Chapter 330

Not far outside Maragas City, in a hidden cave unknown to all, Herbert passed through a camouflage layer of fungal filaments and arrived at the true form's hiding place of the mushroom merchant.

"Oh?"

Herbert raised his eyebrows slightly as he gazed upon the unique myconid, scaled to full size and standing three and a half meters tall, embodying both grandeur and delicacy.

This feeling… yes, this was the boss room!

It felt as if an epic BGM was playing in his ears!

He could almost see the ultra-long health bar and title hovering above the myconid's head!

【Legendary Tier Lord Boss, Master of the Shadow Mushroom Guild, Miss Mise Shadowmush】

Miss Mise's true form was indeed far stronger than her puppet clones; the dangerous aura radiating from her was nearly equal to that of Elisa at full power.

She was another Legendary Peak monster girl!

And now, Herbert stood alone, facing this dangerous and enraged monster.

The way of the martial world—solo challenge!

Elisa and Svanie had been deliberately left behind in Maragas City, commanding the group of "self-acknowledging" goliath slaves to pack the city's most valuable treasures.

Unrefined mineral resources, tons of refined metal ingots, ancient forbidden scriptures, forged superior weapons…

Most of these had been consumed by Stilla in her rituals, leaving only a pitiful fraction.

Yet even that tiny fraction was enough to drive a poor Legendary practitioner to madness!

Herbert's greatest tangible gain this time was precisely these riches.

Such an important matter naturally had to be entrusted to the two trusted monster girls.

As for the goliaths… they were silent laborers, never needing recharging, nuclear-powered donkeys.

Very useful.

Though these fellows were freed slaves who spent their days in the Morl family forging, that didn't make them harmless innocents.

They themselves were members of the evil alignment—all of them revealed as evil upon Herbert's casual Detect Evil.

Not madly vicious, but dishonest petty thieves who had surely committed many misdeeds before capture.

These innately evil dwarves loved adorning themselves with many metal trinkets, and when unsatisfied…

They would unhesitatingly "take" them from others—what happened during the process was self-evident.

Methods to handle these dishonest but not dangerously violent fellows were countless.

Svanie spared Herbert any effort, assuming the role of "new High Mistress" and voluntarily signing new slave contracts with the goliaths.

The Morl family was utterly destroyed, the city in ruins, yet their bloodline had not been fully extinguished—Svanie, herself a dark elf bearing Morl blood!

Thus, whether Svanie accepted it or not, she naturally became the new High Mistress of the Morl clan.

The enforced slave contract was indeed powerful, but what was more astonishing was the goliaths' reaction.

Upon hearing they would be enslaved again, their first response was not anger—but secret jubilation.

The speed with which these goliaths groveled and submitted was astonishing; clearly, centuries of torment had deeply ingrained the truth: "He who knows the times is a hero."

They had suffered under the Morl family for too long; obedience had become instinct.

After the Morl family vanished, they proactively sought out a new master—strong, and one who would not easily torment or abuse them!

That mighty being, like the sun.

Though many of them had never left the Underdark to see the true sun, they understood well how terrifying such a brilliant presence could be.

With this lord's protection, no one else would dare to bully them again!

The goliaths couldn't help but cheer wildly, raising their arms and chanting the name they believed fitting.

"Son of the Sun! Son of the Sun! Son of the Sun!"

\o/\o/\o/\o/\o/\o/. GIF

Though the scene had many absurd points, reminding Herbert of a legendary custom server from his past life—the general riding a white horse.

Yet Herbert ultimately made no effort to explain he was neither "Son of the Sun" nor "Son of the Beach," silently permitting the goliaths' fervent worship.

There were many ways to control the goliaths; beyond brute force, the second method was awe.

Precisely, becoming the powerful being they both revered and feared.

Just as among a group of green-skinned lads one would naturally emerge as the green-skinned big brother, so too among the goliaths one would lead the tribe.

The goliaths themselves wished for Herbert to become their "big brother," but he outright rejected the idea.

Unless Herbert was insane, how could he possibly become the big brother of these fools?

With Herbert's suggestion and assistance, the tallest, strongest, youngest goliath warrior (one meter fifty tall) became their new chieftain, granted rich rewards from the Son of the Sun.

He gained the authority to command and manage his fellow tribesmen.

These fellows needed a leader anyway; better I manipulate the choice than let them brawl until their heads bleed.

In truth, Herbert had simply implemented an ultra-simplified "Divine Right of Kings."

The rest of the tribe were commoners, the new chieftain was the High Priest, and Herbert assumed the role of the deity.

The deity had delegated power to the High Priest.

Herbert's method drew inspiration from other divine churches.

Even if the High Priest committed evil deeds, accountability ended there.

The deity had willingly granted him power; any subsequent mishaps were not the deity's concern.

Want to hold the deity accountable?

Impossible.

The deity is exalted, separate from mortals.

All the evil deeds are the High Priest's fault; if you press further, you'd be terribly impolite!

With this relationship, combined with Svanie's slave contracts, there was no need to worry—these goliaths became diligent, devoted laborers.

And Herbert, as a terrifying entity described as "possessing legendary power and capable of unleashing epic strength when necessary," would never travel everywhere surrounded by a retinue of bodyguards—that doesn't fit the profile of a true powerhouse.

Moreover, Herbert didn't believe Mise would actually attack him.

She wouldn't dare.

In the end, Herbert arrived here alone, riding comfortably in Mise's mushroom cart.

Mise had noticed the ritual's anomalies for some time, and had actively moved her true body from deeper underground to the surface layer, hiding here to wait for the ritual's final moment to seize the target (the puppet).

That was why Herbert's ride didn't last long, and he didn't have to worry about strange mushrooms growing on his body.

After gazing at each other for a moment within the space filled with mushrooms of various sizes, both confirmed the other harbored no hostility.

"Heh."

Herbert nodded in greeting, smiling warmly, and said: "Miss Mise, we've finally met."

"It's truly delightful to see you without interference from others."

In contrast to Herbert's false warmth, the oppressed Mise struggled to maintain her expression, and replied slowly: "Yes, it's a pity—I never expected such a meeting."

The mushroom merchant sized up Herbert, muttered something sarcastic under her breath, and retracted the covertly released charm spores.

These spores were harmless and non-toxic; their only effect was to stir inner agitation and subtly alter one's attitude.

Upon realizing Herbert could completely ignore charm, she considered another possibility.

Was another being with such astonishing talent about to emerge?

She didn't want this outcome; she snorted and deliberately changed the subject.

"Hmph."

With a wave of her hand behind her, a massive mushroom split open, spitting out a comatose figure within.

"There—he's the one I meant. Do you know him?"

Herbert squinted at the faint rise and fall of the man's chest, confirmed he was still alive, and relaxed his vigilance somewhat.

"Know him? I know him too well."

At this moment, he was thoroughly perceptive, clicking his tongue: "Hmm, though it's embarrassing to admit, he is indeed my nominal subordinate."

Not the other lucky one, but Cyril—the man who had been perpetually cursed since meeting him.

How could he be this unlucky?

Herbert was beginning to seriously doubt.

Why is this child so terrified? Do I have a ghost on me?

…Hmm, if a god's divine fragment counts as a fragmented female ghost's soul, then yes—I do.

He got struck by bad luck after speaking ill of me during my sermon at the monastery, was mistaken for a slave by a homosexual, and finally collapsed unconscious by the roadside…

Leaving aside distant history, if not for a kind-hearted mushroom person passing by and picking him up, one misstep and he'd have been devoured by creatures of the dark lands.

Herbert looked at Cyril, sleeping with a pained expression, and shook his head slightly: "I still envy the ability to fall asleep anywhere, anytime—it's simply too convenient."

Just as Herbert was about to brush it off with a few words and have Mise wake him, his peripheral vision caught a corner of Cyril's chest.

"Hm? Is that… a notebook?"

He didn't move. He merely shifted his gaze—and Mise, with perfect intuition, activated the spore-filament fabric on the ground to pull it out, lift it, and deliver it to Herbert.

"Hm?"

Herbert glanced at Mise in surprise, finding her hypocrisy quite amusing.

Though she had never formally acknowledged becoming Herbert's subordinate, she hadn't refused to offer some free assistance.

Dammit, she really can do this.

Clearly, this young lady truly wants to improve.

He looked again at the book in his hand: a small volume bound in tanned leather, with a sharply angular alien script engraved on its cover.

"... What is this?"

"Hm?"

Mise glanced at it, also surprised, and explained:

"These are the magical runes dwarves use to enchant forged weapons. Translated into Common Tongue… it might mean 'resentment'? 'Hatred'?"

"Why would he engrave magical runes on such an ordinary book cover?"

The mushroom merchant had never seen such a practice, but Herbert had an explanation—he was keeping a grudge journal.

Dwarves are a fiercely proud race.

If they believe they've been insulted—whether truly or merely in their own minds—they immediately retaliate, and never forget it, even after years.

In fact, they record such grudges in their Books of Hatred, so their descendants may avenge them.

"So this is Cyril's Book of Hatred?" Herbert looked at Cyril and smiled inwardly.

Hmph.

You say you have no dwarf blood? You've even made a dwarf's Book of Hatred—conclusive proof!

You're definitely a dwarf hybrid.

Herbert wasn't surprised by this discovery; in fact, he found it perfectly logical.

Looking back at Cyril's combat record, he always awakened greater power in moments of extreme rage—rage was a crucial trigger for his growth.

Combined with his height, beard, and other traits, his connection to dwarves was nearly certain.

Even if not a recent hybrid, his bloodline had revived partially, awakening some latent talents.

In the human world, half-breeds occupy an awkward position, but over time, many hybrid descendants have persisted due to various factors.

Their monster bloodlines are usually extremely diluted, and may never be activated in a lifetime.

Like Teresa—before her monster bloodline was awakened, she was just an ordinary village girl, showing no signs at all.

Cyril is the same—this low-level hybrid, whose appearance doesn't change, faces little scrutiny.

Although Herbert did not like Cyril due to his previous actions, he harbored no particular ill will toward him either.

In fact, he even found Cyril's naivety somewhat amusing.

"The Book of Hatred? What's that?" Miss Mise leaned down, her massive body looming over Herbert's head.

He glanced up at the giant mushrooms and nodded silently: yes, big was justice.

"Nothing. It's just his notebook."

Herbert had no interest in deliberately snooping into others' privacy—certainly not in looking at men's.

"We won't go out of our way to look. There's nothing worth studying here… hmm?"

But just as Herbert was about to return The Book of Cyril's Hatred, his eyelid twitched slightly.

In the accidental flipping, Herbert saw the inner pages—twisted characters stained with blood.

"Father, I'm sorry…"

Herbert's eyes flickered, and he stopped returning it.

Wait, isn't this the Book of Hatred?

"…"

Herbert hesitated only a moment, then straightened up and slowly opened the first page of the booklet.

"Lord Herbert? Didn't you say you wouldn't look?" Miss Mise gave the oath-breaking paladin a sidelong glance, feeling this fellow was growing stranger by the moment.

In the absence of others, his movements had become more youthful, as if shedding a layer of disguise.

Herbert paid no mind to the sarcasm hidden in her words and spoke casually:

"I said I wouldn't deliberately look—but since I've happened to see it now, perhaps fate is guiding me from behind the scenes."

Fate's guidance?

No, I'm just curious.

He wanted to know what story Cyril's Book of Hatred contained.

"What fate? It's just you wanting to look…" Miss Mise grumbled, yet leaned in closer herself.

As a well-traveled merchant, she had never heard the name "Book of Hatred," and was curious about its contents.

Then, both their gazes fixed on the text.

…

…

Today, Father hit me with the quenching tongs.

The searing pain from my back made me grip the ground tightly, my fingers scraped raw against the earth.

But I clenched my teeth and didn't shed a single tear.

Father was "punishing" me.

Because I lost a piece of forged iron.

Because of my mistake, Father and my brother's efforts over the past half-month were wasted.

Later, Father wearily dropped the quenching tongs and collapsed onto the ground.

Beside him, my brother said nothing, only silently added ore powder and iron filings to the furnace, preparing to forge another ingot before time ran out.

In that moment, I felt rage.

I hated.

I hated Father for refusing to listen to my explanations.

I hated my brother for silently accepting it was my fault.

I hated the thief who stole the forged iron.

And most of all, I hated the noble who oppressed us and bled Father and the others dry!!!

(At the end of this passage, the twisted script recorded four names: 【Father】, 【Brother】, 【Thief】, 【Noble】.)

…

…

Today, my brother broke my wooden sword and placed Father's hammer in my hands.

He said swords were for nobles; for us blacksmiths, hammers were our weapons.

Six days ago, Father died of exhaustion.

A strong man who lifted his hammer ten thousand times a day, died on the forge.

After we gave everything to that vile family, they showed no gratitude.

They wouldn't even give us a single copper coin!

They dumped Father's body into the forest—and demanded we still deliver the required ingots!?

If not for my brother and me dragging him back, Father would have been devoured by wild dogs.

They, they, they!!!

I hate!

I hate!!!

We agreed: tomorrow we'll bury Father, then leave this place.

Escape this place!

We will survive.

We will definitely survive!!!

(【All members of the Noble Family】)

…

……

Big Brother… he's dead.

On the seventh day after Father died, he too collapsed into the furnace fire.

Father, I'm sorry…

They, they…

I hate them so much.

I will, I will kill them!

(This page has no name.)

……

……

I killed them…

Haha.

I killed every single one of them!!!

(Mottled tear stains, mingled with dark red bloody handprints.)

……

……

"Hiss!"

Those three short sentences made Miss Mise's true body, who was watching here, tremble slightly, shaking off quite a bit of spore powder.

Rustle, rustle, rustle…

The mushroom merchant was truly shaken this time; she hadn't expected herself to react so strongly.

The other party was merely a high-rank warrior, and these records had even been written down many years ago.

But after reading those words, she actually felt a shocking killing intent, as if fresh blood were endlessly flowing across the text.

She hadn't expected this seemingly ordinary short and stocky youth to be able to emit such a dangerous aura.

"…" Herbert's reaction was far stronger than Miss Mise's.

Because he already knew Cyril's story in advance, he didn't feel shocked, only let out a soft sigh, pitying his tragic fate.

For Cyril's father and sons, they had done nothing wrong, yet still could not escape the fate of death.

Those who devour people have never been only wild beasts.

Humans are the monsters who devour people the most.

And after that, an unknown length of time later, Cyril's notes became much calmer.

He recorded many things in an ordinary tone.

Verbal clashes with friends, dissatisfaction with his Holy Knight instructor, complaints about rivals… he wrote all these things down in his little notebook.

But he did not write down a single name again.

"…" Herbert flipped through for a while, going straight to the second-to-last page of recent entries.

He wanted to know how Cyril viewed that matter?

……

……

Today, I did something wrong.

I couldn't control my anger and actually made malicious comments about someone I didn't understand behind their back.

And they were malicious comments… this is a truly despicable act.

Although I still feel he isn't a qualified leader, I won't deny his arrangements anymore.

I hope that one day I can muster the courage to formally apologize to him.

……Let me wait a while first, it'd be too awkward to say it now.

(At the very end of this passage, a name was forcefully written down—)

(【Cyril】)

……

"What was recorded was actually his own name?"

Herbert looked at that name, somewhat surprised by Cyril's composure.

This young man, not of great age, was not resenting others, but resenting himself.

Was he resenting his own immaturity for doing something foolish?

"He has also matured a great deal, no longer easily controlled by anger."

Herbert sighed with emotion, habitually flipping to the next page.

The last page:

……

No no no no!

He actually dared to touch my butt!

He even wanted to put his arm around my waist!

No!

I'm not clean anymore!

I'm not clean anymore!!!

Aaaaaaaaaah!

Kill! Kill! Kill!

I'll kill every last one of them!

Everyone!!!

……

"Hm?"

Miss Mise looked at the last page of Cyril's emotional breakdown with curiosity and asked, "What's wrong with him? Did something happen to him? How could he be this furious?"

"I don't know."

Not bothering to explain, Herbert shook his head without thinking and said casually, "Maybe he got sneak-attacked from behind?"

Put that way, it probably wasn't wrong.

And right after finishing reading the notes written on the last page, Herbert suddenly raised an eyebrow, changed direction, and flipped to the very last page of the entire Book of Hatred.

Then he froze.

"Sure enough, it's like this…"

The entire last page was densely covered with names, layer upon layer.

Different colored inks, some smeared with fresh blood, some carved in with a dagger.

All the same name.

After successfully taking revenge, Cyril felt no joy or peace, but only deeper regret and fury.

Cyril hated that person.

Hated everything about him.

Hated his powerlessness, his incompetence, his lack of strength, his wavering resolve… the Book of Hatred was filled with that unforgettable name.

【Cyril】 【Cyril】 【Cyril】 【Cyril】 【Cyril】……

All of them were his own name.

The person Cyril hated most had always been himself!

(End of this chapter)