Harvesting Beasts is my Talent

Chapter 2

Chapter 2

​[Obtained: Essence Blood of the Purple Electric Sable!]

​Mo Fan’s pupils contracted. "Essence blood?"

​In the world of martial cultivation, besides the standard body-tempering techniques used to absorb Yuan Qi, there were various catalysts to speed up the process. Beast blood was the most common; its raw energy helped forge the physical frame.

​However, Essence Blood was different. It was the distilled core of a creature’s power. Its potency was leagues beyond standard blood, but it was incredibly difficult to extract—usually requiring the intervention of a Great Martial Master.

​Because of this rarity, every drop sparked a frenzy. Mo Fan recalled a memory: three months ago, a vial of Level 3 Beast Essence appeared at the Shuli Base. The city’s major clans went into a bidding war that ended in an astronomical price.

​And now, a vial of this treasure sat in his palm. Though it was only Level 1, it was the perfect grade for his current foundation.

​"A massive haul," he whispered, carefully decanting the glowing liquid into a bottle.

​He tried to use the harvesting skill again, hoping for a third strike, but a prompt stopped him:

​[Target resources exhausted. Cannot harvest.]

​Information flooded his mind regarding the "Cheat's" mechanics. He could harvest from any corpse—human or beast. He could pull martial arts, talents, physiques, or bloodlines. While he could strip a single target until it was "empty," he could only switch to a new target once every thirty days.

​"A one-month cooldown," Mo Fan noted. "I need to make every choice count."

​Stomach growling, he gathered the remaining ingredients and headed to the kitchen.

​Inside her room, Shen Lang was mid-sequence. She moved through the twenty-one fundamental tempering postures—the pinnacle of human research designed to draw Yuan Qi into the marrow.

​She finished the set, her breath steady but her heart heavy.

​"Still not enough," she sighed. "At this rate, I won't be able to kill a Twin-Headed Python in the upcoming Academy Hunt."

​The Python was a Level 2 Mid-Grade beast, a match for a true Warrior. She wanted its bile, rumored to be a miracle tonic for improving physical constitution. She planned to give it to Mo Fan so he wouldn't be expelled from the academy for lacking talent.

​She steeled her resolve, wiped her sweat, and headed out to cook for him, as she had done every day for two years—despite his constant vitriol.

​When she opened the door, she froze. A savory, rich aroma filled the air.

​The table was set with vibrant, steaming dishes.

​"You're out? Wash up and sit down. The soup is almost ready," Mo Fan said, glancing back from the stove with a casual smile.

​Shen Lang stood paralyzed. "You... did all this?"

​"Who else?" Mo Fan chuckled, bringing a bowl to the table. "Dig in."

​She sat down in a daze, watching him serve her rice. Two years of cold walls and bitter silence seemed to vanish in the steam of the meal. She wanted to ask a thousand questions, but the words died in her throat.

​They ate in silence. It wasn't the usual icy silence, but something... different.

​"I'm finished," Mo Fan said, setting his bowl down. "I'll leave the dishes to you."

​He retreated to his room, leaving Shen Lang staring at the closed door. For two years, he had lived in a shell of self-pity and hate. This change was like a dream she didn't want to wake from.

​Inside his room, Mo Fan exhaled. He knew he was acting out of character, but he had no intention of explaining himself. Actions would speak louder than words.

​"Now, for the real work."

​He uncorked the vial of Purple Electric Sable Essence and swallowed it in one gulp. A violent, scorching heat exploded in his gut. He immediately dropped into the tempering stances, channeling the energy into his muscles.

​One month later.

​BOOM!

​Mo Fan’s fist collided with the testing machine, his knuckles crackling with violet electricity. The display flickered and settled:

​2,134 lbs. (Base Strength)

​"Not bad," he nodded.

​In thirty days of grueling training and the boost from the Essence Blood, his raw strength had jumped by over 600 lbs. When he added the Thunder Attribute's doubling effect, his total output now surged past 4,000 lbs.

​He was growing at a speed that would terrify "geniuses." The Essence Blood alone had done the work of months of normal training.

​"If I can get a steady supply of this stuff, I'll be a true Warrior within half a year."

​He checked the internal clock of his ability. The cooldown was over. It was time for his second harvest.

​Mo Fan showered, changed into clean clothes, and stepped out into the streets of the Shuli Base. He needed a new target—one that would catapult him even higher.

​The streets were a cacophony of life.

​Mo Fan navigated the crowds, passing commoners and the occasional Warrior whose powerful aura commanded a wide berth. He eventually reached the central commercial district, where the air was thick with the scent of dried blood and ozone.

​"Last of the Tier-1 Earth-Eating Insects! Going fast!"

"Tier-1 Wind-Chasing Wolf—only three million credits!"

"Bronze-level Martial Arts manuals! Cheap prices, high power!"

​In this era, the martial economy was the lifeblood of society. Shops didn't sell electronics; they sold the harvested remains of the nightmare creatures from the rifts.

​Mo Fan scanned the stalls with a discerning eye. Most vendors only carried Tier-1 remains—fodder for basic disciples. A few had Tier-2 corpses, equivalent to the strength of an early-stage Warrior.

​"I only get one new target a month," Mo Fan reminded himself. "I can't waste it on common trash."

​While high raw strength didn't guarantee a high-grade talent, the statistical odds were significantly better. He was about to settle for a Tier-2 beast when a roar of excitement erupted down the block.

​"The Storm Chasers are back!"

"They’ve brought down a Tier-3 beast!"

​The street turned into a stampede. The Storm Chaser Team was legendary in Shuli Base. Their captain, 'Zhuifeng,' was a Martial Master who had awakened a Mid-Grade Wind Talent. His crew was composed entirely of late-stage Warriors—a formidable force by any standard.

​Mo Fan followed the surge. A Tier-3 beast was a match for a human Martial Master. Such a creature was bound to harbor extraordinary genetic traits.

​Pushing through the throng, he saw them: a dozen battle-hardened Warriors standing guard over a massive trophy.

​"It’s an Earth Dragon!" someone gasped. "The monster from the northern barrens? It’s a Tier-3 Mid-Grade beast! It’s devoured dozens of Warriors!"

​