Chapter 724 - 713: Master of Balance
Chapter 724: Chapter 713: Master of Balance
"Multiple spaces, Dragon Cliff Dungeon... I see." Duke Lorenzo sat in his chair, responding after hearing Shi Wu’s account, "I will make the necessary 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 falling on Shi Wu’s leather armor, covered in claw marks, and reached out to pat Shi Wu’s shoulder.
"We’re short on people everywhere now, so thank you for running around."
"But don’t push yourself too hard; we old folks are still around."
He paused, looking into Shi Wu’s eyes, his tone becoming more earnest: "You are Elvyn’s esteemed disciple, and you will certainly inherit the Sword Saint’s title someday, so you must live well!"
Shi Wu did not humble himself but nodded: "I won’t disappoint my mentor."
This time, between life and death, he indeed felt that his sword techniques had improved once again.
When he walked out of the main castle, twilight was deepening.
Shi Wu sensed something and lifted his head.
At the top of the fortress, a round, small figure stood at the battlement, with four swords longer than his body hanging at an angle behind him.
Mushroom Race No. 14, the only Puki who wielded a sword, stood at the top of the fortress.
After noticing Shi Wu looking over, he turned and disappeared from sight.
Shi Wu looked puzzled; he always felt that this No. 14 paid special attention to him.
Is it because they both use swords?
Or was it the unfinished match from last time that kept him thinking about it until now?
He didn’t mind having another match.
Facing such an opponent, even sparring for a few moves could force out the flaws he usually kept hidden.
But for now... he glanced down at his nearly broken equipment; a match wouldn’t be possible for a while.
By the time he returned to the room arranged by the Adventurer’s Guild, it was already completely dark.
The door opened to a quiet interior, without the sound of a Puki bouncing on the table, or the slapping sound of tentacles hitting the desk.
"No. 9?"
Shi Wu leaned his sword by the door, first checking under the bed, then opening the closet, and finally searching the bathroom.
The large wooden tub in the bathroom was still full of water, now cold, with a few slender mycelium strands floating on the surface.
He exited the bathroom, his gaze surveying the room until it landed on the table.
A letter lay there, the paper torn from the Adventurer’s Guild register, its edges rough.
The handwriting was round and each stroke seemed like it was pressed by a tentacle devoid of bones.
[Body’s not clean, gone to replace it]
[Wait for me here for a few days]
[No. 9]
Shi Wu flipped the paper over to see it was blank on the back.
He turned it over again and read those three lines once more.
Replace what? A body?
But he could understand being asked to wait a few days.
Sometimes he really wanted to see the Mushroom Garden that No. 9 occasionally mentioned, what was it like there?
Unfortunately, he had been turned down twice by No. 9.
Taking off his almost wrecked gear, Shi Wu didn’t mind the cold and directly soaked in the tub that No. 9 had left.
As the water splashed, a drop landed on the corner of his mouth, and he instinctively licked it.
A familiar taste.
He dipped his fingers in some more and brought it to his mouth, his brow furrowing deeper and deeper.
This taste... why did it slightly resemble the soup that No. 9 used to make?
...
Seeing No. 9 return to the Mushroom Garden specifically to change a body, the usually frugal Lin Jun felt that such bad habits couldn’t be encouraged.
Of course, Lin Jun wouldn’t punish over such a small matter; after all, they were young mushrooms, education should be like spring rain, silent and nourishing, losing temper is futile.
After giving it a new mushroom body, to maintain fairness and not favor one over the other, Lin Jun enthusiastically brought the bewildered No. 9 to the last bit of the dragon blood pool, giving it a good enhancement, to which it responded by joyfully waving its tentacles.
No. 9 only flailed around initially, but soon quieted down, and Lin Jun rolled it back and forth at the bottom of the pool, absorbing the last bit of dragon blood thoroughly, proving to be a frugal little mushroom.
...
As the United Kingdom increased its manpower to deal with the giant dragon and dragon beasts, Lin Jun followed the fungal mat, attempting to invade the Dragon Cliff Dungeon through Dragon’s Roar Valley.
In the northern part of the Empire, a group of Demon Race refugees reached the empire’s central region.
Dragon Horn Castle held out for an entire day even after Dean’s death; that day’s perseverance allowed several Demon Race cities further south to hastily organize an evacuation before the Fungus Castle army arrived.
Gray encountered these Demon Race individuals halfway.
He had Dean’s demon core on him, and the refugees, scattered and leaderless, recognized the crystal core still carrying traces of the chieftain’s aura and, in their grief, elevated him to a temporary leadership position.
No one could be more fitting than someone who returned with the chief’s relic.
He led them a long way, avoiding the fungal mat, finally arriving here.
However, what awaited them was rejection.
At the city gate, a Blood Guard, clad head to toe in crimson armor with only two narrow slits on the faceplate revealing a dim light, blocked Gray’s way.
From within the armor came a muffled voice: "His Majesty has long ordered that to prevent spies and traitors, all key routes in the central region be sealed off, naturally not allowing you to enter."
"What did you say?" Gray’s eyes widened in anger, stepping forward and grabbing the Blood Guard’s shoulder armor, his fingertips almost embedding in the iron, a wisp of flame emerging on his arm, "We Demon Race shed so much blood for the Empire, even the chieftain died in the Northern Territory, and now you’re talking to us about spies? About traitors?"
The temperature of Gray’s hand kept rising, sparks splattering on the crimson plates, leaving a small charred mark.
The Blood Guard did not flinch, nor did he blink; to him, the Emperor’s orders were the only thing that mattered in the world.
The Blood Guard wrenched free from Gray’s grip with great force, causing his helmet to be knocked to the ground, rolling for two circles, revealing the face beneath.
It wasn’t a face a normal demon should have.
The skin looked twisted from within, muscles and tendons turned into knotted lumps, facial features skewed together, with two rows of lipless teeth embedded below.
The Blood Guard bent down, slowly picking up the helmet, dusting it off, and putting it back on, then looked at Gray, still shocked by his appearance.
"It is precisely because I judged that you might not be spies and traitors that I did not directly attack or drive you away."
"Now, step back, otherwise... you’ll all be treated as traitors, killed on the spot!"
Gray clenched his fists, cracking sounds echoing, his gaze sweeping over the crimson figure, then settling on the anxious faces of his fellow tribesmen behind him.
In the end, he extinguished the flames, released his fists, and with the Demon Race behind him, who had yet to understand what had happened, retreated to a few miles outside the city on a barren slope, temporarily setting up camp.
Late at night, several Demon Race leaders sat around the fire, their voices suppressed but unable to quell their anger.
"Traitors, my foot; we guarded the Northern Territory for the Empire for hundreds of years, and now, they won’t even let us in."
"It’s not just not letting us in; didn’t you hear what the Blood Guard said? One more step forward and we’ll be killed on the spot. Are we refugees, or just here to die?"
"I say, it’s not about preventing spies; they just find us burdensome." Another voice followed gloomily, "We lost the north, the south doesn’t want us, and we’re just supposed to die on the way."
"Gray, say something! What do we do next? Just wait on this lousy hill until we die?"
Gray raised his eyes but didn’t have time to speak when a Demon Race spellcaster present suddenly sensed a series of magic power fluctuations from afar.
At his alert, the group hurried out of the tent.
Then they saw the massive swarm of bats blotting out the sky.
In the distance, the city that had denied them entry earlier was now engulfed by fire and bat swarms.
"Is... is there really a traitor?" The Demon Race, just moments ago filled with furious curses, found themselves at a loss for what expression to make.
Gray watched the direction the giant bats came from, puzzled, and murmured a name: "Prince Darean?"