The fox spoke again, its tone even and practical.
"The corpses of the other cultivators are inside," it said. "All of them."
Its gaze flicked briefly to the dark stain on the ground where the Elder One had fallen.
"…Except for the once you already ate, of course."
Without waiting for a response, the fox moved.
It passed the lizard in a blur of white—swift and soundless—its presence brushing by like a cold current. As it did, its turquoise eyes dipped briefly, gleaming as they swept over the lizard's form, confirming what it had already sensed.
Alive.
Stabilized.
Still dangerous.
Satisfied, it continued on.
A few steps away lay the fallen elder's spirit tool, half-buried among fractured stone and scorched earth. The fox stopped, its tails swaying faintly as it looked down at it.
Its lips curled just a little.
"…Hmmm."
The pouch at its neck opened once more.
"Another mid-tier Earth-grade tool," the fox muttered, a note of genuine satisfaction slipping through. "Not bad."
Qi reached out—precise, controlled. The weapon lifted from the ground, rotating slowly in the air before gliding toward the pouch. With a soft pulse of light, it vanished inside.
The pouch closed.
Behind it, the lizard remained where it stood.
It didn't move.
Its wide, golden eyes were fixed forward—unblinking, unfocused. The fox was nothing more than a vague blur of light and motion in its vision, shapes without edges, colors without clarity.
…Still can't see.
The bleeding had stopped. The pain had dulled. But the fog remained—thick and unmoving.
So it hasn't healed yet.
The thought surfaced slowly in its mind, heavy and uncertain.
The AI had said it would recover.
In time.
But how long is *time*?
Minutes?
Hours?
Days?
The lizard stood in silence, blood dried along its scales, wounds no longer fresh but far from gone—alive, fed, stabilized… and still blind.
Waiting.
From the dark pool of blood and the heap of ragged, ruined robes, something stirred.
A storage pouch—its surface soaked and stained crimson, nearly blending into the gore around it—lifted slowly into the air.
At the same moment, the fox appeared beside the lizard.
Soundless. Sudden.
The bloodstained pouch drifted toward it, drawn by an unseen pull. The fox didn't even look directly at it—its Qi reached out automatically, precise and practiced. The pouch slipped neatly into the opening of the fox's own, which flickered once before sealing shut.
The fox's expression shifted, just slightly.
Satisfaction.
Then it turned its head toward the lizard standing beside it.
Why is it just standing there?
The fox studied it with a faint frown.
I thought it would keep eating—finish recovering properly.
But the lizard had changed posture.
It had lowered itself into a crouch, body coiled close to the ground. Its movements were slower now, deliberate. It bent its head and began licking at its wounds, thick saliva spreading over torn flesh. Where it touched, a faint hiss sounded.
A thin wisp of steam rose.
The wounds weren't closing—not fully—but they were no longer worsening. The flesh looked darker, tougher, as though sealed temporarily by heat and instinct rather than true healing.
The fox remained where it was, watching in silence.
So that's its next step.
Feeding first. Then stabilization.
Not pretty—but effective.
After a moment, the fox turned away.
"Just keep doing what you're doing," it said calmly, already stepping back. "I'll be back in a moment."
Its turquoise eyes gleamed faintly.
"I still need to collect the rest of my treasures."
The air rippled.
And then the fox was gone.
The lizard remained crouched where it was, licking its wounds, steam curling faintly into the ruined air—alone once more, surrounded by blood, silence, and the slow work of survival.
It continued licking its injuries, tongue dragging slowly across torn scales as heat hissed softly against flesh.
The fog in its vision hadn't changed.
Still blurred. Still shapeless.
Its golden eyes narrowed slightly, unfocused.
…How long?
The thought surfaced sluggishly, directed inward rather than outward.
How long until I can see again? the lizard asked.
For a brief moment, nothing happened.
Then—
**{SYSTEM}**
**Eye Damage Assessment: Severe Spiritual and Physical Trauma Detected.**
**Regenerative Response: Incomplete.**
**Estimated Recovery Time (Natural): 365 days.**
**Approximate Duration: One standard year.**
The lizard froze for half a heartbeat.
…A year?
Its tongue paused against its scales, steam curling upward as its body processed the information.
Then the voice continued.
**{SYSTEM}**
**Supplementary To Condition Detected Consumption of high-quality biomass. (Foundation Establishment cultivators and above) Devouring there corpses will assist in accelerating recovery.**
**Estimated Reduction:**
— Continued consumption recommended.
— Recovery time subject to absorbed energy and quality.
Silence returned.
The lizard resumed licking its wounds.
A year is a long time… thought it would only take a few days.
But the rest of the message mattered more.
It doesn't have to wait.
Its thoughts settled into something simple. Clear. Comfortable.
So I just need to eat.
Eat strong ones.
Eat enough.
And I'll recover my sight.
Its tongue dragged once more across its injuries, saliva sizzling faintly as steam rose. The fog in its vision remained—but now, it no longer felt permanent.
Just temporary.
Eating would fix it.
The lizard stayed crouched amid the broken battlefield—blind but fed, healing slowly—its future no longer measured in time alone, but in how much it could consume.