a walking siege engine.
Edem weighed his options. Should he keep the core and save it for a larger project? Or invest it into the only reliable tools left at hand and become stronger now?
His hand clamped firmly around the core until it hummed, a potent pulse of energy against his palm. The night demanded decisions to be made, compelling him to confront the moment with resolve.
The longer he waited, the more inevitable it became that a stubborn soldier would squeeze a reward from a rumor-monger and track him down.
Edem breathed. The branch creaked under him as he shifted, and for a moment, the forest seemed to hold its breath.
"All right," he whispered. "We make the Howlers howl louder."
He settled himself, drawing the guns into his lap. He activated his Creation Skill, blood runes forming on the ground, glowing faintly as they spread.
He closed his eyes, feeling the runes coil beneath his skin like sleeping serpents. He let the intermediate core rest against the wound in his palm—the blood-scar that had not fully healed—and allowed its heat to seep through.
The system was always clinical, but tonight it felt almost indulgent when it chimed.
[Creation Skill Activated]
→ Materializing… Preparing fusion and repairs…
The forest resounded with a low, distant rupturing in the air, like a drum marking the beginning of a ritual. Threads of crimson bled from Edem's fingertips, forming creation runes on the ground, some even floating in the air.
The runes beneath him brightened, recrafting the Howlers' internal architecture in his mind. Edem placed the intermediate core carefully into the runes, controlling its surge of power with iron will.
The beast's core hummed as it shattered, melting into a liquid and entering the dual guns. For a few sharp seconds, a red brilliance flared—the fusion process had begun.
Creation Progress: 25%
Since his last evolution, he hadn't checked the system, too excited about his new talent: Blood Manipulation. Now was the time to check his status and current situation.
A soft wind rustled the brittle leaves. He looked up at the moons again, the orange one winking like an ember.
"Thirty days," he muttered to himself. He had already survived twenty-five days, battling beasts nonstop. Now it was time for a brief rest.
"Now I will not just survive…" His eyes narrowed. "I'll uproot everything and turn the portal upside down if my power is enough."
Just as those words left his lips, the system delivered a notification:
[Congratulations, host. You have created your first Vampire.]
Edem froze.
"…Wait. Created WHATTT…?"
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