Chapter 46: Heartache and the Flame Demon

Fairy Spirit Grass.

He had heard that name before.

The one Su’er mentioned.

It wasn’t an ordinary herb.

This thing only grew in warm places.

Not just warm—the kind of heat that could roast a person alive.

It existed only in the Underground Demon Cave, the Lava Cave, the Flame Demon’s lair.

An ordinary herbalist might never see a single specimen in their entire lifetime, because this wasn’t even in the category of “herb gathering.”

It was on the level of “trading your life for it.”

‘That little Su’er actually wanted to go find it herself?’

Atiste shook his head.

‘With her talent for tripping over her own feet and knocking herself out, she’d probably get roasted into fox jerky the moment she stepped into the Magic Grotto.’

To find Rena’s location, he had no choice but to help her.

Rena wouldn’t die.

She had the protection of the Holy Sword.

If she were truly about to die, the Holy Sword would replenish her life force—this effect would only activate once before she gained true power.

Since it hadn’t activated yet, she was still far from death.

Atiste teleported to the deepest level of the Magic Grotto.

The temperature here was still terrifyingly high, the air itself distorting.

In the magma pool lay that massive red figure.

The Flame Demon was napping in the magma, its snores shaking loose gravel from the cave ceiling.

Atiste walked to the edge of the magma pool and looked down at it.

“Get up.”

The Flame Demon didn’t move.

Atiste called out again: “Hey.”

Still nothing.

Atiste was silent for two seconds, then began gathering Mana at his fingertips.

The Flame Demon’s eyes snapped open, twin flames blazing wide in an instant.

It sat up in shock from the magma, staring at Atiste in terror.

“Milord! Calm down! Please don’t kill me!”

Atiste said nothing, a sphere of Mana light already forming in his hand—enough power to pierce straight through to the surface.

He watched the Flame Demon calmly.

The demon stared at him for three seconds, then silently shrank its neck, its voice dropping low.

“…What brings you here?”

Atiste dusted off his hands.

“I need something from you.”

“Wh-what is it?”

The Flame Demon squeezed out a smile uglier than a cry.

“Name it, name it! If I have it, take it!”

“Fairy Spirit Grass.”

The Flame Demon froze.

“Fairy Spirit Grass?”

“Yes,” Atiste said.

“Hand it over.”

The Flame Demon’s expression became very interesting.

It opened its mouth, closed it, opened it again, and finally choked out, “Well… Milord, about this Fairy Spirit Grass… around here… actually…”

Atiste stared at it.

Sweat dripped down the Flame Demon’s face—even though it was already in magma, sweat still formed.

“Well, Milord,” it said, rubbing its two massive claws together, “hear me out. Fairy Spirit Grass does grow in warm places, that’s true, but… but it needs watering every day! With magma! Three times a day! Not a single watering can be missed! I-I was just lazy, okay? Never got around to planting it…”

Atiste raised an eyebrow.

“So you don’t have any?”

“No, no!”

The Flame Demon shook its head frantically.

“Not a single one here! If you’d come three days earlier, I could have planted some, but now it’s too late! From planting to harvest, it takes at least half a month—”

As it spoke, it noticed Atiste’s expression wasn’t right.

That look—how to describe it—like watching a really bad liar.

The Flame Demon’s voice grew smaller and smaller until it died out completely.

Atiste stared at it for five seconds.

“You just said,” he asked casually, “three waterings a day?”

The Flame Demon nodded.

“With magma?”

It nodded again.

Atiste dismissed the light sphere, looked up at the cave ceiling, then down at the magma pool beneath his feet.

“This magma,” he said, “has a nice temperature.”

The Flame Demon blinked, not sure what he meant.

“It’s just,” Atiste continued, “it might not stay this hot in a little while.”

The Flame Demon’s expression changed.

It jerked its head down to look at the magma pool—the originally boiling, churning lava was visibly calming down.

Not the normal kind of calming, but the kind that signaled solidification from a rapid drop in temperature.

“W-wait!”

The Flame Demon panicked.

“Milord! Milord! I remember now! I do have some! I have Fairy Spirit Grass! Planted last year! Never harvested! It’s right over there in that corner!”

Atiste followed its claw.

On the opposite side of the magma pool, in an inconspicuous corner, a few glowing white herbs sat quietly on a protruding rock.

Atiste withdrew his gaze and looked at the Flame Demon.

The Flame Demon’s smile was uglier than a cry.

“I’ll pick them for you right away!”

It scrambled up from the magma pool, taking huge steps around to the other side, carefully pinching the Fairy Spirit Grass between two fingers, then scrambled back, offering them respectfully with both hands.

Atiste took them and examined them.

Three specimens, good quality, intact roots, still faintly glowing.

He nodded and tucked them into his robes.

Then he turned and walked out.

At the cave entrance, he suddenly remembered something and glanced back.

The Flame Demon was slumped by the magma pool, trembling—whether from fear or grief, it was hard to tell.

“Oh, by the way,” Atiste said, “your magma will recover on its own in a little while. Don’t lie next time.”

The Flame Demon nodded frantically.

Atiste left.

Leaving the Flame Demon alone, slumped on the ground, staring at the three holes where the Fairy Spirit Grass had been uprooted, wanting to cry but having no tears.

It had planted those for half a year.

Half a year!

Watering three times a day.

Even getting up in the middle of the night to water.

And now they were gone.

It took a deep breath and told itself: Being alive is good.

Being alive is good.

The temperature of the magma pool slowly began to rise again.

Atiste walked out of the Magic Grotto.

The sunlight outside was a bit blinding.

He squinted, looked down at the three Fairy Spirit Grass in his arms.

White, faintly glowing, holding them gave a slight warmth.

Not burning—just the perfect kind of warmth.

“Should be enough,” he muttered to himself.

Then he headed toward where Su’er was standing.

After a few steps, he suddenly remembered something.

Su’er had asked him to gather the herbs.

He had gathered them.

But—

Su’er was gone.

Atiste paused mid-step.

He stood in the forest, silent for three seconds.

Then he kept walking.

‘It’s just a small forest. I’ll find her.’

He held the three glowing Fairy Spirit Grass, his face expressionless.

He was about to activate Magic Perception when he heard a chattering sound up ahead.

He looked up.

By the roadside, in a small grove, a few squirrels were fighting over a pinecone.

Atiste glanced at them and kept walking.

After a few steps, he stopped.

He looked down at the Fairy Spirit Grass in his robes.

Then looked back toward the direction of the squirrel fight.

‘She couldn’t have… run into something again, could she?’ he muttered to himself.

Then he shook his head and quickened his pace.

‘No way she’s that careless. Standing right here, and still getting into trouble?’

Probably not.

Couldn’t be that coincidental.

Absolutely impossible.