I, Stone Golem, only want to forge.

Chapter 21 Druid

"Mr. Sri... I'm not cold anymore... I feel like I'm on fire..."

"Kill me, Sri, I can't take it anymore, please..."

"Just burn me, I'm too oily..."

"Sri...cold."

"Mr. Sri..."

"Mr. Druid..."

"Live on..."

Countless memories that had sunk into my mind, like bloated corpses, kept surfacing.

He can't distinguish between men and women, or between young and old.

The prayers, the pleas, the cries made the corpses reach out their hands, trying to drag Sri down with them into the deep sea.

"what!"

Siri screamed in terror, awakened by the nightmares. His back was already soaked with sweat, and his face was deathly pale.

He looked around, panting, and finally remembered what he needed to do.

"Another cold wave is coming."

He muttered something to himself, then stood up, leaning on his cane.

Siri was a druid from the north, driven here by the biting cold winds of the north.

No, as a druid, he was not actually afraid of those cold winds.

He can transform into countless epic creatures, fearless even in the cold wind.

But not the refugees.

In the north, where food was already scarce, it was impossible to build as many or as tall city walls as in the south.

With only two or three cities, it's impossible to accommodate so many residents.

As the cold waves intensified, ordinary people in the north, without high walls to block the cold winds, had no choice but to head south.

Dei was the spiritual leader of one group of refugees.

However, the cold wind continued to follow in the footsteps of these northern refugees.

According to forecasts, the strongest cold wave in a century will arrive in a few months.

The cold wave will freeze everything, and the biting wind will tear apart anything that stands in its way, like a knife.

The southern kingdom built high walls to protect against the cold winds and also to keep out these refugees.

Or some kind-hearted lords or kings might be willing to let a few people into the city.

However, that was only one or two.

Among the tens of thousands of refugees, only a few are ultimately so lucky.

Siri and his group clearly do not belong to this category.

As the cold wave approaches, the temperature is getting lower and lower.

Further south lies that blood-red sea.

Even compared to the cold wave, that sea of blood was no less dangerous.

Therefore, finding a suitable place to stay is the only way out.

Fuel for heating, food for the winter, enough clothing, and weapons to fend off the monsters lurking in the cold waves and snow fog.

Wanting everything, yet lacking everything.

Moreover, even if everything is prepared, Rhys cannot guarantee how long everyone will survive as the temperature drops.

However, he really didn't want to hear those cries of anguish anymore.

He let out a heavy breath, and his already aged and sunken eye sockets became even more bluish.

He could always hear those voices, no matter when.

Let's take a step by step.

Rhys had recently ordered a batch of gel from the slime lord of the nearby swamp, but a giant snake appeared out of nowhere and interrupted their transaction.

The slime population has drastically decreased, barely reaching five people. Even with their high reproductive rate, it will still take time to recover.

But what Rhys lacks most is time.

My skin and senses can already feel the approaching cold wind; we can't wait any longer for fuel.

As for the refugees, the only fuel they could use, besides the trees, was gel.

"It's just ahead. May nature protect us."

He whispered a prayer, glanced at the slime swamp in the distance, and quickened his pace.

Just then, with a whoosh.

A dark shadow flashed by.

Rhys was startled and looked up, but only felt a gust of wind and could not see anything.

Is it some kind of bird? Flying so low, won't it cause a problem?

Normally, he would have chased after it to check, but now he could only whisper his wishes for the bird's good luck.

He touched the wooden medal on his chest, which was engraved with an oak pattern, took a deep breath, and continued on his way.

As he moved forward, the trees blocking his path seemed to come alive, circling around him in an extremely convoluted way, only to circle back after he had passed.

However, the deeper he went into the swamp, the more unusual something seemed.

Are there too many slimes here?

No matter which way he went, there were always a few slimes darting back and forth in the woods within his sight.

When he last came here, all he could see were slimes.

If you walk a hundred or two meters and see one or two, you're already very lucky.

He was immediately pleasantly surprised. Had the ecosystem been adjusted?

But afterwards came doubts and worries.

As a druid, he naturally couldn't possibly be unaware of the reproduction rate and situation of slimes.

Thoughts raced through his mind like flowing water, but none of them could provide a reasonable explanation.

Surely it couldn't be that slimes from other regions migrated here, could it?

His gaze fell on the slimes again, but he immediately dismissed his idea.

This is clearly a locally made product.

It's not from outside, and the slime race's own reproduction rate can't keep up, so what exactly is going on?

However, no matter how many doubts he had, he could only move forward.

The number of slimes kept increasing, to a point that was beyond his comprehension.

And they were all flowing out of the nest against his direction.

However, the slimes should have recognized Rhys, as they left him a long, straight path leading to their lair.

This genetic inheritance made him even more convinced that these slimes were indeed bred by that lord.

"Could it be that they evolved from a lord to a transcendent being?"

Rhys couldn't help but wonder.

Besides that, he couldn't think of any other possibilities.

Surely it couldn't be that I found something that would speed up the reproduction of slimes?

Pfft pfft.

Rhys finally arrived at the slime's nest located under the water pine.

The slime lord was sitting cross-legged in the middle. When he saw Rhys enter, he jumped up and down a few times to show his welcome.

Rhys's gaze swept over the nest.

Then he suddenly stared at the pile of gel in the distance, which looked like a small mountain.

This "piled up like a mountain" is not a metaphor, nor is it an exaggeration.

It was truly piled up to form a mountain more than twenty meters high.

Rhys's pupils suddenly contracted, his excitement and surprise beyond words. He took two breaths, his voice trembling, but after so many years, he quickly calmed himself down.

This gel production and this number of reproductions are absolutely abnormal!

This isn't described as a few times, it's hundreds of times or even more!

Rhys scanned the nest again and finally noticed a few anomalies.

Several stone slabs were placed at the four corners of the lair, and there was also one under the slime lord.

Rhys narrowed his eyes slightly. It must be because of these few persimmon stone slabs, right?

Is this some kind of ancient tradition of a slime clan?

If that's the case, then he shouldn't ask too many questions.

So Rhys pretended not to see anything and asked with difficulty using the druid's "natural language" ability.

No related issues were detected.

"Is the gel... done?"

Pfft pfft.

After understanding Rhys's words for a while, the Slime Lord jumped a few times to explain.