Chapter 478: Vanny, Cash Cow

A month had passed since Vergil had imprinted something far beyond strength on that creature’s body and mind.

The training had been brutal—full days of uncompromising combat. But now, as he watched her cross the stone field, he knew the effort had paid off.

She was no longer the savage beast she had been before.

Her steps were firm, deliberate, but still carried the predatory ease of an animal that knew exactly how strong it was. Her tail swung slowly behind her, the movement subtle and calculated. Every muscle in her body—from her broad shoulders to her thick, sturdy legs—seemed sculpted for war.

Her silver-white hair, once matted, now fell in well-manicured waves halfway down her back, reflecting the light like silk in the sun. Her loose locks framed her delicate features, but they didn’t hide the ferocity in her eyes—eyes of an intense purple hue, almost hypnotic. Two discreet fangs appeared when she smiled from the corner of her mouth, that smile Vergil learned to recognize as the prelude to a well-aimed attack.

Her horns, polished and imposingly curved, glinted with a subtle glow—not natural, but the result of the small reinforcement runes he himself had engraved on them. They weren’t just part of her aesthetic. They were weapons, and she knew how to use them.

The outfit was… provocative. Not by chance. She had chosen it, and Vergil didn’t object. A tight-fitting swimsuit made of reinforced fabric, denim blue, with gold buttons and straps that crisscrossed her torso, molding perfectly to her ample curves. Her thighs, broad and powerful, were covered only halfway by white stockings patterned with black spots—an inevitable reminder of her original nature. The combination created a contrast as stark as it was intentional: innocence and danger in the same body.

She knew the effect it had.

But what really caught Vanny’s attention—though her name hadn’t yet been uttered—wasn’t her appearance. It was the way she moved.

“Clean hands today? Your style has changed a lot.” Vergil asked, sitting on a rock, Yamato propped up beside him.

“I don’t need blades; they’re useless with my power,” she replied, her voice already effortless, steady, almost melodic. “What I do… is be the earthquake itself.”

He raised an eyebrow. She wasn’t bragging. She was stating a fact.

Over the weeks, she had developed something of her own. While Vergil relied on the precision of blades and surgical cuts, she had embraced the raw impact. Each strike from her fists and knees was calculated to transfer maximum force into a minimum point, breaking bones and crushing organs before the enemy realized the severity of the injury. More than physical strength, she now understood how to use her weight, how to rotate her hips, how to make every inch of her body work for a single blow.

That day, training began without announcement.

Vergil simply stood up, Yamato still sheathed, and advanced. Her first punch came low, aiming for the liver, and he had to step back further than expected to avoid the impact. The second, a rising uppercut, nearly grazed his chin.

It was no longer the blind force of before. There was cadence. There was reading.

“You don’t move like an animal anymore,” he commented, dodging another blow and feeling the wind slice through his face. “You think as you attack.”

“I learned from you… and against you,” she said, spinning to land a side kick that cracked the ground as he dodged.

The training session lasted for several minutes, and Vergil realized he was beginning to enjoy it more than he would admit. The exchange of blows was a dialogue—fast, intense, with short sentences and immediate responses. And she was, indeed, responding in kind.

When her last punch landed against his open hand, he grabbed her wrist and pushed down, ending the fight. They were both panting. Not from physical exhaustion, but from the heat of the fight.

“You’re ready,” he said.

“For what?” she asked, wiping the sweat from her forehead with the back of her hand. “To receive a name.”

She blinked, confused. “Name?”

“Until now, you’ve been just a creature under my command. But you’ve already proven yourself worthy of being… something more. A name is more than identification. It’s a symbol. And symbols have power.”

She remained silent, watching him carefully. Vergil took a few steps, circling her as if analyzing every detail—from the subtle tension in her muscles to her erect, confident posture.

“Vanny,” he said finally, and the word came out firmly, as if it were already written in her destiny.

“Vanny…” she repeated, testing the sound. And smiled. “I like that.”

“It’s yours now.” Vergil stepped closer, touching her chin so she was looking directly at him. “But remember: a name can be elevated… or dragged through the mud. You decide what you will do with yours.”

Her purple gaze glittered, and there was something almost defiant there. “Then I will make you feared.”

He let out a soft chuckle. “Good answer.”

The next few hours were dedicated to a different kind of training. Vergil asked her to demonstrate, without reservation, how she would use her style against multiple enemies. Titiana and Zuri, watching from afar, saw a spectacle. Vanny moved like a wave of steel and flesh, each blow reverberating through the air with a dull boom. When she landed, the impact echoed—not like a hollow blow, but like concentrated thunder.

The field quickly filled with fallen bodies—some illusory, summoned by Vergil merely to gauge her performance; others, real beasts that had approached, drawn by the scent of power. None remained standing for more than a few seconds.

Finally, she approached him again. There was no blood on her hands, but the scent of battle was still strong.

“So?” she asked.

“Vanny…” he began, and for the first time, the name seemed to carry something beyond command. “You are my most promising creation. But make no mistake. That doesn’t make you irreplaceable.”

“I don’t want to be irreplaceable,” she replied, leaning forward slightly, her eyes locking with his. “I want to be unique.”

The silence that followed was heavy, but not hostile. Vergil knew ambition. And she had it in spades now.

The sun was already setting when he turned his back and began to walk away. “Rest today. Tomorrow, we’ll return to conquering the forest.”

…Vergil didn’t fully understand what he’d just created, but not far away… A woman was completely mad with power…

‘Kill… Eat… Grow stronger… Honor the Master… Destroy that damned milk cow with that sinful body…’ Rize was sitting on a purple flower in a waterfall of blood…

‘No… killing her would make the master angry… I need to get stronger… and more beautiful… for the master to look at me… Yes… my master… Only mine…’ Rize… was devouring herself to become stronger…