Let go of that monster girl!

The flying mouse stuffed the pie into its mouth in two bites, its cheeks bulging, and mumbled something indistinctly as it chewed.

"Boss, what's this pancake called?"

The old wolf woman grinned, revealing her uneven teeth.

"Rat Girl Pie"

"Rat Girl Pie? Why is it called Rat Girl Pie? Was it invented by a rat girl?"

The flying mouse tilted its head and continued to press for answers.

“It was invented by Ant Girl,” Morren replied casually while chewing.

"Then why not call it Ant Girl Pie?"

The little mouse girls' faces were filled with confusion.

Moran stuffed the last piece of pie into his mouth and mumbled a reply:

"Because they're named after the ingredients."

Lem flinched, looking down at the half-eaten pie in his hand, a look of fear on his little face.

The mouse girls clearly hadn't understood yet, and were still happily licking the oil stains off their fingers.

Molen waved to Lyme, signaling her to continue eating.

"It's just the original recipe; the ingredients that have been passed down are normal."

"The Holy Maiden forbids the use of those materials."

As the wolf-girl vendor flipped the new pie, she added a comment, her smile particularly ugly, her toothless mouth stretching all the way to her ears.

The mouse girls finished eating the biscuits, their little bellies were a little bulging but they were obviously not completely full. They licked their fingers reluctantly around their mouths.

"Baron, Baron, may we go for a stroll in the new market? It looks so lively!"

Molen reached into his pocket, pulled out a silver coin, and twirled it between his fingers.

After thinking for a moment, he put it back and handed it over in exchange for a gold coin.

"Spend money wisely, don't get lost, and stay away from the slave market."

He paused and then added a sentence.

"While you're at it, see if there's anything that looks like an anchor, and buy one."

"gold!"

The mouse girls cheered and swarmed towards the market.

As Molen watched their chattering figures disappear into the distance, he suddenly felt that he might have given them too much.

Those guys won't use it for drinking, will they?

Well, flying mice are high-risk, high-tech talents, let them have some fun for a while. At worst, we can make that white mouse wait one more day.

As he thought about it, Molen stood up and took out the monocular telescope he always carried with him.

He's here to do serious business.

The wasteland is flat, but not entirely level.

The small stall at my feet was placed on a slightly higher but not very conspicuous earthen slope.

With a wide view, one can see the bright lights of the new market in the distance, and also overlook a small part of the slum.

The binoculars were placed against my right eye, and the entire slum unfolded in the lens.

The tents, grayish-brown in color and varying in size, grew like a cluster of mushrooms on a dark plain.

Not far away, the tents suddenly thinned out, revealing a small patch of dirt square.

In the very center of the square stands a tall cross, with a strangely shaped holy emblem hanging at its top.

Molen adjusted the focus and made the pattern clear.

It looks like a pair of hands, palms facing upwards, holding an egg.

It's that simple, without any complicated patterns.

"Boss, give me another pie."

Molen didn't put down his binoculars, and spoke to the wolf girl vendor behind him.

"Give another one to this little girl too."

He pointed to Lyme, who was sitting next to him, still staring blankly at half a pancake.

The telescope's field of vision followed the gaps between the tents, slowly sweeping across the refugee camp below.

The proportion of people with disabilities is unusually high, and the differences vary by race and condition.

They didn't seem to be from the same place; their clothes were different, and their injuries were also different.

As for the healthy part, it seems a bit too healthy.

They didn't look like starving and freezing refugees at all.

This is getting more and more interesting.

The wind blows across the holy emblem in the square, causing it to sway at the top of the cross.

The disabled refugees helped each other as they slowly moved from the tents in all directions toward the square.

A clear, crisp bell sound drifted from afar.

The ringing grew louder as it approached, its rhythm gentle and soothing.

First, two rows of nuns in black and white robes appeared at the edge of the square, carrying wicker baskets filled with bread and other dry food, distributing them to the refugees on both sides as they walked.

The nuns chanted somber prayers as the refugees knelt to receive the food, some already sobbing uncontrollably.

Then, a figure stepped out from the front of the group.

White hair, a dragon maiden.

He stood out from the gloomy slums.

The pure white robe with gold trim reached all the way to her ankles. There were no other decorations on the robe except for extremely fine gold thread embroidered on the collar and cuffs.

A thin white ribbon was tied across her face, obscuring her eyes, and swayed slightly with her steps.

She walked barefoot on the dirty mud in the slums, the mud and sewage separating around her toes, but her soles remained clean.

Pure, beautiful, and unforgettable at first glance.

Morren stared at the figure through his binoculars.

An indescribable sense of unreality.

“Merciful Holy Maiden, save us, keep us away from evil, keep us away from suffering.”

The square was soon filled with kneeling refugees, a dark mass of bowed backs.

They bowed their heads, prayed devoutly, and stretched out a hand in the direction of the saint.

A deacon dressed in a grey robe walked to the cross, unrolled a roll of parchment, and began to chant aloud.

"May the saint's mercy be like sweet spring watering parched earth, may the lost find guidance, and may the wounded find healing!"

"We support each other, regardless of race or bloodline, like sisters holding hands, walking through the long, dark night!"

"Keep hope, keep kindness, keep piety, and the saint will protect us!"

The voices of the sacrificial attendants echoed across the square, their tones resounding and powerful.

The saint smiled.

She stretched out her slender, fair fingers and grasped the outstretched hand of a kneeling refugee in front of her.

It was a filthy hand, with festering wounds covering the entire back of the hand. Three fingers were broken, and the remaining two were swollen and black, with pus seeping from the cracks in the skin.

next second.

Under the watchful eyes of hundreds of believers, the scar began to contort.

The festering skin writhed, and black pus and blood churned.

White buds sprouted from the broken finger bone, and flesh and blood wriggled and grew around the bone.

The refugee stared in disbelief at his hands and ripped off the dirty bandages that had been wrapped around his face for who knows how long.

The abscess has disappeared.

The scars have disappeared.

Not just her hands, but her entire body had skin as healthy and smooth as a newborn's.

A thunderous roar of cheers erupted in the square.

"Holy Maiden! Holy Maiden! Holy Maiden!"

Cries and shouts mingled together as the kneeling refugees desperately reached out to the girl in white, the sound of bells drowned out by the frenzied wave of emotion.

Molen put away his binoculars.

His expression was quite complicated.

It's too ridiculous.

Shouldn't Bai Longniang be a disgrace to the dragon girl who is all muscle and only knows how to eat grass, with high damage output from her left and right fists?

Most of the White Dragon Girls couldn't even speak properly; they were practically savages, and magic was completely out of their reach.

What is this strange thing?

The White Dragon Maiden, who can instantly regenerate severed fingers and festering wounds?

"Owner."

Molen lowered his head.

Lym clung tightly to his arm, trembling all over.

"How terrifying..."

Chapter 37 (4k) We'll go back tomorrow, but before that...

High-ranking monster girls naturally possess an extremely powerful ability to suppress low-ranking monsters.

The magic emanating from them can even gradually transform the surrounding environment, creating an area where monsters are extinct.

There have been numerous records of lucky refugees accidentally discovering an oasis, lush with water and grass, free from evil spirits, where they have settled and multiplied.

It wasn't until decades later that they discovered there was actually a dragon maiden dozing underground.

This is really bad luck.

Lyme trembled all over, and Morren reached out and pulled her into his arms, gently patting her head.

It took Lyme quite a while to recover, but he still clung tightly to Morren's sleeve and refused to let go.

This is way too exaggerated.

The slime girl has no magical talent, and her magical perception is ridiculously dull. Even if a high-level monster spreads its magical power, its range of influence is only a dozen meters.

It's at least two hundred meters from here to the square.

This is an incredibly high number.

"boss."

Molen rubbed his chin and turned to look at the armless old wolf woman behind him.

"How much do you know about the Holy Maiden?"

The old wolf mother paused in flipping the pancake, her erect ears folded back, and her cloudy eyes darted left and right.

"Well, sir, I'm just a pancake seller..."

"Two more pancakes, please."

Molen tossed out a few copper coins.

"Yes, sir!"