The next morning.

Dawn was faint, sunlight piercing the thin mist between the trees. Rootwhisper Forest seemed to be waking from sleep, droplets of dew forming like bleary tears on the leaves.

A brown-backed tit flitted across a low-hanging branch, splashing crystalline dew onto the mushroom roof with a soft pat.

Inside Old Bloom’s farmhouse, Arthur sat by the window, meticulously polishing every inch of his bone lance, tending to this old companion that had saved his life many times.

On his cold pauldron, the little Slime opened his sleepy eyes.

“Good morning, Arthur.”

“Good morning, Your Majesty.” Arthur saluted devoutly.

“You’ve been away so long. Did something happen in the territory?”

“Not really. I just captured a wild boar, enslaved a few goblins, cleared a forest path, and built a decent fortress in the Dungeon…”

“I heard the Dungeon connects in all directions, even linking to the Goblin Army’s mines. I was planning to assemble troops to check it out, but unfortunately you weren’t there.”

After hearing this, Arthur’s admiration grew.

That workload… even the Undead would feel intimidated.

Yet His Majesty brushed it off in a single casual sentence.

His Majesty is so diligent…

Chen Yu heard his thoughts and smiled without speaking.

This is just everyday work for the builder brothers.

“Knock knock, creak—”

At that moment the vine door was knocked open. Old Bloom pushed it aside, grass in his mouth and a pitchfork over his shoulder as he stepped in.

“Morning, Sir Arthur, and… Lord.” Old Bloom forced himself to get used to how to address the Slime.

“Lady Viola sent word. She asks that both of you come over.”

He stepped aside and gestured toward the door, “Lady Eserin is nearby. She came personally to lead the way.”

Outside, Eserin Moonshadow’s figure appeared.

This elven mage of Rootwhisper Forest was tall and slim, her silver hair a hallmark of moon elves, her face almost perfectly sculpted.

She entered and, as her gaze swept over the Undead Knight inside, she slightly furrowed her brow.

“Mr. Bloom, are these the guests Lady Viola wishes to see?”

Her voice was cold and clear like an icy spring, flat in tone, and she did not look directly at Arthur, as if speaking to empty air.

Old Bloom nodded.

“Yes, Lady Eserin. This is Knight Arthur, and the one on his shoulder is the lord of the Eastern Swamp.”

Eserin’s gaze lingered on the little Slime for less than half a second before she spoke.

“Guests, please follow me.”

Eserin turned and led the way, exiting the farmhouse and heading deeper into the forest.

Old Bloom hurriedly led Arthur after her and, worried about any misunderstandings, muttered at a volume only Arthur could hear.

“Elves are all like that, especially toward… uh, you know, not intentionally giving attitude.”

“Understood.”

Arthur answered and then fell silent again. He didn’t care about such things;

he was only thinking about not causing His Majesty any trouble.

Old Bloom, on the other hand, felt a bit helpless watching two mute wooden logs. The only one who could actually communicate, the Slime Lord, couldn’t speak.

That made him even more downcast.

When did the younger Undead start acting cold and playing the handsome silent type?

Sigh, being a guide isn’t easy.

Eserin led the way with steady, graceful steps, eyes straight ahead.

They followed behind, and before long they left the farmhouse’s domestic smells and ventured into the heart of Rootwhisper Forest.

The further they went, the more the soft ground was covered with a thick bed of gold-and-red maple leaves and strangely shaped fallen foliage, which rustled faintly underfoot.

Sunlight filtered through layer upon layer of leaves, casting tiny flecks of gold-foil light across the leaf-strewn ground.

The surroundings were exceptionally quiet, broken only by footsteps, distant indistinct birdcalls, and the crisp drip of dew falling from higher branches.

The Glimmerlings living in the forest had also learned of this strange visitor. They peeked out from under huge mushroom caps, their gray-green heads poking up as they curiously but timidly examined the group.

When Eserin passed, they relaxed slightly.

But when Arthur drew near, their amber eyes immediately filled with wariness, and like frightened rabbits they quickly retracted their heads.

“So scary, looks so fierce.”

“What kind of Slime is that? I want to hold it.”

Arthur remained silent, indifferent.

Old Bloom, however, chuckled, “Let Old Bloom see which little fellows dare hide here. I’ll go catch them now.”

“Uncle’s going to catch people, run!”

“Don’t catch me!”

The little ones shrieked and scattered like rabbits.

Without the little ones’ interruptions, they soon passed through the glowing mushroom area, and the front opened up. The sound of flowing water became clearer.

A crystal-clear stream sparkled in the morning light like scattered diamonds as it wound along.

On the far bank stood the colossal ancient tree that served as Viola’s residence, towering like a deity.

The trunk’s diameter would take dozens of people to encircle;

its roots sank deep into the earth, its vast canopy blotting out the sky as if supporting the heavens.

Around this giant tree, a series of treehouses and vine bridges were cleverly constructed.

Arthur looked up at this vibrant scene and unexpectedly felt increasingly relaxed.

This place, like His Majesty’s fortress, was full of vitality and the breath of nature.

This precise contact with the natural world felt like a trial that cleansed his body and mind.

He felt as if he had gained some understanding.

They stepped onto a vine arch bridge and arrived at one of the treehouses.

“This is Lady Viola’s tree hall.”

Eserin stopped before the giant trunk and, addressing the densely interwoven branches, bowed slightly and recited a brief, elegant greeting in Elvish.

The crossed branches seemed to come alive, opening a doorway two people tall.

An automatic door.

Chen Yu found himself oddly interested.

If he could have one in his treehouse too, he wouldn’t need to use his pudgy body to shove open the door anymore.

Such an indecorous act.

Not befitting a lord’s dignity at all.

He muttered inside, then followed Arthur into the treehouse.

Inside was not dim.

The walls and dome were made of countless veins that gave off a soft white-green glow, gently channeling natural light inside.

The floor was formed by polished, spiraling giant roots. Shelves along the interior walls were packed with books, and in the center was a crystal-clear live-water pond, with a few silvery fish languidly swimming.

There were no traditional chairs here, only enormous tree stumps covered in moss as soft as velvet, and swings naturally formed from hanging, tough vines.

Hiss…

This damned high-class aesthetic.

He suddenly felt ashamed, as if his own treehouse were a doghouse.

Ahem… Of course, that treehouse wasn’t completely worthless;

at least he was confident in its sturdiness.

“Lady Viola, the guests have arrived.”

As Eserin finished speaking, the throne-like area in the center of the hall, naturally risen from the roots, shimmered slightly as if the air itself were moving.

Under everyone’s gaze,

countless faintly glowing green particles drifted from the vine shelves and ancient books, swirling and coalescing until they sketched a figure.

The light retracted modestly, and Viola manifested.

But her appearance was nothing like Count Bran’s description of an old antique.

Short, small—she looked exactly like a human girl of about ten.

“Welcome to Rootwhisper Forest, travelers from afar.”

Viola’s voice was gentle and ethereal, carrying a weight of years that did not match her outward look.

“A knight who walks the border between life and death… truly a rare existence.”

Her tone held pure curiosity and no malice.

Then her gaze turned to the little Slime on Arthur’s shoulder, and that immature little face immediately bloomed into a smile.

“And a tiny little Lord as well.”

The little Slime twitched lightly.

All right then, an old antique through and through.

Count Bran was right;

she really is an old antique.

What’s wrong with being little? Little can be lord too.