SSS-Rank Evolving Monster: From Pest to Cosmic Devourer-Chapter 119: Only one that he could trust

After the return of Dark Shadow and Alexandria, a strange, almost ethereal excitement settled over the Emerald Green Forest.

The air felt a little lighter.

The wind carried a faint sweetness, and the rustling of the leaves sounded more melodic than before.

Even the mana-infused greenery seemed more alive—lush ferns uncurled like waking serpents, and ancient trees glimmered faintly under moonlight, as if rejoicing in silent harmony.

That energy pulsed strongest near the wooden castle, where a perpetual atmosphere of celebration had taken root.

Laughter echoed through the halls.

The thump of dancing feet reverberated on polished wooden floors. Jugs of fruit wine passed from hand to hand. Spirits rose high, and so did hope.

Even the spiritual beasts, once wary of the growing human presence, began appearing more frequently, drawn to the sanctuary’s newfound warmth.

And just like that, a month passed in the blink of an eye.

---

During this month of strange tranquility, Ricky had quietly continued his pursuit of power.

Three times, he entered the Divine Researcher Saint’s inheritance space, each visit marked by a single goal: to absorb lifespan from the Eternal Origin race member chained within the deepest chamber.

Each time, the essence drawn from that ancient being was dense, pure—life distilled from a primordial era.

And slowly, Ricky’s total lifespan began to surge once more.

One million years.

He finally crossed the threshold again.

He had hoped to go further, to push past this milestone. But the force of erosion—that silent, gnawing curse tied to his very existence—grew stronger with every attempt.

It clung to his soul like invisible chains, biting deeper the more he fed.

And so, with cold resignation, Ricky stepped back.

There was nothing more he could do for now.

His only hope lay in the hands of his most talented disciple—Valemnot—who still worked tirelessly, seeking some miracle hidden in forgotten formulas and alchemical scrolls.

---

That month, though brief on the calendar, felt like a year in how much had changed.

The forest, the castle, the people—it was as if the entire world within the Emerald Green Forest had begun its own quiet metamorphosis.

The first, and most obvious change, came in the form of a garden.

Of course.

The very first thing Dark Shadow did after her return was declare her intent to "set up a small garden."

Small, she said.

But a month later, the plot of land beside the castle had transformed into something else entirely.

A blooming sanctuary.

Rows of carefully partitioned soil glistened with spiritual dew. The soil itself had been altered—infused with purified Amma—and rich, emerald-green moss now blanketed the garden’s walkways.

Ricky could even spot the first saplings of spiritual fruit trees, their thin, delicate shoots humming faintly with latent power.

Each was a seed of potential—rare, priceless, and nurtured by Dark Shadow’s gentle, meticulous hands.

And of course, Noctys had been roped into helping.

Her grumbling could be heard every morning and every dusk, as she cursed under her breath while carrying watering jugs or fetching tools.

Still, she never refused.

---

Just like Dark Shadow, Alexandria had also returned to her former self.

The blade-sharp clarity in her eyes had only grown more intense since her transformation.

Setting up a kingdom was her vision to begin with, and now she pursued it with renewed zeal.

Every day, Alexandria could be seen at the castle gates—training new recruits, organizing scouting units, and overseeing defensive arrays.

She was a pillar of discipline, unyielding but fair.

The Green Emerald Kingdom, as it was now being called, had begun to take form—brick by brick, oath by oath.

Even among spiritual beasts and awakened humans, Ricky noticed the rising reverence in their eyes when Alexandria passed by.

She didn’t ask for loyalty. She earned it.

---

And through it all, Ricky remained quietly observant.

High above the forest canopy, wings folded and eyes half-lidded, he watched his domain evolve—piece by piece—into something more.

A sanctuary.

A budding kingdom.

A mystery even he hadn’t anticipated.

But deep within, he knew it wouldn’t last forever.

Peace was merely a pause between storms.

And the next one... was already brewing on the distant horizon.

Yes, this was the name they had finally decided upon.

The Green Emerald Kingdom.

A name that echoed across the region, slowly becoming synonymous with safety, resilience, and strange, divine prosperity.

And surprisingly, one unexpected figure had joined their growing ranks.

Felicia.

The once-righteous priestess of the Divine Sun Empire, who had witnessed the fall of her protector and nearly perished at the hands of the very creature now ruling this land, had chosen not to leave.

Instead, she had remained—and gradually, without ever officially declaring so, had become the chief healer of the burgeoning kingdom.

After every expedition, after every clash against roaming beasts or undead remnants, it was to her tent that the soldiers of the Green Emerald Kingdom limped, bleeding and broken, seeking her touch.

And she healed them.

Not with fire or fury, but with tranquil light and silent prayer.

Ricky never objected.

As long as she didn’t stir up trouble, she was free to do whatever she wished.

---

Right now, Ricky was silently gliding through the deeper corridors of the wooden castle—his wings folded behind him, his compound eyes flickering faintly in the dim torchlight.

His mandibles twitched as a familiar aroma began to fill the air.

Medicinal smoke.

It wafted through the halls, thick and potent, blending bitter herbs with sharp metallic undertones.

The deeper he went, the stronger it grew—until the smell clung to his body like an invisible coat.

It felt like walking into an arcane laboratory—or perhaps the den of an obsessed scholar.

Finally, he came to a stop.

In front of him stood a massive alchemical cauldron, large enough to hold several grown men.

It looked like it had been carved from the core of an ancient mountain—dark grey stone wrapped in precise sigil runes that glowed with a faint green luster.

Each rune pulsed in rhythm with the ambient Amma, like veins connected to the castle itself.

And seated beside it, surrounded by a scattering of tools, scrolls, and open potion vials, was Valemont.

The young man sat cross-legged with a look of fierce concentration on his face. His brows were furrowed, and a single bead of sweat traced a line down his temple.

The alchemical flame in front of him danced in hues of blue and violet—rare, precise, and volatile.

Controlling it required everything.

Even though his master stood directly in front of him, Valemont didn’t rise.

His fingers moved in practiced rhythm, adjusting flame density with controlled breaths, channeling his Amma like a sculptor chipping away at marble.

Ricky didn’t mind.

He simply watched.

This wasn’t disrespect—it was dedication. The boy was working day and night to make him richer and stronger. That was enough.

Minutes passed in silence.

Finally, with one last flourish of his fingers, Valemont sealed the cauldron’s lid. The flame hissed out, and the dense fog of medicinal fumes began to thin.

He exhaled heavily, wiping his forehead with a cloth.

Then, without hesitation, he stood and turned to Ricky.

Despite his clear exhaustion—bags under his eyes, his breath still uneven—the very first thing he did was lower his head.

"Forgive me, Master," Valemont said, voice respectful yet tired. "I couldn’t greet you earlier. The flame required absolute focus."

Ricky’s mandibles clicked slightly, amusement flickering through his eyes.

"You’re forgiven," he said casually, wings twitching. "You’ve been producing results. That’s all I care about."

"Great Master Venom Fang Overlord, forgive me for being rude."

Valemont bowed deeply, his voice laced with sincere respect. The exhaustion weighing on his body vanished under the weight of his reverence.

Ricky tilted his head slightly, feigning a smile with the subtle click of his mandibles. He didn’t speak immediately. Instead, he slowly raised one of his slender, gleaming legs and pointed it forward with delicate grace.

"Take a look at this," he said softly, his tone oddly gentle. "Can you find a cure for this?"

Valemont blinked, confused by the request. But before he could even step closer, a terrifying shift occurred.

The temperature plummeted.

The air in the room thickened like molasses, filled with something vile and ancient.

An invisible presence—like the breath of death itself—descended upon them, pressing down on Valemont’s shoulders like an executioner’s axe.

His breath caught in his throat.

Goosebumps spread across his skin, and his spiritual seed trembled within him like a trapped bird.

Whatever this was... it wasn’t ordinary.

But despite the creeping terror trying to claw into his soul, Valemont didn’t panic.

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Even if his bones were screaming in fear, he forced himself to remain still and composed.

Ricky watched his disciple’s expression with calm scrutiny. The boy was holding together well.

Still, seeing the confusion in Valemont’s eyes, Ricky hesitated. He wasn’t sure how to explain something that defied natural order.

Then, a thought struck him.

A solemn expression spread across his face, and his wings gave a low buzz as he straightened slightly.

"Valemont," he began slowly, his voice taking on an uncharacteristic gravity, "you have proven yourself—your skill, your loyalty. I now trust you more than anyone else."

Valemont’s eyes lit up with pride. He didn’t speak. He merely bowed his head slightly and listened with absolute focus.

Ricky continued, his voice a low hum that echoed ominously through the chamber.

"This thing you sense," he said, gesturing again at his leg where a faint, swirling shadow of sickly green and black corruption pulsed beneath the surface, "this is a calamity."

"A poison so potent it can make saints weep tears of blood."

Even the glow of the sigils on the cauldron dimmed as if the room itself recoiled from Ricky’s words.

Valemont’s eyes widened, his throat tightening. He stepped forward carefully, inspecting the corrupted limb from a distance, trying to read the patterns, the strange flow of energy, and the deathly aura leaking from it.

Ricky paused for a moment, letting the weight of the revelation settle.

Then, his voice grew soft, nearly mournful.

"You must find a cure for this."

"...Cure?" Valemont echoed, barely above a whisper. His voice cracked with disbelief. "Master, this... this isn’t natural. This is something out of a nightmare. I—"

He stopped himself. He looked into his master’s compound eyes and saw no mockery, no cruelty—only grim expectation.

Ricky sighed internally. As he suspected, this request was nearly impossible for someone like Valemont. And yet...

"Disciple," he said gently, "although it pains my heart, you are the only one I can entrust with this task."

He didn’t raise his voice. He didn’t threaten or coax.

But those words carried the weight of divine command.

Valemont’s lips trembled slightly, and he slowly fell to one knee.

"I understand, Master," he whispered. "I will not fail you."

And in that quiet, cursed chamber—where ancient poison clung to the air like frost on glass—Valemont silently vowed to find a miracle in the impossible.

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