Inside the mushroom hut, littered with glass bottles and shards.

Gray lay curled on the fungal bed.

The wound on her shoulder had long since healed, but it would take days for the scales to regrow.

A blob appeared outside the hut.

Though it gave off a honey-sweet scent, Gray remained unmoved.

She even crushed a few treasured glass bottles with a “crack crack” and turned away.

Helpless, the blob jumped.

The hut was too tall—couldn’t reach.

It jumped again, barely grabbing the edge, then wiggled and hauled itself up.

Inside, the blob ran circles around, filling the room with the honey fragrance.

Gray’s nose twitched, but she didn’t react.

So the blob waddled closer, wobbling its cap right in front of her face—

Closer and closer—

Until it brushed against her lips, rubbing insistently.

She meant to push it away, but when her tongue brushed the honey on its cap… she couldn’t resist licking again.

It was… tasty.

Soon, Gray gave in completely, hugging the blob like an octopus and nibbling away.

Three more blobs of the same kind hopped in, circling her, waiting their turn to be eaten. The mushroom hut filled with a sweet, comforting atmosphere.

Phew—

Thanks to the pseudo-flower vine monster for providing new flavors. Sweetness never failed.

Gray was soothed. Now for cleanup.

Blobs scattered spores over the blasted ground, regrowing the fungal carpet.

One fat, lazy blob waddled to the swamp’s edge.

Thick hyphae-tentacles reached into its pouch, pulling out adventurers.

A lump…

Two lumps…

…

All dumped into the swamp.

This time was his fault. His weak grasp of language had left him blind to their plans.

He had started studying Common with Dilan, but progress was slow.

If only he had left Gray in the Mushroom Forest that day, or let her wander to the sixth floor.

But he had been distracted—Dilan had triggered a storyline event…

——

Cicadas buzzed. A tan-skinned girl stood beneath a great tree at the forest’s edge.

Her coarse hemp skirt swayed gently; the basket on her arm brimmed with wild fruits.

Her eyes suddenly met those of Dilan, who rode past on horseback.

He tugged the reins, wheeled the horse around, and approached her.

“Knight, sir?”

The girl shrank back two steps, timid.

It was the first time anyone had called him “knight.” Dilan dismounted, keeping distance so as not to frighten her.

He didn’t explain. Instead, he asked,

“Little miss, is your village nearby? I’d like to refill my water.”

He patted the waterskin at his waist.

The girl studied him, then pointed toward a small path.

“Thank you, miss.”

“Thank you, miss.”

With direction confirmed, Dilan mounted again and hurried on.

He had no choice—the blob on his back would dry out without water.

“Why did the knight say it twice?”

…

Before the villagers’ puzzled eyes, Dilan shoved the wilted pack on his back into a barrel and lowered it into the well.

The village chief frowned, worried about contamination, but seeing the sword at Dilan’s waist, swallowed his words.

Two minutes later, Dilan cranked the bucket back up.

The pack was plump again.

He pulled out the scout, shook off the water, and slung it back onto his shoulders.

Then he filled his waterskins.

He hadn’t expected it—he’d packed enough for three days, but the scout had drunk most.

At least with this resupply, they could make it to Norwede. He’d buy extra waterskins then.

Oh, right.

Dilan fished out a few copper coins and pressed them into the chief’s hands.

“This is for the water. Please accept it.”

“This is for the water. Please accept it.”

After leaving, Lin Jun’s voice sounded in his head.

“Dilan, I must remind you—you repeated the words twice, but didn’t translate for me.”

“Ah? Really…”

He scratched his head sheepishly.

Repeating aloud and in thought at once was confusing.

Could this method really help the boss learn Common?

On the way back, faint cries drifted ahead.

No figures in sight, but he spotted a basket of fruit spilled on the ground.

And… a horse tethered nearby.

That village girl?

He urged his mount faster.

As he drew near, the sounds grew clearer—a muffled cry for help.

Through the bushes, he saw a knight pressing the girl down as she struggled desperately.

Not a fake knight like himself—this man wore a tunic embroidered with a crest.

A noble’s retainer.

But what he was doing was anything but knightly.

The girl’s blouse was torn, bruises marked her arms and face. Her mouth gagged, yet her teary eyes lit up at the sight of Dilan.

The knight noticed too.

The burly man said nothing, but his cold glare clearly warned Dilan not to meddle.

“Oh? Dilan, do you want to meddle?”

Lin Jun’s voice echoed, oddly amused.

“Should I?”

“How would I know? I’m just a backpack.

But if you interfere, you might delay our journey.”

“…”

A delay meant Bella’s risk increased…

The knight, seeing him still there, yanked the girl up by her hair and stood.

His hand fell to the sword at his horse’s side.

“What, old man, you want to die?”

Sigh—

Why did everyone call him old? He was only forty-five.

Dilan slid off his horse, drawing his longsword in the same motion, blade leveled at the knight.

“You really want to meddle?”

No, he shouldn’t.

Had his strength made him reckless?

But… that girl looked about Bella’s age.

Dilan took a deep breath.

“Just walk away. Let’s all pretend nothing happened.”

“Ha!”

The knight laughed, enraged by such insolence.

“A mongrel dares bark at me?”

He flung the girl to the ground and drew a knight’s sword, larger than Dilan’s by a span.

“Try struggling with your toy blade. I’ll chop you to pieces!”

Sword gleaming, he advanced with a cruel grin.

…

…

…

“Translate! He’s threatening me, right? That’s exactly the kind of line I need to learn!”