Phaethon chewed on a substantial, equally sticky chunk of Red Clay, his expression reaching a peak of complexity.
After obtaining Terravox's ability, he had thought himself completely immune to Droma food. He even believed it might taste acceptable, as it was, after all, what Dromas needed to survive. Theoretically, he should have been entirely at ease.
Now, though... The taste certainly wasn't bad anymore...
Terravox's ability allowed him to block out the extreme bitterness and raw, Earthy odor powerful enough to destroy human taste buds. What entered his mouth was instead a... peculiar, gritty, ore-like taste, somewhat similar to a low-quality energy bar. Except...
*This thing was damn well not designed for the human mouth's structure!*
That sticky, thick, extremely gritty texture was like chewing a lump of low-quality modeling clay mixed with sand and gravel!
Large amounts of the Red Clay stubbornly adhered to the inner walls of his mouth, his gums, and the crevices between his teeth, forming a suffocating, extremely uncomfortable muddy film. Every chew and swallow felt like fighting against a constantly multiplying, unpleasantly sticky slime!
Phaethon's frown deepened and tightened. Any semblance of graceful dining demeanor vanished completely, replaced only by the awkwardness and discomfort of having his mouth forcibly filled with foreign matter.
Seeing Phaethon in this disheveled state, thoroughly tormented by the texture, Phainon and Mydei —their faces still numb from the bitterness—actually managed to force out a twisted, vengeful smile of schadenfreude!
The two exchanged a glance, seeing the same message in each other's eyes: *Worth it! Even if eating this dirt gives us stomach ulcers, seeing Phaethon like this means we've scored a point back!*
A self-destructive, mutually-assured-destruction madness burned fiercely in their hearts!
"Phaethon!" Phainon opened his mouth—smeared with red clay until its original color was unrecognizable, as if he'd just taken a raw bite out of a mud pit monster**—and roared incoherently, "Get ready... to face the... bond between me and Mydeimos!!!"
"Hmph! Don't think... I'm afraid of you!" Phaethon, irritated by the sticky, viscous mouthfeel and provoked by his brother's taunt, glared back defiantly, momentarily forgetting the discomfort in his mouth.
And so... a "Dirt-Eating Contest" concerning dignity (?), pride (?), and who could better endure inhuman torture (√) officially entered its most intense and critical stage!
Three humans, as if possessed, circled the Droma's feeding trough and began a frantic "feast." The sounds of swallowing, dry heaving, and muffled, indistinct mutual jeering rose and fell in succession.
...
♪~
The utterly exhausted Professor Anaxa had finally concluded his deductions on the nature of the world, with only verification remaining.
He rubbed his throbbing temples and, using the Infinity Gate left by Phaethon, teleported to Okhema, arriving at the periphery of the Droma pens.
He took a deep breath of the pens' unique air, fragrant with grass and earth, a relaxed smile appearing on his face. He was ready to receive the Dromas' warm greetings and properly soothe his weary soul...
Then...
His smile froze.
His pupils... dilated in shock!
Bathed in the soft golden light of the setting sun, on that patch of pen ground he knew so well, symbolizing peace and tranquility, he witnessed a scene unforgettable in his lifetime, powerful enough to shatter all his understanding and reason:
Three humans! In an extremely undignified posture, hunched over the feeding troughs of his most beloved Dromas!
Were frantically... snatching the Red Clay from the troughs?!
And his poor, gentle, beloved Dromas were anxiously circling nearby, letting out grievance-filled and angry calls, their massive hooves restlessly pawing the ground. They tried to nudge the "bandits" away but were afraid of hurting them, so frantic they were almost on the verge of speaking human words!
Their clear, large eyes were filled with incomprehension, grievance, and accusation.
"Hey! You three over there! What are you doing?!" Professor Anaxa's voice warped from extreme shock and anger. "Has no one taught you that Droma Red Clay is specially formulated and that people damn well shouldn't eat much of it?! Stop right... what... how... how is it you two?! Phainon?! Phaethon?!!"
When he clearly saw the faces of the three "Dirt-Devouring Demons," Professor Anaxa felt like his sky... had collapsed!
Though he didn't want to admit it, the student he held in high regard, Phainon! The abnormally lazy one from his impressions, Phaethon! And that seemingly quite reliable Crown Prince of Castrum Kremnos, Mydei! They... these three were actually... eating red clays?!
He looked at the Dromas, stomping their feet anxiously, so grievanced they seemed about to cry. He looked at the three students, their mouths smeared with red clay, expressions pained and ferocious, still constantly shoving dirt into their mouths...
In his mind, a woman's face became clear.
"Ha... haha... HAHAHAHA!" Anaxa suddenly burst into hysterical, near-mad laughter. Pointing at the utterly absurd and ridiculous scene before him, he shrieked hoarsely at the sky:
"HAHAHAHA! Aglaea! You won! You won!!! I just finished my contemplation and stepped into the Holy City!!!"
His voice was filled with breakdown and self-mockery. "You actually... you actually made my students! And my most beloved Dromas! Right in front of me... fight over eating Red Clay?!!!"
Professor Anaxa, one of the most wise scholars of The Grove, a future Demigod of reason, could not maintain a shred of rationality at this moment!
...
By the time Aglaea had finally managed to temporarily extricate herself from her daily entanglements with the Council of Elders to catch her breath,
She only then belatedly realized—the messages Anaxa had sent via communication slate today seemed somewhat... excessively "lively."
It wasn't that the wording had suddenly become profane—Aglaea would only have coldly mocked such incompetence.
Rather, the sentences themselves... lacked the most basic logical chains!
They were incoherent and disjointed, filled with meaningless maniacal laughter symbols and fragmented exclamations, like the ravings of someone who had suffered a massive psychological shock.
This was absolutely *not* the usual style of the *meticulous, rational*, occasionally slightly caustic Anaxa!
A sense of foreboding quietly crept into Aglaea's heart.
Frowning tightly, she shifted her weary gaze from the complex administrative documents. With a trace of doubt and a hint of annoyance, she directed her attention to the golden threads permeating Okhema.
Then...
*Boom!* As if a silent thunderclap exploded in her mind!
Aglaea felt her vision darken. A surge of blood instantly shot from the soles of her feet to the top of her skull!
What was she seeing?!
The real-time imagery transmitted by the golden threads was like a sledgehammer, shattering all her understanding and her last vestiges of reason!
In the visual feed, she saw the Holy City's proud, most elite young warriors—the much-anticipated Deliverer Phainon and Phaethon, along with the valiant Crown Prince of Castrum Kremnos, Mydei—lying haphazardly on the muddy ground of the Okhema Dromas pens, as if after some devastating defeat!