Chapter 166 – New Base

Sunset City was essentially no different from other cities. It had its prosperous side—red bricks and green tiles, pavilions and stages, neatly arranged stone walls dotted with patches of moss. Elegant noblewomen, dressed in colorful silk gauze dresses, rode in gold-and-silver-adorned carriages that sped along the broad roads.

The city also had its tragic and filthy side. In those inconspicuous, remote places, lawless zones piled high with garbage were home to countless starving people in tattered clothes. They lived in shacks made of ragged burlap and survived on food begged from the city or scavenged from trash heaps.

Some hidden alleys were gathering spots for gangsters and black-market smugglers, where heavily made-up streetwalkers solicited customers, and schemes and murders occurred incessantly.

However, no one dared to flaunt these activities openly in Sunset City. On one hand, the city was, to some extent, a military stronghold of the Dillon Kingdom. The kingdom’s mercenaries and professionals, along with hundreds of thousands of stationed troops, were not merely for show.

On the other hand, the City-Protecting Sword Saint of Sunset City, General of the Seventh Army of the Dillon Kingdom—Vik Mokamos—was a Lawful, good-aligned level 13 Sword Saint.

Most importantly, he was not like Bahanger, who enjoyed a reputation without doing any real work. This Sword Saint was praised for his meticulous attention to detail and hands-on approach to his duties.

It was said that due to his loyalty to the royal family, he was bestowed a Master-Level greatsword named “Wind-Bathing Punisher” upon reaching the Formal-Level. It was precisely because of this Master-Level Magic Equipment that even Formal-Level experts feared him to some extent!

Though it was unclear if anyone in the city was foolish enough to stir up trouble, Punk, at least, intended to steer clear of this Sword Saint. He understood better than most what a level 13 expert with Master-Level Equipment meant. Moreover, Punk had recently caused too much trouble. If he didn’t want an Archmage knocking at his door, keeping a low profile was absolutely necessary.

Thus, almost entirely unnoticed, a crooked little wooden hut suddenly appeared in a remote, shadowy corner of the slums near the garbage heaps. The hut bore no “inappropriate” features, and the surrounding starving residents paid no attention to the structure that had sprung up overnight.

This was the slums—a garbage dump forgotten by prosperity. Even the night watch soldiers avoided patrolling here, and all the starving people were constantly busy begging or scavenging for food on the Garbage Mountain. An unaccounted-for wooden hut simply couldn’t attract anyone’s notice.

And this silent, unnoticed “move-in” was exactly what Punk wanted.

Indeed, that little wooden hut was Punk’s new base. In terms of grandeur, it was incomparable to the White Tower—one was in the heavens, the other in the mud. But as a truth-seeking spellcaster, Punk didn’t mind the poorer living conditions. All he required was practicality.The small wooden cabin had a massive basement, with layers of alert magic arrays crisscrossing the marble walls created by “Mud-to-Stone.” The basement’s layout remained true to its “Punk style”—containing nothing but the experiment table!

Punk had reasons for choosing the slums to build his new base. The first characteristic of this place was its low profile and secrecy. Who would expect a noble Formal-Level mage to settle in a garbage dump?

Another crucial reason was the starving residents here. Punk couldn’t openly purchase slaves for experiments anymore, leaving “hunting” as his only temporary means of acquiring test subjects.

But Sunset City was no Doleiz City, and Vick Swordsaint was no simple-minded dwarf like Bahanger. This fellow managed Sunset City with utmost diligence. If over a dozen civilians vanished without a trace in the city, it would undoubtedly draw his attention.

The slums, however, were different. The people living here weren’t even registered in Sunset City’s records. They had no identities, and no one cared whether they lived or died.

In fact, even now, many residents of Sunset City remained unaware that thousands of people lived in the city’s garbage dumps. Punk was confident that the occasional disappearance of five or six individuals here would go unnoticed!

——————Break——————

“Now that the base is ready, it’s time to get down to business”!

Punk stood quietly in the dimly lit basement hall. With no furniture, the space felt exceptionally empty.

His first task was to repair Golem Number One.

Golem Number One’s combat prowess was beyond doubt. Though it often couldn’t defeat opponents of the same level, its fearlessness allowed Punk to control it in exchanging injuries while he unleashed attacks from behind. As the saying went… only a mage with a meat shield could truly become a good artillery piece!

Moreover, repairing Golem Number One’s body wasn’t particularly difficult.

Punk carefully placed the flesh golem—now just a half-torso—on the ground, then retrieved a fully loaded wooden barrel from his Storage Ring. The barrel’s surface was engraved with tri-colored magical runes, containing chunks of crimson, blood-soaked flesh!

Clearly, the flesh belonged to the “remains” of Kangkai and Bahanger. Punk never wasted “legacies” contributed by Formal-Level beings.

After realizing the Bird of Filth required no sacrificial offerings, he had recollected the two Formal-Level experts’ flesh and specially inscribed simple preservation and energy-stabilizing arrays on the barrel to maintain the flesh’s vitality and power.

Now was finally the time for this flesh to serve its purpose.

Punk carefully set the barrel down and channeled a surge of mana into Golem Number One’s remains.Soon, glimmering specks of magical radiance emerged along the exposed muscle fibers of the golem. The flesh of the golem, saturated with Punk’s magic, began to writhe violently like the body of an octopus drenched in soy sauce. Chunks of muscle stretched into over a dozen small tentacles, and within seconds, large mouths sprouted at their tips, their sharp teeth gleaming ominously without restraint.

In truth, Punk hadn’t cast any spells—he had merely injected a surge of magic to stimulate the demonic flesh. Clearly, even after being fashioned into a golem, the flesh derived from demons retained its inherently evil and chaotic nature. Without a powerful will to control it, these mutated tissues began seeking blood on their own, without any guidance from Punk.

Upon detecting the “aromatic” barrels, all the muscular tentacles burrowed into them like ravenous leeches, sucking greedily. Meanwhile, Golem Number One’s wounds slowly healed. Although the chaotic nature of Abyssal energy constantly attempted to distort the growth direction of the regenerating flesh, under the constraints of various magic arrays, the purplish-black muscles ultimately settled back into their proper positions.

“Excellent, excellent! At this rate, you should recover almost completely in less than a day”!

Watching the Flesh Golem rapidly regenerate, Punk nodded in satisfaction.

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(End of Chapter)