"There are things even this count doesn't know about."
Count Bran's small eyes showed puzzlement. He imitated Chen Yu, craning his head toward the castle gate. Apart from feeling his feathers warmed by that gentle light, he couldn't sense anything special.
Chen Yu didn't know how to explain.
Spiritual root aptitude is the foundation for perceiving spiritual energy.
In Zeyarila, from the highest noble mages to farmers laboring in the fields, to a cultivator they are essentially the same—mortals without spiritual roots, unable to actively sense or absorb spiritual energy.
Just as cultivators find it hard to understand how people in this world, simply by refining their skills, tempering their will, and accumulating experience, can break human limits and become "professionals" who wield various extraordinary powers.
A spiritual root isn't a concrete organ, yet it exists and can be perceived by cultivators.
Because of this intangible "spiritual root," cultivators can sense the "spiritual energy" that pervades heaven and earth, making the path of cultivation possible.
But compared with the mana that actually exists in Zeyarila, spiritual energy feels far more mysterious. It is neither tangible like matter nor directly observable and usable like energy; it cannot be seen or touched, yet it truly affects a cultivator's practice.
Sometimes he even felt that spiritual energy was almost a collective fantasy conjured by cultivators, a sort of idealistic force.
The greatest saints among ancient cultivators could reach immortality by refining their hearts and cultivating their states of mind, which proves that spiritual energy can be heavily influenced by a cultivator's spirit.
And formations, blessed lands, and similar constructs "gather" spiritual energy simply because ancient cultivators, after long observations of heaven, earth, and the movements of stars, summarized methods that allow cultivators to more easily "resonate with heaven and humanity," thereby "feeling" accumulated spiritual energy.
To ordinary mortals without spiritual roots, unless spiritual energy is converted by a cultivator into concrete spell energy, it remains unseen, untouchable, and imperceptible.
Ask a cultivator what the essence of spiritual energy is, and most likely they'll look baffled and be unable to give a solid answer.
Chen Yu pushed with his gel body, his spirit sense extending like invisible tendrils, trying to penetrate that tough crystal barrier and probe inside the castle.
As he expected, the moment his spirit touched the barrier, it vanished into silence like a stone sinking into the sea, quietly neutralized by a gentle yet irresistible force.
To block the spirit probe of a Foundation Establishment cultivator... aside from that Golden Core powerhouse who once wandered into Zeyarila, no mage in this world should be capable of such a feat.
"Your Majesty, let me try." An elven mage sent from the Dryad domain stepped out from the group. She raised her oak staff and chanted softly, casting an advanced True Insight.
But after a few seconds she opened her eyes and shook her head, perplexed. "I can't see anything... My spell is completely blocked by a higher-level magic formation."
Chen Yu's gel body trembled slightly as he fell into thought.
It seemed this castle was not a simple blessed land. It had fused elements of that Golden Core elder's understanding of Zeyarila's magic system.
It was a hybrid of cultivation and magic, capable of blocking cultivators' spirit probes and also preventing mages' detection spells.
To discover what secret this castle hid, he'd probably have to personally venture inside.
Arthur stepped forward first, his iron boots thudding down onto the steps leading to the light gate. "Your Majesty, please allow me to retreat outside first to scout for information."
Count Bran relaxed at once, flapping his wings as he flew to perch on my shoulder, pecking my helmet with his beak, "tap tap tap": "Yasser! Is that brainy fellow sure the outside is safe?!"
"From my rich experience as an adventuring youth, mysterious castles like that, especially ones not guarded by a dragon, that fellow will likely be torn into a skeleton the moment he steps out!"
Arthur fell silent for a moment, his Soulfire burning fiercely. "The Count has a point. You should be cautious."
Chen Yu glanced at the two bickering figures, said little, then turned and bounded down the stone steps toward the light gate as if planning simply to step outside.
Count Bran was startled and instinctively wanted to follow.
Chen Yu blinked his small eyes and asked, "Are you sure you want to come? This is only a split. I don't want news of a high-ranking royal minister's sacrifice spreading through the kingdom tomorrow."
Count Bran quickly folded his wings, ducked his head, and cleared his throat, "Ahem... then, Your Majesty, please. This count will pray to the goddess for your blessing out here."
Chen Yu continued bounding up the steps, not looking back. "Guard this place. I'll be back soon."
"If I'm not back within two hours... Arthur, lead the legion and retreat immediately to the swamp. Do not wait for me."
"Yes." Arthur saluted solemnly, his Soulfire flickering.
Chen Yu jumped onto the floating stone flying sword. With a thought, the flying sword carried him as a streak of jade-green light directly through the gate of light, his figure vanishing from the anxious gazes of those present.
The instant he passed through the gate, Chen Yu felt a brief dizziness, as if passing through a warm film of water.
Then everything opened up!
The first to notice the change was his gel body. Compared to the cold outside, the air here felt as warm as a spring swamp—humid and comfortable. The gel that had been stiff from low temperature softened and regained its springy bounce.
Chen Yu's round little eyes scanned around.
The stair entrance did not face the castle's main structure directly. The first thing he saw was a large, meticulously tended garden.
The garden followed the natural rise and fall of the land, cleverly arranged with winding stone paths, clear bubbling streams, white marble pavilions, and archways draped in wisteria.
Flowers bloomed in profusion, a riot of color: sunflowers like a golden sea, roses climbing fences and exuding sweet perfume, clusters of blue-purple lavender, and many strange blooms Chen Yu couldn't name—elegant in form and faintly glowing with magical light.
Bees and brightly colored butterflies busied themselves among the blossoms, and clear bird song came from the tall oaks and hedges trimmed into various shapes.
The air was thick with floral fragrance, and the spiritual energy concentration here was astonishingly high—almost on par with Xu Xuan Heaven.
The garden also proved far larger than it had looked from outside. If he went hopping along, simply exploring that never-ending garden would take most of a day.
He had to follow the winding stone path through the garden's center to reach the castle's imposing main gate.
From a distance, the castle was built of light-gray granite, its walls solid and sharply defined. Four towering turrets pierced the sky, and large arched windows held stained glass that reflected brilliant patterns under sunlight.
A broad moat encircled the castle, its water clear enough to see koi swimming and aquatic plants swaying. A heavy oak drawbridge was lowered, connecting the garden to the castle entrance.
Chen Yu circled slowly on his flying sword above the garden and moat, finding no danger and triggering no defense formation.
The place felt peaceful, like an ordinary noble manor.
Chen Yu couldn't help but feel a little disappointed.
With spiritual energy as rich as Xu Xuan Heaven, why just plant pretty flowers? Why not cultivate spirit herbs—what a waste.
"Personally, I'd flatten the garden and turn it into spirit fields, planting spirit-gathering grass and moonlight flowers..."
"That's impossible. The flowers are lovely."
A serious yet pleasant female voice suddenly sounded directly in his mind, as if able to hear his mutterings from far away.
Chen Yu instinctively looked toward the castle.
The heavy oak gate in the inner wall had quietly swung inward, revealing a bright, spacious foyer.
"Are you the owner of this castle?" Chen Yu asked, guiding the flying sword slowly toward the gate.
The woman's voice chuckled lightly with amusement. "How curious. You mastered secret techniques that allow a slime to possess such clear intelligence."
"But I'm afraid I'm not the owner. Consider me a guest temporarily residing here."
"Before we formally address each other, why not come in and sit? I have some excellent tea."
"All right." Chen Yu did not hesitate. After all, this was only a split; he wouldn't feel bad if it got lost.
He guided the flying sword through the opened castle door.
Inside the foyer the space was vast, the ceiling high. Sunlight filtered through the high stained-glass windows, casting mottled patterns on the floor. Polished dark marble covered the ground, and tapestries depicting forests and starry skies hung from the walls.
What surprised Chen Yu most was that the furniture seemed alive and moving.
A long-handled bristle broom stood in a corner and rhythmically swayed, sweeping dust invisible to the naked eye.
A few furry cushions marched in single file, hopping from one sofa to another as if arranging themselves for comfort.
Candles on a silver candelabrum lit themselves with a soft pop, shedding warm yellow light.
All this felt wondrous—animate objects brought to life—and Chen Yu couldn't fathom how it was achieved.
Deeper inside, the foyer led to a wider hall. At its center sat a long oak dining table draped in a white lace cloth.
Chen Yu saw the owner of the voice.
A tall woman sat leisurely at one end of the table, enjoying afternoon tea.
She wore a silver-scaled gown of extraordinary fabric that shimmered with a soft silver light, the pattern like tightly knit dragon scales. The material flowed with liquid-like sparkle as she moved.
Her hair was pale gold, falling smoothly over her shoulders, the ends slightly curled. Her skin was so fair it seemed translucent, like fine porcelain.
Most striking were her pupils—pale like molten mercury, clear and deep as if they could see through a person's heart. Delicate silver dragon horns grew from the hair at either side of her forehead.
She set down her bone porcelain teacup with graceful motion; the cup and saucer made a crisp clink as she met Chen Yu's gaze.
Dragon, Chen Yu's mind blurted instinctively.
Indeed, not a kobold or dragon-born with draconic bloodline, but a dragon in human form—the legendary figures always present in kingdom tales and bard songs.
Silver dragons are typically lawful and benevolent in the major kingdoms' legends, with a good reputation.
They often appear as kindly old sages or beautiful maidens in stories, serving as wise guardians or generous benefactors, unlike black dragons, notorious for greed and brutality.
At least she wouldn't bully a mere slime.
But Chen Yu was more curious why a silver dragon would be visiting here and what her relationship with the castle's owner might be.
The silver dragon lady's eyes showed obvious surprise at the floating stone flying sword under Chen Yu's feet.
She set down her cup, rose with poise, and inclined her head in an impeccable noble greeting toward Chen Yu atop the flying sword.
"Olivia Silverlight." Her voice was clear and pleasant, ringing directly in Chen Yu's mind. "As you see, I am a silver dragon."
"A slime from the swamp." Chen Yu guided the flying sword to float before Olivia and extended his gel hand.
"Boring big fellow." Olivia laughed lightly and then extended her own pale, slender hand to firmly clasp Chen Yu's springy gel hand.
Count Bran solemnly muttered in a low voice, "To be honest, you are a king, and when you get inflated, you could scare him to death."
"All right, my Majesty." Olivia was not offended. A smile tugged at her lips as she lightly clapped her hands.
A small low stool that had been leaning against the wall trundled over with an "oh!" and stopped neatly beside the table.
Then a thick velvet cushion hopped onto the little tea table and stacked itself, its height perfectly level with the dining surface.
"Please sit," Olivia invited.
Chen Yu jumped off the flying sword and landed on the cushion prepared for him, facing Olivia.
No sooner had he sat than, under Olivia's pointing finger, the silver teapot and a delicate bone porcelain cup from the table center walked over as if they had legs.
The teapot tilted itself, pouring amber tea scented faintly of flowers into the cup. Steam rose instantly.
Her casual command over everything in the castle made her act less like a guest and more like the place's mistress.
Perhaps sensing Chen Yu's confusion, Olivia took a graceful sip and then said slowly:
If the ever-accurate calendar clock in this castle hasn't erred, this should be my forty-seventh year residing here.
She paused, her pale silver eyes meeting Chen Yu's. "In all that time, you are only the second guest to enter here."
"And the goblins?"
Chen Yu slurped the tea in front of him and found it pleasant, floral and full of spiritual energy.
Olivia smiled and shook her head. "I don't like those stinky green skins, and neither does this castle. Calling them invaders might be more fitting."
Well then... Chen Yu muttered inwardly. This truly is a world that judges by looks—the castle even dislikes goblins for being ugly.