Time passed, and the crocodile was roasted. Dante began devouring it without hesitation. There was no special taste, nothing extraordinary—but still, it made his body tremble with happiness.
Each bite, each juicy fiber, seemed divine. Hunger amplified everything, making the process almost addictive. Within minutes, the enormous crocodile had been completely consumed.
Satisfied… Dante thought, lying down with a full belly.
— Now it's time to leave — he said to Ravi and Slay as he got up.
When he looked around the cave, his eyes stopped at the central lake—the place where the crocodile used to rest. And there, in the middle of that small mirror of water, rested a stone with a white liquid on it.
Dante froze.
He leaped into the water and began swimming as fast as he could.
— It can't be what I'm thinking… it just can't…
Reaching the small stone, his eyes widened.
Three drops.
Extremely white.
Pulsing with tremendous spiritual energy.
— This can't be possible… — Dante repeated, his voice wavering.
— This… no.
— It can't be…
He touched the edge of the stone, trembling.
— My God…
It was impossible not to recognize it.
Hundred-Year Dew Spiritual Milk.
It only came from extremely rare roots, hidden deep within the earth.
Each drop took a century to form.
Not to mention the root's maturation time: one hundred and fifty years.
A spiritual treasure that many cultivators would never see in their lifetime.
Dante swallowed hard, trembling without realizing it. Besides healing, the milk could break bottlenecks, strengthen meridians, and open the path to the next level.
And, being a pure medicine of heaven and earth, it theoretically caused no harm to cultivation… theoretically.
Still trembling, Dante grabbed his empty potion bottle and carefully collected the three drops, holding them close to his chest.
Then he decided to wash himself.
Almost like a child taking a quick bath just to rush back and see if the gift was still there.
Water ran over his body as he moved excitedly, leaving Ravi and Slay genuinely confused. They played in the water but didn't understand Dante's excitement.
He wasn't really washing; his mind was entirely focused on the treasure.
With this… there was no doubt… he would enter the Four-Star level…
He inhaled deeply, trying to calm down.
The water ran over his body, washing away months of accumulated dirt—but strangely, it remained crystal clear, as if those impurities meant nothing to it.
Splash! Splash! Splash!
Jets of water fell on Dante. It was Slay, repeating the scene from their first encounter.
Dante laughed carefreely, allowing himself a few seconds of lightness.
But the moment passed quickly.
He stepped out of the lake with water dripping from his lean body. His expression was lively—almost light—but behind it lay something profound:
an intense desire for strength, a wish to protect his own peace.
He looked at the bottle of spiritual milk and made his decision.
It was time to evolve.
He moved to a dry corner of the cave, sat in the lotus position, and placed the bottle beside him.
— Ravi, Slay… take care of me.
Both immediately became alert.
Deep breath.
Steady rhythm.
Focused mind.
Dante opened the bottle and let the first drop fall onto his tongue.
The reaction was instantaneous.
An absurd amount of spiritual energy descended through his throat—and, as before, disappeared suddenly.
But this time, it reappeared where it was needed most.
His arm.
The energy shot into the mutilated limb and began reconstructing it, layer by layer, tissue by tissue.
This time, however, it hurt.
It hurt so much that Dante momentarily lost control of his own muscles.
His arm trembled as if it were being rebuilt from the inside by a volcano.
The forearm reconstructed itself before his eyes, and the pain was incessant, growing, brutal.
Curiously, the regeneration came in pulses:
The energy tried to circulate through his body—and something always pushed it back to the arm.
Dante squeezed his own arm tightly, trying to muffle the pain.
But it only increased.
Minutes passed—perhaps more—until the energy finally ceased.
Looking at his arm, Dante saw that it was almost fully restored.
Only the hand remained.
He inhaled deeply. Fear? Yes.
But there was no room for surrender.
Determined, he brought the bottle to his mouth and let the second drop fall.
The spiritual energy traveled through his body… and vanished again.
But this time, there was no pain.
Nothing.
No spasms.
No tremors.
It was as if his body… had adapted.
The energy flowed into his arm and began regenerating it quickly, smoothly, and silently.
Dante frowned.
Confused.
This was not normal.
This… was not natural.
Something inside him had changed.
Something was evolving along with him.