Purple Lightning Cheetah

A purplish-black light crept up to the cheetah’s shoulder blades.

The cheetah let out a low whimper, its limbs clamped tightly against the floor, claws scratching faint lines into the surface.

“Relax,” Chen Guan said softly, adding to himself that there’d be more repair costs now.

The cheetah’s ear twitched. Its whimpering softened, and the trembling eased a little—it seemed quite obedient.

The purplish-black light continued upward, spreading along its spine, pausing for a few seconds near its waist as if encountering some resistance.

Chen Guan’s brow furrowed slightly.

The cheetah’s core was near its abdomen.

Speed-type monsters had their cores positioned farther back compared to strength-types, which was one reason lightning cheetahs were naturally adept at high-speed movement.

But precisely because of this, the power of the beast core faced the greatest rejection when entering the core area.

The cheetah’s body suddenly tensed. Arcs of electricity flared wildly from its limbs, crackling chaotically against the inner walls of the array, mostly absorbed by the light patterns.

It opened its mouth, emitting a series of short, urgent growls from its throat, sounding both pained and anxious.

Chen Guan spread the five fingers of his right hand and adjusted the output frequency by one notch.

The array’s buffering efficiency increased accordingly. The purplish-black light no longer pushed forward forcefully but began circulating around the cheetah’s waist, slowly melding with its original abilities.

The process was slow.

Fine beads of sweat gradually formed on Chen Guan’s forehead.

His energy consumption wasn’t significant, but maintaining precise control of the array demanded extreme focus, allowing no room for distraction.

The cheetah’s growls weakened little by little, as if it was about to give out.

Fortunately, after circling its waist for about twenty minutes, the purplish-black light finally began to seep into the core.

The moment it entered, all the arcs of electricity on the cheetah vanished at once.

A moment of silence.

Then, its fur began to change.

Starting from the tip of its tail, a faint trace of purple spread upward along the roots of its fur, moving fast, like a drop of ink spilled on white paper.

The purple rapidly expanded to its hind legs, waist, spine, and finally reached the tips of its ears.

The cheetah opened its eyes.

The color of its pupils had changed.

Its original irises were gone, replaced by a faint layer of purple luminescence, looking captivating in the dim light.

He had no idea how much stronger this Baobao had become, but it was undoubtedly more beautiful now.

Chen Guan withdrew his hand from the array.

The light patterns slowly extinguished, from the outer to the inner circles, layer by layer fading into darkness.

The cheetah stayed lying on the floor. The space between its front paws was empty—the beast core had disappeared, fully absorbed.

Its breathing had steadied considerably, though its body still trembled slightly, clearly not fully recovered yet.

Chen Guan sat down beside it.

The cheetah tilted its head to glance at him, then rested its head on his knee, just as usual.

Chen Guan looked down at the newly grown purple fur on its back.

The color wasn’t deep, but it was elegant. He reached out and touched it—whether it was psychological or not, it felt softer than before.

The fusion was a success.

As for the specific effects, they weren’t clear yet. Baobao would need time to digest and adapt to this new power, and it wasn’t suitable for any high-intensity activities in the near future.

Chen Guan took out a talisman paper and pressed it onto Baobao’s body.

System-generated goods were always top-notch. This talisman served only one purpose: to ensure Baobao could never betray him.

Even if he died, Baobao would faithfully carry out his final wishes.

He hadn’t bothered to train it before, but now, it was his cat in life and his ghost in death.

Things belonging to Chen Guan weren’t so easily taken.

The cheetah rested its head on Chen Guan’s knee for a long time.

So long that the sky outside shifted from deep blue to pale gray, and the streetlights were diluted by the dawn light, until Chen Guan almost wondered if Baobao had actually died a while ago.

Chen Guan glanced down.

Baobao’s breathing was completely calm now. Its purple fur shimmered with a faint luster in the morning light, its tail draped across the floor, the tip occasionally flashing a small arc of electricity—different from before, with a hint of purple in the color.

If he were to rename this variant, calling it “Purple Lightning Cheetah” wouldn’t be bad.

He reached up and touched the cheetah’s ear.

The cheetah’s ear twitched, and its eyes cracked open a slit. The layer of purple luminescence in its pupils hadn’t fully faded yet, and it looked somewhat dazed.

“Awake?”

The cheetah yawned, lifted its chin from his knee, and tilted its head to look at its own front paws.

The fur on its claws had changed color. It stared at its paws, then looked up at Chen Guan, utterly confused.

“You’ll get used to it.”

Chen Guan said, then ignored it, stood up, walked to the desk, and grabbed another apple from the bag.

He took a bite. Still sweet.

While munching on the apple, he pulled his phone out of his pocket and checked it.

Unread message.

It was from White Tiger, no text, just a location.

The location was about eight hundred kilometers south of Huaqing, marked on the map as Rustport.

Chen Guan looked at it and put the phone down.

Rustport.

He had some impression of the place. A small coastal town that had thrived for a time due to port trade back in the day.

Later, the economic center shifted, the port was mostly abandoned, leaving behind a mess of rusted shipping containers and a half-dead old town.

Regular residents had moved away long ago.

As for now, it was nothing more than a hotbed for gray-market dealings.

He tossed the apple core into the trash, walked to the window, and closed it tightly.

The cheetah had somehow already jumped onto his bed, lying next to the pillow, its tail flicking back and forth, looking much more energetic.

Chen Guan shot it a look.

“Get down.”

The cheetah’s ears flattened slightly, but it didn’t move.

“Your fur just changed color. I have no idea if it sheds yet. Don’t lie on the pillow.”

The cheetah slowly hopped off the bed. As it landed, its form flickered in the air for a brief moment.

A very fleeting flicker.

So brief that if Chen Guan hadn’t been watching, he would have almost missed it.

The cheetah itself seemed startled, standing there, looking down at its four legs, then up at Chen Guan.

“A rudimentary form of spatial displacement,” Chen Guan said. He had enough insight to recognize that.

The cheetah tilted its head, looking completely bewildered, still in a state of shock from being struck by a windfall.

Its tail wagged a couple of times, barely containing its smugness.

Indeed, choosing the right owner was the most effective move.

This was the true turning point in a cheetah’s life.

Chen Guan didn’t proceed with further testing.

White Tiger was right—after fusion, time was needed for adaptation. Forcing a test of its limits now was pointless, and besides, he wasn’t a professional tamer.

He sat back on the edge of the bed, picked up his phone, opened the chat with White Tiger, stared at the location marker for a few seconds, and typed two characters.

[Cheng Guan: Rustport?]

The reply came quickly.

[White Tiger: Yeah, Rustport.]

White Tiger: The new circus has been operating in that area for the last half month. Still figuring out their exact target, but people are already starting to gather there.

White Tiger: I've already arranged the entry point for you to infiltrate.