The next evolution was not far off.

The ancestral memories revealed that all species of cockroach warriors on this planet grew in six levels: novice, intermediate, advanced, mountain lord, county lord, and roach king.

Each level was divided into nine growth periods, with nine molts and minor genetic evolutions each time.

Bob was currently a novice warrior at level 1.

For the sake of calculating strength (and for the convenience of readers), Bob used "L" to represent growth periods, so L1 meant novice warrior. With abundant food, he would evolve again in just a month.

The ancestral memories guided that novice warriors should grow rapidly under the protection of tribal elders, becoming intermediate warriors before leaving to choose territory and live independently. During this time, the seeds of life could be stored temporarily until finding a suitable habitat to sow.

Bob's elder was the cockroach warrior of the red roach tribe, about 200 units in length. Unfortunately, it inexplicably died.

Losing protection, Bob had to fend for himself, making early growth precarious.

As an L1 novice warrior, limited in size and weak in combat, Bob could only hunt various small insects for food, remaining at the bottom of the food chain.

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At noon, under the scorching sun, Bob was at the peak of his development, with a huge demand for food. Just moments after devouring the meat he brought back, hunger pangs began to gnaw at his belly.

Hurriedly, he ran out, dragging a leaf back to the entrance of his den, chewing slowly as he stared at the nearby patch of cogon grass, a sudden spark of interest igniting in his mind.

Bob spotted a green insect, about 15 units in length, nestled on a cogon leaf, leisurely nibbling on tender grass. Its green exoskeleton provided excellent camouflage, and with its elongated head tucked beneath the leaf, it blended almost seamlessly with it, remaining perfectly still and hard to detect.

According to ancestral memory, this insect was called the "sword-horn grasshopper," with two well-developed hind legs resembling chicken drumsticks. When threatened, it could instantly leap a great distance, and as adults, they were adept flyers. Once disturbed, they would jump away and fly out of reach, lacking in combat ability but excelling in escape.

Now, in late spring and early summer, the majority of sword-horn grasshoppers were in their nymph stage.

The one Bob had stumbled upon was undoubtedly a nymph, with a length of only about 15 units.

"Nymphs have undeveloped wings and are not good at flying. Perhaps it's worth a try."

Bob surveyed his surroundings once more, confirming there were no formidable predators nearby. Then, he crawled out of the tunnel, staying close to the ground, silently approaching.

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He crept under the cogon grass where the sword-horn grasshopper rested.

The grasshopper, hanging upside down on the leaf, sensed Bob's presence but paid no attention, instinctively aware that such a small insect posed no threat to it.

In the next moment, Bob calculated the angle, leaped into the air, and pounced.

In an instant, he struck his target, piercing the back armor of the grasshopper with the tip of his left foreleg, breaking through the shell and firmly grasping it. Simultaneously, his right foreleg stabbed towards the side of its compound eye.

Crack!

The grasshopper instinctively kicked with its well-developed hind legs, rolling along with Bob onto the ground.

Bob quickly immobilized the grasshopper with his four walking legs, using his right foreleg as a dagger to continuously stab at its head.

Green blood mixed with gray-black brain matter oozed out.

The grasshopper, still not conceding defeat, continued to kick vigorously with its powerful hind legs, rolling and struggling in the grass until it finally choked to death after a prolonged struggle.

Though Bob had secured his meal, he was unsatisfied with the hunt. The head was the vital part of all creatures, and it seemed that for insects like grasshoppers, the head was not the optimal target.

It took some effort to drag the carcass back to his nest. First, he removed the two robust hind legs.

Peeling off the thin, crispy exoskeleton, he found only two relatively undeveloped muscles beneath the backplate, suitable for consumption. The seemingly plump and soft abdomen was mostly tasteless fat and viscera.

Bob decided to only take the muscles and discarded the rest at the entrance of the ant nest nearby. After all, it was his first successful hunt, and it was only fair to share the spoils with his neighbors.

With his hunt complete, and the afternoon fading into dusk, Bob had initially planned to venture out again to hunt another grasshopper for a late-night snack. However, he noticed several small snakes with red patterns roaming the nearby bushes, also preying on sword-horn grasshoppers. With their vibrant markings, triangular heads, and typical venomous nature, they posed a lethal threat to the insect prey.

This time of day was the peak activity period for all kinds of creatures.

Bob immediately dismissed the idea of going out and retreated deep into his nest, lying low.

Cockroaches had an extremely high rate of digestion for the nutrients in their food, and their utilization efficiency was also very high.

As he lay still, Bob could keenly feel the cosmic force flowing freely in the natural world, drawn and gathered by his exoskeleton, permeating his body.

The force blended with his blood, flowing through every cell in his body, reinforcing and altering them.

During this transformation, the stored nutrients in his body were rapidly consumed.

By midnight, most of his stored nutrients had been depleted, and the rate at which his exoskeleton absorbed the cosmic force plummeted, almost ceasing altogether, leaving him feeling hungry again.

It was a simple growth pattern: eat well and grow fast, or stagnate.

Before dawn, Bob ventured out again, carefully searching every cogon plant. It took some time, but he finally found a sleeping nymph of the sword-horn grasshopper.

Adjusting his angle, he leaped with force, attacking.

With one successful kill under his belt, Bob adjusted his strategy for the third hunt. This time, he aimed his right foreleg at the junction between the grasshopper's head and its back armor, aiming for the weak spot. He extended his toe straight, piercing deep into the connecting muscles, then pulled sharply outward, severing numerous nerves and blood vessels.

The successful kill prompted an instinctive kick from the grasshopper, and they tumbled to the ground. After landing, the grasshopper's hind legs curled up, motionless. Green blood flowed from its segmented shell as it quietly succumbed to death.

"It seems severing the central nervous system between the brain and torso is the way to go. This method should significantly improve efficiency."

Compared to the previous two hunts, the third kill was much easier. Bob was satisfied and decided to continue hunting sword-horn grasshoppers in Big Head Ant's cogon field using this method.

With a stable routine established, Bob went out twice a day, at noon and before dawn, hunting two grasshoppers each time. Anything he couldn't finish, he would leave for his nearby ant neighbors, after all, it was their cogon field he was hunting in.