The Plant Master Becomes A Mute Sub-Beast: Farming And Laying Eggs

Learning that the valley was unclaimed, Collins pondered for half a day, and finally decided to choose this place as a resting spot for the tribe.

The tribespeople were exhausted from the blizzard and the dangers within the magical beast forest; they could not continue moving forward.

"My lord, are we not going directly to the Obsidian tribe?" The disciple wondered as he packed his luggage, "Wouldn’t joining them be safer than staying in this desolate valley?"

Collins shook his head, his eyes glinting with the caution of a seasoned man. "You heard what Walter said. A tribe that has been through war, with only over three hundred people left but possessing up to seven elders—one for each clan. They may appear submissive on the surface, but who knows if they are truly harmonious internally.

Our tribe doesn’t have many clans; out of over a thousand people, the majority are of the striped tiger clan. Tell me, would they allow such a large clan to have the power to interfere in the tribe’s internal affairs? Would they be willing to trust those who join halfway like us? Must I let our tribespeople live in suspicion for the rest of their lives?"

Hearing this, a slight chill ran down the disciple’s spine. He bowed respectfully. "You are right."

After instructing his disciple to return and handle the tribe’s affairs, he led Walter and a few of his beastmen to set up camp in a clearing some distance away from Kaelen’s cave. Looking at the piece of meat allotted to Kaelen, Walter fell into melancholy:

"He can’t eat anything; just smelling meat makes him nauseous, and even if he forces it into his mouth, he throws it all up. These past few days, he has only been able to consume some sour fruits and water."

Collins nodded. "Such a pregnancy reaction is normal. It will pass in about a month."

He took out the leather pouch hanging at his waist, retrieved some nut kernels that the Sub-Beasts in the tribe liked to eat, along with some berries gathered by the beastmen, and said: "Take all of this over to him, tell him to eat it little by little. Whenever he feels like throwing up, he should stop, and eat again when he feels better."

Walter still hadn’t accepted the fact that Kaelen was pregnant, but he didn’t doubt Collins’s words either. After all, he was a tribe’s Priest; why would he deceive Walter? However, he truly couldn’t figure out which beastman in the tribe had gotten Kaelen pregnant, because everyone kept their distance from one another.

Walter carefully placed the fruits and berries that Collins had given him onto a smooth stone slab in front of the cave entrance, then backed far away.

"Kaelen, I’m leaving the food out here! Uncle Collins said you should just eat it little by little..."

He hadn’t even finished his sentence when a vivid green vine slithered out from the darkness like a green snake, neatly coiled around the pile of fruits, and dragged them straight inside.

Seeing this, the striped tiger cub Halcyon, with a mouth still smeared with grease, ran over curiously and extended his tiny claws, intending to grab the vine.

Smack! Smack!

The vine heartlessly whipped the tiger cub’s plump rear with two loud smacks. Halcyon jolted, let out an aggrieved "Awoo!", then turned and ran for his life toward Barton, burying his head into Barton’s chest, crying pitifully. Seeing that scene, the Crimson beastmen couldn’t help but clutch their stomachs and roar with laughter.

It was the first time they had seen Halcyon being despised by someone like that.

The tiger cub, being mocked, jumped onto Barton’s head and scratched frantically. Barton shook his head, transformed into a large striped tiger, used his paw to push the cub onto his back, and then began to lick the cub’s fur.

The tiger cub lay with his belly exposed, enjoying it, emitting delighted purring sounds from his throat.

---

The north wind howled like weeping ghosts; several massive shadows waded through the blizzard.

Crack!

"Ouch, ouch, ouch, ouch! Oh, my teeth!"

A silver fox tossed away the prey in front of him and used his forelimbs to hold his chin, physiological tears welling up in his eye sockets. He had just tried to tear into a prey that had been frozen rock-hard by the blizzard.

A black wolf approached coldly, clamped the prey in his jaws, used his hind leg to kick the Silver Fox tumbling over, and leisurely walked away.

"Young Patriarch, wait for me!" The Silver Fox called out, rubbing his chin as he trotted after the wolf.

In the dark stone cave, the flickering firelight illuminated haggard, pale faces. A middle-aged beastman sat by the fire, sorrowfully accepting the stiff prey from the Black Wolf. "Is this all you managed to hunt?"

The Black Wolf shook his head slightly. "There are no living creatures left around here anymore. The blizzard is too severe."

The animals shook the snowflakes off their bodies, shivered once, and transformed into tall figures.

The silver fox beastman walked to the corner of the cave, rubbed his numb hands against the animal hide on his body to ward off the cold, and then felt the foreheads of several sick tribespeople. They were burning with high fevers, their lips cracked and bleeding; even though their bodies were curled up tightly, they still trembled in spasms. This was already the sixth batch of sick people since the blizzard; the previous five batches... not a single one survived.

The middle-aged beastman looked gloomily out the cave entrance; the blizzard was still blowing, and there was no telling when it would stop. Their tribe had been buried in the great storm a few days ago. Already sparse in numbers, they were now even fewer.

Looking at the dozens of lives—old and young, big and small—in the cave, he gritted his teeth and made a decision:

"Even if the storm clears, there will be nothing left to eat. We must go somewhere else."

That black wolf clan beastman called the young patriarch also sat down not far away, intending to use his claws to whittle a walking stick for the elderly, but his claws had almost entirely worn down. The beastman looked at his claws, then looked toward the middle-aged beastman, saying hoarsely:

"Daddy, where can we possibly go? Outside is a blanket of white; apart from snow, there is only more snow."

The middle-aged beastman sat back by the fire, snapped a branch, and threw it in, saying thoughtfully: "We will seek refuge with the Crimson tribe first. After that, if they don’t take us in, we will head south. I heard that on the other half of the magical beast forest, it doesn’t snow in winter."

He didn’t hold out hope that Crimson would take them in. Their tribe now only had a few dozen people left; only over ten beastmen and three young Sub-Beasts held any value, while the rest were all elderly and young cubs. Even though the Crimson tribe was famous for being mild-mannered, they certainly wouldn’t accept useless people like them.

Sharing the same thought as the middle-aged beastman were many other small tribes. However, they didn’t know that the Crimson tribe they wished to rely on was no longer in its old location, and the hope of a warm place in the southern part of the continent was also about to vanish into the vortex of time.

Collins didn’t know that many people were harboring hope regarding them, and even if he did know, he wouldn’t be able to do anything; he himself currently didn’t know where to go or what to do.

Today, Barton and Marco hunted down a magical boar. Just as they were about to butcher the pig to eat, it was snatched away by Kaelen’s unreasonable vines. Right in front of everyone, the pig was tightly constricted by the vines, with the sound of bones crunching loudly. Blood dripped steadily from the pig’s flesh, yet it was completely absorbed by the vines.

The vines very humanely left them one thigh and the stinking innards.

The crowd outside: "..." This is way too horrifying, brother!

The beastmen, not knowing whether to laugh or cry, tossed the innards far away in disgust and went to hunt another prey. As for Collins and Walter, one pig thigh was enough for them to eat. However, neither of them could swallow it down; every time they looked at the pig thigh, they were reminded of the gory scene from earlier, losing their appetites completely.

Looking thoughtful, Collins gazed toward the vines, which appeared somewhat more lush and green than before. He muttered: "Strange... the vines didn’t just suck the blood, they also drained all the Magical Energy from the Magical Boar’s corpse."

Collins’s words made Walter curious: "What is Magical Energy, Uncle?"

Collins sighed and explained with a worried tone: "Only children carrying the bloodline of warrior beastmen thirst for the violent energy from Magical Energy. Kaelen is lacking his mate’s pheromones, so his instinct compels him to use the vines to steal Magical Energy from dead magical beasts in order to soothe the fetus."

"Then just let Kaelen eat Magical Boars!" Walter replied innocently.

"You’re thinking too simply." Collins smiled bitterly. "The Magical Energy in wild beasts that hasn’t been refined is full of impurities and demonic nature; only warrior beastmen can absorb it.

Whenever a Sub-Beast uses unrefined energy to nourish a fetus, their body will weaken day by day. If the child is a beastman, it is destined to lose the chance to awaken its beast ability. If it’s a Sub-Beast, then it will also be sickly like its Papa, and it carries a very high risk of dying prematurely."

Hearing Collins’s explanation, Walter suddenly remembered himself and his Papa, saying: "My Daddy passed away when I was still an embryo. Was it because my Papa ate magical beast meat to nourish me that my Papa became so sickly? I really want to go back to my Papa’s side; I miss him so much!"

Thinking of his Papa enduring hardships so he could see the beautiful world, Walter couldn’t hold back his tears. Collins gently rubbed Walter’s head, comforting Walter.

"Don’t be sad; your Papa is surely missing you too. Right now, our tribe doesn’t have spare people to escort you back. We can only wait for Chapman to go to your tribe to deliver the news, and then bring your tribe’s people here."

Walter nodded repeatedly, yet he did not mention at all that the mountain cave Kaelen was staying in could lead right next to the Obsidian tribe. He was innocent but not stupid; he would not arbitrarily reveal such a massive defensive loophole to people of another tribe.

It seemed he also somewhat understood why Kaelen had sealed the cave entrance tight, not letting anyone come near.