Before his squire, Count Bran, who prided himself on being brilliantly clever, naturally could not stand there gaping like a country bumpkin. He cleared his throat.
"This count had long guessed at nature's wonders. Building a fortress is effortless. There is no need for you to be curious, squire."
"Yes, Count."
Arthur nodded, urged his warhorse onward, and slowly approached the unfinished fortress gate. The closer he got, the more he could feel the oppressive presence of the walls.
Mud bricks blended perfectly with living tree roots. Some thick roots even coiled around the bricks of their own accord, as though reinforcing the walls—or drawing nourishment from them.
Around the walls, three peculiar watchtowers had risen from the ground—their main bodies were sturdy oak trees, with bricks and stones cleverly embedded between their trunks and branches to form solid defenses.
And hanging from every oak was a Stinger Bee Hive transplanted from the forest. Countless Stinger Bees flew in and out like loyal aerial sentries.
Even Count Bran swallowed a gulp of nonexistent saliva at the sight of this orderly yet savage, primal scene, feeling his throat grow a little dry.
Gulp...
With so many Stinger Bees, one volley would probably turn him into a hornet's nest.
The very thought made his crow feathers bristle.
Outwardly, he still raised his head calmly. "They are merely a few tamed Demonic Beasts. This count has seen plenty of them."
Arthur dismounted and led Count Bran through the bustling construction site, carefully weaving through the busy beetle work crews on the ground before finally arriving before the castle.
Yet the castle's master seemed to have known they had returned long ago. The gate lowered on its own, silently inviting them inside.
"This Slime... how did it know this count had returned?"
Before Count