Before his retainer, Count Bran, who prided himself on being exceptionally clever, naturally wouldn't gawk like some country bumpkin. He cleared his throat.

"This Count already anticipated nature's wonders. Building a fortress is child's play, no need for curiosity, retainer."

"Yes, Count."

Arthur nodded, urged his warhorse forward, and slowly approached the unfinished fortress gate. The closer he got, the more he felt the imposing pressure of the city walls.

Mud bricks perfectly merged with living tree roots, with some thick tendrils actively wrapping around the bricks as if reinforcing the walls while simultaneously drawing nutrients.

Around the walls, three peculiar watchtowers rose from the ground—their main structures were sturdy oak trees, with bricks and stones cleverly embedded between trunks and branches, forming solid protection.

And hanging from each oak tree was a Poison-stinger Wasp nest transplanted from the forest, with countless Poison-stinger Wasps entering and exiting like loyal aerial sentinels.

This scene, filled with order yet wild and primitive, made even Count Bran swallow non-existent saliva, feeling his throat go dry.

Gulp...

So many Poison-stinger Wasps—just one volley would probably turn him into a pincushion.

The mere thought made the crow's feathers stand on end.

He maintained a composed facade, lifting his head proudly. "Merely some tamed magical creatures. This Count has seen plenty."

Arthur dismounted and led Count Bran through the bustling construction site, carefully navigating past the busy beetle work crews on the ground, finally arriving before the castle.

But the castle's owner seemed to have known of their return long ago, as the gate automatically lowered, silently inviting them inside.

"This slime... how does it know this Count has returned?"

Before Count Bran could figure it out, Arthur had already stepped through the city gate.

Count Bran could only flap his wings and follow.

"Wait for this Count! You reckless retainer!"

As soon as Arthur entered the fortress, he saw a clearing in the camp where a slime sat upright on a stone.

It sat there calmly, like a sage who had long comprehended everything, waiting for some time.

But its round, plump body made it impossible to take seriously.

It was even somewhat cute.

Just then, a small slime hopped over to greet them, and Arthur picked it up to serve as an interpreter.

"What's it saying, what's it saying?" Count Bran curiously moved closer.

"The Blessed One asks us to sit."

Arthur complied, dropping to one knee in a knight's salute, then silently sat cross-legged.

Count Bran flew to the opposite side, pressing close to Chen Yu, winking and making faces.

"Lord Slime, not having seen this Count for many days, have you missed us?"

"I already know the outcome. That Filthy Demon... escaped."

"Gah?!"

Count Bran nearly slipped off the stone, looking at Chen Yu in shock.

"You... how do you know?!"

Could it be that so-called natural power again?

Hiss... terrifying indeed.

The soulfire beneath Arthur's helmet flickered violently. He bowed his head, his rusted armguard pressing against his chest, voice filled with deep shame and self-blame:

"Swamp Lord, Nature's Blessed... Arthur has failed his mission. My strength was insufficient, I could not pass the trial."

"Tomorrow I will re-enter the dungeon, track the Filthy Demon's trail, and completely eliminate him."

Chen Yu's gelatinous body bounced slightly, appearing to nod seriously, while inwardly he was amused.

This knight is too straightforward.

What trial?

Even his identity as Nature's Blessed is fake.

But Arthur being able to single-handedly eliminate the Filthy Descendants threat exceeded his expectations.

It would be a shame to let him leave like this.

Need to find a way to convince him to stay.

Chen Yu tried hard to squeeze out a serious expression, his round body swaying.

"May nature sudd... bless you."

"Knight Arthur, lift your head and look into my eyes."

Arthur looked up as instructed, but found the slime before him somewhat short—lifting his head meant he couldn't see its eyes at all...

So he could only lower his head slightly instead.

"Listen, this setback is not failure, but part of the trial itself—nature's tempering for you."

"The more you obsess over that unfinished trial, the further you stray from comprehending the true path of nature."

He paused, letting the words sink in, then revealed his true purpose:

"If you truly desire to pursue nature's essence, to feel its power of cycles and balance... why not stay here first, integrate into this growing swamp territory, observe, learn, and protect."

"Perhaps the answer lies within."

"Join the territory?!"

Count Bran immediately jumped up like a cat with its tail stepped on. He flew in front of Arthur, spreading his wings like a mother hen protecting her chicks:

"Wait! This is this Count's loyal retainer knight!"

"If he's to join your... your swamp territory, it must pass this Count's approval first. A retainer's allegiance is a serious matter."

Chen Yu tried hard to make his round body appear imposing, painting an enticing picture:

"My dear Count Bran."

"An unprecedented, great Slime Kingdom, like the rising morning sun, is ascending in this swamp."

"Its future will inevitably cover swamps, forests, and rivers... and you, wise and noble Count Bran, aren't you already an indispensable part of this kingdom?"

He slightly drew out his tone, playing his trump card:

"Join us, become a founding member of the kingdom's creation. Once the kingdom's borders are secure and territories expand... wouldn't it be natural to allocate a rich, status-appropriate hereditary fief to the meritorious Count?"

"What, f... fief?!"

Count Bran's sharp beak nearly dropped open, his slender neck jerking backward abruptly, his obsidian-like eyes filled with disbelief.

He tilted his head, examining the green-glowing Lord Slime up and down, as if confirming whether he'd misheard some crucial syllable.

"Lord Slime, are you serious?"

Fief!

These two words struck precisely into Count Bran's self-proclaimed noble heart.

That tiny bit of vigilance instantly vanished without trace, washed away by this enormous temptation, as if it had never existed.

What could be more attractive to a noble than a fief?

Absolutely nothing!

It's the symbol of a noble's distinguished status and honor.

The deepest longing in his heart since being exiled from the Shadow Mountains.

A territory, completely belonging to Count Bran, meant endless plump insects.

To enjoy freely according to season and mood!

Meant no one would dare compete with Count for those shiny little trinkets.

Meant every branch, every patch of grass, even every passing beetle would have to bow in respect to Count Bran.

His mind immediately conjured an image of himself standing atop a high castle, overlooking a territory full of plump insects and shiny trinkets that belonged to him.

Could there be any more beautiful scenery in this world?