SSS-Rank Evolving Monster: From Pest to Cosmic Devourer-Chapter 98: Boar’s pride

Even though Boar introduced himself humbly, Markos didn’t dare to take the words at face value.

If anything, the namelessness only added to the mysterious aura surrounding him.

In the wild, the most dangerous creatures weren’t the ones who roared loudest or claimed lofty titles—they were the ones who didn’t need to.

Markos’s proud jaw dipped ever so slightly, not in submission, but in respectful acknowledgment.

There was no mistaking it.

This being was at Stage 2.

The sheer pressure radiating from him was like a coiled spring—restrained, but potent enough to flatten the forest if unleashed.

Markos’s eyes flashed, his instincts warning him of the inevitable.

Meanwhile, Ramson... was far less convinced.

Where Markos saw danger, Ramson saw cold, cruel and blatant insult.

His feline eyes narrowed with contempt, cold and cutting. In his village, boars were nothing more than food—hunted, slaughtered, and roasted over a spit. To him, they were prey. Worthless.

And now, one of them dared to look down on him?

The others around them shared his confusion, if not his hostility. Whispers stirred among the beasts, their pride bruised by the notion of being lectured—or even tolerated—by something they had never considered their equal.

The sudden change in status was hard to swallow.

Ramson’s patience snapped.

His paw slammed into the earth with a low growl, claws digging furrows into the soil as his body tensed. His fur bristled with fury, and his aura exploded outward like a shockwave—raw and unfiltered.

Trees shuddered violently. Loose leaves scattered in the air like startled birds. The earth quivered beneath their feet.

"You fucking piece of meat," Ramson snarled, baring his fangs.

"Quit pretending. We all know what you are—what you’re not. Don’t act noble when you’re nothing more than a fat, dumb slab of pork."

He stepped forward, eyes glowing with disdain and killing intent.

"Someone like you, without even a trace of noble bloodline, dares to posture before me?!"

"Are you tired of living?"

The clearing tensed. A heavy silence settled around them, pierced only by the rustling of disturbed branches and the low rumble of Ramson’s aura.

Even Markos narrowed his eyes, uneasy.

Because in that moment, he realized something critical.

Ramson had no idea what he had just provoked.

"Don’t overdo it."

The thought flickered through Markos’s mind like a whisper in the wind.

For a brief moment, he wanted to speak—wanted to warn Ramson, to remind him of the invisible cliff he was standing on the edge of, Just one mistep, the fall would lead to eternal dammnation.

But in the end, those words never left his lips, as if had lost the ability to speak.

They remained buried in his chest, sealed by a quiet hope: he wanted to see how Boar would respond.

If brute strength was all he had to offer, then he wasn’t worthy.

Markos had no respect for mere muscle. Warriors who relied on raw power alone were nothing more than tools. That was exactly why he refused to join the Morning Sun Spiritual Lord’s camp, despite his overwhelming might.

He was looking for something greater—someone greater.

A leader who possessed wisdom, composure, and the strength to wield both with control.

As Markos observed in silence, Boar didn’t disappoint.

Even with Ramson’s explosive aura shaking the clearing, even after his entire race was spat on like filth, Boar remained still—composed as a statue carved from ancient stone.

Not a flicker of anger crossed his features.

Instead, he let out a low, almost amused chuckle.

"Young one," Boar said, his voice smooth and unhurried, like flowing river water, "your words have deeply wounded my tender sentiments."

There was no mockery in his tone—only a strange, layered calm.

"It would’ve been fine if you’d just insulted me. But to casually drag an entire race through the gutter..."

His eyes shifted, locking on Ramson with a gaze that felt less like a look and more like a judgment being passed.

"...Now that is a crime punishable by death."

The clearing went still.

No more rustling leaves. No more murmurs, not even the cold howl of the winds.

Just silence—and the subtle pressure emanating from Boar’s unblinking stare.

It wasn’t loud. It wasn’t violent.

But it pressed down on everyone present like a mountain of still air—a force not born of rage, but of natural principle.

Boar wasn’t angry. He wasn’t offended. He was simply letting the world know:

There are lines that must not be crossed.

Markos’s respect for him deepened.

This is a warrior worth following.

A race—that word did not represent a single creature. It was the embodiment of bloodlines, histories, cultures, and millions of living beings who shared the same origin.

Ramson’s words just now... were a direct slap to all of them.

Had Boar been the same helpless creature he once was—chewing roots, dodging predators—he might have swallowed the insult with a forced grin.

But those days were long gone.

Now, he possessed the strength to stand tall—not just for himself, but for every beast who shared his blood.

And strength without the will to protect was nothing but wasted potential.

Boar had always considered himself calm, even mild-mannered for a warrior. But even serenity and compassion had its limits.

Some injustices demanded fury, they deserved fury.

Some lines, once crossed, needed retribution.

He stepped forward. The earth beneath his hooves cracked.

"Apologize. Apologize right now."

His voice was low and gravelly, but beneath the surface, it trembled with something deeper—vengeance.

A hot gust burst from his nostrils, white steam hissing like twin jets from a war machine. The temperature in the clearing instantly rose, distorting the air in shimmering waves.

Markos and the others instinctively stepped back.

Even the trees seemed to bend slightly under the oppressive heat.

The Stage 1 beasts behind Ramson paled—this wasn’t some ordinary flex. Boar was deadly serious.

But Ramson... remained defiant, ignoring all the obvious clues. freeweɓnovel~cѳm

His eyes narrowed, filled with contempt. He spat at the ground, the saliva hissing where it landed.

"Just a trick. You think our brains are made of rotten tomatoes? Watch this!"

His body ignited with scorching mana. A wave of heat, molten and acidic, surged from him like a volcanic eruption, burning the air itself.

And yet... in doing so, he made a fatal mistake.

That last act of arrogance sealed his fate.

Boar’s eyes narrowed to slits.

His voice dropped, cold as steel in winter.

"You know what? My noble race doesn’t need your apology."

He raised his head, the heat warping visibly around him.

"Be gone...."

Then it happened.

Boar’s spiritual field erupted like a dam breaking. A tidal wave of invisible pressure flooded the clearing, slamming into Ramson’s body with monstrous force.

The proud leopard didn’t even have time to scream.

His figure froze mid-air, limbs trembling as if caught in a vacuum chamber.

His smirk collapsed into a look of horror.

It was only in that moment—just as the weight of death bore down on him—that Ramson understood what kind of creature he had provoked.

Then—

Boom!

A dull, wet detonation echoed through the forest. His body ruptured like overripe fruit, sending chunks of flesh outward—

But not one drop escaped.

Boar’s spiritual field tightened, compressing the remains.

Again.

And again.

Until what remained of Ramson was reduced to a floating mass of meat and bones, held aloft in eerie silence, suspended by invisible force.

The clearing was silent.

Not from fear—but from awe.

Markos, jaw tight, eyes steady, said nothing. But inside, something shifted.

This... is a being worth following.

Ramson’s death was not the end.

It was the beginning—the first howl in a blood-soaked symphony.

In the heartbeat that followed his destruction, Boar’s spiritual field surged again, roaring like a furious tide. The oppressive pressure swept outward with merciless finality, crashing into the stunned beasts who had stood behind Ramson.

Their bodies didn’t even have time to react.

One by one, they bloomed into blood mist, bursting apart like fragile sacs of flesh and bone. No screams, no resistance—only crimson clouds hanging in the air, then dissipating into nothing.

And just like that, the clearing fell still again.

Only Markos and a few others remained.

They stood frozen—not from paralysis, but from sheer disbelief.

What they had just witnessed wasn’t a simple show of strength.

It was a purge.

Boar’s massive form stood amidst the fading haze, his fur still steaming, his expression calm yet firm.

He didn’t look at the remains. He didn’t need to.

To him, their fate had been sealed the moment they took Ramson side.

But they were already too far gone.

And Boar had no room for deadweight in these changing times.

Still, he couldn’t help but glance upward, toward the thick emerald canopy overhead, where he knew eyes might be watching.

Venom Fang Overlord... I hope you won’t mind.

He hadn’t acted in malice. He hadn’t lashed out in rage.

He had simply... cleaned up a mess.

Boar let out a slow breath, letting the last of the steam escape his body.

In his heart, he knew someone like Ricky wouldn’t be angry. No, knowing him... he might even be pleased.

The Overlord never tolerated seeds of chaos that might grow into future threats.

And Ramson was the kind of arrogant fool who would’ve ignited bigger fires, sooner or later.

Better to end such sparks before they became wild infernos.

Boar turned to the survivors, eyes calm but firm.

This was the cost of blind pride.

And if any of them still had doubts... now was the time to bury them.

This chapter is updat𝙚d by f(r)eew𝒆bn(o)vel.com