Goblin Dependency
Chapter 146 - 97 Basilom

Chapter 146: Chapter 97 Basilom

Kalanfor, outskirts.

A gentle breeze swept by, causing unknown wildflowers to sway softly. Their delicate petals appeared especially vibrant against the backdrop of surrounding greenery.

The mushrooms at the edge of the wall had grown two rings larger than before, and upon closer observation, one could notice that on either side of their roots, two clusters of tiny fungi had sprouted.

It was still the same small wooden house nestled within the flowerbeds.

Quiet, peaceful.

Today, after the half orc and the young adventurer from a month ago, it welcomed another guest.

A barbarian with a burly frame and rugged features.

"Knock, knock, knock."

Frogon gently rapped on the door, dislodging grass clippings from his arm, which wafted down onto the stone steps in front of him.

From behind the door came the sound of slow, heavy footsteps.

Creak—

The hinges grated, emitting a piercing sound.

A haggard, stooped elder slowly opened the door.

As if already aware of the barbarian’s visit, there was not a hint of surprise in the elder’s lone eye, as murky and dim as a mire.

His aged face, covered in wrinkles and age spots, displayed an odd smile.

"You came?" He turned his body, making way for the inside of the house.

"Come in, it’s too cold outside."

It was the height of summer, and although the temperature might have dropped due to the approaching night, it was far from being described as "cold."

At this moment, nobody paid attention to these minor details.

As if he were merely a traveler who stopped by, there was no emotion on Frogon’s face as he squeezed past the door frame and entered the house.

"Have a seat, I’ll pour you some tea."

The elder offered, rummaging through the cabinet to find a wooden cup.

The barbarian did not reply, nor did he intend to sit.

His gaze, cold enough to freeze boiling water, swept through the cozy and warm living room.

"Is this the help you found?"

A voice as raspy as the wind from the depths of the Northern Territory broke the air.

Frogon’s gaze stopped at the fireplace.

A priest in a judge-like robe, with a kindly face, sat peacefully on the sofa, eyes half-closed.

In his hand was a red-brown staff embedded with a bright yellow crystal stone, and the Sun Sacred Emblem hanging from his neck swayed lightly with the rise and fall of his chest as he breathed.

"To mix with this lot," the barbarian’s tone carried a hint of derision, "has Amanata fallen to this point?"

Unfazed by the mockery in the other’s words, the priest remained serene and smiled:

"The Lord’s radiance shines equally upon all creatures."

Not intending to waste words with such fanatics akin to madmen.

Frogon looked forward, at the elder with a calm expression, holding a steaming cup of tea in his hands.

"Are you ready?"

There was no answer. With effort, the stooped elder lowered himself into the soft sofa, letting out a comfortable hum.

"I’m getting old, even just going to town to have tea with friends feels tiring."

"Having to trouble others to come over, really sorry about that."

The priest seated opposite nodded with a gentle laugh.

The twilight outside the window reflected vibrant colors on the crystal stone at the top of his staff.

He seemed to realize only then that the barbarian hadn’t taken a seat.

The elder waved him over, pointing to the seat specially left for him next to him.

"Why are you still standing there? Is it because you find my place too small?"

In the warmth of the room, an abrupt, bone-chilling wind blew.

Frogon’s icy blue eyes coldly stared at the two in front of him.

His thick arm slightly raised, reaching towards his waist.

Fingers clenched.

A small obsidian ax was tightly grasped in his palm.

"I ask you, are you ready?"

The elder suddenly sighed.

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

"You’re a Highlander, you should know."

"In the Northern Territory, there’s a plant called the Ice Crystal Flower."

"Unlike other local flora, it grows rapidly and doesn’t need to root in soil to absorb nutrients."

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

The wooden table holding the tea set began to show a hint of purple at some point.

These were tiny mycelia, creeping and spreading.

"Unfortunately, as if it were a flawed creation casually molded by the Goddess of Nature, the lifespan of an Ice Crystal Flower is only seven days."

"After blooming, it withers."

As if possessing a life consciousness, the mycelia writhed and tangled, gradually climbing up along the bottom of the cup.

"But it’s interesting, you Northern Territory barbarians have the same style. I remember some tribes even regard this plant as a totem."

"Isn’t that right?"

Like a retired adventurer recalling past glories to the young, the elder showed a reminiscing expression.

"I’ve seen quite a few in my time."

"No offense intended, but I must say, you barbarians do lack a bit of the spirit of inquiry."

"A plant with almost no requirements for its growing environment, maturing in just seven days, and yet no one thinks to cultivate and research it."

"For hundreds, thousands of years, just leaving it on the altar, such a waste."

The Mammoth Ivory Bone Spur pierced into the chest, delivering an agonizing pain as if to impale the heart; the Wolf Mouth crossed at the chest like a vortex formed of pale flame, tearing at his flesh and soul;

Breathing, the Bone Tooth Pendant collided with each other, emitting a subtle and clear lament; the thin iron chain around his neck, retaining the warmth of a maiden, grew increasingly hot, as if to melt his skin.

"So, did you succeed?"

The barbarian’s voice was extremely deep, his massive figure standing silently.

Under the shadow cast by his prominent brow, his eyes flickered like two flickering ghostly blue flames.

"Just missed it."

The elder’s face, rough like tree bark and full of wrinkles, showed a look of regret.

His frail fingertips slowly pointed towards the teacup on the table.

As if drawn by an invisible force, the mycelia that had long consumed the entire wooden cup twisted and extended mouselike tendrils toward his fingers.

"Otherwise, I wouldn’t have come here to find those Green skins."

"What about those who died on the ice fields?"

"Necessary sacrifices."

The gnarled elder shrugged indifferently.

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

Whoosh—

An abrupt blast of freezing cold wind dispersed the dark purple spores quietly pervading the air.

A long, dreadful wolf howl, accompanied by the enormous beastly shadow behind the barbarian, crushed the Holy Light infused with Sun Divine Power.

In the grim reflection on the dark ax blade, there lay the sacred fire on the brink of extinguishing in the ruins deep within the tribe.

"Crunch."

The faint sound of ice and snow melting.

Amidst the chill wind and wolf cries, beneath the ice was the fury restrained for countless days and nights.

"It seems you’re ready..."

"Basilom!"