A factory?
Chen Yu's body swayed slightly as he let the word gurgle around in his mind.
It was too enormous, too cold, utterly out of place amid the primitive vitality of the swamp beneath his feet—like putting iron boots on frogs in a mud pond.
But was it really... exaggerated?
He led Little Flower out of the Tree Hall and stood atop the city wall, looking out over the swamp after the rain had cleared—the warm sunlight spilled down, illuminating puddled hollows and twisting tree roots.
Every patch of light was crammed with lush green Slimes.
They were like tiny mushrooms crazily sprouting after rain, squeezing against one another as they slowly wriggled about, soaking up the warmth of the sun and covering branches, rocks, and his territory.
The sight was already astonishing aboveground.
And deep within the dungeon, in gloomy passageways, damp corners, even beneath the faint glow of magic crystals, even more Slimes of every color were packed together.
They were the weakest, yet most tenacious little lives, found nearly everywhere there was water and sunlight.
Even if only one out of every hundred Slimes awakened hazy intelligence under the nourishment of Spirit Feed, then received compulsory education and became a scholar capable of understanding talismans—
That would still be an enormous number.
Chen Yu imagined Slime Scholars clustering together inside a treehouse factory, gripping pens with utter concentration, dipping them in magical ink, and stroke by stroke tracing mysterious seal-script characters onto specially made talisman paper.
Beside them, completed Stone Fortification Talismans would be piled high like mountains, then sent fluttering out like snowflakes through war, or even trade, becoming the cornerstone supporting a kingdom's rise.
To seize the power to define war... in the hands of Slimes.
The shock of that thought made even his