Zairon stood at the center of the Legion's grand courtyard, the egg placed atop a refined pedestal forged by the finest smiths under his command. Its once modest size now towered at four feet tall, pulsing with radiant energy like a slumbering heart of a storm.
He turned to face his gathered army—ten thousand strong, from A-rank elites to humble F-rank recruits, all standing ready.
"Today," Zairon spoke, voice resonating with command and fire, "we give what we can to the beast that will one day carry our will. Even if it costs you a day's strength, remember… this is not just my beast—it will be the Legion's spirit!"
Without hesitation, they began.
Wave after wave of spiritual energy surged toward the egg—spiritual lines of different colors and flows—coiling, merging, dancing like rivers feeding a sea.
Even the three women generals stood behind Zairon, eyes closed, expressions calm yet intense, directing their refined cultivation into the beast's core.
Zairon added his own last, a torrent of chaotic, overwhelming energy surging forth like a typhoon.
The egg reacted.
It quivered, glowed brighter, cracked slightly at its base. It grew, stretching taller and wider, until it stood like a monolithic cocoon—4 feet tall, surrounded by a shimmering aura.
Then—nothing.
Silence. Stillness.
It pulsed, yes… but the beast within remained asleep.
"It's still not enough," Zairon muttered, sweat running down his face. "You're stubborn, huh? Must've inherited that from me."
The legion collapsed in exhaustion all around him, barely able to stand.
"But you responded. That means you're waking up. We're close."
Now, only a spark was needed. Something different.
Zairon narrowed his gaze at the massive egg.
"If spiritual energy isn't enough… maybe it needs battle."
He clenched his fists.
"You want life? Then I'll give you war. And when you hatch… I expect you to become the strongest spirit beast this world has ever seen."