Chapter 1 — The Spirit Beast I Adopted Is the Baby Demon Lord

Fifty spiritual stones? Are you robbing me in broad daylight!

I squatted before a filthy stall, my finger poking at the rusted iron cage. Inside lay a small, grey, miserable heap. Its fur was matted in clumps, its head drooped in defeat, and its left front paw was wrapped in a blood-stained, tattered rag so grime-covered that its original color was impossible to discern. The stall owner was a shriveled old man who did not even bother to lift his eyelids.

If you want to buy, buy. If not, get lost. I found it, it was pathetic, and I fed it just enough to keep it from kicking the bucket. Fifty, and not a copper less.

Twenty.

My bargaining skills had always been as cold as iron.

Forty.

Twenty-five.

Thirty-five, and take it away. If you keep haggling, I will just throw it into the pot for soup.

The old man waved his hand impatiently, as if brushing away a fly. A deal was struck. I nimbly fished out thirty-five low-grade spiritual stones and tossed them into his greasy palm with a rhythmic clatter. In a place like the Myriad Beast Market, even finding a low-level spirit rabbit with all its limbs intact for this price would be a challenge. Though this creature looked wretched, it was at least alive and breathing. My own dilapidated cave dwelling was so icy that even the mice avoided it; it needed some sign of life. The old man worked quickly, hoisting the cage and shoving it into my arms.

There, take it. I am not responsible if it drops dead.

Having spoken, he retreated into his broken wicker chair, eyes closed in feigned sleep, his attitude clear: the transaction was done, and the creature was no longer his concern. The cage was not heavy, but a pungent, fishy stench surged into my nostrils. I frowned and wove through the crowded market, carrying my cheap goods. The grey lump in the cage stirred slightly and cracked open its eyelids to glance at me. Its gaze was pitch-black and profound, unlike that of a young animal; instead, it resembled two bottomless, ancient wells. The look made my heart skip a beat for no apparent reason.

What are you looking at?

I muttered, gripping the cage handle tighter.

From now on, you are coming with me to earn a living. Having a meal at all is a luxury, so do not be picky.

It lowered its eyelids again, curling into a ball as if that gaze had merely been a figment of my imagination. My cave dwelling was tucked away in the most remote corner of the sect. The spiritual energy was pitiably thin, but it was quiet and featured a small patch of land where a few gnarled spiritual fruit trees grew. I shoved open the creaking wooden door, and a cloud of dust immediately hit my face.

This is your nest from now on.

I placed the cage on the ground, scavenged for an old, chipped meat cleaver, and broke the rusted lock with a few loud, clanging strikes.

Come out, you poor little thing.

The grey creature did not move, merely pricking its ears in vigilance. Too lazy to coddle it, I rummaged through my chests. After some time, I unearthed a broken wooden basin coated in dust and went to the back of the dwelling to collect some relatively clean rainwater. Finally, I dug out the last few low-grade spiritual stones from the bottom of my storage pouch—their spiritual essence was nearly exhausted—and tossed them beside the basin with a pained heart.

Here, water and food. Just make do.

I pointed to the dull, grey stones. Only then did it slowly crawl out of the cage. Its four short legs trembled, and it kept its bandaged left paw lifted, afraid to touch the ground. It approached the basin and began to lap up the water in small, slow mouthfuls. Its posture was oddly, inexplicably elegant. Once finished, it walked over to the spiritual stones, lowered its head to sniff them, and then gave one a flick with its healthy front paw, as if expressing mild disdain. Yet, eventually, it bowed its head and began to gnaw on them in tiny bites. Crunch. Crunch. The sound was crisp. I sat cross-legged on my tattered straw mat nearby, propping my chin up to watch. Its grey fur, dampened by the water, clung to its body, revealing just how thin and miserable it truly was. But the way it ate the stones was, for some reason, remarkably serious.

Shall I give you a name?

I spoke to myself.

You are so grey and so pathetic… perhaps Grey-Sack? No, that is too rustic. Black-Coal? Even worse.

Its chewing paused for a moment, then resumed.

You have such dark, bright eyes… how about Black-Jade?

I asked, probing for a reaction. It did not respond, remaining focused on its meal.

Very well, Black-Jade it is.

I decided firmly. One must have a name to be called by, after all. The few low-grade stones were quickly devoured. Black-Jade licked its paws, then looked up, those deep, black eyes fixing on me again. This time, the intent was clear: I am not full yet. The corners of my mouth twitched.

It is all gone! Even a landlord would not have anything left to spare!

I patted my flat, empty storage pouch.

If you want a feast, you will have to wait for me to take on a task and earn more stones!

A very faint growl emitted from its throat, like a sound of dissatisfaction. It then dragged its injured limb, slowly moved to a corner of the wall where the shadows were slightly cleaner, curled up, and closed its eyes, choosing to ignore me entirely. Hmph, quite a temper for such a small thing. I pouted and left it be. I was so poor that my own pockets were rattling; wanting to keep a pet fed to its heart's content was a pipe dream. The next morning, just as the sky began to grey with dawn, I was jolted awake by a hunger so sharp it felt like an itch in my very marrow. It was not my own stomach growling. I opened my eyes in irritation. I did not know when Black-Jade had moved next to my straw mat, but it was staring at me unblinkingly with those black, deep eyes. The gaze was calm and ripple-less, yet it carried an undeniable sense of oppression: I am hungry.

My ancestors!

I groaned, accepting my fate and dragging myself up. If I had to endure that stare any longer, I suspected I would be crushed to death by the silent accusations in its eyes. I ransacked the cave, but could not find even a single crumb of a spiritual stone. I sighed, reached for the tattered rag I had used for the dressing yesterday, and tore a strip from the inner lining of my sleeve, which was still relatively clean.

Come here, let me change your dressing.

Black-Jade hesitated for a moment, but still dragged its paw toward me. I peeled away the hardened, filthy layer of cloth, revealing the wound beneath.