Slime Immortal

Chen Yu thought about it carefully and felt that it was indeed a good idea, and couldn't help but exclaim in admiration.

"Lord Bran is indeed the wisest minister in the kingdom."

It just so happens that the construction of the underground passage connecting to the Root Language Forest is progressing smoothly and will be completed soon. At that time, a stable food transportation passage connecting the kingdom's territory and the Root Language Forest can be established underground.

However, whether the deal can be reached depends on Arthur.

Chapter 121 Arthur in Spy Form

What is the essence of trading?

The answer was once engraved on the scales of Dennis, the most prosperous city in the White Horse Kingdom, by the Visagi people who wandered the continent - value is born from scarcity, and exchange ends with satisfaction.

These merchants, known for their shrewdness, who travel between the mountains and deserts of Ze'arila, firmly believe that when all the fancy ceremonies and false promises are stripped away, trade is reduced to its bare bones—a give and take, an exchange of mutually needed items.

An old Visage broker will narrow his cloudy but sharp eyes and tell you that the most successful transaction is when both parties feel they have gained an advantage - you get what you lack, I get what I desire, and the scales of desire reach a brief and delicate balance at that moment.

This is true in the marketplaces of men, the mines of dwarves, and even the ethereal treetop halls of elves.

Gold coins, food, mithril, magic scrolls... the demands are varied, but they are all tangible and can be measured, valued, and placed on the trays at both ends of the scale.

So the question is, when the trading partners are the elves and grimmlings in the Dryad Territory, what will they need?

This is the question Chen Yu is thinking about.

"Your Majesty, what do you think of those moss monsters?"

When talking about bugs, Earl Bran couldn't stop drooling, which dripped onto the Red Slime's head and evaporated with a "sizzle".

"If I were to say, these sweet and soft bugs are the most precious goods in the world. Feeding the moss monsters with mushrooms grown by Grimlin and then trading them is definitely a sure-win business." It said in a very confident tone.

"Cough cough..."

Chen Yu didn't want to break Lord Bran's dream, but he was sure that the elves in the dryad territory would not be interested in these weird-looking, twisting insects.

"Let Arthur answer this question. He happens to be in the Dryad territory and should know better than us what those elves and Grimlins need."

……

Broome farmhouse backyard.

At this moment, Arthur was standing in a small, neatly cultivated woodland behind the house, clumsily imitating old Bloom's movements and turning over the moist black soil with a small wooden hoe.

His movements were stiff, more like plowing the ground with a lance than loosening the soil, but each blow of the hoe was done with meticulous force, as if he were performing some sacred ritual.

Old Bloom was watching from the side, the soul fire in his eye sockets holding a helpless smile. He was bending over to bury a few glowing orange tubers in the soil.

Suddenly, Arthur stopped moving.

The small slime on his shoulder moved slightly, as if waking up from a deep sleep, and then whispered something.

Arthur immediately stopped what he was doing.

"Your Majesty...you want me to observe their lives?"

The little slime bounced lightly on his shoulder armor, the amplitude was small but with certainty.

"That's right, Arthur. Look at these Grimlins, look at the Elves, look at the Blooms, even look at the trees...what do they need and what do they pursue in their daily lives."

"Only by figuring this out can we know how to impress Lady Viola and exchange it for the food the territory desperately needs."

"Understood, Your Majesty."

Arthur's inner voice was solemn, as if he was receiving a military order that concerned the survival of the kingdom.

Old Bloom straightened up, patted his non-existent lower back with his palm, and sighed.

"Oh, time is really taking its toll on my old bones..."

He looked up at Arthur, noticed the subtle movement of the slime on his shoulder, and asked curiously, "Mr. Arthur, is this... your lord awake?"

Arthur was silent for a few seconds.

He was not good at speaking, let alone lying or making excuses.

With His Majesty's tacit consent to "make it up as you see fit," he organized his words and replied in a hoarse yet serious tone, "...Yes, Your Majesty just had a nightmare."

"puff……"

In the nearby field, a Grimlin who was weaving a straw basket couldn't help but giggle, covering his mouth with his hands.

Old Bloom just laughed and didn't ask any more questions.

He looked up at the sky. The originally clear sky was now covered with dark gray clouds, and the light in the forest quickly dimmed.

"Looking at the weather, I'm afraid it's going to rain a lot. Forget it, let's stop here for today and call it a day, so as not to get soaked to the skin... uh, soaked bones."

The two men packed up their simple farm tools and walked along the ridge towards the farmhouse.

The air before the rain carried the smell of moist earth, and the wind in the forest grew stronger.

After walking in silence for a while, Arthur suddenly spoke up, "Mr. Bloom, do humans normally enter the Rootwhisper forest?"

"Human?" Old Bloom carried a pitchfork and walked steadily.

"Of course not. Those adventurous guys and businessmen who run around sniffing out money are like moles in the forest, they can get into anything."

"Especially some brave ones who set out from the ruins of the southeastern outpost and crossed the narrow and dangerous 'Rift Throat Canyon' on the outskirts of the Underdark, just to run to us."

"What are they doing here?" Arthur demanded.

"Let's trade."

Old Bloom said in a relaxed tone, "The elves are skilled in craftsmanship. They use the forest's unique star grass and ancient tree sap to craft 'elven scrolls'. Although they are much more expensive than ordinary scrolls, the enchantment is gentle and long-lasting. They are very popular among human mages and nobles, and can fetch a high price."

"Some merchants even come specifically to buy Grimlin's woven straw baskets and rattan objects, claiming they are 'natural art' and can be sold as luxury goods in the city."

"We use these things to exchange for things that aren't found in the forest, like fine iron tools, durable salt, and strong cloth. Sometimes we even get some rare seeds or small gadgets."

Arthur's soul fire flickered slightly.

Salt...cloth...this seems to be the direction.

Just as he was about to ask what specific supplies were in short supply in the territory, or what foreign objects the elves were more interested in, he suddenly heard a panicked sound from the front.

"Whoa-!"

"Uncle Bloom! Lady Iselin!"

"There's a fight ahead...a lot of bones and greenskins!"

Several Grimlings came running in panic from the edge of the forest, their large amber eyes filled with fear, and they had dropped one of their small baskets.

Behind them, a team of well-equipped elven rangers were hurriedly heading in the same direction with the solemn-looking Iselin.

The elves moved swiftly and silently, but the tense atmosphere was palpable.

Old Bloom's face suddenly became serious.

"Here we go again, Mr. Arthur. Want to know what we lack the most or what bothers us the most? Come with me and you'll find out."

Arthur nodded immediately, protecting the little slime on his shoulder with one hand, and strode to follow old Bloom.

Iselin seemed to sense their approach and glanced back, her eyes lingering on Arthur for a moment, but she did not speak to stop them.

The group quickly passed through the woods and arrived at the edge of the Root Whisper Forest near the Dark Land.

The sight before him made Arthur pause.

It was obvious that this place had just experienced a brutal battle. There were a large number of broken and rotten bones scattered on the ground, as if left by some low-level skeleton warriors.

There were also many goblin corpses torn apart by sharp blades.

Broken weapons, shattered shields, and trampled poisonous weeds and traps were everywhere.

The elven rangers were carefully cleaning up the battlefield, checking for any missed creatures or residual magic.

And Iselin walked quickly towards several huge oak trees at the edge of the battlefield that looked particularly withered.

Their trunks were covered with deep scratches and charred burn marks, and several thick branches hung limply.

Iselin gently placed her hand on the trunk of the most seriously injured oak tree, chanting a melodious and soothing elven spell.

A soft emerald green light flowed from her palm like a warm stream, slowly seeping into the wound on the tree trunk.

The tree trunk emitted a low, humming sound, like a painful groan. The charred part of the wound began to fall off, and fresh bark slowly grew and healed at a speed visible to the naked eye.

Old Bloom, carrying a pitchfork, stood beside Arthur, watching this scene and sighing heavily, his tone full of helplessness and heartache:

"Ah... you see, Mr. Arthur, our forest looks like a paradise, but it's located right between the swamps of the Western Swamp and the pile of bones in the Underdark. It's also right next to the Stone Pass where the green-skinned dwarves of the Goblin Legion come in and out."

"Every now and then, there are small groups of low-level undead and goblins wandering around and causing damage. It's impossible to defend against them. These little guys always get hurt, which is quite a headache."

"Can't we use the Elf Scroll for protection?"

Old Bloom smacked his lips. "I don't think you understand. Elf scrolls are expensive and rare. Even Miss Iselin was reluctant to use them. She traded them all with those humans. How could there be any left?"

Arthur listened quietly, his eyes sweeping over the tree people groaning in pain, and a flash of enlightenment came to his mind.

He seemed to know what the Dryad Territory needed most.

Chapter 122 The Art of Dealing

"Rumble..."

The summer rain comes suddenly, and it pours down in an instant. The gloomy dark clouds swallow up the moonlight and the starry sky, leaving only dull thunder rolling over the swamp.

In the warm and dry tree house, Earl Bran was deftly flipping the moss monster on the grill with his beak.

The fat drips into the fire, making an enticing sizzling sound and emitting an attractive aroma.

In the firelight, a silly-looking little crocodile lay close to the grill, its tail unconsciously slapping the ground, making an expectant and satisfied purring sound, its big amber eyes fixed on the sizzling delicacy.

"That doesn't make sense!"

Earl Bran was flipping the roast while muttering unwillingly, his little head tilted, his black bean-like eyes full of doubts about the elves' taste.

"This thing is baked thoroughly, crispy on the outside and tender on the inside. It's absolutely the best. Those elves living in the trees must have their noses clogged with pollen. They really don't know what's good."

It scratched the golden-baked skin of the moss monster with its claws, with a look of disappointment on its face.

"Kaka!"

Little Kashi agreed strongly, his saliva almost dripping from the corners of his mouth.