Ever since the spider could remember, it had been alone.
It didn't know why it existed in this world—only that it had a purpose: to grow stronger and protect the fruits.
The task should have been simple. But as time passed, creatures constantly attempted to steal its fruit, disrupting its cultivation.
Thankfully, most of them were weak, barely a nuisance.
Time flowed like water. The spider immersed itself in cultivation, yet something felt… incomplete. A quiet emptiness lingered at the edges of its thoughts, though it couldn't quite grasp why.
Until one day—
It saw him.
A tiny creature, fluttering through the air.
The moment its eight eyes locked onto the mosquito, something stirred deep within.
The creature felt familiar, almost like a long-lost relative. An inexplicable connection pulled at the spider's mind.
Then, it heard the mosquito's voice—sharp, clear, and oddly… composed. It was unlike its own muddled thoughts, and before it even realized, the words slipped from its mouth:
"Huh! Isn't that how humans apologize…?"
At the spider's innocent retort, Ricky's antennae twitched in excitement.
He barely managed to stop himself from bursting into laughter.
"Little spider, you are right—that is how humans apologize. But…" Ricky's voice was smooth, steady, almost teacher-like.
"An important keyword here is 'humans.'"
The spider nodded, finding Ricky's words oddly reasonable.
Seeing this reaction, Ricky suppressed an internal chuckle. He was close—very close—to hoodwinking the innocent spider.
"But we are not humans, are we? We are monsters..."
Before Ricky could continue, the spider suddenly interjected, its tone dissatisfied.
"Wait… wait, thief! What do you mean, monsters?"
Its voice carried an almost offended edge.
"You can't compare us Noble Spiritual Beasts to those mindless creatures!"
Ricky immediately corrected himself, his expression unchanging.
"Of course, of course. We are Noble Spiritual Beasts. And as such, if you truly feel sorry… you must show your sincerity."
At first, Ricky nearly blurted out that the spider should hand over one of its fruits, but he quickly adjusted his words. Being too direct might make it suspicious.
The spider tilted its head.
"Sincerity? What is that? Can it be cultivated like this fruit?"
Its confusion was genuine, and Ricky had to fight the urge to laugh again.
He had never met such an easy target.
"Sincerity means proving that you truly mean what you say, not just using words," he explained smoothly.
"For example… you could give me something precious to you."
A brief silence followed.
Then—
"Wait a minute! I will show my sincerity!"
The spider hurried away, disappearing into the darkness of its tree. Moments later, it returned, carefully carrying a gleaming spiritual fruit in its front limbs.
It hesitated briefly, then placed the fruit on the ground, seeming to realize something.
The fruit was almost as big as Ricky himself—there was no way he could carry it.
"Accept this spiritual fruit as a sincere apology."
Ricky's wings buzzed with anticipation. He descended swiftly, landing beside the fruit.
"No problem, fellow Spiritual Beast. I have forgiven you..."
Without hesitation, his newly enhanced proboscis sank into the fruit's tender skin.
The moment its rich juices flowed into his body, a sweet aroma flooded his senses—a scent reminiscent of fermented apple beer, warm and intoxicating.
A sense of deep, primal satisfaction washed over him.
[Ding! 1 year of lifespan absorbed.]
In mere moments, the once-lush fruit shriveled into a dry husk, its energy completely drained. A light breeze carried away its remains.
Ricky let out a contented burp.
Out of all the creatures he had drained, only this fruit had truly satisfied the hunger buried in his soul.
Feeling immensely pleased, he turned toward the spider and praised it.
"Fellow Spiritual Beast, this fruit was one of the most wondrous things I have tasted in years."
"Truly praiseworthy..."
His words weren't an exaggeration. For the first time, he had tasted something beyond mere sustenance.
The spider's eyes flickered strangely.
A vague sense of déjà vu washed over it.
Ricky's genuine praise filled it with immense satisfaction—an unfamiliar but pleasant feeling.
After all… these fruits were cultivated by its own hands.
Then, something struck Ricky.
"By the way… what's your name, fellow Spiritual Beast?"
"Name?"
The spider stiffened.
Of course, it had heard of names. Humans had them. But it had never thought of naming itself. Why would it? It had never needed one before.
Seeing the spider's hesitation, Ricky immediately understood.
"Ah, I see. Understandable."
With that, he started to fly away.
He had already gotten what he wanted—there was no need to linger.
But as his tiny figure lifted into the air, the spider suddenly panicked.
"Wait! Let me think of a name!"
It fumbled for a moment, then abruptly declared—
"Yes! That's it! My name is… Dark Shadow!"
Ricky paused, pretending to nod in approval.
But the spider seemed unsure, after all nodding was a human gesture so after pausing for a moment he added:
"A nice name, truly fitting for a Noble Spiritual Beast."
Hearing that, Dark Shadow beamed in satisfaction.
"Let me introduce myself as well," Ricky continued smoothly.
"You can call me Ricky… Ricky Stormwind."
The introduction felt oddly formal, yet satisfying.
With that, Ricky didn't linger any longer. He took to the skies, riding the air currents.
Dark Shadow watched his tiny figure disappear into the horizon.
Only when he was completely out of sight did she finally turn away.
---
Buzzzz! Buzzz!
Hundreds of meters around him, Ricky's senses stretched like invisible threads.
Every creature within his range—whether as small as an ant or as large as a bear-sized monster—appeared crystal clear in his mind.
He had never felt so aware before.
Now that fighting the spider was off the table, he needed to test his abilities elsewhere.
And he knew just the kind of prey to look for.