The silence in the alcove was a stark contrast to the violent, beautiful chaos of his evolution. Han Sen sat on the rough-hewn log, not with the slumped shoulders of the outcast, but with the poised stillness of a predator. He could feel the new reality of his body thrumming beneath his skin. The air itself felt different entering his lungs—crisper, more charged. Every splinter of wood beneath his fingers was a distinct topography. The distant murmur of the waking shelter was a tapestry of individual conversations, clanging metal, and crackling fires he could unravel if he focused.
He was no longer not evolved. The label in his mind had shifted. He was Evolved. Primitive Class. The foundation had been laid. The SGS interface, when he called it forth, was a testament to his new beginning:
Name: Han Sen Status: Evolved (Primitive) Lifespan: 210.3 years Geno Points Required for Next Evolution: 100 Primitive Primitive Geno Points Gained: 0 Sacred Geno Points: 7 Beast Souls Gained: Sacred-Blood Black Beetle (Armor), Primitive Copper-Toothed Beast (Weapon), Primitive Three-Legged Wolf (Tooth Dagger)
A decade of lifespan. Gained in a single, agonizing night. On Eryndor, people would have killed for a technology that could offer a fraction of that. Here, it was earned with blood, pain, and a cheat code from the heavens.
His stomach growled, a deep, primal demand that pulled him from his reverie. The raw wolf meat had staunched the immediate hunger, but his new metabolism was a furnace requiring constant fuel. His eyes fell upon his hidden treasure: the sacred-blood black beetle's carapace and claws. The golden shell plates, even in the dim light of the alcove, seemed to drink the ambient glow and shine it back with a soft, inner radiance.
The original plan had been to use them in the duel. But that was the plan of a desperate, unevolved boy. The evolved man saw a better path. Why use a raw, unrefined material when he could unlock its true potential?
He built a small, efficient fire in a cleared patch of earth, using dry straw and splinters of wood. The act was meditative. On Eryndor, fire was an aesthetic choice for rich people's apartments, a holographic effect. Here, it was life. It was transformation. He filled his battered pot from his water skin and set it atop the flames.
One by one, he brought out the golden claws. Each was a work of natural art, a scythe-like weapon sharper than any blade in the shelter. With a deep breath, he began breaking them. It felt like sacrilege, like destroying a masterpiece. But necessity demanded it. He used the hilt of his tooth dagger to crack them at their weakest points, the sound like shattering ceramic and ringing metal. He dropped the fragments into the now-heating water.
Then came the great plates of the carapace. They were too large for the pot. He had to position them carefully, leaning them against the pot's sides so the steam and boiling water would lick at their interiors, leaching the precious essence from within. A wasteful method compared to a proper stewpot, but it would have to do.
As the water began to simmer, a change occurred. It wasn't just that the water turned gold. It began to gleam. Tiny, shimmering motes of light, like dissolved stardust, swirled within the broth. A scent began to rise from the pot—not the metallic tang of the meat, but a profound, aromatic fragrance that made his mouth water and his new cells sing with anticipation. It smelled like petrichor after a first rain, like ozone after a lightning strike, like life itself condensed into steam.
This was no mere broth. This was geno-essence. The concentrated potential of a sacred-blood creature.
He waited, patient now that the gnawing edge of his hunger had been blunted. The sun continued its ascent, the strange sky lightening. The duel with Qin Xuan was drawing inexorably closer, but the frantic panic was gone, replaced by a calculated calm. He had a plan within a plan.
While the pot simmered, he turned his attention to the other mystery: the black crystal. He unwrapped it from its leather pouch. It lay in his palm, inert and yet humming with that deep, cosmic energy. His experiment with the green-scaled beast had been a reckless gamble born of fan-theory excitement. It had paid off spectacularly, turning a common creature into a primitive one and netting him another beast soul. But was that its only function?
He held it in his closed fist, focusing on it. He tried to push his will into it, to feel for any connection to the SGS. Nothing. He held it against the golden armor plating still leaning against the pot, wondering if there was a resonance. Nothing. It was a key, but he didn't know what lock it fit.
A soft tink made him look down. A drop of condensation had fallen from the underside of the carapace plate he was using as a lid and landed directly on the crystal in his hand.
The effect was instantaneous.
The water droplet didn't bead up and roll off. It was absorbed. The black crystal seemed to drink it, and for a fraction of a second, the millions of tiny stars within it flared with a brilliant, blinding white light. A pulse of energy, cold and ancient, shot up his arm, and a new line of text, stark and white, scrolled across his SGS interface:
// Anomalous Energy Source Detected: Black Crystal (Status: Inert) // Energy Signature: Unidentified. Tier: ??? // SGS Analysis: Insufficient Data. Hydration and Biomass required for full integration.
Han Sen stared, his heart hammering. Hydration and Biomass. Water and life force. The droplet was hydration. The green-scaled beast had been biomass. The crystal wasn't just a catalyst; it was… hungry. It needed to be fed to activate fully.
The implications were staggering. This was far beyond Nexus-Web theories. This was something new. Something the original novel's Han Sen hadn't discovered until much, much later. He was charting unknown territory.
A commotion at the entrance to his alcove broke his concentration. He quickly tucked the crystal away.
A group of three hunters stood there, their expressions a mix of curiosity and derision. They were rough-looking men, their leather armor stained with old blood and dirt, primitive weapons at their hips. They were the kind of bottom-feeders who preyed on those weaker than themselves, and in their eyes, the "Ass Freak" was the weakest of all.
"Well, well, look what we have here," the lead one sneered, his eyes locked on the gleaming golden carapace leaning against the pot. "Playing alchemist, Ass Freak? Where'd you steal that shiny trash from?"
Han Sen didn't stand up. He simply turned his head and looked at them. He didn't glare, he didn't scowl. He just looked. And in that look, something had changed. The cowering fear was gone. In its place was a flat, predatory calm that gave the men pause.
"It wasn't stolen," Han Sen said, his voice low and even, carrying a new resonance thanks to his evolved vocal cords.
The lead hunter recovered, puffing out his chest. "Don't care. Miss Qin wouldn't want trash like you hoarding good gear. We'll be taking it off your hands. Consider it a tax for stinking up our shelter."
They stepped forward, confident in their numbers.
Han Sen sighed. It was too early for this. He didn't want to reveal his hand before the duel. But some tests were necessary.
As the lead hunter reached for a golden claw, Han Sen moved.
It wasn't a blur of motion. It was a single, precise action. He didn't summon the golden armor or the bronze sword. He simply picked up a fragment of the broken claw from the ground—a shard about the length of his hand, wickedly sharp.
The hunter's hand was still outstretched when Han Sen thrust the shard forward. He didn't aim to kill. He aimed to educate.
The golden shard punched straight through the man's leather vambrace, piercing the flesh of his forearm with a wet thunk. The man screamed, a high-pitched sound of shock and pain, and stumbled back, clutching his impaled arm. His two companions froze, their hands on their weapons, eyes wide with disbelief.
Han Sen remained seated. He hadn't even risen from the log.
"The next one goes through an eye," he said, his voice still calm, almost conversational. "The gear is mine. I killed the creature it came from. The arena will prove it. Now get out."
He wasn't shouting. He wasn't threatening. He was stating facts. The absolute certainty in his tone, coupled with the effortless, brutal display of speed and power, was more terrifying than any roar.
The two unharmed hunters looked at their leader, who was whimpering, bright red blood welling around the golden shard embedded in his arm. They looked back at Han Sen, who was watching them with the dispassionate interest of a scientist observing insects.
They broke. Mumbling apologies, they helped their bleeding companion and practically fled from the alcove.
Silence returned. Han Sen picked up a rag and wiped the drop of blood from the golden shard, then tossed it back into the pot. The broth was nearly ready, thick and glowing like liquid sunlight.
He had made his point. The news would spread. The "Ass Freak" was no longer an easy target.
He ladled the broth into a bowl. It was thick, almost syrupy, and radiated warmth. He brought it to his lips and drank.
It was like swallowing a star.
"Sacred-blood black beetle essence consumed. Two sacred geno points gained."
The voice of the SGS was a thunderous gong in his mind. Energy, purer and more violent than anything he'd felt before, exploded in his gut. It wasn't the pleasant warmth of the meat; it was a supernova. His sacred geno point counter jumped from 7 to 9.
He devoured the rest of the broth, and with each swallow, the SGS chimed.
"Sacred-blood black beetle essence consumed. Two sacred geno points gained." ... "Sacred-blood black beetle essence consumed. Two sacred geno points gained."
When the pot was empty and the shell fragments drained of all their light and color, turning to dull, grey husks, he had gained ten sacred geno points from the broth alone.
Sacred Geno Points: 17
He sat back, his body vibrating with power. The sun had fully risen. The time for the duel had come.
He stood. He did not summon the glorious golden armor. Not yet. Let them see the changed man first. Let them see the confidence in his step, the sharpness in his eyes. Let Qin Xuan see the person she was about to face before she saw the power.
He walked out of the alcove and into the main thoroughfare of Steel Armor Shelter. Hunters stopped to stare. The whispers began again, but this time, there was no laughter. There was only a wary, confused silence.
He walked toward the arena, a simple dirt circle surrounded by a rough fence, already crowded with spectators eager for bloodsport.
At the far side, Qin Xuan stood waiting, her spear already in hand, her expression one of cold impatience.
Han Sen met her gaze across the distance and allowed himself a small, hard smile.
The Ass Freak was dead. Long live Han Sen.