Chapter 87: Calm Grass

"Free the goblinoids from the dragons' control? Impossible."

When this issue was raised, it received nothing but denials and confused responses.

Not only because the idea was too unbelievable and impossibly difficult, but also because

"What purpose does this project even serve?"

In this matter, Kuku had no allies—not even a single person who could understand him.

Over long years, he had gained some friends, many of whom bluntly urged him to give up.

"This folly is as absurd as telling birds not to fly or fish not to swim." To the world, goblinoids being enslaved by dragons was their nature.

"Since goblinoids first existed, they've always been this way for countless ages. You may be an exception, an oddity—but to try single-handedly to reverse an entire species' habits? Isn't that arrogance?" The words were harsh, but Kuku knew they were true—he was indeed arrogant.

Those who outright said "impossible" or "meaningless" were still relatively kind.

Most spellcasters simply ignored him, even treating him as a joke; the "stupid goblinoid" gradually became Kuku's nickname among high-ranking mages.

"It can be done. There must be some chance. Goblinoids aren't born slaves!"

"I want to try—even if failure is certain."

Even if we fail, we can leave behind some achievements—hand them down to those who come after.

"We've already succeeded in reversing the tide. There will always be another reverser."

"Yes, even if we only help the next reverser, we must try."

But when all outsiders rejected it, the Kukus affirmed it.

He was never alone.

Facing a project deemed death by countless high-ranking spellcasters, the Kukus grew restless.

One could call it goblinoid arrogance reborn, or the folly of a transmigrant—but since Kuku himself wanted to do it, let him do it.

"Failed. Divination magic offered no help—no trace of fate's guidance."

"Curse-removal spells were useless too. Feedback shows goblinoids are perfectly normal."

"What if we introduce other factors?" Yet every Kuku offered only failed beginnings.

At his peak, one Kuku was a mage tower—a team of dozens of expert master mages across every discipline.

Inside his mage tower, dozens of rapid-moving "Kukus" worked, using puppet avatars to split their focus, study, and conduct countless related experiments. Kusla's techniques had long been mature in that era—merely revived and reused.

The Kuku team worked overtime daily; each researcher was far from top-tier.

But unlike other research groups, their deep, heartfelt trust and cooperation, their direct mental-link knowledge exchange and synergy, was their greatest advantage.

Kuku himself could never reach the pinnacle in any single field—he might be third-rate or worse alone—but when uniting to solve hard problems, he became nearly invincible.

Many studies require no extraordinary talent—only sufficient knowledge accumulation, countless trials, and eliminations.

Soon, through endless trial and error, he found the key.

"The focus must return to the dragon realm—we need dragonologists, more and stronger ones."

To solve this, he had to return to the origin of goblinoids—the ancient, primordial beasts known as dragons.

To acquire the necessary abilities, several more Kukus specialized in dragonology. Even dragonology itself had countless branches and subfields; to build this knowledge base, Kuku spent over a decade.

Yet, the Kukus still made no substantive progress.

Finally, one day, they sensed the core issue.

"Bloodline power cannot be understood by mere observation."

"You must enter the game. You must enter the game."

"The best test subject remains only oneself."

At this point, Kuku—even as a dragon-blooded goblinoid—was already elderly, the very peak of his bloodline's power.

Some rumors claimed that dragon-blooded sorcerers, pushing their bloodline to its limit, could transform into dragons. This was no myth—only very few sorcerers ever truly took that step.

In a sense, it marked the final end of mortal life. Temporarily activating bloodline to become a dragon was relatively easy, but permanent transformation had an extremely low success rate—it equaled the evolution of an entire species.

But Kuku had no choice. He needed longer life, a dragon's perspective, and to fulfill his lifelong dream.

"Big bad dragon! Big bad dragon! Big fire dragon! Waaah!" Yet this one was a true century-old dragon-blooded lineage, with immense reserves of draconic knowledge.

One day, the goblinoid Kuku vanished. In his place appeared Kudraken, the multi-headed red dragon.

But this dragon was bizarre: he constantly muttered to himself, and often inexplicably cursed himself.

Most absurdly, he loved mingling with goblinoids—the weakest of creatures!

Normally, goblinoids yearned to become dragon servants; to dragons, goblinoids were nothing.

Their greatest value was as underground miners and cleaners. But most dragon territories had no mines, and even when they did, dragons often Lande to mine themselves.

Why dig raw ore and refine it when stealing finished goods was so much simpler?

A large red dragon actively recruiting goblinoids? Instantly, his lair was flooded by swarms of goblinoid tribes.

"How ironic—I've become the very thing I despised." Sighing, Kuku continued his experiments.

Now, the goblinoids who once rejected him wholeheartedly cooperated fully.

He became the enslaver of his own race. Under his control, countless goblinoids mutated; sorcerers and warriors were "forced" into brutal training. It was said that the goblinoid tribe capable of hunting subdragons emerged during his reign.

Finally, one day, he found the answer.

"Factors—elemental factors—the dragon factor. Dragons aren't flesh-and-blood creatures. They are factors—the fundamental building blocks of the world."

"Because they are factors, they can fuse with most lifeforms. Dragonkin and subdragons are ordinary lifeforms mutated by dragon factors."

"Because they are factors, they can be infinitely divided. If divided finely enough, aren't they the weakest, smallest dragons?"

His hypothesis was correct—the answer lay within dragons themselves.

"Goblinoids are dragons! Dragons! But only a drop—a single drop of dragon blood."

After analyzing countless dragon, subdragon, dragonkin, and mutated goblinoid genomes, Kuku found the answer.

Goblinoids were indeed true dragonkin, sharing too many similarities with true dragons.

"The difference is quantity and quality."

The Kukus had confirmed: the rumor of goblinoid origins was mostly true—they were products of "dragon blood."

If a true dragon was a colossal beast, a goblinoid was merely a drop of blood or a single cell.

Then, wouldn't it be natural for a cell or blood to seek its origin, yearning to become whole?

The more he studied, the closer Kuku drew to the essence of dragons.

"They—big bad dragons—are not mere physical beasts. They are magical beasts, aggregates of elements." Every drop of a dragon's blood contained the essence of elements.

They were the particles composing the world, the source driving elemental tides.

The relationship between dragons and goblinoids was, in a sense, that of an "elemental lord" to an "ordinary elemental being."

Like the ocean to a water droplet—it naturally holds the right to command.

Or rather, a beast and the beast-kin infused with its blood.

These hypotheses were finally verified—irrefutable, ironclad proof.

He used his own blood to create a batch of goblinoids. Watching those lively little creatures bow and serve him, Kuku felt nauseated.

His own race was merely a magical construct—a doll molded by someone's hand.

"What should I do?" Should he continue? Could he continue?

Can a child defy its father? Can a cell rebel against the whole? Artificial possibility isn't zero—but it's infinitesimally close.

"We must suppress our nature! Suppress our nature!"

Thus, his research plunged into even more insane territory—he tried to free his race from its nature and bloodline.

He succeeded. And he failed.

He infused stronger, specialized dragon factors, creating the bizarre goblinoid branch known as "Dragon-Winged Long-Tailed Ones." They no longer responded to bloodline summons. If these two-meter-tall, mountain- and hell-dwelling subhumans could still be called goblinoids…

In a sense, he could be called the man who single-handedly created a new race.

By the way, it was said the legendary Hellish Goblinoids had some connection to him.

"Two ways to escape nature: one, dilute bloodline concentration and suppress draconic traits; two, introduce another attribute to induce mutation."

The first was extremely difficult—how do you turn sugared water into plain water? But if you add coffee powder to sugared water and make sweet coffee, the difficulty drops drastically. Hence, the Dragon-Winged Long-Tailed Zuqun emerged.

But he still failed.

"Why reject? You'll become slightly strange—but more perfect, wiser, stronger."

His efforts were outright rejected. Even the successfully transformed Dragon-Winged Long-Tailed Ones attacked him.

"Sorcery of evil! What have you done?!" The one who had once been a goblinoid could not accept his now elf-like, grotesque face.

"I can't feel the dragon anymore! I can't feel the dragon anymore!" Severed from his bloodline, she drew her sword and chose suicide.

"Aaah, I'm not a dragon anymore—I'm just a monster!" More "goblinoids" roared at their benefactor.

Before these enraged new lifeforms and the goblinoid tribes they led, the multi-headed dragon fled—easily capable of destroying them, yet fleeing anyway.

Like a stray dog, he ran.

As he flew, he wept bitterly.

"They don't need it. They don't need it."

In that moment, Kuku felt his life was a joke—if they were born to be enslaved, why should he free them?

He recalled the initial judgment others had given him: "arrogant."

"Was I too arrogant? Did I have no right to decide for them?"

If they despised so-called freedom, why should he grant it?

He sank into despair for a long, long time—eventually falling into a slumber lasting decades.

"Perhaps… what needs saving isn't the body, but the mind." Suddenly, a thought flashed through his sleep—he awoke.

Is there any life that should be enslaved from birth? Could they only accept dragon slavery because of inherited bloodline, because their elders taught them so?

Many young people stray off the path in their youth, but didn't they later find their way back?

Perhaps, even if one has been fully brainwashed, exposure to enough ideas and knowledge can still change them.

Thus, the Many-Headed Dragon vanished once more, and a "Dog-Headed One" wandered the entire world.

It was first called "Kudraken, the Meddler."

He still went to the tribes of "evil beings" in the wild wastes, but this time not to learn magic, but to spread magic and knowledge.

Most life forms crave power—he could give it to them.

The wise among tribes often seek knowledge and wisdom—he could give that too.

Even mere "common sense" like repairing houses or gathering more fruit, he would teach them.

But this time, he held no preconceived stance—he simply watched what they would do after gaining these things.

He taught the so-called bandit races how to farm and craft; taught centaur bandits how to herd and alter weather; taught ogres new recipes; taught dog-headed ones how to tame dragons—too much to list.

Some succeeded; most failed.

Some tribes became villages; some towns became fortresses; some ideas took root; others mutated.

This time, he merely witnessed it, and recorded it.

At some point, he seemed to have let go, and no longer focused solely on dog-headed tribes.

Perhaps, in his eyes now, dog-headed ones were merely a past kind of his own.

As long as someone sought his guidance, he was willing to give.

He did not know how far he had walked, how many disciples he had taught, or how much knowledge and magic he had spread. When he was mysteriously called the Dog-Headed Sage, he only grinned foolishly.

Had anything changed?

"No, the world is too vast." He took a deep breath and set out again.

He already knew: dog-headed ones could not be saved—when they did not feel suffering, and eagerly embraced their enslavement, they could not be saved.

"Sentient beings have the potential to choose their future. Only when they save themselves can they be saved. When someone asks me for help, I will save them." He kept moving forward—perhaps, simply because he no longer wished to see another tribe that took enslavement as honor.

Soon after, the turning point of the age arrived: someone truly came to him for help.

"Sage, can you help cure Blood Rage?"

Blood Rage was a common disease among beastfolk, often appearing in carnivorous races like wolves, tigers, and leopards.

Those afflicted would transform into man-eating beasts; their first victims were often their mates. Once it struck, there was little chance of return.

In essence, it was because the "beast" bloodline still existed within their flesh, easily activated by accident.

"This is not a disease—it's atavism," Kudraken realized. This was the product of their "beast nature" being activated.

Suddenly, he became interested.

These beastfolk, driven by instinct—weren't they exactly like dog-headed ones? But they were trying to change; they were rejecting their own nature!

Earlier, it was mentioned: "weakening bloodline/instinct" was also a way to escape one's nature. Perhaps this time, he could try.

But it was still far too difficult.

Not impossible—he, specializing in alchemy, could brew potions to suppress beast nature.

"But the cost…" He had already achieved similar results while studying dog-headed ones; he was merely retrieving them now.

Long-term use of this potion would bankrupt even the wealthiest archmages, and suppressing beast nature required lifelong control.

So he tried to reduce the cost—he vaguely sensed that if beast nature could be suppressed long-term and stably inherited, future generations' beast nature and Blood Rage rates would naturally decline.

Perhaps, one day, it would vanish entirely.

It was similar to turning wolves into dogs, yet also like curing a genetic disease—it needed only time and effort, and Kudraken had plenty of both.

"The potion has been improved to its limit; three main ingredients remain far too expensive."

"No materials? Then make them. Use alchemists', herbalists', and druids' methods—grow these herbs from scratch, enhance their reproduction, lower their cost."

Kudraken understood: this might be a task spanning at least a century, perhaps one only he could complete.

His Kudraken army now included druids, herbalists, gardeners. This archmage, who had never taken part in the Heaven-Hell Blood War, spent all his time among grasses and fields.

"Cost reduced to one-tenth." The potion could not be improved further.

But it was still not enough.

To eradicate this disease from every member of the race, the potion's cost must be as cheap as weeds.

"Then make it a weed." Kudraken said.

"Yes, we'll do it together—no matter how long it takes." This time, those who answered him were no longer just the Kudrakens.

Unknowingly, too many researchers and followers had gathered behind him.

Herbalists, druids, life mages, archmages of all schools—under the call of the Sage "Kudraken," too many had devoted half their lives to this project.

The project's product—the "Blood Rage Cure"—no longer targeted only beastfolk with Blood Rage.

It could help northern barbarians escape rage and frenzy; help dragonkin overcome bloodlust; help ogres abandon cannibalism; help dwarves… too many who refused to submit to their nature and instincts sought this redemption.

"We must complete it," said the Great Sage Kudraken.

"Reduce its cost—ideally concentrate its effects into one simple herb, one that grows like a weed, reproduces freely, and costs nothing."

Others thought it absurd, but Kudraken believed it possible.

Merely endless cycles of breeding, hybridization, and selection—he, now a Grand Druid, could do it himself.

He had time—at least, he thought he did.

Did he succeed?

He did not know—he died on the road, in the plane war brought by the surge of magical tides.

"Don't kill me—I'm almost done, almost there." It was said to be the sage's final words.

Butchers mocked his weakness, laughed that a top archmage died so easily, mocked that a dragon's claw had grown so dull. They flaunted his dragon hide—yet in the end, they met no good end.

Kudraken died.

But his "Tranquil Grass" project did not seem to end.

After the war, someone must have inherited his research.

"Go! Ask me—do you have the 'Blood Rage Cure'?" The revived Kudraken was desperate.

"No. What's that? I've never heard of it." The shopkeeper delivered the heaviest blow.

It was hard to say what emotion Kudraken felt upon awakening to learn his life's work had vanished.

"Ask him—do you have Tranquil Grass?"

In what despair, with what final hope, did he ask this?

"Tranquil Grass? It's worthless—grows everywhere outside the city. If you want it, just grab a handful."

In that moment, he burst into pure, heartfelt joy—and immediately boosted Li En's satisfaction by a huge amount.

"I succeeded. My life, finally, succeeded once."

"Enough. It's enough."

The life of the "most humble great one" felt satisfaction for the first time.

When the numb Li En awoke from the dream, he hesitated.

Finally, he spoke.

"Your medicine is gone. Your name left no trace. Even Tranquil Grass is worthless. Is that truly enough? Shall I help spread your legacy?"

But Kudraken didn't care at all.

"No. Foolish. As a healer and researcher, the moment you realize your medicine has vanished—that's when you're happiest. It means I cured it! Forever! The medicine is no longer needed!"

Suddenly, Kudraken changed tone—what he truly desired still lay ahead.

"Besides, it hasn't vanished. Its revised formula now treats post-feral syndrome as 'Ice Tranquil Potion,' insomnia and agitation as 'Sleeping Potion,' and tames beasts as 'Tranquil Potion.'"

"Ha, my success is woven into history and civilization. What could be sweeter than that?"

"By the way, new research—new research—I don't have much time. You must help me! Help me!"

(End of Chapter)