Chapter 98

Kalanfur, outskirts.

A breeze blew, and unknown wildflowers swayed gently; their delicate petals appeared exceptionally vibrant against the backdrop of the surrounding greenery.

The mushroom at the edge of the wall was slightly larger than before by two circles, and upon careful observation, one could discover that two clusters of tiny miscellaneous fungi had grown on either side of its roots deep in the soil.

It was still that same small wooden house nestled among the flower beds.

Quiet, peaceful.

Today, following the halfling and the young adventurer from a month ago, it welcomed another guest.

A burly, rugged-looking Barbarian.

"Knock, knock, knock."

Fugang knocked on the door lightly, and the grass clippings stained on his arms were shaken off, drifting down onto the surface of the stone steps before the door.

Behind the door, slow and dull footsteps could be heard.

Creak—

The hinges rubbed together, emitting a harsh sound.

A gaunt, hunched old man slowly opened the door.

As if he had long known of the Barbarian's visit, there was not the slightest hint of surprise in the old man's single eye, which was as murky and dim as a mud puddle.

A strange smile appeared on his aged face, which was covered in layers of skin folds and age spots.

"You've come?" He turned his body to the side, yielding the path into the house.

"Come in; it's too cold outside."

It was the height of midsummer, and while the temperature might have dropped due to the approaching night, it could hardly be described as "cold."

At this moment, no one cared about such trivial details.

As if he were truly just a traveler visiting temporarily, Fugang had no expression on his face as he squeezed through the door frame and walked into the house.

"Sit down first; I'll pour you a cup of tea."

The old man greeted him, rummaging through the cupboard to find a wooden cup.

The Barbarian did not reply, and it seemed he did not intend to sit down either.

A gaze so cold it could freeze boiling water swept across the narrow and cozy living room.

"This is the helper you found?"

A hoarse voice, like the depths of a northern winter wind, rang out in the air.

Fugang's gaze rested by the fireplace.

A priest dressed in judge-style robes with a kind face was squinting his eyes, sitting peacefully on the sofa.

In his hand was a reddish-brown wooden staff embedded with a bright yellow crystal, and the Sun Holy Emblem hanging around his neck swayed slightly with the rise and fall of his chest as he breathed.

"Mixing with this kind of trash." The Barbarian's tone carried a hint of mockery, "Has Amanata fallen to this point?"

Not minding the sarcasm in the other's words, the priest's expression remained kind, and he smiled:

"The Lord's radiance shines equally upon all living beings."

Not intending to waste breath on such a zealot who was no different from a madman.

Fugang looked toward the front, at the old man who was holding a cup of steaming tea with a calm expression.

"Are you ready?"

Without answering, the hunched old man lowered his body with some difficulty and sat into the soft sofa, letting out a comfortable groan.

"I'm getting old; even going into town to have a cup of tea with friends feels tiring."

"And having to trouble others to come over in person, I'm truly sorry."

The priest sitting opposite nodded and chuckled.

The twilight outside the window landed on the surface of the crystal at the top of his wooden staff, refracting a brilliant luster.

It seemed he had only just noticed that the Barbarian had not sat down.

The old man beckoned to him, pointing to the seat specially left empty beside him.

"Why are you still standing there? Do you dislike that my place is small?"

In the warm room, a bone-chilling cold wind suddenly blew.

Fugang's ice-blue eyes stared coldly at the two people before him.

His thick arm lifted slightly, reaching toward his waist.

His five fingers curled shut.

The obsidian hatchet was gripped tightly in his palm.

"I asked you, are you ready?"

The old man suddenly sighed.

He placed the teacup in his hand gently on the table.

"You are a Highlander; you should know."

"In the North, there is a plant called the Ice Crystal Flower."

"Unlike other types of vegetation in the area, it grows very quickly and does not need to take root in the soil to absorb nutrients."

"With just a handful of snow, it can mature in six days."

On the wooden table where the tea set was placed, a hint of purple appeared at some unknown time.

Those were wisps of tiny fungal hyphae, breeding and spreading.

"But unfortunately, like a defective product casually molded by the Goddess of Nature, the lifespan of an Ice Crystal Flower is only seven days in total."

"After blooming, it withers."

As if possessing life consciousness, the hyphae wriggled and entangled with each other, gradually climbing upward along the bottom of the cup.

"Don't say, this actually happens to fit the style of you Northern Barbarians; I remember some tribes even treated this plant as a totem."

"Right?"

Just like a retired adventurer recalling past glories in front of a young person, a nostalgic expression appeared on the old man's face.

"I saw quite a lot of them back then."

"No offense intended, but I have to say, you Barbarians truly lack a bit of a spirit for research."

"A plant with almost zero requirements for its growth environment that can mature in seven days, and you don't even think about cultivating or studying it."

"For hundreds, thousands of years, just leaving it on the altar to be worshipped—it's too wasteful."

The mammoth ivory bone spurs nailed into his chest sent waves of excruciating pain that felt as if they would pierce his heart; the overlapping wolf-bite marks on his chest were like a vortex formed of pale flames, tearing at his flesh and soul;

Breathing, the bone-tooth ornaments collided and tapped against each other, emitting a faint and crisp mournful sound; the delicate iron chain around his neck seemed to still retain the girl's body temperature, becoming increasingly scalding, as if it were about to melt his skin.

"So, did you succeed?"

The Barbarian's voice was incredibly deep, his burly body standing still.

The eyes, shrouded in the shadows cast by his towering brow bones, were like two flickering, ghostly blue flames.

"Just a little bit off."

On the old man's face, which was as rough as tree bark and covered in wrinkles, a look of regret appeared.

His gaunt, stick-like fingertips slowly pointed toward the teacup on the table.

As if there were some invisible attraction, the hyphae that had already swallowed the entire wooden cup twisted and extended flesh-bud-like fine tentacles toward his finger.

"Otherwise, I wouldn't have come here to find those green-skins."

"What about those people who died on the ice sheet?"

"Necessary sacrifices."

The hunched, withered old man shrugged casually.

The regret on his face had already vanished, as if all the lives lost because of this were not worth as much as those few withered Ice Crystal Flowers.

Whoosh—

A biting, extreme cold wind suddenly erupted, blowing away the dark purple spores that had been quietly filling the air.

A long, terrifying wolf howl, accompanied by the massive beast shadow emerging behind the Barbarian, suppressed the holy light containing the Sun God's power firmly.

In the reflection on the pitch-black surface of the axe blade was that holy fire, deep in the ruins of the tribe, which was about to be extinguished.

"Crack."

The faint sound of ice and snow melting.

Amidst the cold wind and wolf howls, beneath the ice layer, was that rage that had been suppressed for countless days and nights.

"It seems you are already prepared..."

"Bartholomew!"

(End of chapter)