Chapter 135: The Silent Growth
In the weeks that followed the storm, UR's chaotic terrain began to settle into a dangerous calm mana storms now came in patterns, and beasts had retreated deeper into the corrupted jungles, licking their wounds and nursing their hatred. For Frank and his squad, it marked the start of a new rhythm: not a frenzied scramble to meet quotas, but something far more methodical something built to last.
Frank took the lead.
He began organizing weekly hunting rotations carefully planned expeditions targeting specific mana crystal mines and low-level beast zones. Every mission had a purpose, and every route was charted with military precision. The quota, while still looming in the background like a distant thundercloud, had been more than filled for now. That meant time. And time meant growth.
Their small force of thirty ten Commanders, twenty Adepts fell into a disciplined routine under Frank's direction. Scouts, working in pairs, would mark deposits of mana crystals and enriched soil, tagging them with biodegradable seals linked to spatial coordinates. Harvest teams would then move in with speed and efficiency, extracting the raw materials while carefully avoiding territorial high-ranked creatures. Simultaneously, designated hunting groups swept the periphery, only targeting Rank 1 and Rank 2 beasts to minimize risk and maximize control.
Frank never pushed for more.
He understood the limitations of his team. He was the only Master-level awakened among them. Rank 3 beasts, while not impossible for him alone, would be suicidal to engage with his current team not with the unknowns of UR still shifting daily. Instead, he optimized what they could do. And the results were already showing.
Each beast killed had its core harvested, its hide and bones meticulously stripped, and any special organs packed in reinforced mana-stabilized containers, ready to be sent back to Earth through their family's private transport channels. Everything was cataloged. Everything had value. The edible meat he kept some from every kill for the group their store were full now
But what the others didn't see was what happened once they were done.
Frank lingered.
When the others moved out, Frank knelt beside the fresh carcasses and let the red vine slither out from under his sleeve, hungry and patient. It latched onto flesh, pulsing softly as it fed not just on meat, but on the latent essence of life left behind. It drank deeply, savoring the dregs of beast soul and bloodline. Rank 1 and Rank 2 beasts didn't yield much perhaps a seed every few days but over time, the gains were steady. Intentional.
He now had nearly sixty vitality seeds, each one storing a minute portion of refined lifeforce. Individually, they were minor barely a drop in the ocean. But combined with his Titan's Hunger method and the Rooted Flesh, Boundless Bark path, they were priceless. Every seed was a step forward in his evolution, a brick in the foundation of something terrifying.
Every hunt was also training. He used the Red Vine's feeding to refine his control over it. Sometimes he would halt its digestion halfway, forcing the vine to compress the vitality into a purer form. Other times, he would let it devour trash beasts, studying how it differentiated meat from essence how it reacted to corrupted cores, how it responded to desperation, how it learned. It wasn't just a tool it was part of him now. An extension of his will. A second nervous system wired to his instinct.
The ice wasn't ignored either.
Every time he practiced Titan's Hunger, he felt a chill bloom deeper within. At first, it had been faint like the touch of frost across a windowpane. But now, each session came with breath that smoked in the air and fingers that numbed before warming again. It felt like the edge of something… ancient. If he continued down this path, he knew he knew the Ice Element would awaken.
Some of the Adepts had begun to notice the subtle change in him. His skin had taken on a faint sheen, almost like bark polished in moonlight. His muscles were more compact, denser. He moved quieter, hit harder. And his eyes now faintly tinged with red veins when angered felt more animalistic. A predator wrapped in human skin. But none dared question it.
He was Frank njoku
Quiet.
Methodical.
Efficient.
And they knew one thing above all: under him, their survival rate was perfect.
One night, as he stood atop the outer barricade and stared into the churning jungle, he spoke quietly to the red vine now curled around his wrist.
"We're not in a rush. But one day," he whispered, voice low and filled with promise, "we'll hunt Rank 3… then 4… and higher."
The vine pulsed once, almost as if it understood.