Chapter 297 - 62: The Appearance of the Clockmaker

While Duan Fei and his party of four merrily ate and drank, riding a train and enjoying the scenery as they blazed a trail through the volcano and raced toward the entrance to the seventh floor, an undercurrent was stirring on the surface.

The changes at the Dungeon entrances across the Kingdom had already drawn the attention of observant parties.

After all, the Demon King’s advent was in its early stages. Natural disasters like droughts had already caused food shortages, and the Kingdom was preparing to invest resources into the various Dungeon entrances to facilitate their conquest by Adventurers.

However, secret reports from the Scouts soon left the local nobles perplexed.

When they learned that a group of lowly Demons—Slimes—were undertaking massive infrastructure projects in the towns and reviving one Dungeon entrance after another, the nobles burst into laughter. They even told the messengers to lay off the drink.

But when they confirmed the news’s authenticity time and again, realizing that a group of Slimes was indeed doing what they themselves had failed to do, the nobles fell silent.

They gathered their reports, selected a representative for the local nobility, and consolidated the opinions of the various Lords to be delivered to the King.

After reading the report, the rather portly King asked in confusion, "What’s the problem? We have Demons helping us build towns. Isn’t that a wonderful thing?"

"It is not." The noble representative bowed. "This is a flagrant disregard for royal authority—a provocation. Today they build towns without permission; tomorrow they might destroy them. Today they pledge allegiance to you as a group; tomorrow they could rebel against you. Scattered Demons are not to be feared. It is united Demons that are the true calamity."

"What!" The King flew into a rage, roaring, "Are they planning to rebel?! Send in the cavalry! We’ll slaughter those Slimes!"

Everyone knew the King was indecisive, but seeing him convinced in under a minute still sent a chill through the hearts of the ministers present.

The finance minister stepped forward, bowed, and took out a ledger. He put on his monocle and said, "5,300 gold coins."

"What do you mean?" the King asked, puzzled.

"That is our Kingdom’s treasury. 5,300 gold coins."

"Don’t try to fool me! This year’s tax revenue was one million, three hundred and ten thousand! I counted it myself—twice!"

"I admire your diligence, Your Majesty. However, at the start of the year, palace renovations cost eleven thousand, wardrobe purchases cost thirty-nine thousand, and then there are the stipends..."

Clutching his head, the King said, "Alright, alright, I know our finances are in a slump. But what does that have to do with fighting Slimes?"

"Deploying troops costs money."

"I am the King! They are my subjects! How dare they demand money from me!"

"If you were my student, I would tell you to drop dead right now! A pity you’re my King. All I can do is silently pray for your longevity."

Watching the finance minister spit out the well-wishes through clenched teeth, the King felt a chill and shuddered.

Huddling in his throne, he said helplessly, "Fine, I get it. We’re out of money. So what about the Slimes?"

"We do nothing. We wait. They seem to be heading for the twentieth floor, but no one has ever reached it. It’s even more impossible for Slimes. The current record is the fifteenth floor, and in the fifteen years since the Old Sword Saint’s death, no one has broken it."

Sensing things were turning against him, the noble representative quickly interjected, "Your Majesty—"

"Please shut your mouth," the finance minister said coldly. "I know what you’re planning. You regional Lords are reaching too far. You’re just looking for an excuse to expand your own Power. That fool of a King might not see it, but don’t think we’re all as stupid as he is. Why don’t you scurry on back to your provinces and provide support like you’re supposed to, you bunch of country bumpkins."

The conflict between the regional Lords and the court nobility was long-standing; they were already at each other’s throats.

The court nobles sought stability, while the regional Lords craved more land and Power. The two ambitions were naturally at odds.

Though they were on the brink of open war, they still shared a common enemy: the Demon King. To fight now would only lead them both into the Demon King’s trap.

The fact that the Demon King was the only thing keeping the peace between them was, it had to be said, a profound irony.

The "country bumpkin" remark struck a nerve. The regional Lord’s representative, face flushed red, glared at the finance minister.

Finally, he let out a cold snort. "I understand. It seems our requests will not be satisfied."

"That’s right."

"In that case, I can only say... my apologies."

"Are you declaring war?"

"Wrong. A massacre. Lord Clockmaker, if you please."

The sound of ticking clockwork filled the air. An old man stepped out of the river of time itself, appearing in the room.

He had a kind and gentle smile, but everyone sensed something inhuman about him. It was clear this was no ordinary old man.

"Who are you?!" the Guard Captain shouted, stepping forward and pointing at the Clockmaker.

Ignoring the burly Swordsman, the Clockmaker took out a pocket watch and calmly began to wind it backward.

The ignored Guard Captain immediately adopted a fighting stance and charged. His longsword was about to pierce the Clockmaker’s body when he watched in astonishment as it began to melt rapidly in his hand, reverting to a simple iron ingot.

It wasn’t just his weapon; the armor on his body was also melting and shrinking.

Stripped of his weapon and armor, the Guard Captain instantly realized how extraordinary his opponent was.

’He must be using some kind of mysterious Magic,’ the Guard Captain thought. ’A Magic that can even reverse time, destroying my weapon and Equipment!’

Realizing this, the Guard Captain acted decisively. He leaped forward, grabbed the Clockmaker’s head with both hands, and twisted it clean off.

Black machine oil gushed from the severed neck, yet the Clockmaker calmly continued to turn the pocket watch in his hand, completely unperturbed.

His wound began to heal, his head pushed back into place by the Power of time itself.

As the Guard Captain prepared to strike again, he suddenly noticed the Clockmaker seemed to be getting larger.

’No,’ he realized. ’I’m the one getting smaller.’

The reversed time was now affecting him.

His age was rapidly regressing. Scars vanished from his skin, his powerful physique slowly grew slender, and his stern face was gradually replaced by a youthful, unseasoned one.

He regressed from a burly man to a ripe young adult, then from a young adult to an adolescent boy.

His height began to shrink, and he grew shorter.

It wasn’t just him. Everyone, aside from the regional Lord’s representative, was suffering from the erosion of time. In the end, they were all reduced to swaddled infants, wailing because they could not see their mothers.

Amidst the cacophony of crying, the Clockmaker ascended to the throne. He picked up the infant King, cradling him in his arms, and said to the representative of the regional Lords, who was kneeling below, "Do as you please."

"Thank you, Lord Clockmaker."