Chapter 6: The Instinct of the Predator
The title of God was never truly up for grabs.
No matter how extraordinary a man might be, at best, his fate would mirror that of Tang Chen—another puppet in a divine drama he never authored.
Li Changan had his doubts about the story as it had been told. In his view, Tang Chen's fall wasn't simply a personal tragedy—it was a calculated move orchestrated by the God of Asura. After all, within the divine hierarchy, the Rakshasa God was technically subordinate to the God of Asura. So how could a subordinate meddle with the chosen heir of a God-King?
If the Asura God's chosen successor could be thwarted by a first-tier deity, then what kind of God-King was he? Weak? Incompetent?
No. The truth was far simpler.
It was theater.
A pre-written script, a staged fall. The Rakshasa God had been set up to take the blame, and Bibi Dong—her heir—was offered up as a convenient stepping stone. She existed not to challenge the divine order, but to refine the next King of Gods.
By defeating the Rakshasa and Angel Gods, Tang San's qualifications would be seen as irrefutable. His ascension would be earned in blood and struggle, making it easier to win over the Divine Realm. The Asura God had sacrificed a mother and daughter for nothing more than political optics.
As for the Sea God's inheritance? That was a fluke—a bonus outside the script.
And so, Li Changan had a new target. If he wanted a godhood of his own, the Sea God's legacy was his most likely path forward.
Star Dou Great Forest
A secluded cave, deep in the wilderness.
Li Changan stirred from his slumber.
The world around him felt tighter. Not because the cave had shrunk, but because he had grown.
Significantly.
After devouring his eggshell, his body had surged to a full ten meters in length. His cultivation—once under ten years—had leapt past the century mark. All from a single shell. That alone proved how nourishing his birthright was.
But the so-called "year limit" of a soul beast was widely misunderstood. It didn't reflect actual age. Rather, it was a classification system—similar to the rank titles used by human Soul Masters. A "ten-thousand-year" soul beast might not have lived even half that long. Otherwise, considering how long the Soul Master profession had existed, soul beasts would've long been hunted into extinction.
Natural death, interspecies conflict, and human predation all took their toll. Time alone wasn't enough to create a powerful soul beast. That's why the "year" of a soul beast was a level, not a lifespan.
Li Changan now understood this intimately, thanks to the genetic memory imprinted in his bloodline. For soul beasts with noble heritage, it might take only a few centuries to reach the hundred-thousand-year milestone. Sometimes less—if they fed on rare spiritual herbs, or cultivated in regions brimming with natural energy.
Tianmeng Ice Silkworm from the Douluo II era was the perfect example—a glutton who ate his way to a million-year cultivation.
In that regard, soul beasts weren't so different from the monster beasts of cultivation worlds: creatures who absorbed the world's essence to evolve. But here on the Douluo Continent, things were different. The gods had placed a cap on their potential. Once a soul beast reached one hundred thousand years, it would face a divine tribulation—lightning meant to cull them before they could ever rival a god.
They weren't meant to survive.
Fortunately, Li Changan had been reborn as the Emerald Scale Snake Emperor—a king among serpents, the apex of venomous soul beasts. His lineage was flawless. Even if he never left this cave, in a few thousand years he'd naturally ascend to become a hundred-thousand-year behemoth.
Appearances could deceive. Those so-called "ancient" soul beasts might not be as old as they claimed.
Cultivation for a soul beast was simple: rely on instinct and bloodline, absorb the ambient spiritual energy of the world, and grow. No techniques. No internal circulation. Just evolution by nature's design.
Stronger bloodline? Faster absorption. Weaker bloodline? Slower growth. Some low-tier soul beasts might literally grow at the rate of one year per year, becoming true "hundred-thousand-year" beasts only through time.
After adjusting to his newfound size, Li Changan flicked his emerald tongue and began to slither toward the cave's mouth. He was strong enough now to defend himself—at least against most common predators.
The cave wasn't sealed. Several tunnels branched out toward the surface. From the scent patterns in the air, he could tell no creature had been here in centuries. Cold-blooded animals didn't exhibit parental care. His mother had likely laid the eggs and abandoned them.
The eggs had simply waited for time—and fate—to crack them open.
"Where am I exactly?" Li Changan wondered. "Is this the Star Dou Great Forest? Sunset Forest? Or somewhere unknown?"
He picked a random tunnel and slithered forward toward the scent of fresh air.
Outside the Cave
A forest floor blanketed in leaves shifted as something beneath stirred.
A triangular, emerald-green snake head pushed through the debris. Twin amber eyes scanned the surroundings, alert and cautious. After confirming the area was clear, the rest of his serpentine body followed—long, sleek, and silent.
Camouflage came naturally to snakes. As the Snake Emperor, Li Changan's ability to blend into the foliage was unmatched. He coiled low in the grass, moving like a whisper, tongue flicking as he tasted the air for information.
Not long after, he spotted movement—a rabbit glowing faintly with white light, nibbling on a patch of Blue Silver Grass. Judging by the soul light around it, the rabbit had cultivated for a few decades.
Li Changan's bloodline stirred. Instinct surged. He was hungry.
He slithered silently forward.
The rabbit's ears twitched. Its eyes flashed red. Something felt wrong. It paused, sniffed the wind—and then bolted.
Too late.
In a blur of green light, Li Changan lunged. As he moved, his predatory aura erupted—a high-level soul beast's dominance rolling across the terrain like thunder.
The rabbit collapsed mid-sprint, limbs frozen by sheer terror. Its bloodline, weak and low, had no resistance to the Snake Emperor's natural pressure.
Li Changan loomed over the trembling prey and hissed.
He opened his maw and exhaled a wisp of poison.
The rabbit spasmed once—then lay still. Dead.
A white soul ring rose silently from its corpse, waiting for a master who would never come.
Li Changan ignored it. His hunger was stronger than sentiment.
He opened wide and began to devour the rabbit—head first. His body stretched unnaturally to accommodate the meal, his serpent physiology built for exactly this kind of feast.
It was smooth. Efficient. Brutal.
No human squeamishness. No queasy introspection. He was a snake now. His instincts had changed.
In novels, transmigrators who turned into beasts always waxed poetic about "staying civilized," trying to roast their prey to preserve humanity. They'd gag at the taste of blood, as if it proved they were still noble.
But that was nonsense.
In truth, raw, bloody flesh was a delicacy to a beast. If cooked, it would taste like ash.
After finishing the rabbit, Li Changan returned to his cave to digest.
Time passed quietly.
His belly slowly deflated as the rabbit's body was broken down. With it came a wave of soul power that suffused his body, reinforcing flesh and strengthening his inner core.
When the process was done, an entire day had passed—and his cultivation had jumped by over ten years.
Not bad at all.
Some might scoff at such a small gain from a decades-old soul beast. But this wasn't a game with neat XP bars. Flesh quality, digestion losses, and bloodline compatibility all affected absorption. In truth, it was impressive to gain even ten years from a single meal.
Of course, this only worked because he was still in the early stages. Once he broke past a thousand years, these minor beasts would barely help at all.
"So devouring other soul beasts is a viable shortcut..." he mused.
"No wonder soul beasts prey on each other. It's not evil—it's natural."
Then he paused.
"But why, in the original story, are soul beasts like the Man-Faced Demon Spider or the Dark Devilgod Tiger shunned by their own kind? Is it because they devour too many, upsetting the balance?"
It made sense. Those creatures had ravenous appetites and sluggish cultivation on their own. They could only grow by consuming others en masse. But if they emptied the region of prey, wouldn't other carnivores starve?
Of course they'd be hated.
It had nothing to do with being "evil." It was about survival and territory. They were too greedy—too disruptive.
Soul beasts didn't care about morality. None of them burned villages or committed atrocities. They killed to eat. The only reason those species were exiled was because they ate too much and stepped on too many toes.
Simple as that.
With his strategy confirmed, Li Changan slithered back out and resumed his hunt.
This time, he found a wild boar the size of a rhino. A decades-old beast with thick skin and real muscle behind it. A tougher opponent than the rabbit—but still no match for the Snake Emperor.
He didn't get too close.
Instead, he released a thin mist of venom from a safe distance, suppressing the boar with his aura while keeping his distance from its tusks.
If he pressed too hard, the boar might panic and fight back. Fear was a useful tool—but desperation could override bloodline suppression.
And Li Changan wasn't reckless.
He was a hunter now.
A predator born to rise.