Mouse Brother, Squeeze In

Vanished into thin air.

Those were the Centaur captain's exact words.

Yet no one believed such nonsense, even though the truth stood right before them.

Everyone had seen the black-haired young man carry a woman up the stairs. Familiar sounds had come from the room as expected; everything had seemed perfectly natural. So why had they vanished without a trace?

Had it been anyone else, no one would have cared. But a dense Moon Elf aura had been discovered in that room, and seven Moon Elf Archmages had abruptly vanished half a month ago. Every sign indicated that this place might be the key to the Moon Elves' disappearance.

And that was only secondary.

Neon Magus Jon had been ambushed when the pilgrimage began.

His heavily pregnant wife, along with the three thousand Elves following behind her, had all been captured.

Though it had not been made public, there was no doubt that this was an unprecedented loss for the Elven Race.

But what the Elven upper ranks cared about most was the Ancient Descendant. Through various means, they had learned that the ambushers came from Storm City of the Human Race and Hurricane Tower, with the shadow of Bailando City faintly lurking behind them as well.

As the dominant races of the Red Soil Continent, humans and Elves maintained close cooperation while also competing fiercely for supremacy.

Title Magisters were the ultimate power of both races, determining their standing upon the Red Soil Continent.

One Ancient Elven Descendant meant that the Elven Race might gain another Title Magister.

It was only natural for the Human Race to sabotage this. After learning the intelligence, the Elven upper ranks had repeatedly negotiated with the humans, hoping to recover the Elf Descendant through peaceful means.

As a frontier city-state of the Human Race, Storm City had not denied it, making the Elves believe even more strongly that there was hope of rescuing the Ancient Descendant.

But now, in an utterly ordinary town on the Wasteland, they had unprecedentedly discovered the aura of the Ancient Descendant. The blood-soaked sheets were enough to determine that some sort of ritual had once taken place here.

Possibly a Sacrifice.

On the Red Soil Continent, there was no shortage of races that practiced sacrifice, with witches and warlocks being especially rampant among them.

Jon could tell at a glance that someone of his bloodline had once appeared here, and very recently at that.

Vanished into thin air? Jon did not believe it. At the very least, after he arrived, not a single living creature could escape his spiritual perception.

"Are you his attendant?" Jon looked down at the tiny Horse Dwarf, his expression kind and gentle, as though the crushing force he had just displayed had never existed.

The Horse Dwarf looked at the laborers in the distance, who were continuously turning into humanoid flames, and hurriedly shook his head. Half a day ago, they had still been drinkers clinking cups with him.

Yet now, they were being interrogated without end.

A large number of Elves entered Madinger Town, gathering information layer by layer with the Windmill as their center.

"You said he had black eyes, correct?"

"He was about as tall as me. Exactly how tall was that? Yellowish skin—can you confirm it?"

"That woman had golden hair? Did you sense magical fluctuations? Are you certain he was human?"

"You booked the room, and prepared everything in it, correct? Did he tell you what the room was truly for?"

The Horse Dwarf trembled. These beautiful Elves looked like demons that would swallow him alive, as though they wanted nothing more than to devour him.

He had not lied, nor had he dared to. He confessed everything he knew.

Unfortunately, it was nowhere near enough.

He had provided only the tiniest scrap of useful information.

Li Ziran.

That name alone barely kept him alive.

As for the travelers who had merely brushed past Li Ziran, they could only vaguely describe some physical features. What they mentioned most was that the two had been hugging and clinging to each other.

Clearly, the Elves had no wish to hear such useless information. For useless people, a fireball was all the explanation needed.

"You said you discovered a Moon Elf basement, and found some red dots?" Jon asked quietly. He was very amiable, yet carried an irresistible majesty.

The Horse Dwarf said tremblingly, "Yes. In the Minotaur basement, he stripped off all that rotten flesh and had the Minotaur and me search through the pile of meat..."

Though it was not the first time, he still described the basement scene from back then as specifically as possible. He even carefully drew the shape of that circular mark, and handed over every copper coin Li Ziran had given him, including that precious silver coin.

He was very cooperative.

Every laborer and every Centaur in the Windmill was cooperative.

But this Grand Mage was clearly dissatisfied.

"Master, that is all the information we have. What do we do now?" a Fire Elf asked respectfully. She had already organized all the information.

The culprit, Li Ziran, was around twenty years old, with black hair and black eyes. A wizard, currently holding the Ancient Elven Descendant, conducting some sort of sacrificial ritual. His abilities were unknown. The woman by his side was possibly his assistant.

That was the information obtained through interrogation.

Jon waved a hand, his face growing increasingly pale. He glanced at the Horse Dwarf cowering and trembling in the corner, then sighed softly. "Search their souls. Their memories can provide more detailed information."

The Horse Dwarf did not understand and wore a blank expression, but the Fire Elf froze, staring dumbly at this Title Magister of the Elven Race.

Soul Search, also known as Memory Search, used powerful spiritual force to invade the target's cerebral cortex and explore their memories.

It was a favored method of Psychic Mages, but the spell had originally come from the Demon race that had once invaded the Red Soil Continent.

Demons called it the essence of arcane arts, but on the Red Soil Continent, all mages collectively called it a forbidden evil art.

The cerebral cortex was the frailest organ of any living creature. Powerful spiritual force would directly destroy the active brain tissue within it. Once one's memories were searched, they would almost always become an idiot.

Even for the lucky few, their memories would deteriorate greatly, and intermittent amnesia would become as commonplace as daily meals.

Forbidden evil arts were spells absolutely prohibited to all mages, especially among the Elven Race, where they were expressly forbidden.

"Master!" She wanted to ask once more.

Jon's icy gaze swept directly over her. "Did you not understand? Or do you intend to defy my orders?"

Madinger Town seemed to be swallowed by a storm in an instant, placed under total lockdown.

Without the Elves' permission, no living creature could leave Madinger Town. Everyone had to register and obey Elven arrangements.

They lined up on the roads and entered the Windmill in batches.

The laborers crowded along the road, staring anxiously at the huge fan slowly turning in the distance.

They knew only one thing: a wizard named Li Ziran had come here and was conducting a mysterious ritual.

All they needed to do was cooperate with the Elves' investigation. So long as they could prove they had not come into contact with that wizard, they would be safe and sound.

They were quiet and obedient.

They did not notice the dull-eyed living creatures being led out through the Windmill's back door like livestock and sent into the beast pens nearby.

Now they only wondered who Li Ziran was, and what that wizard was doing.

Li Ziran, huh.

At this moment, he was wedged in a crack between rocks, flicking his snake tongue as he faced off against a group of yellow-furred rats with their fur standing on end.

After drilling into the rat hole from the great round bed underground, Li Ziran had fled downward all the way.

The rat tunnels stretched in all directions and had nearly bored through the entire Mill wall. Li Ziran chose a branching passage: one side led upward, while the other extended directly underground.

Without hesitation, Li Ziran chose the downward path. On the second floor, he had personally seen the Elves swarming in and the Hippogriffs circling overhead, dense as a stirred-up swarm of bees.

After reaching the first floor, he saw Elves rushing upstairs. When he arrived at the underground bathhouse, he heard the Windmill's roof being ripped away.

The terrifying pressure of the Two-Headed Chimera made Li Ziran, in his Black-Spotted Snake form, shudder. Without a second thought, he burrowed underground.

Only after reaching the bottom did he discover just how formidable these rats were.

If the Windmill walls could be described as extending in all directions, then underground was a world made of passages.

Holes connected to holes, tunnels ran through tunnels, crossing and winding about. A single intersection often had four or five openings, and after walking fewer than five steps, one would reach another intersection. It was a complete underground maze.

After passing through only two tunnels, he had lost the scent of the original rats. But to avoid being discovered by the Elves, Li Ziran could not worry about anything else and casually chose another hole leading downward.

But for a venomous snake like him to enter a rat nest was like a Title Magister charging into Madinger Town—it was an outright disaster.

Upon seeing their natural enemy, the timid rats fled madly deeper underground.

Li Ziran had no intention of eating rats, nor did he have the appetite. But the rats did not see it that way. Li Ziran's constantly flickering tongue was enough to frighten the wits out of the little creatures.

Often, before he even reached them, the rats would squeak and flee. After passing through the Mill's foundation, they entered the rock strata beneath the Wasteland. Following the passages dug out by the rats, Li Ziran passed through layers of soil and rock, entered the deeper sedimentary rock, and finally arrived at the current standoff.

Before him, Li Ziran could see over three hundred yellow-furred rats. They huddled together, their fur standing high like hedgehog spines, using it to resist him, this savage predator.

They had no way back. Their sharp teeth could pierce the rocks near the surface, but they could not penetrate the solid sedimentary rock.

Li Ziran looked at his opponents and could not help smiling bitterly. He was only fleeing for his life. He had not wanted to eat them.

He was not afraid. One bite, one rat. But he truly had no appetite.

Squeak, squeak!

Several bolder rats crept forward to test him, intending to drive this fellow away.

Hiss!

Li Ziran instinctively flicked out his tongue. Those few provocateurs instantly retreated, while several rats behind them curled up even farther back.

For a real venomous snake, this would have been a grand feast, but he was not one.

He simply could not eat a rat raw.

But what was he supposed to do now? He had already driven these rats into a dead end, just as those Elves had driven him into one.

Li Ziran could not help laughing. The world was such a strange place. Others cornered him, and he cornered these rats.

Gurgle!

A wave of nausea suddenly rose in Li Ziran. His continuous movement underground had disturbed the two frogs in his stomach. His gastric juices began reacting with the Life Tree Leaf, while the Mithril mixed within it formed a unique Silver Poison that was damaging his stomach.

The stench that rose made the rats squeak wildly as they desperately squeezed together.

Li Ziran smiled bitterly.

He had to operate as soon as possible, or he would digest Nicole.

And before the operation, Li Ziran had to cut open his own belly, make an opening in his stomach, and take out the two frogs.

To operate, he needed to return to human form.

But in this space barely as thick as a water pipe, if he returned to normal, the enclosed underground space would probably crush him to death.

Difficult!

Li Ziran had never found anything so difficult. How had a simple, steady operation turned into this?

No round bed, no corpse collection, no slave capture, not even on the road to the Undead Nest—he was squeezed together with these rats instead.

Ridiculous!

Could it be that his beautiful time would be wasted on this pack of yellow-furred rats?