In just half a day, the Slime guards bounced into the Royal Palace and delivered a wooden box.
Chen Yu hopped onto the table, used a gel hand to lift the lid, and found two items inside — a letter and a magic cylinder inlaid with a Gray Gravel Crystal.
The stationery was the moon-pattern paper elves often use, thin, supple, and elegant. The content itself was nothing special: polite phrasing, graceful wording, essentially a greeting sent to elf kin living far away.
But the address line read: “Tree Palace of the Swamp.”
Why would a greeting from the Ancient Tree Council address the recipient to a Slime Royal Palace, an address completely outside the elven language sphere?
That alone exposed the sender’s true intention. They were likely hiding their identity; the letter was merely a pretense.
More notable was the magic device inlaid with Gray Gravel Crystal — it looked like something only the Empire’s own people would produce.
After all, Gray Gravel Crystal is best crushed into powder to make Magical Dust. A magic device with a raw piece of Gray Gravel Crystal directly inlaid like this was unusual.
He shook the device back and forth, and tentatively injected a bit of mana into it.
As the luminescence appeared, the metal mounting suddenly emitted a low hum, and the miniature magic formation engraved within was triggered.
Chen Yu was impressed.
The activation method was cleverly designed — it combined spiritual energy and magic.
In any standard magical assay, Gray Gravel Crystal would be classified as “low-value ore,” unlikely to arouse an elf mage’s suspicion.
Yet its internal lattice naturally accommodates spiritual flow; with even a sliver of spiritual energy, the crystal can emit light.
Whoever made this magic device had exploited the crystal’s luminescent property to create a distinctive verification:
only someone with Arcane Energy could make the Gray Gravel Crystal glow, thereby activating the light-sensitive magic formation inside and revealing its true face.
So this magic device had been custom-made for him.
Soon a light-screen projected from the top of the token, flickered a few times in the air, then stabilized into an image about half an arm wide.
Chen Yu picked up the cake on the table and dug a spoonful, his attention fully fixed on the picture.
The image first showed a huge crow’s head, feathers black and glossy, two round eyes staring at the screen. It cocked its head as if pondering the device’s use.
Then it stepped back two paces, revealing its full body — feathers fluffy and lustrous, tinged with a faint aura of shadow.
It was Count Bran himself.
“Caw! Eserin! Does this thing even work? Why didn’t I see it light up?” Count Bran complained, flapping his wings and turning his head to shout off-screen.
The image shifted as if someone had rearranged the device, and Eserin stepped in from the screen’s edge.
This elf’s skin had a hazy glow; even in the dim room, it seemed like the surrounding shadows skirted around her.
She bent over to inspect the token, stood upright, and said to Count Bran, “There was a small issue, but it should have activated. It just didn’t light up.”
“Caw! Why didn’t you say that sooner!” Count Bran backed up another step, grumbling, “I still have to keep a dignified, composed image before His Majesty.”
Outside the screen, Zou Tian’s steady voice came through: “To be precise, Slime gentleman, return to the Kingdom... well, now it should be called the Empire.”
“You shipped this through the elf caravan channels and declared it at the entry as ‘magical craft sample,’ but if they open it to inspect—”
Eserin shook her head, turned toward the sound, and said firmly, “Don’t worry. They absolutely won’t think of this activation method. The Council does not possess Arcane Energy.”
“If they forcibly dismantle the device, the outer integrity-trigger will automatically activate and destroy the Gray Gravel Crystal along with the formation inside.”
“I made several small devices with different activation methods and sent each through different disguise channels to the palace, hoping at least one would pass through the Shadow Mountains and safely reach His Majesty.”
She paused slightly, then smiled: “If we’re lucky, Your Highness is already seeing us now, squatting on the throne, chewing on cake while watching us talk.”
“How wonderful, I shall finally see His Majesty,” Count Bran crowed, lunging forward to hug the token, cawing so loudly it sounded almost heartbroken.
“Your Majesty! Your Majesty! I missed you so much! News traveled so slowly. After we hid in the shadowlands, we only heard from a smuggling harpy about that bastard Casaric — how dare he call himself emperor!”
“I was so furious I nearly pecked every shadow shrub bare! If I’d made it back sooner, if I’d crossed the Shadow Mountains before the capital’s final battle, what right would that demon have to call himself Northern Emperor? Who does he think he is! Pfft pfft pfft!”
His wings slapped the device loudly. “Caw! Damn demon! Hmph, if he dares come back, I’ll teach him a lesson.”
“I’ll peck out his eyes, I’ll poop on his head, I’ll snatch his crown and present it to His Majesty as a flowerpot!”
Chen Yu could only smile. Count Bran was as noisy and theatrical as ever.
It had been a while since he’d heard the crow’s cawing; it was oddly nostalgic.
As for dealing with Casaric?
That creature probably couldn’t even find a body right now.
Count Bran clearly hadn’t learned much — news from the Ancient Tree Council wasn’t that well informed.
Count Bran continued cawing at the token, and Arthur finally stepped out of the darkness.
He now looked like an adult elf male, tall and slender, pale-gold hair bound at the back with leather, but his face was expressionless.
Well, actually Arthur didn’t have a face.
After Chen Yu retracted his gel avatar from him, only a thin layer of gel remained over Arthur, so forcing any other expression on him was difficult.
He approached the token, pressed his right hand to his left chest, dropped to one knee, and performed a standard Knight’s Salute.
“Congratulations on Your Majesty’s coronation,” Arthur said earnestly, still with no expression. “From the Swamp to the Royal Capital, Your Majesty fulfilled the promise made beneath the Oak to all your subjects.”
“To be part of the Slime United Empire and witness this nation’s birth as a knight under your banner is an honor for Arthur.”
True to form, loyal Arthur’s words were sincere and touching.
Chen Yu shook his gel contentedly.
Eserin also stepped in front of the screen, performed an elven chest-touch salute toward Chen Yu, then turned to the crow. “Count Bran, get to the point. The formation won’t stay active long.”
“Understood, understood, don’t rush me. I have my own rhythm, and there are many things I want to ask His Majesty,” it said.
It suddenly remembered something more important, hopped onto Arthur’s shoulder, and asked, “Arthur! Before my head gets all muddled, hurry, what was that called?”
Arthur hesitated, “The fief?”
Count Bran cawed twice in satisfaction, rapping Arthur on the head with his wing. “Arthur understands me. But I have more pressing matters. Your Majesty, please wait.”
It flew out of the screen’s range, talons clacking on the table.
Seconds later it pushed a transparent glass jar into the center of the image with some effort.
The jar was about half the crow’s height, filled with a viscous, silver-white liquid.
The liquid slowly flowed inside the jar in self-sustaining currents, circling along the jar wall without external agitation. Each sweep created a silver sheen on the surface.
Chen Yu cocked his gel head a little.
He had never seen this before, but instinct told him it was not ordinary.
“Silver Sparrow, what is this?”
The Silver Sparrow’s projection floated out to his side. Its translucent eyes scanned the gel network, and after a few seconds responded:
“According to the library catalog of rare magical items related to the Ancient Tree Council, only one item matches this appearance — Silver Resin.”
“The color, viscosity, and flowing behavior match with over fifty percent probability.”
Count Bran puffed up proudly beside the jar, one wing leaning against the glass, looking for praise.
“Caw! Your Majesty! Look at what I managed to fetch for you.”
“This is the Silver Resin secreted by a Legendary Silver-leaf Oak. Elves call it ‘Silver Bloodline.’ Put it on the black market and a small jar like this could buy a city.”
Eserin leaned back and added its specific uses.
“This vial of Silver Resin comes from a Legendary Silver-leaf Oak over a thousand years old. It contains the tree’s memory imprints and bloodline inheritance.”
“If applied to Fardoern’s Treant Warhost, we have a high chance of producing a silver Extraordinary warhost completely independent of the Ancient Tree Council.”
Chen Yu’s gaze fixed on the silver-white jar; the light in his small eyes shifted from curiosity to seriousness.
He understood better than anyone what a silver oak warhost would mean.
Arcane Ancient Trees serve as steadfast defensive positions and are the battlefield’s most brutal units; they handle mobs exceptionally well.
The demon tides that once vexed orc armies could often be swept away by a single treant.
Moreover, Arcane Ancient Trees can cast Dao arts; a wave of arcane cleansing can clear a battlefield.
If he had a warhost composed entirely of Extraordinary treants, he dared not imagine what creature—apart from Legendary beings—could break through the Slime Legion’s lines.
Count Bran approached with pomp: “This vial of Silver Resin was earned through life-and-death ventures at the shadow border. I persuaded that old treant with an amazing tongue, convincing him to leave it with us.”
“For that, I was chased for days and nights by the Shadow Dragon’s retinues and those narrow-minded fossils of the Ancient Tree Council.”
“Caw haha, thanks to my brilliance and wit, I wound through the shadowlands and finally brought this treasure and these two fellows safely back to our hideout.”
Eserin did not contradict this time; she merely nodded. “Count Bran indeed knows the shadowlands well. After the Council patrols discovered our movements, it was Bran who remembered an abandoned smuggling route, guiding us past several watch posts and shaking off pursuit.”
“As for why we still hide in the shadowlands, that’s a long story.”
“Let Count Bran tell it.”
Count Bran interjected, swearing loudly: “Those damned green things! When we first crossed the Shadow Mountains into the Elurn city-state, we couldn’t even find lodging. When they heard we came from the Slime Kingdom, they immediately accused the Kingdom of illegally sheltering half-elves and tried to detain me.”
“Caw! I am a rare holy spirit of the Shadow Mountains, defender of dragons, I’ve beaten giants — they want to throw me before a mediation court like some common creature.”
“Caw! When did I ever suffer such humiliation!”
He hopped twice in front of the screen in indignation, then puffed up his chest. “Luckily, under my brilliant command, Arthur swiftly dealt with the guards at the gate, and I personally led the team through the side gate, across the garden, and retraced our route out of the city.”
“The elves are still searching outside the city, unaware we slipped into the Shadow Mountains they dare not enter.”
Speaking of which, he still shivered a little at the memory.
“I can’t imagine if Arthur, that foolish retainer, had been found alone and revealed as undead — the torment he’d suffer.”
Arthur bowed sincerely: “All thanks to Count Bran.”
“Caw haha, small matter, small matter.” Count Bran beamed.
Eserin, nearby, couldn’t help but smirk. She remembered that almost every crisis on the journey had really been resolved by Arthur.
Count Bran had indeed played roles in the shadowlands, but in most cases he’d darted into Arthur’s chest out of fright first.
She spread her hands. “In short, that’s how it is. We must remain hidden for now in the shadowlands. The good news is we obtained Sacred Oak Water and brewed the potion the Sage described.”
“If we can bring it back safely, it may cure Little Aileen’s Withering Illness completely.”
“But for the moment we cannot leave the shadowlands. We don’t know when we can return to the Empire. We ask His Majesty to wait patiently.”
Count Bran was about to say more when it tilted its head, leaning closer to the screen with a puzzled peep: “Why is it only starting to flicker now? It didn’t light earlier.”
At that moment Chen Yu saw the screen flicker.
Eserin leaned in, fiddled with the device, and showed a look of sudden realization.
“The formation seems to be drawn wrong. It looks like it only lights up near the end...”
Her voice trailed off. The screen flickered a few more times, then went completely dark.
Chen Yu glanced at the now-dim token in his gel hand and tucked it into his gel belly.
“Silver Sparrow, where is Count Bran’s Elurn city-state located?”
The Silver Sparrow replied, “The location has been marked in the gel network. Master, would you like the Silver Sparrow to prepare a detailed rescue plan?”
“No need. Send a gel avatar; that will suffice.” Chen Yu shook his gel, hopped down from the throne.
The connection range between him and his gel avatar now just covered the distance to the Shadow Mountains.
If that proved insufficient, he could quietly build a gel Signal Tower in Golden Radiance Valley to relay messages.
What worried him more was the Ancient Tree Council’s attitude — arresting his citizens simply for sheltering half-elves.
They had the gall to bully slimes now.
Does the Slime Emperor have no dignity?
How infuriating.
He would have to strike hard.