Master of Impartiality
"Overlapping spaces, Dragon Cliff Underground City... so that's how it is." Duke Lorenzo sat in his chair and responded after listening to Fifteen's account. "I will make corresponding preparations."
"But who exactly was it that rescued you in the end?" Unfortunately, neither of them could find an answer to this question.
Finally, Lorenzo stood up. His gaze fell upon Fifteen's leather armor, which was covered in claw marks, and he reached out to pat Fifteen's shoulder.
"Nowadays, we are short on manpower everywhere. You've worked hard rushing about all over."
"But don't push yourself too hard; there are still us old folks around."
He paused, looking into Fifteen's eyes, his tone gaining a bit more seriousness: "You are the disciple Elwyn highly regards, and you will definitely inherit the title of Sword Saint in the future, so you must stay alive and well!"
Fifteen was not modest; instead, he nodded. "I will not disappoint Master."
Between life and death this time, he indeed felt his sword skills had advanced slightly once again.
When he walked out of the main keep, the twilight was deep.
As if sensing something, Fifteen looked up.
Atop the fortress, a small, perfectly round figure stood on the battlements, four swords longer than its body slung diagonally across its back.
The Mush-kin Fourteen, the only Puchi that used swords, stood at the top of the fortress.
Seeing Fifteen looking over, it turned and disappeared from sight.
Fifteen looked puzzled; he couldn't shake the feeling that this Fourteen paid exceptional attention to him.
Was it because they both used swords?
Or was it that unfinished duel from last time that had kept him brooding until now?
He wasn't opposed to another match.
Crossing swords with an opponent like that, even if it was just exchanging a few moves, could force out those flaws he usually kept hidden.
It was just that right now... he looked down at his equipment, which was on the verge of falling apart. He temporarily couldn't fight.
By the time he returned to the guest room arranged by the Adventurer's Guild, it was already completely dark.
Pushing the door open, it was quiet inside. There was no sound of a Puchi bouncing on the table, no smack-smack of tentacles slapping the tabletop.
"No. 9?"
Fifteen leaned his swords by the door. He first looked under the bed, then pulled open the wardrobe doors, and finally searched the bathroom.
The large wooden tub in the bathroom was still full of water, which had already gone completely cold. A few slender mycelial threads floated on the surface.
He backed out of the bathroom, his gaze circling the room before finally landing on the table.
A letter was pressed down there. The paper had been torn from the Adventurer's Guild registration book, its edges rough and jagged.
The handwriting was perfectly round, every stroke looking as if it had been forcefully pressed down by a boneless tentacle wrapped around a pen barrel.
[Body is not clean anymore, going back to change to a new one.]
[Wait here for me for a few days.]
[No. 9]
Fifteen turned the piece of paper over and looked at it; the back was blank.
He turned it back and read those three lines of words again.
Change to a new what? Body?
However, he did understand the part about waiting for a few days.
Sometimes he also quite wanted to visit that Mushroom Garden No. 9 occasionally mentioned to see exactly what it looked like over there.
Unfortunately, he had brought it up twice, and both times No. 9 had refused him.
Taking off that nearly scrapped equipment, Fifteen didn't mind the cold and soaked directly into the bathtub No. 9 had left behind.
As the water splashed up, a drop landed on the corner of his mouth, and he subconsciously licked it.
A familiar taste.
He dipped his finger in, picked up a bit more, and put it into his mouth, his frown deepening.
This taste... why does it seem a bit like the soup No. 9 made before?
* * *
Looking at No. 9, who had specially returned to the Mushroom Garden just to change bodies, Lin Jun—who had always managed his household diligently and thriftily—felt that this kind of crooked trend could not be encouraged.
Of course, Lin Jun wouldn't go so far as to punish it over this trivial matter. Ultimately, they were just young mushrooms less than a year old; education should be like spring rain, nourishing things silently without a trace. Losing one's temper blindly was useless.
After giving it a new mushroom body, adhering to the principle of holding the bowl of water level and not playing favorites, Lin Jun enthusiastically took the completely oblivious No. 9 to the dragon blood pool, which only had a tiny bit left. He thoroughly enhanced it, making it so happy it continuously waved its tentacles.
No. 9 only thrashed around randomly at first, and settled down later. Lin Jun pushed it back and forth rolling across the bottom of the pool, cleanly absorbing the last bit of dragon blood. It was a good mushroom that didn't waste things.
While the United Kingdom dispatched more personnel to prepare for the giant dragons and dragon beasts, Lin Jun followed the fungal mat, attempting to invade the Dragon Cliff Underground City through Dragon Roar Valley.
In the northern part of the Empire, a group of Demon-kin refugees arrived in the central region of the Empire.
Dragon Horn Fort held out for a full day after Dean died in battle. That single day of perseverance bought enough time for several Demon-kin cities situated further south to hastily organize an evacuation before the Mushroom Fortress's grand army arrived.
Grey had encountered this group of Demon-kin halfway.
He carried Dean's magic core on his person. After those leaderless refugees recognized the crystal core that still retained the Patriarch's aura, amidst their grief, they pushed him into the position of temporary leader.
No one was more qualified than someone who returned bearing the Patriarch's relic.
He led them a long way, bypassing the fungal mat, and finally walked all the way here.
However, what awaited them was rejection.
At the city gates, Blood Guards—wrapped from head to toe in scarlet armor, with only a trace of dark light seeping through the two slender slits in their visors—blocked Grey's path.
From within the armor came a muffled, echoing voice: "His Majesty has long since issued an order: to guard against spies and traitors, all major thoroughfares in the central region are completely sealed. Naturally, it is impossible to let you in."
"What did you say?" Grey's eyes widened in fury. He took a step forward, his palm gripping the Blood Guard's shoulder armor, his fingertips nearly sinking into the iron plating. Wisps of flame sprouted on his arm. "We Demon-kin have shed so much blood for the Empire, even the Patriarch died in battle in the North, yet now you talk to us about spies? About traitors?"
The temperature of Grey's hand grew higher and higher. Sparks splattered onto the scarlet plating, leaving a small patch of scorched black marks.
The Blood Guard did not dodge, nor did he even blink. To him, the Emperor's command was the only thing in this world worth caring about.
The Blood Guard struggled forcefully, breaking free from Grey's pincer grip. The movement was too large, and his helmet was knocked to the ground, rolling twice and revealing the face underneath.
That was not a face a normal Demon-kin should have.
The skin looked as if it had been twisted from the inside by something. Muscles and tendons were twisted into lumpy knots, and the facial features were skewed and squeezed together, beneath which were embedded two rows of teeth with no lips.
The Blood Guard bent down, unhurriedly picked up the helmet, patted the dust off it, and fastened it back onto his head. He then looked at Grey, who was still astonished by his appearance.
"It is precisely because I judge that you shouldn't be spies and traitors that I haven't directly attacked and driven you away."
"Now, retreat, otherwise... you will all be treated as committing treason and killed on the spot!"
Grey's fists cracked as he squeezed them tight. His gaze swept over the scarlet figure, then landed on the terrified and uneasy faces of his clansmen behind him.
Ultimately, he extinguished the flames and released his fists. Leading the Demon-kin behind him—who still didn't understand what had happened—he retreated to a desolate slope a few miles outside the city and temporarily set up camp.
Late at night, several Demon-kin leaders sat around the campfire. Their voices were suppressed, but they couldn't suppress their anger.
"Bullshit traitors! We've defended the North for the Empire for hundreds of years, and now look, they won't even let us through the door."
"Not just not letting us in, didn't you hear what that Blood Guard said? One more step forward, and we'll be killed on the spot. Are we fleeing a disaster, or are we coming here to die?"
"If you ask me, that's not about guarding against spies at all, they just think we're a burden." Another voice chimed in gloomily, "The North is lost, the South doesn't want us. We're just meant to die halfway, that's all."
"Grey, say something! What do we do next? Just hole up on this broken slope and wait to die?"
Grey raised his eyes. Before he even had time to speak, a Demon-kin spellcaster present suddenly sensed a series of mana fluctuations from afar.
Under his warning, everyone hurriedly ran out of the tents.
Then they saw a swarm of giant bats blotting out the sky and covering the sun.
In the distance, the city that had shut them out during the day had now been swallowed by firelight and the bat swarm.
"This... there really are traitors?" The Demon-kin who had been cursing angrily just a moment ago suddenly didn't know what kind of expressions to wear.
Grey stared in the direction the giant bats came from, confusedly murmuring a name: "Prince Darion?"
(End of Chapter)
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