Chapter 25: The King and the Wizard

It should have been the Red Horn Tribe kobolds battling the Giant Snake earlier, the noise they made drawing the kobolds' attention.

Only they had to wait until everything settled before daring to sneak off and investigate.

But when they went to look, the Hui Chang Jing Sheng Zhu was already nowhere to be found.

So the question is, why did it disappear? Did it run off on its own? But why would it run? Luge puzzled over it to no avail. Think as he might, in the end he could only reluctantly chalk it up to the Red Horn Tribe kobolds — perhaps the Giant Snake had been frightened by this Red Horn Tribe warrior, or perhaps what the Giant Snake truly feared was the Kobold King of the Red Horn Tribe who had yet to show himself.

A good destination for a bald kobold instantly surfaced in Luge's mind.

"Bald... Big Guy, do you have a name?" he said.

The bald kobold looked blank, as if sensing Luge's heat he was stunned for a moment, then hurriedly cooperated by shaking his head.

Most kobolds go their whole lives without a name, and don't need one; Dasha having a nickname already counts as a decent situation — at least it proves there's still a trace, a certain feature in the tribe, unlike those tens of thousands of kobolds who all look the same and never return after going out with a hunting party once.

And the more personable Aijin possesses a proper name only because of Old Gold Tooth's existence.

In Old Gold Tooth's words, Aijin is a Bitter Sweet — a dark elf dessert forcibly rendered into Kobold Language, pronunciation not accurate.

"Tu Ya, you are our new King! The Hairless King! From now on, remember, you are our Hairless Saint Lord!"

Bolstered by Bull Strength, he forcefully patted the bald kobold's shoulder, knocking this fellow who was propping himself up on his elbows with a vacant stare off balance, almost making him lie back down in a daze.

At Luge's signal, Aijin rather reluctantly produced a grass skirt and a long stick.

"These are your marks as King, the King's scepter, the King's holy vestments — take them now, go conquer the kobolds here! Let them witness your power!"

As he spoke he shoved the things into the bald kobold's arms, grabbed his arm and forcibly hauled him up.

The kobold who now bore the name Tu Ya was momentarily unable to process it all.

"I, I don't have your power, the King's command—"

"Right! Of course you haven't forgotten the King's command! The Kobold King of the Red Horn Tribe is still waiting for you," Luge said solemnly. "You want the King to stop looking down on you for being stupid? Then listen to me. Become the King here, protect this place, protect this small tribe's kobolds. Only by trying to be a small King yourself can you truly help the Kobold King, truly make him no longer disappointed in you. You prove you can protect us, and then we'll consider going with you! The King will surely be happy, the King will surely praise you!"

A Secret Technique Mark quietly remained on Tu Ya's arm, gradually fading until invisible.

Luge even wanted to set up a Spell Contract or the like, but unfortunately he didn't know how, and Kalu's Diary contained no specific Spell Contract knowledge either, so he could only leave a Secret Technique Mark as a token — when nearby he could still sense Tu Ya's approximate location.

With Dasha's help, Tu Ya shook off the last of the ice chunks, piled some longer fur at his waist and wrapped the grass skirt around it.

A hairless kobold seems even uglier by a notch.

But Tu Ya is plenty sturdy; the lack of fur instead highlights a ferocious, rugged air — ugly to a new height.

Soon the kobolds' cries of surprise rose and fell in succession.

The tribe's main settlement is indeed here, but there are also a few smaller ones elsewhere. Dasha is currently accompanying Tu Ya left and right, tasked with showing the new King the way. Dasha has been appointed King's Guard once more, formally resuming his old post — only this time the appointer is Luge, and the newly born King won't object either.

Luge also told Tu Ya that when he encounters difficult decisions or things he doesn't understand, he should come here and consult Old Gold Tooth; lastly, not to bother him lightly — if something truly comes up, Aijin knows where he'll be.

While the kobolds were witnessing the rise of a new King the likes of which they had never seen or imagined.

Luge finally, alone, arrived at the place he had long yearned for.

Known to every kobold in the tribe — the biggest cave here, the Holy Ground that kobolds cannot lightly set foot in, belonging to the Master.

The astonishingly large Big Cave can be called the palace of every generation's Saint Lord.

In his view, it is also every generation's Master's dining hall, bedroom, garbage dump, or whatever else.

The so-called dependent object is sometimes powerful but not highly intelligent Underground Beasts. So inside this Big Cave belonging to generations of Saint Lords, everywhere are bones large and small left over from meals, like small mountains.

Who knows how many years this group of kobolds has occupied this place; after so many years of accumulation, most of the Big Cave has reached the point where it's hard to find footing.

Generations of Saint Lords had their own preferences; some just ate their fill and slept, woke up and ate.

Others liked to collect, collecting all sorts of strange things; when kobolds encountered such a Master they would rack their brains to offer up whatever they'd scavenged.

Crack!

He seemed to be enjoying a solo sightseeing tour, his feet occasionally crushing a bone fragment that had already turned crisp, walking along while tilting his head to look around.

"It really left?"

He circled more than halfway around; at a bone fragment pile, judging by the Hui Chang Jing Sheng Zhu's build and the traces left here, this should be where it usually lay to rest. Searching carefully, he could still see a few gray-white scales in the gaps of the bone piles.

"This is?"

He forcefully pried aside the nearby bones with both hands.

An egg!

Did it come here just to lay an egg?

A human-head-sized egg — for the Hui Chang Jing Sheng Zhu's massive frame, wouldn't that be too small?

Not finding the black fruit, finding an egg isn't bad either.

He cupped the egg in both hands; it was icy to the touch, and the instant he held it he sensed this was a Dead Egg — Spiritual Power spreading out detected not a shred of life inside.

Just as he was disappointed, movement came from his waist.

After the incident with the female elf last time, he had already tucked the Storage Bag and Cultivation Bag into the leather seams of his shorts to conceal them.

"You want to eat it?"

He held the Dead Egg up to the Cultivation Bag's opening.

"But you're an egg yourself, and it's bigger than you — you haven't even hatched, how can you eat it?" He shook the Cultivation Bag in his hand.

Anxious emotions immediately came from inside the bag; faint Spiritual Power fluctuations continuously passed through the slightly open bag mouth.

Unable to endure the Insect Egg's fussing, he treated it as a normal feeding — Spiritual Power linking the Cultivation Bag, a thought in his mind, and the Dead Egg was successfully taken into the Cultivation Bag; the Insect Egg quieted down in an instant.

Won't it get crushed? He thought.

The Cultivation Bag shook slightly, as if guessing what he was thinking, reassuring him, reporting safety.

He took another simple lap.

The chaotic environment — truly nothing good discovered; he decided not to waste more time, and handed this mission to Dasha and Aijin.

He then returned to his own Three-passage Master Bedroom, continuing to study the adorable Magic Skin Technique. As he left he happened to hear cheers from behind — seemed the tribe's kobolds were escorting the new King, arriving at the Holy Cave to celebrate from the other side's Passage.

He leaned against his accustomed spot, single-mindedly holding the book; the Magic Skin Technique's tome turned slowly in his hands, page-turn frequency growing faster and faster, yet only his hands moved, eyes as if they would not blink, fixed on the pages, the rise and fall of his breath barely perceptible, the angle of his elbows, the curve of his neck — as if his whole person had frozen, poised to pounce into that book.

(Chapter End)