Genetic Ascension Chapter 1273: Granny

Sylas finally took a hand out of his pocket, a pulse of might coming from him. All of a sudden, there was a large surge of Blood Essence that ca from the remains of the Cervidon’s body, pooling together until it was crafted into a perfect ball in Sylas’ palm.

He looked at it, his eyes flickering.

Gene Locks were commonplace. But what Sylas had noticed was that at layers deeper than Gene Talents, the sa chanisms that kept most under lock and key were not.

The trouble was that the thods for collecting Blood Essence were even rarer, and the thods for taking advantage of said Blood Essence? Just as rare, if not more so.

The odds of soone both having a thod of collecting Blood Essence and having the exact thod you needed to utilize the particular Blood Essence in question was next to zero.

Sylas himself had once had his hands on such a thod. It was just that that body refinent thod was already useless to him. He was a D-Grade Human Simioid now. There was nothing he had gotten from a re branch of a Golden Grove in a backwater corner of the world that could possibly be helpful to him.

Logically, Sylas certainly didn’t have the unique Blood Essence utilization thod he would need for the Cervidon’s family line. But he didn’t need it, nor did he want it. He was simply using it to observe the Runes.

They reflected in his eyes in a wondrous layer of mystery, and siphoning through it all, he soon found exactly what he was looking for.

Deep inside, there was a small kernel of sothing—a Will that was capable of changing its resonance to fit that of the world.

Sylas’ hand splayed outward and the rest of the Blood Essence shattered. From an outsider’s perspective, it almost looked like he was just desecrating Speride’s corpse even more than he already had. But from his, he had picked out exactly what he was looking for, seamlessly placing it within the Madness Key.

Studying Genes was already hard. Studying Blood Essence was bound to be levels beyond.

The more Sylas thought about it, the more he felt that Gralith couldn’t have been more correct. How could there be so many things in the world that even he, as a Rune Spark Master, struggled so much with?

Speride was an F-tier existence. His Genes, Gene Talents, down to his Blood Essence and beyond, were all built with F-tier Runes. There would be so exceptions, but this was true for the most part.

Logically, Sylas should be able to see through such things with a glance. But he couldn’t.

The world of Runes was so much more vast than he had had the chance to comprehend. It almost made him want to stay in the F-tier for as long as he could...

But he knew that he couldn’t do that.

Once he established himself in the Beast Warlord Sanctum, he would follow the map he had received and hopefully find a thod to progress to a C-Grade Race—or maybe even B, if he was lucky.

He’d take advantage of that ti to hopefully increase the Grade of his F-Grade Foundation as well. Then he would progress to the E-Grade.

If there was one thing his experience on Earth had taught him... it was that as much as he wanted his foundation to be absolutely perfect... life often had different thoughts in mind.

And considering he had suddenly beco soone that even C-tiers wouldn’t hesitate to attack in broad daylight, he would have no choice but to get stronger—and much faster at that.

Soon, he’d be hunted down for far more than just his Royal Line.

His gaze shifted toward the Skarzok. She and her handler stood there, the only pair that was still sowhat close to the carnage. Sylas could feel them hesitating, wondering if they should take action. But the C-tier’s eyes were focused enough on Old Brama that her expression was all too readable.

She wasn’t hesitating due to Sylas.

She was hesitating due to the old man.

Sylas couldn’t follow the battle above at all. Or, rather, he didn’t want to waste the Will and stamina it would take him to—especially since his Luck wasn’t blaring warnings at him.

That was to say that from the old woman’s expression alone, he knew that the real reason she wasn’t attacking was because she knew her life would be forfeit the mont she did.

Old Brama was too powerful. It seed that Sylas had gotten his hands on quite a good helper, indeed.

Suddenly, he walked forward.

The C-tier old woman noticed instantly, frowning. Her gaze was still locked up above, but Sylas could feel her pressure washing over him. It was subtle enough to make it clear it wasn’t a threat, but also oppressive enough that most F-tiers would have already collapsed.

Sylas kept walking, though, until he was barely three or so ters from the pair.

And then he stopped.

"When he cos back down here, I will ask him to kill you. So, you have two options. First, you leave now. Second, you attack while you have the chance."

Sylas had returned his hand to his pockets, staring ahead at the C-tier and the F-tier young mistress that followed after her.

The C-tier finally looked at Sylas directly, her gaze flickering. Why was this young man so confident?

She knew why instantly. Old Brama could have finished the battle above a long while ago—she could feel it. But he was reserving his strength and keeping cards on hand. He had given the two-minute tir for that exact reason and didn’t plan to take a single second less if he didn’t have to.

If.

SHIIING!

The F-tier Skarzok, a giantess of a woman, pulled out her two scythes, wielding one in each hand.

Sylas looked at her curiously. An interesting choice, to be sure.

"Granny Timm, I will handle him."