The arrival of Winter Year forced Chen Yu to take the food issue seriously. He left the dock and rode Little Ka toward the Dryad domain.
“Achoo—”
Chen Yu sneezed midair.
Of course, slimes don’t actually sneeze; he just felt he ought to. With weather this cold, not sneezing would be an insult to the snow.
Peering down, Chen Yu saw several slimes bouncing and playing in the snow inside the Dryad domain. Snow dust clung to their gel bodies, making them look like little candies dusted with frosting.
They didn’t seem cold at all; they were having a blast. A blue slime rolled down a snowdrift, landed with a plop on a yellow slime, and the two tumbled into a joyful heap, letting out happy squeaks.
Compared to the Dark Realm, this place was peaceful and serene.
Little Ka glided down and landed near the giant tree at the center of the Dryad domain. Chen Yu saw Viola sitting beneath it, basking in the sunlight.
He remembered this exact spot—she’d been sitting here the last time he visited, and the time before that as well.
“You’re here.” Viola didn’t open her eyes, letting out a lazy hum.
“You sunbathe here every day?” Chen Yu hopped over to her knees and landed on a patch of soft moss.
“Sunbathe for what.” Viola finally opened her eyes. “I’m waiting for spring.”
Chen Yu stared at her for two seconds, suspicion written on his face.
“Your way of waiting for spring is to sit here and do nothing?”
“What else?” Viola answered with blithe confidence. “Run out to chase it? Spring isn’t a rabbit.”
“…You make a lot of sense.”
Viola let out a smug little laugh and poked Chen Yu’s gel body with a finger.
“You little thing, you’re so talkative every time.”
Chen Yu dodged her finger and bounced aside. “Let’s talk business. How are the food supplies?”
Viola tilted her head as if recalling something. “There’s quite a lot stored in the cellar—enough to last until summer, if Winter Year ends before then.”
“And if it doesn’t end?”
“Then we eat bark.” Viola said it like a joke.
“Or borrow some nuts from those squirrels hiding in tree hollows for the winter. But those little guys have bad tempers; last time I borrowed some, one threw a pinecone at me.”
Chen Yu pictured Viola getting pelted by pinecones and decided the ancient dryad actually had comedic talent.
“What about the spirit herbs?” he asked, referring to the first batch he’d planted in the Dryad domain last year.
Viola’s expression turned serious. She motioned, and some Glimmerlings ran over, their short legs working hard as they carried drying herbs and set them down in front of them.
They were about a dozen thumb-sized fruits, shaped like miniature apples, emitting a faint glow.
“The first batch ripened. Looks pretty good,” Viola said.
Chen Yu leaned in and caught a sweet, cloying scent, like honey mixed with cinnamon. Though called spirit herbs, they smelled more edible than medicinal.
In Xu Xuan Heaven, these fruits were called celestial perfume fruit, essential as an ingredient for crafting certain healing pills.
Viola remarked casually, “But Winter Year is coming and it’s hard to say when it’ll end. Food and the second batch of spirit herbs might have lower yields.”
Chen Yu thought for a moment.
A reduction in healing herb yields was manageable since they were mainly for trade, but that meant the ingredients for Spirit Awakening Pills would also drop.
Spirit Awakening Pills were now hard currency in the Slime Kingdom—the kingdom’s mouth—or its growth—relied on them.
Those little slimes fresh out of the swamp, after taking Spirit Awakening Pills, seemed to level up overnight: learning fast, remembering everything, transforming from “squishy goo balls that go plop” into “goo balls that can do math, write, and argue with people.”
The new generation of slimes were fed Spirit Awakening Pills almost from birth, more diligently than human children drinking milk.
Then there were the Poison-stinger Wasps.
Having a tamed Poison-stinger Wasp as a familiar was becoming a trend in the kingdom. After eating Spirit Awakening Pills, those buzzing creatures could follow commands, coordinate in combat, alert their masters when danger neared—perfect companions for slimes.
If the raw materials for Spirit Awakening Pills were cut off, all of that would stop.
Chen Yu’s gel body rippled slightly, like a soft sigh.
“What are you thinking?” Viola tilted her head and watched him, curiosity on her face like a cat’s.
“Thinking about how to help those herbs survive the Winter Year.”
“You have a way?”
Chen Yu fell into thought and felt he might actually have a solution.
He hopped down from Viola’s knee, landed on the muddy ground by the tree root, and closed his eyes.
Silver, translucent roots sprouted beneath his feet and dug into the frozen soil.
Their presence seemed to lower the cold; a strong vitality flowed up from the ground.
“What’s that?” Viola asked, intrigued.
“It’s the World Tree’s power, but its range is limited.”
This was a trait he’d gained long ago in the Frost Giants’ city. It allowed World Tree roots to take hold in frozen earth, drawing in cold to foster life energy. He hadn’t expected to need it now, but it proved useful.
Viola said, “That should be enough. With those miraculous roots, the spirit herbs won’t see too much decline.”
“But that said,” Chen Yu continued, “aside from making pills that give slimes intelligence, what else are some of these herbs used for?”
“Of course for making healing pills.” Chen Yu puffed his little chest.
“Like life potions?”
“Less potent. Life potions are too expensive—one low-grade bottle costs dozens of gold coins. Our pills are cheap, a few silver coins each, and fill a lot of bellies when sold in bulk.”
Life potions could, in theory, ignore most wounds and directly restore life force. Except for severed limbs, they could heal almost anything, and their effects were absurdly strong—and priced accordingly.
Healing pills, by contrast, simply treat wounds properly but less dramatically.
Viola tilted her head to think. “Who will you sell them to?”
That was the key question.
Selling to the south was out.
The alchemists in those towers dominated the potion market; they had good relations with the southern kingdoms. Selling there would invite their hostility and scrutiny.
The Merchant Alliance was a non-starter too—just finished with a war, and meeting them without bloodshed would be lucky.
“West, Golden Radiance Valley,” Chen Yu said.
“That place is far enough from the southern kingdoms. Those alchemists won’t bother tracing a crate of pills that far.” Viola nodded; commercial affairs clearly didn’t interest her deeply.
“There’s another direction,” Chen Yu added.
“The northern orc armies are pushing east. Their supply lines are long and logistics strained. Their soldiers get wounded and won’t have the steady medical supplies of a human kingdom. Our healing pills could fetch a good price.”
“And it’s a way to support the orcs,” Viola observed.
Of course, Chen Yu had a craftier idea.
Sell in the Merchant Alliance’s name.
The Merchant Alliance soldiers captured and kept in the labor camp in Darkness City could be supplied with Merchant Alliance uniforms and sent into Golden Radiance Valley as Merchant Alliance merchants.
The pills would be Merchant Alliance goods, the caravans Merchant Alliance caravans, and the proceeds would be Merchant Alliance proceeds—only quietly funneled into the Slime Kingdom’s coffers.
If any investigation occurred, the trail would point to the Merchant Alliance.
Viola stared at him for several seconds and muttered, “Since when did slimes get so many schemes? That sounds like a villain’s idea.”
“That’s called strategic wisdom,” Chen Yu said earnestly. “Not villainy.”
Viola poked him again. “Bad slime.”
Chen Yu glared at her, puffing up. “If you poke me again I’ll bite you.”
“You gonna bite me?” Viola pointed at the giant tree behind her. “I’m a dryad; my bark’s thick.”
“......”
Chen Yu decided not to argue.
Merchant Alliance, Misty Bay Harbor Tribunal.
Nolan walked down the tribunal’s stone steps as the cold wind tore into his open collar, cutting his neck like a blunt knife.
Even so, that was better than the hostile glances inside the tribunal.
Samuel walked beside him, staff tapping the stone floor as they left the tribunal together.
“Finally out.” Nolan said.
As he expected, when they returned with the surviving soldiers of his legion and sought Merchant Alliance support, panic had rippled through the council.
No one believed that even these two great legions could be defeated by the Slime Kingdom, much less suffer such heavy losses.
He and Samuel had not received condolences from the Merchant Alliance; instead, they were hauled into the tribunal.
If not for Samuel’s testimony at the crucial moment, Nolan might still be detained.
Below the steps, the crowd filled the whole street.
When Nolan saw their faces, his steps faltered.
At the front stood a plump woman in an apron stained with fish scales, probably rushed over from the fish market. Seeing him emerge, she screamed.
“Nolan the Noble! Where’s my son?”
Nolan recognized her. Margaret from the fish market—her husband had gone to sea three years ago and never returned. She’d raised two sons selling fish.
The younger son, Thomas, had just turned eighteen last year and was already an Elite Professional, a talented young man. To change the family’s fortunes, he’d signed up for the Blood Oath Legion and given a large sum of money to his mother.
Margaret clearly didn’t spend much normally from the way she was dressed.
Thomas was in the Third Infantry Regiment.
That regiment held the left wing. When that stone wall rose, the entire left wing was swallowed.
No one knew what happened there.
No one knew whether little Thomas was alive.
Nolan’s lips moved but no words came out.
More people surged forward.
“Nolan the Noble, my husband was in the Third Infantry Regiment. He promised he’d be back before spring—”
Nolan said nothing, lowered his head, and pushed through the crowd toward the carriage.
The carriage waited under the plane tree across from the tribunal. It was a black, four-wheeled coach, the cabin painted with the Seagull Ship’s crest in silver.
The driver sat bundled in a thick wool cloak with the brim of his hat pulled low. Spotting Nolan, he leapt down and opened the door.
Nolan slipped inside and Samuel followed. The moment the door closed, the noisy voices outside were muffled to a distant buzzing, like waves beating on rocks.
Nolan collapsed into the seat and buried his face in his hands, eyes full of fatigue.
The driver urged the horses and the carriage soon left the tribunal. After a turn, the crowd noise faded completely.
After a while, Nolan removed his hands from his face, leaned back, stared up, and spoke.
“Those damned councilors—they treated me like what? The mastermind behind this war’s failure?”
“Damn it, if they hadn’t provoked those magical creatures, would the Merchant Alliance have fallen to this? They started it.”
Samuel sat opposite, not replying. His eyes half-opened, half-closed, as if both napping and thinking.
The carriage jolted and Nolan’s shoulder hit the side, but he didn’t mind. His mind replayed that day’s scenes—the gorge alight, the giant dragon’s wings blotting the sky, the stone wall descending and splitting the battlefield in two, then endless darkness and running.
And that Slime King. Just thinking of its burning eyes chilled him.
If those creatures launched an attack on the Merchant Alliance, they would be helpless. The port could not be defended, the city walls wouldn’t hold, gargoyles would pounce from the sky and turn every street into a slaughterhouse.
They might escape to offshore isles or to the south, but it would be humiliating retreat.
After ruminating, he steadied himself and looked at Samuel.
“Master Samuel, thank you for what you did today.”
No one expected the usually neutral Samuel, the mage from Dawnlands, to intervene and vouch for him. Being an outsider made his words sound unbiased, so everyone believed Nolan hadn’t abandoned the legion but had to retreat strategically.
Samuel opened his eyes.
“I only told the truth. The gorge’s terrain was complex, visibility poor, smoke and flames everywhere. When that stone wall descended, no one could see what was happening on the other side.”
“You led the surviving soldiers out, found reinforcements, and brought them back to the Merchant Alliance—that’s a fact.”
“By the way, what do you plan to do about the captured soldiers?” Samuel asked suddenly.
“I’ll find a way.” Nolan replied.
His voice carried a little more resolve than before, though he wasn’t certain whether that resolve was genuine.
“Send scouts to probe the Slime Kingdom’s stance—see what they want, ransom or something else. Then petition the council. Even if the council refuses, I’ll personally fund the ransom to bring the soldiers and mages back.”
“Of course, pensions must still be paid.”
Samuel watched him.
Nolan felt that gaze on his face. He didn’t know what Samuel was thinking—whether Nolan was putting on a show, paving a path for himself, or nothing at all.
Was Nolan acting to truly save those soldiers, or to soothe himself? To lift his head in front of mothers who’d lost sons, or to preserve the dignity of “Lord Nolan”? Maybe all of the above.
Nolan did not even know himself.
After a long silence, he suddenly wanted Samuel’s opinion—the great mage from the Dawnlands.
“Master Samuel, what do you think we should do about the Slime Kingdom?”
“If it were me, I would choose to hide,” Samuel said.
Nolan remembered things. Long ago, when the Dawnlands mages were driven from the east coast, they scattered like birds driven from a nest—some became itinerant mages, some sought refuge with southern kingdoms—and they never returned.
To them, knowledge mattered far more than territory.
Asking Samuel that question seemed almost needless.
Nolan intended to end the discussion and close his eyes for a nap before reaching the Seagull Ship, but his mind wouldn’t let him sleep—the images returned: fire, the giant dragon, the slimes...
Then Samuel’s voice came again.
“Lord Nolan, tell me, why insist on fighting the Slime Kingdom?”
Nolan opened his eyes and pondered.
Why insist on fighting the Slime Kingdom?
Indeed, why?
What had the slimes done?
They occupied the Dark Realm, but that place had been essentially unclaimed—a haven for adventurers and vagrants, never formally claimed by any kingdom, vampires included.
They defeated the Merchant Alliance’s legions, but the Merchant Alliance had struck first; those councilors had clenched fists in the council and shouted they needed to “teach those insolent goo creatures a lesson.” Nolan himself had led two thousand soldiers into the Dark Realm.
What had the slimes done?
They stayed in their territory, planted tubers, built houses, kept bees.
They didn’t rob caravans, harass borders, kidnap civilians, or spread cults. They simply existed.
The councilors in their marble hall, signing gilded documents with quill pens, were the real things that made him revile them.
Nolan recalled the tribunal scene. Those faces were full of profit’s calculation, eyes cold as if appraising a defective product.
They wanted to show the Slime Kingdom their strength; they applauded, cheered, and toasted each other—yet no one asked, “Why pick on them?”
In the end they pinned the failure on him.
Nolan rubbed his temples and sighed.
Right now, his feeling was pure disgust and nothing else.
Samuel did not probe further.
He knew he had planted a seed in Nolan.
No fertilizer needed, no watering, no meticulous care—only time, patience, and a well-timed contradiction or small ignition.
Maybe the next council impeachment, maybe the cries of families of captured soldiers, maybe a night when Nolan faced his conscience alone.
At that moment the seed would sprout, send out roots, stretch branches, and grow into a tree the Merchant Alliance could not ignore.