Slime True Immortal

In his sleep, Tulk felt as if he had fallen into a huge wad of cold, bouncy slime gel.

He struggled desperately to stand, but every time he tried to rise, that elastic gel would "pop" him back down, like a pitiful bug slipping off a mushroom.

He fought like that for a long while, and instead of the feeling fading, it grew more real. His chest even bore a heavy pressure, as if something soft and squishy were lying across it.

No—this wasn’t a dream.

With a jolt, Tulk snapped awake. He instinctively clutched the tree trunk behind him tight, afraid a sudden movement would send him tumbling down.

As he recovered, he realized his chest did indeed feel heavy. Looking down, he saw a small green jelly-like thing resting steadily on his torso, rising and falling with his breaths.

A flicker of bewilderment passed, and then his eyes widened.

“S-Slime?!”

He got so excited he forgot he was still up in a tree, and the result was he toppled out of the branches with that little green creature, rolling several times through the soft moss and muck, ending up filthy and awkward.

Even covered in mud, the grin on his face was impossible to hide. He had spent the whole previous day searching for a slime and hadn’t even seen a shadow of one. Now he opened his eyes and it had come to him.

Could this be fate arranged by Putu?

Tulk carefully opened his arms to reveal the slime cradled against his chest, scooped it up with both hands, and asked, “O mighty child of Putu, spirit of nature, tell your devout follower what you desire. Tulk is willing to do everything in his power to fulfill your wishes.”

Chen Yu watched the mud-splattered lizardfolk and saw a bit of Sekashi in the foolish-looking youth.

Why did lizardfolk who worship Putu always look so dimwitted?

Realizing Tulk was undergoing some sort of trial, Chen Yu suddenly bounced, and his soft, squishy voice seeped into Tulk’s mind.

“Young lizardfolk, you may call me…an envoy of Putu. I am lost and need you to help me find my way home.”

“An envoy of Putu?”

Tulk blinked, then his expression shifted into one that said, Of course. He wasn’t even surprised that the slime could speak.

Finally hearing a specific request, he exhaled in relief and asked respectfully, “Honored envoy, where is your home? Could you give this foolish believer even a small hint?”

Chen Yu mentally noted that his plan to trick had worked and replied solemnly by thought, “Head west, deeper into the swamp. That is my home.”

“I understand!” Tulk drew a deep breath and adopted an unbearably solemn expression, as if accepting a sacred mission.

“Please rest assured, envoy. I will protect you and see you safely home.”

In his imagination, the swamp’s depths would be more treacherous, teeming with chaotic mana and dangerous magical creatures.

He had steeled himself, so he carefully set the slime envoy on his shoulder, gripped his crude wooden spear, and began westward step by cautious step.

He was so cautious that after most of a day he had only covered a few kilometers.

Chen Yu was speechless. Was such caution really necessary? Did the lizardfolk think his territory was the lair of some terrible dragon?

He couldn’t help but remind him again, “Quickly, quickly, it’s just ahead. Hurry up, I’m eager to go home and eat.”

“A-alright, envoy, sit steady.” Tulk hurriedly answered, eyes sweeping the surroundings warily.

He clambered over a broken rotten log and was about to continue when a “gurgle gurgle” of bubbles drifted through the mist ahead.

Normally he would have assumed it was simply swamp gas bubbling up from below.

But now he saw a dark silhouette blocking the path in the fog, and his vigilance spiked. This trial was indeed no simple matter.

After all, the final step of a trial wouldn’t just be escorting an envoy home — the road would be filled with hardships, dangers, and powerful foes.

After bracing himself mentally, he lowered his body into a hunting stance and crept forward almost soundlessly.

The bubbling grew louder in his ears as he approached.

As he neared, the mist parted to reveal the black shape.

A dazed little crocodile met his gaze, blinking curious big eyes as if to say, Two-leg, what are you skulking around for?

Just a croc...

Before Tulk could relax, his eyes caught the folded wings on the little crocodile’s back.

A s-subdrake?!

Tulk’s face drained of color. He fell back onto the slick moss, trembling so badly his spear nearly slipped from his hands.

Are you kidding me?

To become a shaman, the ultimate trial is to defeat a subdrake?!

How on earth did Shazak the shaman and Sister Sekashi pass back then?

Were they secretly dragon-slaying heroes?!

A thousand chaotic thoughts flickered through his head. Though fear made his limbs quiver, he clenched his teeth and forced down the instinct to run, propping himself up with his spear to stand.

“C-come on! I…I’m not afraid of you!” he shouted at the subdrake, trying to drown out his terror with volume.

The subdrake ignored his provocation and instead fixed its gaze on the slime perched on his shoulder.

Chen Yu was utterly exasperated.

"Little Ka, what are you hiding here for?"

"Little Ka, blowing... blowing bubbles, playing."

Chen Yu sighed inwardly. “Fine. You can carry this lizardfolk back, so he stops dawdling.”

Then he explained to the still-tensed Tulk, “Don’t be nervous. This is Little Ka, a guardian of our slime homeland. He will take us home.”

On hearing “guardian,” Tulk froze for several seconds. His muscles stayed tight, but he visibly relaxed.

He was stunned that a subdrake would guard slimes.

And the slime homeland he’d never heard of—could it be Putu’s hidden divine realm deep within the swamp?

He drifted in such thoughts, unaware he had unconsciously moved closer to the subdrake and actually climbed up onto its back.

Although lizardfolk are shorter than humans, he still seemed large compared to this young drake.

Before he could worry if the subdrake could carry him, Little Ka beat his wings and rose smoothly into the air.

“Wah!”

Tulk cried out, clinging desperately to Little Ka’s neck, terrified of falling from the sky.

Once the initial fear passed and he adapted to the steady flight, an indescribable excitement surged through him.

He—a lizardfolk who had lived his whole life in the marsh—was flying! Soaring through the sky!

It felt like something that could only come from a dream!

As that thought bloomed, his nervousness and fear gave way to curiosity and eager anticipation for this fantastical journey.

He began to imagine what the legendary Putu realm, the slime homeland, must look like...

While he indulged in these fantasies, the outline of the Swamp Fortress grew near.

As Little Ka carried him through a drifting veil of thin mist, the towering fortress walls burst into view like a miracle.

Sunlight bathed the territory, which buzzed with activity.

Poison-stinger Wasps patrolled methodically, Beetles formed long lines hauling supplies, and slimes were everywhere.

Slimes of all colors hopped freely across the land, flitting between tidy fields and odd tree houses.

Even more surprising, different slime groups wore different outfits—some with little flowers on their heads, some donning tiny hats, others bustling like craftsmen around constructions.

Just like humans, though they looked similar, their clothing made their roles easy to pick out.

Tulk stood bewildered, feeling as if he had stepped into a legendary, dreamlike kingdom made for slimes.

“Putu above…”

He murmured, eyes full of shock and reverence. “Could this…really be the fantasy land crafted by Putu?”

Even after Little Ka landed him gently on the trimmed grass within the territory, Tulk remained in a daze.

He awkwardly slid off the drake’s back and felt the solid ground beneath his feet yet it seemed unreal, like stepping on clouds.

He stood blankly and looked around.

A bearded Dwarf passed by yawning widely. Seeing him, the dwarf muttered, “Where did this lizardboy come from? Looks half-asleep, standing here like he’s sleepwalking.”

After saying that, the dwarf casually nodded to the slime on Tulk’s shoulder. “Good morning, Your Majesty.”

Chen Yu waved a gelled hand as a return greeting, and then said to Tulk, “Our king, the slimes’ ruler, has heard you have arrived and wishes to see you. Will you come with me?”

“Slime…king? He wants to meet me?”

Tulk snapped out of his stupor. His heart pounded and he nodded like a man beating mortar, “Yes, I’d be honored. Of course I will.”

Guided by Chen Yu, Tulk tiptoed, careful not to step on the hopping slime residents.

He entered an odd building that seemed to have grown naturally from several massive Swamp Oak trees, cleverly blended with stonework—a wondrous fusion of nature and craft.

The tree house interior was spacious and warm, sunlight pouring in through thoughtfully designed windows.

At the far end, on a throne carved from oak, sat a noticeably larger green slime with a small crown on its head.

It looked much like the other slimes but carried a unique, comforting charisma that eased Tulk’s nerves instantly.

He drew a deep breath, stepped forward, and presented himself as solemnly as he could: “Tulk of the Rotten Moss Tribe pays respects to the great Slime King, His Majesty.”

The green slime on the oak throne wobbled its gel up and down to show assent, trying to convey the dignity of a king.

“Devout follower of Putu, welcome to the Slime Kingdom, to this land favored by nature.”

“Slime Kingdom…”

Tulk repeated the name, still dazed.

He had only intended to pass the tribe’s shaman trial, but somehow he had been swept into a dreamlike journey.

He had ridden a subdrake into the sky, found the legendary slime realm, and even stood before its king.

Everything seemed impossible. Even if he returned and told his parents, they would think he had fainted from hunger and hallucinated.

Seeing this foolish expression, Chen Yu continued, “Putu watches over His followers. Your devotion and courage have passed nature’s test.”

“You came from far away. You must be hungry. First, eat some of the kingdom’s food.”

As he spoke, a few Beetles crawled in, bearing on their broad carapaces food laid on broad leaves: several chunks of tuber roasted until the skins were crisp, and skewers of juicy moss monsters sizzling with oil.

The aroma pierced Tulk’s nose and his stomach audibly gurgled.

“Th-thank you, Your Majesty!”

He couldn’t contain himself. He grabbed a roasted tuber the size of a fist and bit down.

In no time he had swallowed chunk after chunk, tasting nothing particularly sophisticated—only that it was delicious, intensely so...

At that moment he thought of his tribe by the Reed River, stockpiling for winter.

The thought of elderly parents and hungry young ones possibly succumbing when the long Winter Year came made him feel hollow, and the food in his hands went suddenly tasteless.

After filling his belly somewhat, his courage swelled.

He lifted his head and looked toward the throne, then summoned the nerve to ask, “Y-Your Majesty, forgive my bluntness. Does the kingdom have more food like this?”

“Our Rotten Moss Tribe is willing to trade anything you might find valuable—furs, herbs, or our labor.”

Oh?

Chen Yu inwardly chuckled. The foolish lizardfolk had at last come up with a smart idea—bartering for food.

He maintained his regal composure and replied, “The Slime Kingdom does not generally trade food with outsiders.”

“But for those who live on this land, the kingdom promises that its people will never go hungry, nor will they perish from cold.”

“The kingdom has sufficient strength to shelter its subjects from external bullying and nature’s harshness.”

Never go hungry or freeze? Never be bullied?

Those words struck deep in Tulk’s heart.

This was...this was exactly the fantasy he and his people had dreamed of for generations.

It matched his image of Putu’s divine realm almost perfectly.

Legends said Putu’s realm teemed with slimes, its streams ran with sweet dew, even the ground was made of bread and jelly, and there was never the rank smell of fish.

In that instant, the young lizardfolk thought of so much: his elderly parents, the suckling young, all those still struggling to survive.

He drew a steadying breath, tamped down his wildly beating heart, and made a decision that might change his tribe’s fate.

He stepped forward and, with unprecedented solemnity, voiced his request:

“Mighty Slime King, Your Majesty, forgive my presumption and greed.”

“But I, as the shaman of the Rotten Moss Tribe, earnestly implore you to shelter our people. We are willing to join the Slime Kingdom as a whole and become your loyal subjects.”