After putting a few kilometers between myself and Springvale, I veered off the dirt road and wandered into a small flower-covered clearing. It didn't take long to spot what I was looking for — slimes. A few scattered groups, nothing too intimidating. I figured I'd start with the easy ones and made my way toward a trio of Pyro blobs lazily oozing along, minding their own slimy business.
As I got closer, I noticed something odd. Despite their fiery nature, they weren't scorching the grass or setting the flowers alight. That piqued my curiosity, but I decided to deal with the little troublemakers first and save the questions for later.
The answer turned out to be surprisingly simple: a switch. Not a literal one, of course, but a biological mechanism — something akin to a porcupine's quills. The moment danger strikes, the outer layer activates. Defensive reflex. Turns out that applies to all slimes, regardless of their element.
As for how to kill them? You either slice them into several smaller chunks — since any partially intact parts regenerate very slowly — or damage the core directly. But that wasn't my plan. Not if I wanted to make some actual profit.
Still, it wasn't just about the money. I was also here for answers. I picked up one of the small, porous spheres left behind after the fight — its texture somewhere between pumice and sponge — and a message popped up right in front of my face:
Lesser Slime Core
Value: 1 SP
Convert to Synthesis Points?
Yes / No
I confirmed the prompt and watched with interest as the core in my hand began to glow with a faint, warm light before disintegrating into dust.
+1 SP acquired
Nice effect. Reminded me of what happened with the hilichurls. Though unlike the slimes, their bodies didn't vanish right away after synthesis. I didn't fully understand why yet, but I had a working theory: anatomy.
A slime, at its core, is basically just a brain — or something like one — wrapped in fake flesh. Primitive, simple. Hilichurls, on the other hand, are a lot more complex biologically. If Synthesis Points are harvested by absorbing those porous slime cores, then it all starts to make sense.
I haven't exactly dissected any locals yet, so I can't say for certain how it works. Not that I'm dying to try, either. For now, let's just stick to theory and leave the messy part for some more desperate future version of me.
By the end of the run, I'd managed to collect just over twenty cores. I didn't push my luck further — the sun was already starting to dip, and I still had to hike back to the village and hand everything over to the local appraiser.
"Well then, ready to head home, little guy?" I asked, glancing at Rimuru, who had dozed off on my shoulder.
"Guu," the slime gurgled in agreement, then promptly started snoring again.
I chuckled and gave him a quick, absentminded pat before heading back to Springvale with a bit more energy in my step. The return trip took half as long, thanks to my fully healed leg — and the fact that I wasn't stopping every five minutes to gawk at the scenery. I'd already seen everything I needed to. There'd be time for sightseeing tomorrow.
Right now, all I wanted was a hot meal and about twelve solid hours of sleep.
The walk back into town was met with the usual round of lingering stares and the muffled chatter of families gathered inside their homes, probably already sitting down to dinner. My stomach growled in agreement. Swallowing a bit of traitorous drool, I quickened my pace and, within a few minutes, reached the building I was looking for — the one with the quest board mounted out front.
I stepped up to the solid-looking wooden door and gave it a gentle push.
The interior was plain, with no effort wasted on decoration. At the far end stood what looked like a reception counter, flanked by a pair of closed cabinets I could only guess at the contents of. Off to the side, behind a heavy curtain, was what I assumed led to a back room or storage area.
I scanned the space briefly before my gaze landed on a young woman stepping out from a corner nook. Short wheat-colored hair, piercing green eyes, and the kind of no-nonsense expression that said she'd seen her fair share of travelers. Her sharp gaze gave me a once-over — and, predictably, lingered for a beat on the snoozing slime slumped on my shoulder.
"Good evening," she greeted curtly, her voice businesslike.
"Evening," I replied, just as briefly.
Formalities handled, I pulled a bundle of cloth from my pack and laid it on the counter. It was all that was left of my shirt, which I'd sacrificed earlier as makeshift wrapping. At this point, I was wearing nothing under my thin sweater, which wasn't exactly ideal, but I'd live.
Inside the bundle: a collection of cores from the slimes I'd taken down.
"Just a moment," she said briskly and set to work, swiftly emptying the makeshift sack onto the counter and counting through the haul with practiced ease.
"That'll be 130 mora," she said a moment later, sweeping the cores into a cloth sack she pulled from beneath the counter.
"Here you go."
She placed a small pile of coins in varying sizes and denominations onto the table.
I didn't know much about the local economy beyond the name of the currency, but according to what a few knights had told me, this amount should last about a week — assuming I didn't start living like a noble.
I gave a thankful nod, scooped the coins into a pouch, and offered a brief farewell before turning and heading out.
My next stop was the tavern, which stood taller than the surrounding buildings and sat neatly on the opposite end of the street. As I drew closer, I gave it a once-over, comparing it to the mental image I'd had in mind.
A sturdy, two-story structure perched on a thick stone foundation, blending 17th-century European design with the unmistakable flair of anime-style fantasy. Pretty much on-brand for this world.
After a quick visual inspection, I stepped through the invitingly open door — making sure to stash my spear back into inventory first. A wave of savory smells rolled over me the moment I crossed the threshold, and judging by how crowded the place was, I wasn't the only one who'd been drawn in.
Not that I was surprised. I'd once read that, in the Middle Ages, firewood was expensive enough that eating at a tavern was actually cheaper than cooking at home. A proper cooking stove was more of a luxury than a standard household feature.
That would certainly explain the lack of chimneys I'd noticed during my earlier stroll through Springvale.
Weaving my way between the tables and narrowly avoiding a collision with one of the waitresses — who looked oddly familiar for reasons I couldn't quite place — I eventually reached the bar, where a bald, bored-looking innkeeper was half-heartedly wiping down the counter.
"Adventurer?" he asked, glancing up with disinterest — only for his eyes to widen the moment he noticed the Anemo slime snoozing on my shoulder.
"Something like that," I replied with a vague shrug and turned my attention to the hand-painted menu board nearby, scanning it with growing focus.
"If you're after something hearty and filling, I'd recommend the butter stew and the fish soup," the barkeep offered in a tone that was surprisingly warm. "If you're looking for a room, most of them are open — pick whichever you like. Five mora a night. Bathhouse's only heated on Saturdays."
I did a quick mental tally of my remaining funds, factored in future expenses, and decided he wasn't steering me wrong. Seemed smart to go with the food first — then I'd book a room for the week in advance. I wasn't planning to dive straight into the city until I'd built up some coin and maybe sharpened a few of my underwhelming skills. The system hadn't pushed any new quests since I wrapped up the last one, but something told me this lull wouldn't last long. Better to be prepared when things started to heat up again.
Finding an empty table in the crowd proved hopeless — until I spotted a familiar group: the knights I'd bumped into earlier that morning. Thankfully, they didn't mind me tagging along. And somehow, conversation just... happened.
It started awkwardly, with the usual "Where are you from?" types of questions, which I deflected with vague, noncommittal answers. Eventually, they got the hint that this mysterious outsider — codename: Mark X — wasn't keen on oversharing. So the topic shifted to local politics, which actually caught my interest.
Mid-discussion, a loud clack signaled the arrival of two steaming plates in front of me. I was momentarily distracted by the adorably anime-esque waitress — though my stomach quickly reminded me who was really in charge here. I thanked her for the meal and dove in.
The food was criminally good. But so was the knights' conversation.
"Heard the ambassador from Snezhnaya's arriving next month," said Roz, a dark-haired man nursing his second oversized mug of ale, though his tone was sharper than the alcohol warranted — and he kept shooting me sideways glances that I didn't like.
What, did I look like a spy?
"Trying to seize the opportunity while Grand Master Varka's off on expedition with most of the order?" his comrade — guy went by the name Thyme, of all things — mused aloud.
"Looks that way," Roz said, shrugging. "Still, even with our little Ursa problem sorted I doubt they'll try anything too bold. Mondstadt's a lot farther from Fontaine than it is from Snezhnaya. They won't be able to push their agenda so easily out here."
"Don't forget about the Windwardens," the dark-haired knight chuckled into his mustache.
"Fair point," his friend agreed with a lazy nod. "Hey, Klaus! Another round over here!"
"You got it!" the barkeep called back, already reaching for the mugs.
Meanwhile, my thoughts were spiraling in a whole different direction. I still couldn't pin down the exact timeframe of this world's events, but one thing was becoming clear: no one in the conversation had mentioned the Traveler — or his floating emergency food supply. At the same time, Master Varka had already taken off on his expedition, leaving Jean in charge of the Knights of Favonius. So, I must've landed here before Aether — or Lumine, depending on the path — made their debut.
Then again... if memory serves, the Traveler wandered the wilds alone for nearly two months before running into Paimon and heading to Mondstadt. That's how it played out in the game, anyway. Whether things would follow the same script here was anyone's guess.
"Mind if I ask you something, Mark?" Thyme spoke up cautiously, finally sipping the beer he'd been waiting on for half the conversation. (Seriously, what kind of name is Thyme? Curse you, localization team.)
"Hm?" I glanced at him over the rim of my mug, taking a sip of what passed for cold berry compote in this world.
"Don't take this the wrong way," he said, raising both hands in a gesture that was half apology, half preemptive damage control, "but most travelers steer clear of Wolvendom. They usually go the long way around through Whisperwind. Too many monsters in the forest these days, and the Order's short on manpower."
So I could've taken a longer, safer route and saved myself the near-death experiences? Classic Mark. Real MVP moves.
"Yeah," Roz muttered, his brow furrowing. "If little Razor weren't out there chasing off hilichurls, the whole area would've turned into a bandit haven again."
"I'm not from around here, so I guess I took a wrong turn somewhere," I said, forcing an awkward chuckle and scratching the back of my head like some lost farm boy. Luckily for me, my pitiful acting skills were more than enough to fool two slightly drunk knights. They bought it without another word.
"Ah, gotcha," one of them said with a knowing nod. The other echoed it so precisely they may as well have rehearsed it.
They chatted a bit more between themselves, then stood up with the kind of theatrical grunting only men with "important business" tend to use when they've decided they're done drinking for the night. I didn't press. The important part was that they left.
Finally free of my overly inquisitive drinking buddies, I grabbed the room key from Klaus and dragged myself upstairs. After the whirlwind of the past three days, I barely made it to the bed before collapsing. The moment my head hit the pillow, it was lights out.