In the familiar camp, Yano felt an itch in his right hand and grew a bit restless.

Suddenly he sensed a spying gaze coming from the swamp — it was that little crocodile again, floating in the water and peeking at him.

The man and the croc locked eyes, each staring until both sheepishly averted their gaze.

They both seemed to have misunderstood something.

Only after Chen Yu slid down through the slime passage with a soft “shlup” did Yano hurry to his feet to greet the tiny boss, setting the clay jar and the scrap of grass paper on the stone table.

“Boss, these are from Miss Sekashi. The lizardfolk in the tribe said she and that brave lizardmaid went to the snowy mountains before the storm came.”

Chen Yu hopped over, broke down the small active slime outside, secreted a new little slime, and let it jump into Yano’s arms to communicate.

“Sekashi’s letter to me?”

Speaking of which, after that clumsy shaman left the territory, Chen Yu hadn’t seen her in a long time.

Of course, the time he took part in the purge of the Corrupted Lizardfolk didn’t count, since he never showed his face then.

When Yano helped unroll the grass paper, Chen Yu leaned down curiously to look.

On the coarse paper pressed from tough water-plant fibers, charcoal strokes crookedly formed a few lines of demi-human script, and beside them was a tiny smiling face — it looked sort of like a malnourished little slime.

The letter was short:

“Envoy Lord:

“Gray Gravel Crystals for you.

“Sekashi is weak, will grow stronger!

“Going to the snowy mountain with older sister, will return soon.

“— Sekashi”

Chen Yu blinked as he read those crooked little characters, and suddenly felt a pang of nostalgia for that fool.

He missed the night when they had shared tasty food together.

If Sekashi returned even once, she would surely be astonished by how the territory had changed.

Chen Yu stretched up his gel body and squinted into the clay jar, discovering plump Gray Gravel Crystals lying inside.

That fool had put so much thought into it.

Even as a slime, he was moved.

“Did she say what she was going to the snowy mountain for?”

Yano scratched his head.

“I guess their lizardfolk trial ceremony has something to do with the snowy mountain.”

“By the way, Boss, could you—could you give me a few acupuncture needles? My hand’s been tingling again…”

Chen Yu’s attention snapped back to Yano and he noticed the man’s entire arm had lost its color, as if it had turned into stone sculpture.

Has that thing relapsed again?

He reached out with gel to touch it — it was hard and rigid, just like real stone.

Tsk tsk… still a living stone man.

Logically, after so many treatment sessions, he should be nearly healed.

But since the treatment used cultivation methods to treat an otherworldly ailment, and Chen Yu’s medical skills were half-baked at best, mediocre results were to be expected.

“Lie down first.”

“All right, Boss.”

From initial resistance to now seeking it out, Yano had wanted to lie down since he first entered the castle.

If he didn’t get a few needles, he simply felt uncomfortable.

His willpower had probably collapsed…

But whatever — his soul was already sold, after all.

Time to go with it.

[Object Manipulation]

Chen Yu manipulated poisoned thorn needles into the acupoints while diverting his consciousness to the Xu Xuan Heaven body, heading to the South Bridge Market clinic.

First time rusty, second time smooth.

Gong Xiaoshuang already recognized him;

before he could sit, she asked, “Junior brother, what kind of illness is this visit for?”

Chen Yu told her Yano’s exact condition.

The woman frowned and sank into thought. After a long time she finally spoke.

“If what you say is true, your friend lives in an area poor in spiritual energy, and the condition is affected by the weather…”

“Sorry… junior brother, my last guess that his Innate Primordial Qi was depleted wasn’t wrong, but perhaps that’s not the root cause.”

“If his ancestors had similar hereditary illness, then the body itself might be flawed, which led to the Innate Primordial Qi depletion.”

“This could be an unknown innate bone quality — we don’t yet know if it’s good or bad. You could try infusing spiritual energy to attempt to awaken his innate bone potential.”

“The Innate Primordial Qi depletion might have been caused by a lack of spiritual nourishment for that bone quality.”

“Innate bone quality?”

Do otherworld humans have such a thing?

Or would “bloodline” be a more fitting description?

“Thank you, senior sister.”

After leaving the clinic, Chen Yu’s consciousness returned to his slime body, and he realized one of the needles had been placed crookedly.

“E-eh, Boss… am I okay?” Yano asked nervously when Chen Yu remained silent for a long time.

“Uh…”

“This petrification isn’t a disease, strictly speaking. It’s… um, a dormant bloodline.”

“Huh?” Yano froze, mouth slightly open.

Not an illness, but a bloodline?

That sounded like the stuff legends were made of — dragonblood or noble elf heritage.

His head buzzed after hearing it.

It was as absurd as being told that the person he had hated since childhood was actually his biological father.

“Then… Boss, can you cure it?”

“Yes.”

“No… wait? Yes.”

“Either maintain the status quo and keep doing the needles forever, or I can help you fully awaken the bloodline.”

Yano grew more conflicted hearing that.

Maintaining the status quo — getting needles every day — actually felt pretty comfortable…

But a sliver of curiosity nagged at him: what exactly was the petrification that plagued the Belmont Family’s ancestors?

At the same time he feared that Little Arno might one day suffer the same fate.

After the acupuncture session, Yano took the two pieces of sheepskin paper Chen Yu had scavenged from the village ruins, planning to find a linguist to translate them.

He left with a heavy heart.

However, the swamp was unexpectedly lively today. After Yano left, two dark shapes emerged slowly from the thick mist.

They were Arthur and Count Bran, who had been lost in the forest for quite some time.

Staring at the fortress construction site ahead, Count Bran widened his eyes in delight, unable to hide his pride in his voice.

“See that, retainer! See that! What did I say? Follow the great Count Bran, and finding the Swamp Lord’s lair is a piece of cake.”

“Look at this setup! This scale! These… these slimes and bugs crawling everywhere — they must all be slaves of the Swamp Lord.”

The knight silently observed the worksite and slightly nodded.

“Count… remarkable.”

With that he took heavy steps and was about to stride directly into the busy construction area.

“Wait, retainer.”

Count Bran spread his wings to block the knight and puffed up his chest.

“A mere Swamp Lord. Let the great Count Bran handle this.”

Flapping his wings, he strutted proudly toward the edge of the fortress construction site and landed on a dry rock.

“The noble Count Bran graces you with his presence! Swamp Lord, quickly come out and greet me — do not keep the Count waiting.”

His voice echoed through the territory, and the worksite seemed to press the pause button: every monster’s attention snapped to him.

That boosted Count Bran’s arrogance even further. “These rural monsters probably haven’t seen nobility before. I won’t be bothered to make small talk. Call your master out at once.”

Two little slimes glanced at each other and rode their beetles closer, which startled Count Bran enough that he flapped up with a flap.

“What are you doing? What do you want? Planning to attack the Count?”

“I’ll have you know I fought everywhere in the Shadow Mountains and defeated many monsters before I became a count.”

“Don’t force me to act…”

Arthur silently cupped a small slime in his hands and said hoarsely, “Count Bran, the Swamp Lord said these are a means of communication.”

“A means of communication… who knows if this is some vile trap set by that creature.”

Count Bran cautiously stepped forward on talons and poked the bouncy gel;

the little slime only blinked and didn’t react.

Only then did he breathe easier and stand loftily atop the small slime.

“All right, if you have anything to report to the Count, speak now.”

A voice echoed in Count Bran’s mind. He quickly looked up and saw a slime standing on the castle wall.

“Where are you? Where are you?”

“That slime is me.”

A slime?

Pfft!!!

“Gah—ha! Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha!!!!”

Count Bran burst into hysterical laughter, flapping his wings and laughing so hard tears nearly welled from his eyes.

“You are the Swamp Lord? This… this is it? Gahahaha, I thought—”

Before he could finish speaking,

whoosh—!

An exquisitely condensed Water Arrow shot forth and smashed into an old oak tree beside him!

“Sput!”

“Crack… RUMBLE!!!”

The sickening snap of wood breaking rang out, followed by a thunderous boom that made the ground shiver!

The massive oak toppled!

The laughter died.

Mud splattered all over Count Bran, his beak still slightly agape.

Silence fell over the scene.