【Race: Dryad】

So they weren’t officially called treants after all.

The dryads lived far from the paths adventurers usually traveled.

Lin Jun truly hadn’t expected that deep in the sixth floor there would be such a hidden emerald sanctuary.

The gnarled roots of countless ancient trees wove together across the ground, blanketed in moss that spread throughout the chamber.

The dryads themselves had melded their roots into the earth—until one large and two small Pujis suddenly intruded.

Only then did the dryads slowly draw their feet out of the soil.

Faced with intruders, they displayed fierce territoriality.

Several dryads stepped forward, arms of writhing roots ready to strike.

Each stood between two and three meters tall. By comparison, normal Pujis were only eighty centimeters, and even Gray’s Mimicked “oversized Puji” form barely reached one and a half meters.

Encircled, the pressure was palpable.

But Gray showed no fear. Instead, she eagerly drew back one pudgy fist, her whole fat body bending like a bowstring.

At full tension, her stubby legs kicked off, launching her with explosive force.

The ground cratered where she’d stood, dirt splattering across the two Pujis behind her.

Before the sound barrier could catch up, the nearest dryad’s torso burst apart into powder, its limbs blasting outward. One arm even pierced straight into another dryad’s chest.

Lin Jun gaped. This was the first time he’d seen a Puji move fast enough to leave afterimages!

Yet the dryads knew no fear. Even after one of them was instantly obliterated, their attacks didn’t falter.

Roots erupted from the soil, wrapping around Gray’s short legs to pin her.

【Entangle】

Lin Jun recognized the skill—he used it himself.

It was standard fare for plant monsters.

With several dryads using it together, even a tenth-floor werewolf would have been hindered.

But against Gray—level 58, with stats far beyond normal super-elite monsters—just walking normally was enough to snap the roots like twigs.

One dryad clasped its hands, weaving branches into a massive hammer, and smashed it down on Gray.

She didn’t even dodge. The strike couldn’t so much as scratch her black scales.

No technique—just raw stat difference.

Like a bratty child, Gray toyed with them, trying new ways to break them apart.

She held no malice, only a gleeful urge for destruction.

When the last dryad was left limbless, she seemed satisfied.

Without delving deeper into their forest, she turned back.

Lin Jun had one Puji follow close, but left another behind.

It glanced at the moss that thrived alongside the roots, then at the maimed but still-living dryad.

The Puji released spores into the air.

This place wasn’t yet connected to the fungal network, so the spores would have to grow on their own.

Lin Jun wanted to test whether his mycelium could compete with the moss.

If the dryads kept slimes out of their territory, and his mushrooms could beat the moss, this would become a natural fungal node.

A few such footholds would greatly aid his future downward expansion.

After emptying its spores, the Puji hurried to rejoin Gray.

Indeed, she had found the dryads by sensing them, not by memory.

Because on the way back… she immediately got lost.

It was only thanks to Lin Jun’s Puji guiding the way that they returned to the main path.

Playtime done, Gray rubbed her belly. She glanced at the two Pujis beside her, who lacked 【Mana Storage】.

Time to eat.

“Lucky we took down that flower spirit before it reacted. If it had sprayed its paralytic fluid, we’d have been in trouble. This bottle alone is worth half a month’s worth of booze…”

Voices drew near from around the bend—then abruptly stopped.

Four adventurers froze, staring at the oversized black Puji that had no business being on the sixth floor.

They cautiously drew weapons.

One of them, a handsome young man with a shortbow, dressed in green, caught Gray’s gaze.

She began to draw back her body, winding up another slingshot charge—

!?

“Gray! Stop! Not this one either!!!”

BOOM—

——

In the heart of the Hidden Empire, inside Duskwane Fortress.

Pale fingers traced the armrest of a crystal throne. Along both walls, twelve great magic crystals flared to life, one by one.

When the last ignited, a colossal prism suspended in the vaulted ceiling refracted twelve beams of crimson light.

Beneath each beam appeared a shadowed figure.

“Eternal night upon us, my lords,” the sovereign’s voice echoed beneath the blood-red marble dome.

Each silhouette bowed. “The Empire eternal, my liege.”

The emperor’s gaze swept the hall, pausing on one empty pillar of light.

“What of Sigismund, Eleanor? Do you know?”

“How would he ever let me know his business, Your Majesty?”

The reply came from the third crystal on the right—Duchess Eleanor, lounging lazily across a throne of bones.

Her territory bordered Sigismund’s, though clearly their relationship was poor.

“Perhaps he’s blundered into that human duke’s trap again. Last time he lost half a knight order. Maybe this time he’ll lose himself.”

No one took her seriously—everyone knew her words were just wishful venom.

The last time a high noble of the Empire had died to humans was over a century ago.

“Then you’ll be disappointed. I was merely delayed, unlike certain people who managed to lose track of a sacred tome.”

A towering figure, too robust to seem like a vampire, materialized beneath the empty beam. Sigismund had clearly heard her.

“You—!”

Ignoring Eleanor’s outrage, Sigismund turned to the throne and bowed. “The Empire eternal, my liege.”

Eleanor bristled, but a tap from the throne silenced her.

“The tome is of no concern for now. This is more urgent.”

A sealed parchment floated to the center, its contents revealed to all—and immediately sparked heated debate.

“A summoning ritual…”

“A hero…”

“The Western Isles are supplying them too…”

“If they succeed…”

“The Demon Lord has already…”

“We cannot allow this. We must…”

When the noise quieted, the emperor’s left-hand prince asked:

“Sire, how reliable is this message? And what do you intend?”

The emperor smiled faintly.

“I have no doubt of its truth.

As for intent… if humans wish to summon a Hero, then let them.

I want to see their despair when the one they spent all to call forth is slain the very moment he arrives.”

“Your meaning is…?”

“Eleanor. Noxfell. This task is well within your abilities.”

“Yes, Your Majesty,” both answered, rising in unison.

The emperor continued:

“When the United Kingdom has exhausted its resources, only to gain a hero’s corpse, their unity will collapse.

Then we divide them—and they crumble without a fight.”

“Your foresight is unmatched, sire. But if they should fail?” asked the prince again.

“What are you implying?”

“Even for a prince, you go too far!” Eleanor and Noxfell snapped together, bristling at the insult.

But the emperor raised a hand, silencing all.

“If they fail… then we march at once. Whatever the cost, we will not let mankind endure until their hero rises.”

The icy finality brooked no dissent.

“As you command.”

The twelve shadows bowed and vanished, leaving only the throne’s master.

Silence hung heavy.

At last, a whisper drifted from the crystal seat:

“In the end, it will be proven—I am the Demonkind’s perfect sovereign.”