Goblin Heavy Dependence

Chapter 98 Bartholomew
Caranfort, outskirts.

As the breeze blows, unknown wild flowers sway gently, and their delicate petals appear particularly bright against the backdrop of the surrounding green plants.

The mushroom at the edge of the corner is slightly larger than before. If you look closely, you can find that two clusters of tiny fungi have grown on both sides of its roots deep in the soil.

It is still the small wooden house nestled among the flower beds.

Quiet, peaceful.

Today, it welcomed another guest after the halfling and the young adventurer a month ago.

A savage with a burly build and a rough face.

"Tuk, Tuk, Tuk."

Fugang knocked gently on the door, and the grass debris on his arms was shaken off and floated onto the stone steps in front of the door.

Behind the door, there were slow and dull footsteps.

crunch--

The hinges rubbed against each other, making a harsh sound.

The skinny, hunchbacked old man slowly opened the door.

As if he had known about the barbarians' visit, there was no trace of surprise in the old man's one eye, which was as turbid and dim as a quagmire.

The old face, covered with layers of wrinkles and age spots, had a strange smile on its face.

"Coming?" He turned sideways to make way for the house.

"Come in, it's too cold outside."

It is the height of summer and the temperature may drop as night falls, but it is definitely not cold.

At this moment, no one cares about these details.

As if he was just a temporary visitor, there was no expression on Fugan's face. He squeezed through the door frame and walked into the house.

"Please sit down first. I'll pour you a cup of tea."

The old man greeted and took out a wooden cup from the cupboard.

The Savage made no reply, and seemed not to intend to take a seat.

A cold gaze that was enough to freeze boiling water swept across the small but cozy living room.

"Is this the helper you are looking for?"

It was like a hoarse voice deep in the cold wind of the north, resounding in the air.

Fergan's gaze stopped at the fireplace.

A kind-faced priest wearing a judge-style robe was sitting peacefully on the sofa with his eyes squinted.

In his hand was a reddish-brown wooden staff inlaid with a brilliant yellow crystal stone, and the holy emblem of the sun hung around his neck, swaying slightly with the rise and fall of his chest with his breathing.

"Associating with such people," the barbarian said with a hint of sarcasm. "Has Amaunator fallen to this level?"

Not caring about the sarcasm in the other party's words, the pastor still looked kind and smiled:

“The light of the Lord shines equally upon all living beings.”

I don't intend to waste my breath on this fanatic who is no different from a lunatic.

Fugang looked forward and saw an old man with a calm expression, holding a cup of steaming tea in his hand.

"Ready?"

There was no answer. The hunched old man lowered his body with some difficulty and sat on the soft sofa, humming comfortably.

"I'm old now. Even going to town to have a cup of tea with friends is tiring."

"I'm so sorry to have to trouble others to come here in person."

The pastor sitting opposite nodded and chuckled.

The twilight outside the window shone on the surface of the crystal at the top of his wooden staff, reflecting a brilliant light.

He seemed to have just realized that the barbarian had not taken his seat.

The old man waved at the other person and pointed to the seat next to him that was specially reserved for him.

"Why are you still standing there? Do you think my house is too small?"

A biting cold wind suddenly blew into the warm room.

Fugan's icy blue eyes stared coldly at the two people in front of him.

The strong arms were slightly raised and stretched to the waist.

The five fingers clenched together. The obsidian axe was tightly grasped in the palm of his hand.

"I ask you, are you ready?"

The old man suddenly sighed.

Place the teacup in your hand gently on the table.

"You are a Highlander, you should know."

"In the North, there is a plant called ice crystal flower."

"Unlike other local grasses, it grows very quickly and doesn't need to take root in the soil to absorb nutrients."

"With just a handful of snow and six days, it can grow to maturity."

The wooden table top where the tea set was placed had turned a little purple at some point.

Those are wisps of tiny hyphae that are growing and spreading.

"But unfortunately, it's like a defective product made by the goddess of nature. The lifespan of the ice crystal flower is only seven days."

"After blooming, comes withering."

As if endowed with life consciousness, the hyphae wriggle and entangle with each other, gradually climbing up along the bottom of the cup.

"That's right, this is exactly in line with the style of you northern barbarians. I remember that some tribes even used this plant as a totem."

"Is it right?"

It was like a retired adventurer recalling his past glorious deeds in front of young people, with a nostalgic expression on the old man's face.

“I saw a lot of them at that time.”

"No offense, but I have to say that you barbarians do lack the spirit of research."

"A plant that has almost no requirements for the growing environment and can mature in seven days, and there is no need to think about cultivating or researching it."

"It's such a waste to just leave it on the altar for hundreds or thousands of years."

The mammoth tusk spur that had been driven into his chest sent a sharp pain that seemed to pierce his heart; the wolf kisses that had been crossed on his chest were like a vortex of pale flames that tore at his flesh and soul;

With every breath, the bone and tooth pendants knocked against each other, making a subtle and crisp mournful sound; the thin iron chain around his neck seemed to still retain the girl's body temperature, and it became hotter and hotter, as if to melt his skin.

"So, did you succeed?"

The barbarian's voice was extremely low and his burly body stood still.

The eyes, shrouded in the shadow cast by the high brow bone, are like two swaying blue flames.

"Just a little bit."

The old man's face, rough and wrinkled like tree bark, showed a look of regret.

The skinny fingertips slowly pointed to the teacup on the table.

As if there was some invisible attraction, the mycelium that had already swallowed the entire wooden cup twisted and stretched out its thin granulation-like tentacles towards the fingers.

"Otherwise I wouldn't have come here to look for those greenskins."

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

"A necessary sacrifice."

The old man, who was as hunched and listless as a dead tree, shrugged casually.

The regret on his face had disappeared, as if all the lives that had been lost were not as great as those withered ice flowers.

Whoosh——

A biting and extremely cold wind suddenly blew out, blowing away the dark purple spores that were quietly filling the air.

The long and terrifying wolf howl, accompanied by the huge beast shadow emerging behind the barbarian, suppressed the holy light containing the power of the sun god.

Reflected on the dark surface of the axe blade is the sacred fire that is about to go out deep in the tribal ruins.

"Kara."

The sound of melting ice and snow.

Amid the cold wind and the howling of wolves, there was a ball of rage beneath the ice that had been suppressed for countless days and nights.

"It seems you are ready..."

"Basilomew!"

(End of this chapter)