"Boom!"

Inside the passage, pale undead flames clung to the rusted lance as Arthur brought it down with crushing force, flattening a Filthy Descendant that had tried to flee.

Putrid juice splattered across the walls, hissing as it ate through the stone.

"Plop!"

A pitch-black feather drifted out of the burst of smoke. Count Bran materialized in a disheveled heap and landed on Arthur's pauldron, so furious that his feathers bristled like a dark fuzzball.

"Caw! Caw! This is infuriating!"

"That damned Slime Lord—it's definitely on purpose! Absolutely!"

"What with that 'demons of hell are roaming about' business? He's pushing me straight toward hell, skullduggery! Pure deception! I thought he had storytelling talent—what a liar! A huge liar!"

Count Bran angrily beat Arthur's helmet with his wing, producing clanging sounds.

Arthur silently flicked the filth from his lance. The soul-fire beneath his helmet burned calmly;

he paid the count's accusations no mind.

He scanned the maze-like passageways. In a low, hoarse voice he said, "Count, I think… we're lost."

"Lost?!"

Count Bran's pitch shot up instantly.

"Impossible! Absolutely impossible! My sense of direction is unrivaled in the Underrealm. Follow me and you'll be fine—forward, always forward, and we'll definitely—"

His words cut off.

Because in the shadow not far ahead, two small blobs of jelly blinked innocent little eyes and looked at them with curiosity.

The damned slimes again!

"You just won't leave!"

Count Bran fluffed up in an instant, pointing with a wing at them. "Look, even these lowly lackeys dare to laugh at Count Bran. Arthur, quick! Give them a kick and show them what happens when you offend Count Bran."

Arthur bent slightly and extended a great hand encased in rusted armor.

His movements were unexpectedly gentle as he carefully scooped up the two tiny, stunned slimes and cradled them against his breastplate to soothe them.

"Count, they're harmless, creations of nature. They should not be needlessly harmed."

Count Bran watched Arthur's cautious, protective gesture and fumed, thumping his feet against the pauldron.

"You… you stubborn mule! Mindless! Brainless! They must be in cahoots with that trickster lord who duped us—sly goo beasts, the lot of them. This makes me livid."

He cursed and muttered, finally covering his eyes with his wings.

"Enough, enough. I won't bother;

out of sight, out of mind."

Arthur ignored the count's complaints, knowing Bran was all bark—soft at heart. If he really wanted to, he would have abandoned Arthur already.

Count Bran… remained his usual proud and tsundere self.

Arthur tapped the soft bodies of the two slimes lightly with his cold fingers to confirm they were unharmed, then resumed his heavy steps forward.

Guided by Count Bran, Arthur passed several forks. The count's little beak didn't stop moving the whole way.

"Who designed this place like a labyrinth, anyway?"

"Trust Count Bran;

keep going forward. I can already smell the freedom breeze at the exit…"

"Eh, why does this breeze smell like sulfur, wait!"

It peered ahead;

its pea-like eyes widened to discs.

Because after passing through a narrow gate, the sight opened up into a cavernous hall carpeted with glowing fungal mats and slick, sticky filth.

The number of Filthy Descendants in the hall was beyond counting, swarming like a black tide. The thick sulfur stench clearly came from them!

They hadn't found an exit—they had blundered straight into the heart of the Filthy Descendants' lair!

"Caw—!!!"

"This is it, we're done for. Arthur, you directionless oaf, you've doomed me!"

"And that slime—I'll haunt you forever, you hear me!!!"

With Count Bran's screams, the Filthy Descendants in the cavern stirred instantly. Hisses rose like a tidal roar as countless compound eyes locked onto the two intruders.

The tide of Filthy Descendants surged toward them.

What made the situation worse: at the center of the cavern, sitting on a throne assembled from bones and slime, a Filthy Demon wearing demonic horns rose up like a human.

Its compound eyes flickered with cunning and cruelty far beyond ordinary beasts, proving it possessed considerable intelligence.

This was a Filthy Demon.

Not just a descendant—this was a true Demon.

A cockroach that had become something more!

"Hissss…"

"Rotten undead, a noisy crow… and two… little snacks?"

The Filthy Demon's voice was laced with confusion.

It could not understand why food had wandered in by itself.

Count Bran shrank behind Arthur's helmet, trembling. "Retainer, think of a way to run—don't just stand there."

Before they could react, the Filthy Demon’s eyes flashed with cunning. It recognized the knight's exceptional nature. Saying nothing further, it swung its scythe-like forelimb, sheathed in chitin, and charged at Arthur with an air-splitting gale.

"Hmph. Villains usually die from talking too much."

"We demons have long learned this truth!"

Arthur braced his lance to block.

"Clang—!!!"

A deafening impact! The Filthy Demon's corrupt scythe smashed down on Arthur's horizontally held lance, the force driving the knight back. Pale undead flames roared up the shaft, sizzling.

Arthur's soul-fire calmed as he turned to absorb the force. The lance thrust back at the Filthy Demon's compound eyes.

"This undead has a brain!"

The Filthy Demon made a desperate backward dodge. With a hiss it stopped exchanging brute force, and its massive body retreated with surprising agility.

An intelligent demon well versed in human nature—brute force was not always the optimal choice.

It had studied human military theory and continental geography, mastered tactical deductions.

It had been lying low in the Dungeon to cultivate its Filthy Descendants, preparing its demon tide strategy for the perfect moment.

Once the moment came, it would let the shadow of Filthy Demon wings cover all human kingdoms!

It would make people live forever beneath the shadow of fear!

Heh heh heh…

But before enacting vengeance on humanity, it had to dispose of the few annoying little bugs before it.

"Forward!"

At the moment Arthur's offensive eased, the surrounding Filthy Descendants, like a black tide, surged.

They threw themselves at the two from all directions without fear, barbed limbs stabbing at Arthur's armor joints like rain.

Arthur spun his lance in a flurry;

pale soul-fire erupted into a ring of light, instantly blasting several nearby Filthy Descendants aside.

He still protected the two small slimes in his arms.

But the cavern contained so many Filthy Descendants that they overwhelmed him in short order.

"Caw! Retainer, watch above!" Count Bran screamed in a shrill alarm.

Arthur could only raise his arm to block while desperately dodging.

"Ssssss—!"

Acid splashed mostly on his vambrace, white smoke rising as it ate away at the metal and left pits.

With so many Filthy Descendants attacking, his movements inevitably slowed.

That very momentary delay—

The Filthy Demon's eyes flashed with cruel cunning. Seizing the opening, its massive body launched like a cannonball;

the chitinous scythe rode a tearing gust of wind and lunged again.

This time the target was the exposed chest and belly gap Arthur had left while blocking the acid.

"Retainer! Move!" Count Bran shrieked.

Under the helmet, Arthur's soul-fire flared fiercely. He fixed his gaze on the Filthy Demon exuding foul and evil air.

Disgust, anger, and a deep impulse from his soul to purify all demons surged within his tranquil heart.

In that instant, he felt united with nature against a common enemy, sensing the power of the natural world!

Arthur lifted his lance, its pale flames burning bright. His rusted armor, surrounded by countless Filthy Descendants, looked lone and resolute.

Then he suddenly raised his head. The soul-fire blazed like a torch, and his hoarse but unshakable voice cut through the Filthy Descendants' hisses, ringing through the cavern like an oath:

"Nature! Bless me!"

"Arthur, are you insane?!" Count Bran screamed.

Shouldn't he pray to death at a moment like this? Nature, what nonsense is that?!

"Heh heh! Foolish!" The Filthy Demon’s mockery grew sharper. "A rotten undead praying to nature? How laughab—"

Its words didn't finish.

"Vzzz—!"

A soil-colored light dome, exuding the steady aura of earth, expanded without warning and instantly surrounded Arthur.

Mysterious runes swirled across the dome;

it was as firm as a rock.

"Clang—!"

The Filthy Demon's scythe, strong enough to cleave stone, slammed into the dome with a thunderous clash of metal and stone.

The powerful recoil staggered the Filthy Demon. The soil-colored dome only rippled violently and showed fine cracks.

For the first time, incredulous terror flashed in the Filthy Demon's eyes.

Nature was truly favoring an undead?!

What a joke!!!

Count Bran was stunned as well. He popped his head out from behind Arthur's helmet, eyes like peas, mouth open wide enough to fit an acorn.

"Caw?! Na… nature actually manifested? Could that slime… have been telling the truth?!"