Zolan pulled his thick woolen scarf tighter and rubbed his stiff, frozen hands together, breathing a white cloud of mist into his palms.
"Damnable weather..." The bitter cold prompted the vampire from the small outpost town to curse under his breath.
Snowflakes drifted silently down onto the streets of Mudu. After a night of frigid temperatures, a thin layer of ice had formed over the smooth, gray-white paving stones.
The surface was treacherous; one careless step could send him sprawling, shattering the elegance and composure befitting a member of the Blood Race. But Zolan dared not stop. He continued trudging onward, one unsteady step after another, toward the Mudu Royal Palace, which appeared all the more magnificent and solemn amidst the swirling snow.
A few Slimes, each clutching a warming stone, wielded small wooden shovels. They were diligently clearing the snow and ice from the palace steps and the plaza before it. Their plump, round bodies trembled slightly in the cold air, but their movements remained meticulous.
Seeing Zolan pass by, they all stopped what they were doing and looked over at him with their round, curious eyes.
As Zolan’s gaze occasionally met that of the Slime residents, an indescribable sense of strangeness grew within him. Still, he remembered to maintain his gentlemanly composure, offering them a slight bow and a nod in greeting.
In the past, ordinary Slimes like these, born in warm and humid swamps, would never have survived to see winter. The only exceptions were a few special breeds naturally adapted to the cold, like the Frost Slime.
The low temperatures would cause their Gel to solidify and their movements to grow sluggish, until they eventually perished quietly from the cold and lack of food. In all his long life, he had never seen so many ordinary Slimes actively moving, working, and even... building a city in such a harsh winter.
This only deepened his reverence and awe for their mysterious and great sovereign, His Majesty the Slime.
He instinctively reached up to grasp the Slime-shaped bronze pendant hanging around his neck and began to pray silently.
In fact, as a devout follower of the Great Slime Sect, daily prayer was a mandatory ritual. It brought him a sense of peace and belonging.
If not for the incident with the caravan bound for the Wuwan Port Alliance, he would probably still be in the Slime Church back in his outpost town. He would be attending morning service with his fellow members of the Blood Race, after which they would all consume a small portion of blessed Gel to show the purity and piety of their faith.
The thought of the missing caravan cast a shadow over Zolan’s heart. At the same time, however, a spark of hope ignited within him. He prayed that the omnipotent His Majesty the Slime would be able to resolve this thorny issue.
He quickened his pace, soon ascending the steps of the Mudu Royal Palace. He then followed a Metal Slime Guard around to the warm residential wing in the back.
At the entrance, he vigorously shook the snow from his hat and shoulders, then carefully straightened his collar and scarf, which had been ruffled by the harsh wind. Only after ensuring his appearance was proper did he respectfully step into the warm hall.
Inside the palace, a roaring fire blazed in the hearth, the firewood crackling loudly. Occasionally, a few bright sparks would fly out and land on Xiaoka and Peggy, who were sprawled comfortably before the flames. This made them lift their heads, their eyes curiously following the flickering embers.
"A Bl-Black Dragon?!"
Zolan’s gaze swept over Xiaoka’s glossy, jet-black scales, which shimmered with a metallic luster in the firelight, and the pair of broad wings folded at its side. A storm of shock crashed through him.
He suppressed the urge to cry out in alarm and quickly shifted his gaze to a corner of the room.
Perched atop a large oak desk was a plump, round Slime. It was using a quill pen to scribble on a spread-out parchment map, apparently marking various points.
Zolan hurried closer and stopped before the desk. He bowed his head low and said in a reverent tone, "Zolan greets Your Majesty."
Only then did Chen Yu stop his pen. He hopped around to face Zolan and, looking at him with round eyes, asked directly, "Are you saying that Camisil and the entire caravan headed for the Wuwan Port Alliance have been detained?"
At the mention of it, Zolan couldn’t help but exclaim indignantly, "Yes, Your Majesty! Those greedy, shameless merchants from the Business Alliance are absolutely mad for Gold Coins! With no justifiable reason, they brazenly seized all the ancient resin the caravan had purchased, as well as the funds they carried, and they’ve imprisoned Camisil."
"Camisil had previously sent a letter back, saying he could resolve it through negotiations and that we shouldn’t worry... But after that, all contact was lost. We sent several groups of Slime Cultists disguised as traveling merchants to the Wuwan Port Alliance to gather information and find Camisil. But to this day, none have returned, and we’ve heard nothing. I suspect they’ve all been imprisoned by the Business Alliance!"
’That’s strange,’ Chen Yu mused.
’The Slime Kingdom only just made contact with the Wuwan Port Alliance, didn’t it? We have no history, no bad blood. What on earth are those merchants thinking?’
"What reason did they give?" Chen Yu asked.
Zolan shook his head. "They said... they don’t trust vampires. They suspect our entry into the Business Alliance’s territory was for some ulterior motive—that we were even there to drink blood."
Mentioning this, he grew even more indignant, his voice trembling slightly. "Is that not an insult to us devout Slime Cultists?!"
Chen Yu had an odd look on his face.
’He’s not wrong.’
’To these followers from the Blood Race, who had converted to the Great Slime Sect and consumed Gel as a sacrament, drinking blood was a thing of the past. They would even see it as a barbaric act.’