Harvesting Beasts is my Talent

Chapter 3

Chapter 3

"Captain Zhuifeng must have broken through to the Mid-Stage Martial Master realm to kill that thing!"

​Mo Fan ignored the recruiters shouting about team vacancies and focused on the carcass. It resembled a giant, armored pangolin, five meters long with obsidian fangs that caught the light like daggers. Even in death, the creature radiated a suffocating pressure.

​Taking advantage of the chaos as people reached out to touch the "legendary" beast, Mo Fan squeezed to the front. He reached out, his fingers brushing the cold, serrated scales.

​[Target: Tier-3 Mid-Grade Beast – Earth Dragon!]

​[Status: Harvestable!]

​[Begin Extraction?]

​'Harvest!' Mo Fan commanded silently.

​[Harvest Successful!]

​[Acquired: Mid-Grade Cultivation Physique!]

​[Would you like to integrate?]

​"Got it!"

​Mo Fan’s heart hammered against his ribs. He didn't fuse it on the spot. He knew he could keep harvesting for essence blood, but doing so might cause the corpse to visibly wither or lose its luster, alerting the Storm Chasers. He had the prize he came for; there was no need to be greedy and risk his life.

​He slipped away from the crowd unnoticed, the entire process taking less than three seconds.

​Back in his room with the door bolted, Mo Fan "held" the collected physique in his mind’s eye. It appeared as a glowing white orb, the size of a marble, swirling with profound, ancient patterns.

​"Mid-Grade Cultivation Physique..."

​In a world where most were born "Weak" or "Inferior," a Mid-Grade physique was the threshold of true greatness.

​"Integrate!"

​BOOM!

​A torrent of mysterious energy flooded his system. It wasn't like the sharp sting of the Thunder Talent; this was a heavy, structural overhaul. He felt his bones snap and knit back together, his muscle fibers braiding into denser, stronger strands. He bit down on a piece of leather, enduring the ten-second storm of agony.

​When it passed, he was drenched in a foul-smelling sweat—impurities being forced from his pores.

​After a quick recovery, he stood up and began the twenty-one tempering postures.

​As he finished the set, a massive wave of Yuan Qi—ten times more potent than anything he’d felt before—rushed into his body. It was a warm, violent current that saturated his marrow.

​"Incredible!" Mo Fan’s eyes shone with triumph. "One session now is worth ten from before!"

​With this physique, he wouldn't even need beast essence to reach the Warrior realm within six months. But with essence?

​"I’ll be a true Warrior in three months, tops.”

​The air in the private practice room was thick with heat and the rhythmic thud-crack of bone hitting reinforced synthetic stone.

​Mo Fan was a blur of motion. His fists rained down on the testing pylon, the display screen flickering frantically as it struggled to keep pace with his output.

​3,289! 3,321! 3,275! 3,306!

​Then, drawing deep from the well of energy in his core, Mo Fan unleashed a final strike. A jagged purple arc of electricity spiraled down his arm, exploding against the sensor.

​BOOM!

​The digits blurred and locked: 6,643!

​"A Mid-Grade physique is truly transformative," Mo Fan exhaled, his chest heaving as he wiped away the grime. "In just one month, my raw physical strength has increased by over 1,000 lbs. My base power is now firmly in the Mid-Stage Martial Disciple range, but with the Thunder Attribute, I can hit as hard as a Late-Stage Disciple!"

​He paused, a glint of calculation in his eyes. "Even a natural-born genius like Shen Lang couldn't dream of this kind of progression. In Shuli Base, I’m no longer a 'loser'—I’m a monster."

​A Mid-Grade Physique paired with a Thunder Talent? If he went public, every major faction in the city would be tripping over themselves to recruit him. The Academy would immediately promote him to the Elite Class, showering him with resources.

​"But I can’t take that risk," he muttered, shaking his head.

​In his previous life, he had seen how "miracles" invited dissection—sometimes literal. A boy known for having zero talent suddenly becoming a god-tier genius would trigger suspicion and greed.

​"I’ll rely on the Harvest Skill. I won't step into the light until I’m a Martial Artist or even a Grandmaster. Only when I can't be touched will I reveal my hand."

​He replenished his energy by devouring five kilograms of prepared meat—a staggering amount for a normal human, but barely a snack for a developing Warrior. Changing into fresh clothes, he headed for the Shuli First College.

​It had been two months since he’d stepped foot on campus. In this era, formal education shifted entirely to Martial Arts at age fifteen, once the skeletal structure had matured enough to handle Yuan Qi.

​Today was mandatory: the Class Hunting Trial.

​Shuli First College was the elite tier of the base’s academies. Mo Fan had only stayed enrolled here because of Shen Lang’s influence, a fact that made him the primary target of ridicule for the "real" students.

​As he entered the classroom, he found a crowd gathered around a smug young man in expensive combat gear: Lei Wuji.

​"Lei Wuji is insane! He’s reached the peak of Mid-Stage Disciple in two months!"

"Six thousand pounds of force? That’s terrifying!"

"The rewards for this trial are huge—three vials of Level 1 Beast Blood and a High-Grade Mortal Manual. Lei Wuji has it in the bag."

"He’ll be in the Elite Class by next week. We better stay on his good side!"

​The Elite Class was the pinnacle—only twenty-three students out of thousands held that rank.

​Lei Wuji basked in the worship until his eyes landed on Mo Fan. His expression shifted into a cruel sneer. "Well, look what the cat dragged in. The freeloader actually showed up."

​The room went quiet, then erupted in snickers.

​"Why is the talentless wonder here?"

"He’s only here because Shen Lang protects him. It’s pathetic."

"Wait—doesn't Lei Wuji want to marry Shen Lang? And isn't Mo Fan technically her fiancé? This is going to be brutal."

​Lei Wuji pushed through his sycophants and stood inches from Mo Fan, his eyes dripping with disdain. "I didn't think you’d have the guts to show for a hunt."

​He leaned in, his voice a low, venomous hiss that only Mo Fan could hear. "You think you can hide behind her forever? During this trial, I’m going to make sure you watch while I make her mine. I’ll show you exactly how she sounds when she’s screaming my name instead of yours."

​Mo Fan’s eyes narrowed into cold slits. A murderous chill radiated from him. "You’re looking for a grave."

​"What?" Lei Wuji barked a laugh, turning to the class. "Did you hear that? The weakling is making threats! It’s the tragic comedy of the incompetent!"

​He turned back, reaching out to mockingly straighten Mo Fan’s collar. With a predatory smile, he whispered, "I know you want me dead, kid. But you should worry more about whether you survive the woods today."

​Lei Wuji turned on his heel, laughing as he walked away.

​Mo Fan stood still, his face an unreadable mask, but his heart was cold. In the wasteland of his past life, he had learned one rule: when a snake shows its fangs, you don't wait for it to strike. You crush its head.