The Slime Doesn't Die from Mana Transfer

Chapter 93 : The Flying Men

It was as though the scene from just a week ago was being replayed.

Cries of misery filled Flemont once again.

But this time, it wasn’t the adventurers—those who had come to challenge the labyrinth—who were wailing. It was the merchants, caravans, and street vendors who had swarmed in to profit off the adventurers’ pockets.

The appearance of the Undead Fortress had drawn adventurers in droves. Supplies throughout Flemont had been stretched thin. Even though the Adventurer’s Guild had immediately requested material shipments from nearby cities, unexpected obstacles had cropped up—simply put, the nobles were deliberately tightening the supply.

After all, the same grain could fetch a higher price. Who wouldn’t want that?

And adventurers were migratory by nature. Squeezing them for profit once or twice wouldn’t cause any turmoil in the nobles’ own lands.

So the rise in Flemont’s prices was inevitable.

Of course, the nobles didn’t intend to make enemies of adventurers completely. Taking all factors into account, they still allowed some supplies to enter, stabilizing the market just enough. But market dynamics were never determined by one side alone. Once the nobles had constricted supply even slightly, speculating merchants and trade guilds also began hoarding goods and selling at high prices.

Several major trading guilds banded together, buying up and stockpiling Flemont’s resources.

Then they released them in limited quantities, forcing people to pay inflated prices.

Too expensive for you? Don’t want to buy?

If you won’t, others will.

There was no shortage of wealthy adventurers. Flemont had plenty.

The guild leaders sat in their offices, drinking and feasting, watching as adventurers outside cursed them to their faces—yet still ended up paying obediently. Otherwise, they’d have no roof over their heads and would be forced to leave.

Life couldn’t have been sweeter.

Until the news arrived: the Undead Fortress had vanished.

…

Today, Flemont’s watchtower was unusually lively.

Not only had a group of well-dressed merchants gathered at the top, but crowds of adventurers had also assembled below.

They’d heard there would be a “performance.”

The show was called “The Flying Men.” Without safety nets.

Splat!

A black figure plummeted from the sky, hitting the ground with a sharp, muffled thud.

The onlookers erupted in cheers, waving their arms, whistling, and hollering for an encore. There was no respect for life in their eyes, only a hunger for blood.

The wind atop the tower was fierce, whipping at the robes of the finely dressed merchants.

At the front, an old man adjusted his neat cravat. His expression was calm—he had already prepared himself before coming here. There was nothing left to fear.

There was no regret in his eyes, only resignation to the wager he had lost.

“Goddess Sevenstar, bless me. May I be born into a better life next time.”

With that, he leapt from the tower.

Before he even hit the ground, a young man in equally fine clothes rushed forward. Shouting, “Sevinstar, f*** my—!” he too threw himself off.

Splat! Splat!

Two in a row—shocking the crowd.

The cheers below grew even louder.

Corlence peered down from the tower’s edge.

The adventurers below had already dragged the corpses aside, clearing space. If he jumped now, he wouldn’t land on a body and risk surviving.

He shivered, instinctively pulling a portrait from his breast.

It was of a red-haired girl, smiling brightly like a flower in bloom. Anyone who saw such a smile would feel warmth in their heart.

Corlence’s tears slid down his cheeks.

“Ah… Sherry, forgive me…”

“Hey, you jumping or not?”

Someone behind him clapped his shoulder, cigarette dangling from his lips. Smoke curled lazily from his mouth.

“I’m in a rush to reincarnate. Mind letting me go first?”

“…Go ahead.”

“Thanks.”

The man stepped past him, taking a deep drag. He blew a smoke ring toward the sky and flicked the cigarette off the tower.

Looking down at the countless eager eyes below, he smirked coldly.

He began to chant in a low voice.

“In the valley of ruin, the cold winds blow, in spring and autumn—”

Thud!

Corlence kicked him off.

“YOU BAS—”

Splat!

Cheers again.

Corlence drew a deep breath, steadying his emotions.

For over ten years, he had been in business.

He had started with nothing, selling vegetables in the streets. With his savings, he’d caught a few lucky breaks, making enough to grow, eventually joining the merchants’ guild.

Over a decade, he prospered.

And from that career, he had learned a single iron law: The bold feast, the timid starve.

Only those who dared to think and act could climb higher, faster.

When he heard of the S-Rank labyrinth, conveniently near his city, Corlence thought it heaven-sent. He staked his entire fortune, borrowing heavily from guild headquarters, hoping to use this chance for one last leap in class.

He had even secured support from nearby nobles to guarantee success.

But he had overlooked one thing: The more cunning a man, the more likely he would fall at the most unexpected place.

One misstep, eternal regret. A glance back, and a lifetime has already passed.

Carefully, he tucked his daughter’s portrait back into his chest. He could not repay the guild. This was his only path.

“Forgive me, Sherry… all I can leave you is that much. In the next life, I’ll be a better father…”

Murmuring, he leaned forward and fell from the tower.

The wind shrieked past his ears.

Splat—

Another corpse below the Flemont watchtower.

The crowd cheered, whistled, and stomped in excitement, as though attending a grand festival.

The men in charge dragged the body aside, then returned to the crowd to watch the next leap.

In a nearby alley, a red-haired girl watched her father’s corpse discarded like trash. Her pretty brows furrowed slightly.

She clicked her tongue, turned away, and left without a word.

Her father’s death did not surprise Sherry.

He had taken a string of lucky miracles for granted. Even though she had begged him repeatedly, he remained stubborn, even locking her away.

He never realized, he was no longer that penniless vegetable seller from years ago.

He couldn’t afford to gamble. And he couldn’t afford to lose.

That he ended this way was nothing but self-inflicted.

Creak—

She pushed open the inn room’s door, pulling a spotless box from under the bed.

Inside were jewels, gold, and a neatly written invitation to the Rhine Royal Magic Academy.

A smile tugged at Sherry’s lips.

Months ago, she had secretly sold several of her father’s properties, gathering a hidden sum of money.

With it, she had bought this invitation to the Royal Academy, with a little left over. Not much, but not too little either.

It was just right for her.

“Always throwing everything on the table like some gambler, clinging to phantom luck… Father, your foolishness was beyond imagination. This is where your path ends.”

“Just wait and see, Father.”

“When I climb to the very top of this kingdom, I’ll come back—and put a monument on your grave.”