Chapter 82 (1/2)

Twenty-nine dismayed inner disciples sat around in a circle. After having their spoils returned to their undefeatable enemies by their very own guide, they were forced to fight titans at night whilst having their heads stuck to a giant golden frisbee. When the night was over, they were whisked away to a new area and dropped on the ground. However, none of them had any motivation to go exploring.

“What’s wrong?” Grandpa Vremya asked. “This place isn’t fresh enough for you to explore?”

The inner disciples stared at their guide with aggrieved expressions. Even if they risked their lives to harvest treasures, they’d be forced to return them unless they were strong enough to kill the beasts guarding the loot. A few disciples had pulled it off yesterday, successfully raiding nests and fruit trees, but upon hearing their fellow disciples’ plights, their joy was short-lived—mostly because a lot of them had severed their ability to feel joy.

“Well, whatever,” Grandpa Vremya said. He glanced at Azalea. “See? They understand the true worth of the pocket realm comes at night. Look at them conserving their energy to fight titans.”

Azalea rolled her eyes. If they had a normal guide, they’d certainly be exploring as much as possible. “Can this pocket realm’s so-called true worth win you the silver chicken feather?”

“Obviously,” Grandpa Vremya said. The inner disciples’ eyes lit up and glanced at their untrustworthy guide. Did he really have a way to make them stronger or richer than all the other groups? Grandpa Vremya held out his palm, and a black tentacle appeared in his hand. A bottle appeared on the ground before him, and there was a bit of distortion around the black limb. It was crushed and squeezed; all of the blood that had been trapped inside was forced into the glass bottle, leaving a dried limb behind. Grandpa Vremya tossed the dried tentacle to Azalea. “Eat this.”

Azalea stared at the tentacle. It was tough and wrinkled, looking a lot like a piece of dried beef. “How about you eat it?”

Grandpa Vremya waved his hand dismissively. “You know I don’t eat things.”

“According to the pocket realm’s description, the miniature titans, as you call them, are extremely poisonous.” Azalea handed the tentacle back to Grandpa Vremya. “If we eat this, we’ll die.”

Grandpa Vremya snorted. “Only the blood is poisonous,” he said and placed the tentacle back into Azalea’s hands. “I already squeezed all of it out. Eat it.”

Azalea stared at the tentacle in her hands. No matter how much she trusted Grandpa Vremya, she still couldn’t help but hesitate when she thought about how the tentacle would taste. Not to mention, the tentacles were used by the titans to wrap around anything and everything. It was unsanitary. However, the trust she had built up over the decades with Grandpa Vremya overcame her feelings of repulsion. She took in a deep breath and brought the tentacle to her mouth. Without hesitation, she bit a chunk of it off, reinforcing her teeth with her spiritual energy to make it a clean separation.

“Wait, what the hell?” Grandpa Vremya asked. “You’re just going to eat it like that? Don’t tell me you don’t know how to cook; you did my chores for five years.”

Azalea spat the chunk of tentacle out of her mouth. “You should’ve told me that first!”

“Isn’t that common sense?” Grandpa Vremya asked. “If I gave you a raw piece of meat and told you to eat it, you’d obviously cook it first, no?”

“Shut up!” Azalea’s face flushed red. She huffed and stomped away. The inner disciples exchanged glances with one another, but none of them chose to comment. They just watched as Azalea took some wood out of her interspacial ring and set it on fire. A pot full of water soon followed, and soon, the tentacle was being turned into a stew. She glared at the rest of the inner disciples. “All of you are eating this with me.”

The inner disciples glanced at the rapidly darkening stew with stiff expressions. It was obvious Azalea was upset, but did she really have to take it out on them? Wasn’t the guide the one causing all sorts of disharmony within the group? It was a shame they had to follow him, or it’d be extremely difficult to find their way out. Like the entrance, the exit was created by the formation within the core disciples’ tokens. The inner disciples could only blame their bad luck and suck it up. They sat with bowls in their laps, waiting for the stew to be served. They had no idea why Azalea carried around so many bowls, but some questions shouldn’t be asked; everyone had their own secrets.