Papyrus Dryad, while guiding us and moving, gently adjusted his monocle and carefully examined me. I hid my hands behind my back to conceal the artifact on my wrist.

“I’ve seen countless modified strains, but I’ve never encountered a dryad like you. Your dryad power feels very faint… rather, you seem closer to a small world tree. I’m curious what species were mixed in.”

Should I call him sharp-sensed, or just say he’s finally catching on with sloppy observation?

“Well… since it’s Lily… it’s mixed with lilies and such.”

Lily… it’s the flower, right…? I’m sure that in that anime where they fight in wedding dresses, they were holding a lily bouquet.

“I see. I’ve even seen a mix of up to 12 species, so it’s possible that you, too, have lost much of your identity due to hybridization, weakening your power. While in the past, the focus was on combining the merits of a few species to create the best, lately it seems history is being recorded as just throwing everything together randomly.”

He looked at the Wolfsbane sticking close beside me, following along, with the gaze of someone beholding a precious treasure.

“This improved strain of monkshood is a fine example born from a good combination of a few advantages. By combining the deadly poisonous plant monkshood with the highly toxic root of the white aconite, its lethality was enhanced. Reed grass, though a species from the swamp field with lower occupancy than the normal field, has strong vitality and excellent reproductive power, making it useful for increasing numbers. At first, many alchemists expressed concern about using reed grass. Reed grass was considered an unremarkable species with no particular merits. They worried that the inclusion of reed grass would weaken the identity of monkshood. Ah, this way.”

The passage lined with shelves stacked with countless Dryad pots ended, and we reached a room isolated by glass walls. Pausing his explanation, he slid the glass door open to the left and spoke to us in a serious tone, giving a warning.

“This is a room where highly toxic plants are stored separately. If you have no resistance to poison, be careful not to touch any surrounding plants or objects.”

At his words, I clasped my hands together to avoid accidentally touching anything. Unlike the place that resembled a warehouse, this area looked like a small greenhouse mixed with a laboratory. The colorful plants inside the glass walls were not stored in Dryad pots like the other specimens but were cultivated like greenhouse flowers.

“Anyway, after this improved strain of monkshood using reed grass achieved successful results, methods of mixing species like reed grass were reexamined. This monkshood marks the beginning of a new history.”

A smooth, dark blue stone floor appeared, and along the strangely engraved patterns, clear, transparent water flowed with a sparkling light.

These peculiar patterns were similar to those seen in the greenhouse of the 26th Terrarium. At the end of the pattern, a neat garden bed stood, enclosed by a waist-high glass wall like a fence. There, flowers resembling our Wolfsbane flower bloomed sparsely, with their heads bowed.

There were four flowers. Considering that more than half of the garden bed was empty, it seemed these were likely the spots of flowers that had been dispatched to the 26th Terrarium.

“By the way, I never imagined being born as a Dryad and returning. I tirelessly tried to infuse the blessings of the World Tree into these improved monkshood strains, but except for one time, there is no history of success.”

The Papyrus Dryad, looking down at Wolfsbane with an expression of great pride, seemed like a grandfather gazing at his grandchild.

“One time…?”

Does that mean there’s one more Dryad like Wolfsbane, since it succeeded once?

“Now, now, the Dryad data check is over here.”

Papyrus seemed too absorbed in Wolfsbane to hear my words. He led Wolfsbane, who clung to me unwilling to leave, toward a giant glass cylinder. As I tried to follow Wolfsbane, he extended his hand to stop me.

“Your turn is next. I need to quickly check the data on this improved variety of Monkshood here. It might take some time, but in the grand flow of history, it’s but an instant, so please wait calmly.”

Beside the glass cylinder was the blue-hued tablet that had read the dryad’s information in the greenhouse. Papyrus, as if it were routine, naturally pushed Wolfsbane into the cylinder and closed the door.

There was no lock or latch on the door, and it didn’t feel like a confined space at all. Perhaps that’s why Wolfsbane placed his small palms against the glass wall, ready to burst out at any moment, watching me with wide, anxious eyes. Though he had grown considerably, his gestures still seemed childlike, worried I might leave him behind.

“Ah, by the way, if you are ‘Black,’ you must have undergone that, right? Wasn’t it an immense pain? Even if it’s just a method to expand the vessel of the soul, I think it’s far too cruel a technique. Historically, this is what humans would call torture.”

While the tablet read Wolfsbane’s information, Papyrus looked at me and began to speak.

“Torture…?”

“That you’re a defective product must mean something went wrong at that stage, right? To be raised as a combat dryad under the administration, they would have carefully selected only the finest varieties to combine, I’d imagine.”

He lightly adjusted his monocle and examined me from head to toe as he spoke. Torture? What kind of brutal act could involve the word torture?

“I truly can’t even imagine it. No, I don’t even want to imagine it. To record history as it is, I need to see and hear everything vividly, but when it comes to that method, I just can’t muster the courage. Your black hair must have been burned black from the aftermath of that, right? To abandon the color of your beautiful petals, which are akin to your pride, and choose a black that is hard to attract even butterflies, bees, or birds—that must have taken immense courage.”

I touched my hair, tied up high, and pondered his words. My hair has been black since birth. Burned black? Is this alchemy tower really resorting to torture by burning plants? Aren’t they crazy?

“Hmm… I don’t remember much; the shock was too great back then.”

“Ah, that could be the case. If what you say is true… then that must involve truly tremendous pain. To lose your memory from the shock alone. Enduring a lightning bolt from the sky with your whole body is no easy feat, after all.”

Lightning… you say? Forced to be struck by lightning? What’s the point of that? Why would I be struck by lightning?

“You’re saying I was struck by lightning? I don’t remember it, so I can’t say. Why would I have endured something like that?”

“A tree that has endured being struck by lightning is historically considered auspicious, isn’t it? It proves itself a vessel worthy of containing the blessing of the World Tree, embodying the luck of overcoming disaster and the patience of enduring pain. Furthermore, it becomes a vessel fit to become the king of the forest. In that process, it’s unfortunate that countless flowers and trees fail to endure and die, but isn’t it an opportunity to be reborn as a very strong dryad, one that won’t easily break because its core has been burned by lightning? I have no doubt that the Administrative Officer keeps driving the plants under the lightning bolts for such a grand purpose.”

I’ve heard tales that a jujube tree struck by lightning is used as a talisman as a symbol of luck, or is made into a seal because it’s very hard. But I never imagined there would be guys mass-producing them like a factory by forcing lightning strikes. And all to make plants into strong dryads.

I let out a hollow laugh at the unfathomable cruelty of Papillion and the sheer absurdity of this world.

“Your petals have been burned black, turning you into a ‘Black,’ but you need not worry about being ostracized by trees of the same kind. When you wake from your long slumber at the appointed time, everyone will look up to you simply for being a ‘Black’ who overcame the lightning. By then, methods to fix the parts you were sadly judged as defective will have been developed, so dream of a distant future and fall into a sweet sleep.”

He added, “Everyone tends to fear falling into a deep sleep with no set end,” and looked at the luminous stone tablet that had just begun to reveal its inscription.

Reformar Alpine Monkshood N.03

The name of the monkshood had changed from ‘Alpine Monkshood (Proximity)’. Reformar? What does that mean? Why is it different from the information that arrived on my phone when I recruited the monkshood?

The blue light engraved the inscription onto the stone tablet, character by character, like a needle embroidering cloth.

Reformar Alpine Monkshood N.03

Title: The One Who Decides Fate

Flower Meaning: A radiant morning will surely come

Habitat: Swamp Field (★★★☆☆)

Field Generation Rate: Low (★★★★★)

Value: Poison, Medicine (★★★★★)

Trait: Offensive (Locked) / Supporter, Healer

From the name to the title and flower language. A lot of the information I knew about the monkshood had changed. No, aside from the native habitat and traits, nothing remained the same. They even said its field encounter probability was non-existent before… but now it appeared as ‘low’, just like the special-grade Velvet Mesquite.

Just as I was about to check the next step—the final confirmed grade—the surroundings began to rumble and vibrate.

“What’s this? Why is it suddenly like this?”

It felt different from an earthquake. At this change, Papyrus turned pale and stared in a certain direction.

“This won’t do. Historically, there has never been a case where a dryad woke up from sleep so freely without permission within the Alchemy Tower. It is not your time to wake.”

Papyrus, who had been speaking in a polite old gentleman’s tone, lost his composure and spoke in a frightened voice. At the sudden change, Wolfsbane threw open the glass door and ran to stand by my side. The stone tablet that had been reading Wolfsbane’s information also stopped moving.

“Go back to sleep, you say… The insolent bastard who was eyeing my throne woke me up.”

A slow, irritable voice rang out. It sounded like how a terrified, sniveling Wolfsbane would talk if he got angry. The same voice… and a similar appearance?

He wore a deep purple robe with a hood like Wolfsbane’s, and a white shawl decorated with purple gold trim wrapped around his sleeves and shoulders. He walked slowly toward us, using a long, slender staff tightly adorned at the top with purple and white flowers resembling a hood, tapping the ground.

He was a male dryad with blue-purple hair and eyes covering his face, looking like a twin to Wolfsbane. Could it be?

“So there was another one.”

He glared at Wolfsbane with a very displeased expression. The two were nearly identical, even if their attire was slightly different…

That dryad was undoubtedly the same kind of Monkshood dryad as Wolfsbane.