Chapter 774 - 761: Antidote Research Progress
Eleanor suffered every torment before she died; Little Pig wasn’t doing much better on his side.
The blood-draining ritual once again left Little Pig paralyzed on the bed, like a wax figure with its skeleton pulled out, only the eyes still able to move.
Norris carried a bag of warm blood and walked through the streets and alleys of Fungus Castle.
Dusk had fully fallen; Glowing Mushrooms lit up one by one along the road, bluish-green halos spilling over the figures walking shoulder to shoulder.
A Lizardman’s tail brushed past the hem of a human’s clothes, a Dwarf stood on tiptoe arguing about something with a Half-demon, and several Puki went puki-puki-puki over the ground by their feet.
People of different Races lived together harmoniously in Fungus Castle; Fungus Castle never discriminated against any intelligent life.
Norris watched this scene, and his steps unconsciously slowed.
The boss’s declaration about "Justice" on the plaza last night still echoed in his mind; now, looking at these people, those words suddenly had weight.
That put Norris in a better mood as well; after all, who doesn’t want to believe their side stands for justice?
Humming a little tune under his breath, Norris arrived at his destination.
He pushed the door open; Louisa was slumped sideways on the bed, hair spread over the pillow, and when she saw him come in, she weakly greeted him through the Fungal Network.
"Sister Blood." Norris stuck a straw into the blood bag and held it to her lips.
Louisa took the straw into her mouth and sipped slowly, her throat bobbing.
Only after drinking half did Louisa turn her head aside and jerk her chin toward the corner of the room.
"Feed that one a bit too."
Norris followed her gaze over.
"A statue?"
Norris pinched the remaining half bag of blood and walked over, examining it carefully.
There was a statue of a Blood Race figure sitting upright with head held high, features distinct, clothing folds flowing.
The statue had been placed very off to the side; if Sister Blood hadn’t pointed it out, Norris might not have noticed it at all, yet the stone surface was polished clean, not a speck of dust—clearly someone wiped it down often.
The statue’s mouth was slightly open, revealing a thin narrow slit, as if deliberately left there.
"Is this... a leftover-food box?" He leaned closer to peer into that slit; it was pitch black inside, nothing visible.
"Don’t worry about what she is," Little Pig urged weakly, "just pour it in."
Norris asked no more; he aligned the blood bag with the slit and slowly tilted it.
The warm liquid flowed in along the slit, making faint gurgling sounds, like something was swallowing.
He stared at that crack; the longer he looked, the more wrong it felt—not that the statue itself was changing, but that nameless discomfort climbing up his spine.
He hesitated for a moment.
[Qi Sensing Level 9]
"You’ve got to be kidding me..." Norris’s hand froze in midair; he desperately hoped he was sensing wrong.
The tailless lizardman had once again glimpsed certain things behind the bright, just facade of Fungus Castle.
...
Not many people knew about Eleanor fleeing to Fungus Castle, but her public execution certainly hadn’t been done in secret; the other powers naturally soon received accurate news.
The nobles of the United Kingdom were, of course, clapping their hands in delight, and Fungus Castle’s move to draw a clear line between Fungus People and the Demon Race also allowed those nobles who had still harbored doubts to relax somewhat.
The Elves didn’t show any clear reaction; what they’d been paying more attention to recently was actually that earlier business about the dead being resurrected as Puki.
As for the Dwarves... the Dwarves’ internal situation had recently turned into a complete mess.
The anti-Mycelium faction had suddenly organized themselves and were wildly destroying those Fungal Mats that had been spreading along the edges of the Mountains.
The parasitized had always been on the margins in the Mountains; in order to use the Fungal Mats to replenish the Magic Power they needed to survive, they’d had no choice but to move to the border.
Now even the Fungal Mats on the border had been almost completely destroyed; you could say their very survival was under threat.
Some parasitized individuals went to argue the matter, only to receive spittle and fists in return.
So the conflict escalated.
At first, those few incidents of parasitized individuals attacking healthy Dwarves and forcing them to be parasitized by Mycelium had only been the Empire’s means of smearing Mycelium—but now, it had actually become the parasitized Dwarves’ method of revenge.
The conflict Level spiraled upward; by the time the Dwarf King sensed something was wrong and moved to restore order, it was already a bit late.
Now, the army was suppressing riots in the various border cities; on the surface everything seemed calm again, but in truth it was only temporary—the contradiction between the two sides kept deepening.
After all, not every Dwarf living in Symbiosis with Mycelium was willing, for the sake of survival, to leave the Mountains where they’d spent their entire lives and go live in the Northern Territory, where there weren’t even many hills—no matter that living standards there were in fact better.
As for the Dwarves’ situation, Lin Jun suspected that some of the Dwarven upper echelon had joined up with the Empire; otherwise it shouldn’t have erupted this suddenly, nor spread like wildfire.
Unfortunately, among the three Races, the Mountain Dwarves were the ones Lin Jun had infiltrated the least; so far, it was only to the extent that some Advanced craftsmen had joined the Fungal Network.
As for the Empire...
...
"Heh, even the way she died was that stupid." Sigmund snorted coldly, then cast from his mind this foolish woman who had been butting heads with him for years.
He really didn’t have the time now to waste on reminiscing about that piece of trash.
Ever since the Demon King had peeled his roommate—or rather, that terrifying Mushroom Lord—from his body, with that shackle gone, he had suddenly gotten very busy.
On one side, he was training the army, selecting new talent, and constructing those Magic devices of unknown purpose... the Demon King seemed to have thoughts of stirring up war again.
And it made sense: High Castle Fortress was now in the Empire’s hands, a position from which they could both attack and retreat; no reason not to make use of something they’d fought so hard to seize.
On the other side, he was cramming vast amounts of knowledge related to souls.
Only, the more he learned, the more fear he felt toward his former roommate’s existence.
It was a heterogenous soul never recorded in any classic text, and even though it had already left, it had still left certain effects on Sigmund.
Aside from the occasional call that appeared in his dreams, Sigmund had also noticed that his learning speed had recently increased.
Whether it was his memory for knowledge or the speed at which his Skills’ Skill Levels improved, sometimes he would even gain, in his dreams, bits of utterly useless knowledge that had nothing to do with him—for example, how to divert irrigation canals.
On the surface, these were all benefits, but it also meant some unknown change had occurred in Sigmund himself, like a sword hanging over his head, forcing him to work even harder to gather knowledge about souls.
There was one more matter: after his roommate left, the supply of blood jade wine had, of course, been cut off.
The blood jade wine still remaining in the Empire had already been bid up to sky-high prices; Blood Race who had tasted Paradise could no longer go back to that world lacking in Deliciousness.
Sigmund was somewhat worried that, in the end, some Blood Race within the Empire would fail to withstand the temptation and secretly defect to Fungus Castle—in fact, this kind of thing was bound to happen.
He had already raised this point with Lord Demon King, and could only hope the other would have countermeasures.
Whenever he thought of the self-proclaimed noble Blood Race possibly groveling at the feet of Puki for a single bite to eat, Sigmund couldn’t help but feel a wave of sorrow.
...
Muling Castle, in an underground secret chamber.
This dungeon that had originally been used by Mortis to imprison important captives had already been completely transformed into a laboratory by the Demon King.
Countless glass cylinders stood in neat rows, each containing a unique Slime modified by the blood calamity.
In those jars, besides the Slimes, there were also samples of various Races that had been parasitized by Mycelium soaking inside.
In some of the jars, the samples had been dissolved and devoured by the Slimes, leaving only a skeleton behind.
In some jars, the Slimes and samples coexisted peacefully, with no interaction whatsoever.
Only in one Demon Race sample did the Slime wrap itself around his body without harming him, simply dissolving the Mycelium on him alone.
In the Demon King’s eyes, the word [Parasitized] on the experimental subject’s panel truly disappeared.
"At last..."
The Demon King’s face remained expressionless, yet his Spirit loosened just a fraction.
The next moment, pain flashed across the Demon Race sample’s face inside the jar; the skin where he was wrapped by the Slime began to show signs of dissolving.
The Demon King immediately refocused his attention on Subordinate Control, barely managing to stop the Slime’s instinct to devour its prey.
His soul having been wounded repeatedly had still taken quite a toll on him.
Fortunately, the research targeting Mycelium parasitism had made a breakthrough; next, as long as he could refine it to the point where he no longer needed to control it himself—so that this new breed of Slime could automatically devour the Mycelium inside a parasitized host without harming the host—then...
And even at its current Level, it had already given him considerable room to maneuver.
"The Mountains, the only place besides the Empire that can barely still be called a pure land..."