Slime True Immortal

Northern City.

This city, built with the assistance of Imperial Slime Engineers alongside the Northern wildlings and humans, stood like a stubborn giant, facing the endless Icefield, rooted on the blizzard line.

The city walls rose high, with rows of sturdy stone houses neatly arranged on the inside, their roofs covered in thick reindeer hides and thatch. Wisps of smoke curled from the chimneys, rising slowly into the freezing air.

On the city streets, plump slimes bounced along, transporting goods. But what truly set this place apart were the wide passages, safe routes through the wind and snow.

Ever since the passages had been completed, prosperity had arrived. The wildlings no longer needed to struggle for survival. The North had welcomed the Undead.

A squad of wildling cavalry moved along the border. They rode frost wolves, wearing Imperial-issue cloaks that provided warmth while blending into the snow for concealment.

The lead cavalry officer scanned the distant snowy plains and the towering icy peaks beyond, confirming that nothing was out of the ordinary.

“Is everything normal?” he asked.

“Normal!” the cavalry behind him answered in unison.

Sunlight filtered through the thin clouds, casting a golden glow over the distant white mountains, as if they were eternal guardian deities.

The patrol continued for another hour. The squad followed the designated route, finished their rounds, and confirmed no dangers along the border before withdrawing to the camp.

The camp was set up in a sheltered mountain hollow, surrounded by sparse birch groves that stood like silent sentinels in white cloaks.

The cavalry dismounted from their frost wolves, tied the beasts to wooden stakes near the camp, tossed them a few pieces of dried meat, then gathered around the bonfire, sitting down to start cooking their meal.

Once they had the fire going with charcoal, the wildling captain pulled a piece of frozen-hard smoked venison from his pack. He cut off a chunk with his knife, dropped it into the pot to boil, then pulled out a small bag of salt from his chest and carefully sprinkled a little in.

A younger cavalryman beside him took a leather flask from his chest, uncorked it, took a sip, and smacked his lips: “This charcoal is really good. Much better than the dry wood we used to burn.”

“Back in the day, spending the night out on the Icefield, I’d freeze to the bone. Now with this charcoal, the tent stays warm, and sleeping’s actually comfortable.”

Another cavalryman chuckled: “In the old days, just getting enough to eat during winter was a blessing.”

The captain listened to his men’s chatter but didn’t join in. He just silently stirred the bonfire with a wooden stick, making the flames burn brighter.

After a while, a young wildling cavalryman cautiously spoke up: “Captain, I heard you witnessed the King’s descent and His miracle. What does His Majesty look like? Is He bigger than a regular slime?”

The only one here who came from a wildling tribe that had followed the Slime Empire from the very beginning was the captain. The rest had joined the Empire later, and they were all very curious about this mysterious King.

The captain glanced at him, recalling: “He’s even more majestic. He exudes an indescribable aura of authority.”

“A slime… majestic?” The young cavalryman scratched his head, clearly struggling to link “round and bouncy” with “majesty.”

“Enough, stop daydreaming.” The captain stood up. “The meat soup’s ready. Eat up quickly, then we have another patrol. Don’t forget the afternoon prayer.”

The men took out their wooden bowls and ladles, scooping up steaming hot meat soup from the pot.

The soup contained smoked venison and dried wild vegetables. Simple fare, but drinking a bowl of this scalding soup in the freezing wind warmed the whole body.

They dipped a few pieces of hard bread into it, filling their stomachs for the day.

Everyone sat around the bonfire, wolfing down their food, occasionally exchanging a few words.

After the meal, the captain led the squad to a statue erected at the edge of the camp. Offerings were laid out before it.

The captain knelt before the statue, and the cavalry behind him followed suit.

In the North, there was faith in the Slime King. Especially among the wildlings, who believed deeply in His miraculous protection.

“Alright, rest for a while,” the captain said.

The cavalry responded and dispersed.

The frost wolves shook off the snow, their breath turning into white mist.

The patrol squad moved through the snowy forest.

They passed low-hanging branches, and their mounts’ paws left deep prints in the snow.

Not far ahead, a shadow flickered among the trees.

That shadow moved extremely fast.

More importantly, it was heading deeper into Imperial territory.

It was an orc! An orc had broken into the Empire’s border!

“Chase him!” The captain roared, fiercely squeezing the frost wolf’s flanks, and the wolf shot forward.

The cavalry behind him followed closely. The frost wolves let out howls, startling a flock of snow sparrows perched on the branches.

“Stop, orc ahead! This is the Empire’s Northern Border!” The captain shouted in broken Orcish mixed with the Common Tongue.

But the figure ahead didn’t slow down. Instead, it ran even faster, weaving through the trees, trying to shake off its pursuers.

“Loose arrows!” The captain gave the order, and two cavalrymen immediately drew their short bows, nocked arrows, and pulled back. The arrows whistled through the air.

But the figure suddenly sidestepped, using the wooden shield on its back to deflect the arrows.

“Damn, it’s an orc wolf cavalry,” the young cavalryman cursed, nocking another arrow and aiming.

The chase grew more intense.

The frost wolves ran fast through the snow, but the orc ahead was clearly familiar with the terrain. It kept using trees and snowbanks for cover, changing direction to shake off the pursuers.

It looked like the orc was about to escape the snowy forest and reach the open Icefield. Just then, a hawk’s cry rang out from the sky.

The captain looked up sharply, and saw a massive white figure diving down from the clouds, its wings spread wide, casting a moving shadow under the sun.

It was a snow eagle.

“It’s Lord Sekashi!” the captain shouted, relieved.

Sure enough, on the snow eagle’s back sat two figures. One was clad in a white cloak, holding a staff—Sekashi. The other wore dark green leather armor, carrying a spear—a cold expression on her face: Semiaya.

Semiaya’s gaze locked onto the fleeing orc. She didn’t hesitate, leaping straight from the snow eagle’s back.

The orc heard the sound from above and looked up, terror flooding his eyes.

Semiaya plummeted like a falling meteor. In midair, she raised her spear.

Then, she threw it.

The spear cut through the air with a sonic boom, like a bolt of green lightning.

It struck the ground with a thunderous crash, precisely piercing the orc’s shoulder.

Blood instantly stained the white snow, the spear embedding deep into the frozen ground, pinning the orc down.

The cavalry was stunned by this sudden attack.

The orc, wounded, tried to escape, but before he could, Semiaya landed. She stepped on the shaft of the spear, then reached out, slowly drawing a short blade from her waist.

A cold killing intent made the orc tremble.

Semiaya descended from the sky, her voice carrying an icy edge: “I ask, you answer.”

Sekashi landed nearby as the snow eagle circled down, then she hugged her staff and walked over.

She then turned to the approaching wildling cavalry captain.

The captain saluted: “My lords, why have you come so suddenly?”

Sekashi smiled and replied: “I recently graduated, and thought I’d come back to the North to visit.”

Semiaya didn’t turn around. She spoke coldly: “Where did this orc come from?”

The captain shook his head: “We were on routine border patrol and spotted him running through the forest. He might have crossed the northern mountains to get here.”

Sekashi nodded, walked over to the orc cavalryman, and reached out a hand, softly chanting a spell.

A pale blue light emanated from her palm, flowing gently like water into the orc’s forehead, relaxing his tense nerves.

Sekashi asked in broken Orcish: “This is the border of the Empire’s North. How did you get here? Has the Orc Palaver forgotten the agreement we made?”

The orc cavalryman opened his mouth, letting out unclear Orcish words, supplemented by frantic gestures.

Sekashi listened carefully, her brow slightly furrowing. She understood part of it.

“The northern Palaver… war has erupted… with the Undead… and someone is burning the tribes…”

She tried to decipher the muffled syllables, then asked a few more questions.

The orc cavalryman seemed to become agitated, speaking more, but his voice grew softer.

Sekashi turned back and said softly: “He’s a refugee. He’s been crossing the snowy mountains for days, lost his sense of direction. He didn’t know this was the Empire’s border. He thought he’d stumbled into some territory still at war.”

When she finished speaking, the orc cavalryman suddenly dropped to both knees in the snow, kowtowing to her.

It seemed he was begging the Empire for help.

The young wildling cavalryman muttered: “The ruler of the Icefield, used to dominate. Now he’s begging for mercy.”

He looked down at the kneeling orc, a mix of emotions on his face.

Sekashi and Semiaya exchanged a glance.

“What do we do?” Sekashi asked.

Semiaya nodded: “This matter must be reported back to Slime City immediately.”

Sekashi was about to respond when the orc suddenly raised his head, pointing toward the snowy forest behind them, repeatedly saying a few words.

Sekashi listened intently.

“He says… he has… companions… in the forest… some still alive, some dead… He says they haven’t eaten in days, have no food left. He only dared to venture out to find something to eat…”

“That’s why he ran so frantically earlier. He wasn’t trying to flee; he was looking for food,” the captain realized.

Sekashi thought for a moment: “Lead us to them. We have some emergency rations. They should last them a while.”

“But you cannot cross the border. You’ll have to stay on the mountain for now, until our superiors can make a decision.”

The orc cavalryman, kneeling on the ground, understood Sekashi’s words. He didn’t say anything else, just buried his head deeper, repeating a few words of gratitude.

Nearby, Semiaya had already transmitted the message back to Slime City through the gel communicator.

...

Slime City Palace, now in the afternoon.

Chen Yu had just finished a piece of lava cake. He lay back on a soft cushion, completely satisfied, his gel body stretched out like a melted patch of emerald green jelly.

The Northern intelligence report came through the gel communicator.

A civil war had broken out in the Orc Palaver, and it seemed to involve the Undead as well.

This news came a bit suddenly, but on second thought, it wasn’t entirely without signs.

He’d been wondering why the Orc Palaver had been quiet for over half a year. Logically, after the last agreement, they should have sent someone to negotiate about food trade.

Although the Empire didn’t really expect the orcs to strictly honor the contract, their complete lack of communication, being silent as if they’d vanished, was itself an anomaly.

Now it seemed they simply couldn’t spare the manpower.

If it had been before, he wouldn’t have taken this too seriously.

After all, it wasn’t the Empire’s territory that was in chaos. However heated the orc Palaver’s civil war got, it was still a matter on the Icefield, separated by snowy mountains. It would be hard for it to affect the Empire directly.

But the report also mentioned the Undead.

He remembered Oros mentioning that a thousand years ago, the vast northern lands were once Undead territory.

After the Divine War, the Undead retreated, the Icefield fell into silence, and the orcs gradually migrated from lands further south, becoming the new masters of that white world.

Now, it seemed they were coming back.

Who knew what these guys were up to?

Chen Yu’s gel body quivered.

His avatar flickered slightly.