A bath. Lunch. A nap.
His body’s recovery capacity was, frankly, absurd. The minor injuries he’d taken in the fight had already faded by the time he woke up. Being an evolved person had its privileges — the healing rate kept climbing into territory that would have seemed impossible a year ago.
Outside, the Old Pearl Mussel had been clamped shut ever since he’d returned, apparently even more cautious than he was.
It had reached Lv0.999. A day or two at most before it crossed into the Lv1 era. Its Activity cores were its two shell halves — true of virtually all Pearl Mussels. The Old Pearl Mussel’s shells were grey-brown on the surface, a layer of deposited calcium carbonate, but anywhere the surface was scratched away, dark silver gleamed beneath.
The Activity core was barely distinguishable from metal at this point. The original shell material was being steadily replaced.
He’d noticed this pattern across many evolved beasts: the higher the level, the deeper the metallic transformation in their Activity cores. Eventually, the original biological material disappeared entirely. Pure metal.
“When full metallic conversion is complete, that’s roughly when the Lv1 era arrives.” He tapped the shell with his dagger. It rang like steel.
Clang. Clang. Clang.
Four or five meters across — a substantial piece of Activity core material. He was already thinking about what to do with it after dissection. Too large to fit inside the vehicle. Cutting it up felt wasteful. Mounting it on the roof was one option, but it would block part of the solar panels.
There was also the minor disappointment of the Old Pearl Mussel’s Talent — respectable level, but its ceiling was only a little above 0.6H. Not exceptional.
“Maybe I build a rack on the rear of the vehicle and hang the shell back there. Use it as an external cargo hold. All the lower-grade Activity cores I can’t fit inside could go in it.”
A good idea. Great Vajra’s rear end could carry more.
He gave the shell a pat and walked away from the Old Pearl Mussel toward the two enormous insect carcasses lying nearby. These creatures had nearly killed him. Now they were dead, and his feelings about them had already moved on entirely.
Research mode.
“Based on morphology, these two are almost certainly mutated giant water bugs.”
Giant water bugs — Lethocerus deyrollei, also called water cicadas, water scorpions, water great-bugs, or Water Tyrants. The name alone described the type: an extremely large insect, inhabiting ponds and rice paddies, a ferocious ambush predator that took small fish, shrimp, insects, and frogs. Female giant water bugs lay their eggs on aquatic vegetation — or, in some species, on the backs of males.
“The one carrying eggs on its back is most likely the male. The one I put down the hard way is probably the female.” He considered the naming. They were ferocious enough that their nickname deserved to become their official name. “Water Tyrants.”
He ran a full sensory assessment on both.
Female Water Tyrant: Talent 2.111H / Activity Value 1.832H / Lv0.868.
Male Water Tyrant: Talent 2.106H / Activity Value 1.807H / Lv0.858.
“Female slightly stronger than the male.” He let the numbers settle. “Both above 2H Talent — second only to the Golden Jiao’s 2.874H and the Swiftclaw Leopard’s 2.758H. Higher Talent than even the Violent Ape King at 2.034H. And Activity Values at 1.8H — just short of generating a pressure aura. No wonder they were that dangerous.”
A single Water Tyrant might be capable of hunting and killing the Violent Ape King outright. In water, they would be even more lethal. Heavyweight classification was not an overstatement.
Clang.
He chopped the forelegs off both carcasses.
A Water Tyrant’s foreleg came in three sections: the tip was a spike-claw, the middle was the sickle-shaped femur, and both of these sections were Activity core material. The rear section wasn’t a core, but the muscle was dense and thick — far more substantial than the middle and rear legs. The cores would become bone-gold weapons. The rear thigh muscle was food.
“1.807H and 1.832H. These will be my most powerful bone-gold weapons after the Swiftclaw Leopard’s tail whip.”
He butchered both Water Tyrants and packed the usable portions back to Great Vajra. The remainder went beside the Old Pearl Mussel’s pool — high-grade evolved meat at that level was an offer the mussel wouldn’t be able to resist.
He also collected over thirty intact Water Tyrant eggs, setting them aside in the corridor with Blackhead assigned to keep watch.
He hadn’t decided yet: cook them like the Giant Stag beetle eggs, or try to hatch them.
The Water Tyrants had left a deep impression.
Without the Pepper Water and spines, today’s outcome was genuinely unclear. But if he could raise a few Water Tyrants and bring them along — the possibilities were difficult not to fantasize about.
“Two o’clock.” He checked his mechanical watch, finished packing, and set out again for the central barrier lake.
The Water Tyrant encounter had been an unexpected complication. That didn’t change the objective.
Splash. Splash. Splash.
He walked through shallow mud and standing water.
The entire Fuxing Township area had been flooded by the drainage from the upper lakes — a broad, shallow wetland now. Mutated chrysanthemums swayed in it, white and yellow blooms catching the light in drifts of color. Small evolved fish and shrimp moved between the flower stems, having already made themselves at home. They wouldn’t last long. The terrain here was too flat to retain water — it would dry out eventually, and they’d go with it.
Back at the central barrier lake.
He spent ten minutes in careful observation, checking the now half-drained lake surface for any remaining signs of dangerous evolved beasts. No more Water Tyrants.
He resumed drainage operations.
The bank breach from the explosion had dropped the water level by five or six meters, but that wasn’t enough. A significant portion of the lake still sat below the drainage channel’s level. He would need to deepen the channel by at least another five meters before the remaining water could flow out.
That was two more days of digging. The prospect didn’t move him. He wanted the meteorite fragment. He swung the Condor Spade and kept going.
Two days passed.
November 29th.
The weather was getting colder, winter advancing steadily. The chrysanthemums in the flooded Fuxing Township lowlands were wilting one by one, submerged in water that had turned cold. Even mutated plants couldn’t fully resist the seasons. When winter came, they declined — retreating, pulling their vitality back down into the soil to wait.
At eleven-thirty in the morning, Shen Cong stood on the fully drained mud floor of the central barrier lake and finished clearing the last batch of mutated fish and shrimp.
He walked the enormous expanse of exposed mud and gravel — back and forth, over and over — searching for any indication of where a meteorite fragment might lie.
The lake bed offered nothing obvious. Sand, silt, scattered stones. No visible landmark pointing to a buried impact site. And there was a more fundamental problem: he had no idea what a meteorite fragment actually looked like. He didn’t know what he was digging for.
He drove the Condor Spade into the silt and stood there frowning.
“A meteorite fragment changes the local environment. Creates an Oasis. Produces concentric zone distribution. The Eastern Theater Command uses radiation to describe evolved beasts — which confirms the radiation theory is correct. Meteorite fragments are the radiation source.” He turned it over. “But how do I find a radiation source?”
(End of Chapter 208)