Sleep didn't claim Lin Ke. It swallowed him whole, a black, dreamless abyss that offered no rest, only a profound and total shutdown of a system that had been pushed far beyond its limits. He didn't dream of monsters or treasure; he just ceased to be for a while.
When consciousness clawed its way back, it wasn't a gentle awakening. It was a violent, sputtering reboot. His eyes snapped open, a gasp catching in his throat. For a disoriented second, he had no idea where he was. The ceiling was white. The armchair was soft. The light filtering through the window was a pale, late-afternoon grey. Not the mire. Not the woods. The thought came slow and thick, like a rock surfacing through mud. I'm… home.
His body screamed at him when he tried to move. Every muscle was a taut, angry wire of pain. His joints felt as if they were filled with ground glass. But the pain was secondary to a more primal, all-consuming urge: a hunger so deep and ravenous it bordered on violence.
The lab could wait. The egg could wait. The future could wait. Right now, his body was demanding payment.
He stumbled out of the armchair, his legs shaky, and made his way to the kitchen like a zombie. He didn't cook. He pillaged. He tore open a loaf of bread, stuffing slices into his mouth without tasting them. He chugged milk straight from the carton, the cold liquid a shock to his system. He found a bag of nutrient jerky—the high-grade stuff meant for his pet—and devoured half of it without a second thought. It was a grotesque, messy, and utterly human moment. He wasn't the Tactical God or the C-Rank Sweeper. He was a starved, exhausted teenager dealing with the ugly, biological consequences of his own ambition.
Only when the frantic edge of his hunger subsided did the guilt hit him with the force of a physical blow.
His partner.
He practically ran down the stairs to the training yard, his heart hammering against his ribs. The Titan Vole was lying in its custom-made bed. It was awake, but barely. It raised its heavy head as Lin Ke approached, its amber eyes dull with pain.
"Hey," Lin Ke said, his voice softer than he intended. "Hey, buddy. How are you feeling?" He knelt, his hands gently probing the bandages. The salves had helped, but the wounds were still angry and inflamed. The cracked rune on its back was the worst, a deep fissure in its natural armor that pulsed with a faint, sickly light.
The Gene Editor flared to life, feeding him the diagnostic data. He saw the cellular regeneration struggling, hampered by a severe energy deficiency. And then he saw the problem: a faint, ugly purple stain at the cellular level in the shoulder wound. Residual chaotic energy detected. The Thorn-Crawler's poison. He remembered a faded, ink-stained page from one of his father's old field journals: Corruption is a parasite. It doesn't just damage; it lingers. Leaves a stain on the victim's very life force. You need to neutralize the stain first.
He didn't have the specific reagents his father had described, but he had a theory. Rushing back to the lab, he retrieved one of the smaller Earthheart Crystals. He returned to his partner's side and held the glowing amber crystal over the deepest wound. "Okay," he whispered. "This might sting a little. Just… hang in there."
He focused his will, coaxing the gentle, pure energy out of the crystal. A soft, amber light flowed from it, draping over the Titan Vole's wounded shoulder like a warm blanket. Under the light, something incredible happened. The dark fluid in the wound began to sizzle, evaporating into a thin, purple vapor. The pure, foundational energy of the earth was literally erasing the stain of the corruption.
He kept the treatment going for an hour, until the crystal's glow had faded and his own head was pounding from the mental exertion. The wounds were still there, but they were clean, finally on the path to true healing. The Titan Vole's breathing was deeper. It finally, truly, rested. A wave of profound relief washed over Lin Ke, so potent it almost buckled his knees. He had started to fix his mistake.
Only then did he allow himself to go to the heart of his own project. He descended into the lab and stood before the secure containment unit. The Heart of the Grove-Heart pulsed with a slow, hypnotic rhythm, a universe of chaotic purple power. One thousand, seven hundred and forty-two units. Enough to change everything. He pulled up the "Corruption Inversion Catalyst" protocol. Step one: Refine the essence to 95% purity.
For the first time, real doubt, cold and heavy, settled in his gut.
Okay, genius. Now what? he thought, his earlier confidence feeling like a distant memory. You have the raw material. But do you really think you can just… cook it up? In a basement lab you bought with prize money? This is high-level, theoretical, trans-genetic alchemy. The Editor itself said one mistake could cause a 'catastrophic energy release'. What does that even mean? Does the whole block go up in a purple mushroom cloud?
He paced the length of the lab, a caged animal. The victory in the woods felt hollow now, replaced by the crushing weight of the next step. He stopped, leaning against the containment unit, feeling the faint, rhythmic vibration of the heart. He had been so arrogant. He had outsmarted a bear, out-gamed a haunted forest. But this? This was a battle against the fundamental laws of nature. And it was a battle he could very easily lose.
Maybe I should just sell it, the thought slithered into his mind, seductive and sensible. Just a piece of it. A hundred units. Some research institute would pay millions. I could buy my way into the Starfall Auction. I could buy another A-Rank pet. I could live comfortably for the rest of my life. No risk. No catastrophic fireballs.
He was tempted. Truly tempted. He closed his eyes, picturing a life of safety. But then, another image forced its way into his mind: the battered, bleeding form of his Titan Vole, looking up at him not with blame, but with unwavering, absolute trust. The creature that had been willing to sacrifice itself on his command, on his ambition.
He owed it to him. He owed it to them both. He had to see this through.
He opened his eyes, the doubt replaced by a familiar, stubborn fire. The fear was still there, a cold stone in his stomach, but the resolve was now wrapped around it like forged steel.
"Okay," he said to the empty lab, his voice quiet but firm. "One step at a time."
He turned back to his terminal. He wasn't ready to refine the heart. His lab wasn't secure enough. His knowledge wasn't deep enough. He needed to upgrade. Better containment systems, more precise energy synthesizers, fail-safes for his fail-safes. All of that cost money.
A new, immediate, and much more manageable goal clicked into place. His gaze drifted to the file on his terminal labeled "Starfall Auction." He had the capital. He had the implicit invitation. And now, he had a shopping list. He wasn't going to the auction just to find a piece for his mythical egg. He was going to buy the tools he needed to build his future. The hunt wasn't over. It had just moved from the wilderness to the world of high-stakes commerce.