The autumn wind blew, carrying the unique dampness of the Swamp Forest. At the head of the procession, Turk instinctively pulled his thick beast-hide coat tighter. 'According to the location Mr. Pu Mu mentioned,' he thought, 'Mudu shouldn't be far now.'
Oldes didn't ask any more questions. Too much talking could expose his deliberately crafted disguise.
He simply continued to lie 'weakly' on the flatbed cart, covered by a rough but warm burlap cloth a kind Lizardman had offered him. With his eyes half-closed, he looked like a genuinely exhausted old tree spirit, quietly awaiting the appearance of the 'Royal Capital' they spoke of.
'How big could a city built by Slimes be? The size of a small human border town at best,' Oldes thought dismissively.
'He really couldn't imagine what kind of decent structures those soft, bouncy little things could build. They were probably just crude nests, haphazardly slapped together with mud, branches, and their own secretions.'
