Genshin Impact: I Am a Slime

"Oh! That's right!"

In the silent factory, Paimon suddenly slapped his head, as if he remembered something important.

"There is still a street singer in FAMAS. Can you cure him?"

The little mascot turned his head expectantly and looked towards the corner of the factory.

At some point, Wendy had slipped up to Famas.

The two were very close together, whispering something, and occasionally casting meaningful glances at the traveler and Tartaglia. Their expressions were just like the gossipers in Mondstadt's tavern eating sunflower seeds and watching the fun.

"Well..."

FAMAS stood up, a hint of mischief flashed in his red eyes, "If there were still primordial materials, I could just kill Tartaglia and then revive him..."

The boy deliberately dragged out the tone.

"But now... it's obviously not working."

Tartaglia shuddered when he heard this, his dark blue eyes widened: "Hey, hey, let's not use this treatment plan!"

Although he had seen people resurrected from the dead in Liyue Harbor, Tartaglia still had a fear of death outside of combat.

It was true that he wanted to fight to the death, but sitting and being hacked to death was not his favorite way.

Wendy laughed so hard that she fell backwards. She plucked the strings with her fingers and played a few playful notes: "Oh my, it seems that our executive officer still cherishes his life~"

Paimon was so angry that he gritted his teeth and punched: "Hey, you two! Is this the time to joke? Can't you see that he can hardly stand?"

Famas shrugged and casually took out a small metal box covered with copper rust from his arms. Intricate alchemical patterns could be vaguely seen on the surface of the box.

He shook the box carelessly, and the crisp sound of pills colliding came from inside: "Well, I do have a special medicine made by Akhtar..."

"Akhtar?" Paimon's eyes lit up. "Is that your Hand of the King?"

Paimon recalled the many rumors he had heard during his adventures and the heroic deeds of the King's Hand.

No matter how hard you think about it, the medicine that Akhtar gave to his king couldn't be poison, right?

After hearing the question, Famas raised his lips and said, "Yes, that's the side effect..." He deliberately dragged out his tone, "It may temporarily turn people into fire slimes, for about a few hours?"

Tartaglia blinked when he heard that, and leaned his back against the cold mechanical wreckage, as if he wanted to protest against FAMAS's treatment plan in this silent way.

However, Paimon and the Traveler were not as surprised as Tartaglia had imagined.

After all, FAMAS itself is a slime, so it doesn't seem surprising that the medicine prepared by Akhtar can turn people into slime.

But Paimon flew around the iron box suspiciously, and suddenly raised his finger alertly: "Wait! This medicine...could it be expired?"

"Valid for three months."

Famas answered simply, tapping the box with his fingertips, making a dull sound.

"Then..." Looking at the rust on the surface of the iron box, Paimon's voice began to tremble.

"The production date is..."

Famas pretended to think, a hint of cunning flashing in his red eyes: "Let me think... about 3,300 years ago?"

"Three thousand three hundred years ago?!"

Paimon's scream echoed under the factory dome, startling several crystal butterflies that were roosting there.

"This isn't an expired medicine anymore. This is a cultural relic that should be on display in a museum!"

Tartaglia looked at the absurd scene in front of him, holding his forehead weakly, his pale lips trembling slightly, and finally squeezed out a sentence:
“…I think I can hold on for a while longer.”

Wendy had leaned against the wall without her noticing, the ends of her emerald braids swaying gently as she laughed: "Oh my, it seems that our executive officer would rather continue to be a scarred warrior than to become a round fire slime~"

Famas put the iron box back into his arms with regret. The sound of metal collision was particularly crisp in the silent factory. "What a pity! I wanted to see what color the fox of winter would be when it turned into a fire slime."

Listening to Famas' teasing tone, Tartaglia sighed, but his thoughts drifted to the guest official in the Hall of Rebirth. He thought of the medicine that Zhongli had personally brewed. Although it was so bitter that it made his scalp numb, at least he didn't have to worry about being poisoned to death.

More importantly, when one is with Zhongli, the feeling of being enveloped in the calm aura of ancient rock always makes one relax unconsciously.

"Come to think of it..." Tartaglia smiled weakly, a trace of nostalgia flashing in his eyes, "Mr. Zhongli's medicine tastes bad, but at least..."

Before he could finish his words, he suddenly started coughing violently, with a trickle of blood flowing out from the corner of his mouth. He successfully frightened Paimon so much that he was at a loss: "Hey, hey! Stop talking!"

As for Famas, he curled his lips in disgust, as if he didn't want to talk as long as Zhongli was mentioned.

Wendy had come close to Dadalia without her noticing, her emerald eyes curved into crescents: "Do you want me to call Mr. Zhongli over for you? He should be listening to a play at the theatre club right now..."

"No, no need!"

Tartaglia knew the abilities of the Wind God. Although his combat abilities were not outstanding, he was well-informed.

The executive officer waved his hands hastily, but the large movement caused the wound to move, causing him to gasp in pain.

He really didn't want Zhongli to see him in such an embarrassed state. He was afraid that the guest official who was always calm and composed would look at him with helpless eyes again and say something like "young people have no self-control".

The traveler looked at Tartaglia's trying hard and pursed his lips slightly.

When she was delivering a commission from the Adventurer's Guild, she happened to see Zhongli delivering medicine to the sick Tartaglia. There was a rare look of concern in the eyes of the usually calm Zhongli.

Perhaps, in this strange land, Tartaglia has also found his own...home?
The traveler had a strange look on his face, and Famas looked at Tartaglia's painful expression, suddenly sneered with disdain, and took out a small package wrapped in oil paper from his arms.

The oil paper has turned slightly yellow due to the passage of time, but one can still smell the faint fragrance of herbs.

"Here." FAMAS casually threw the medicine bag to Tartaglia. "Although it's not as good as your guest's craftsmanship, it's better than turning into a slime."

Tartaglia subconsciously took the medicine bag, and the moment his fingertips touched the oil paper, a familiar bitter smell entered his nostrils.

The orange-haired young man frowned slightly. This was clearly the smell of Zhongli's special medicinal powder, a unique scent that was a mixture of the bitterness of the glass bag and the sweetness of the neon flower. He would never mistake it.

"This is…?"

Tartaglia looked up, her icy blue eyes filled with surprise.

"War is about surviving to the end by any means necessary."

Famas crossed his arms, a meaningful smile appeared on his lips, and he looked at Wendy behind him.

"When some drunk was busy stealing alcohol, I took something more useful."

Seeing Famas's smug look, Paimon immediately flew to Yingmei's shoulder and whispered, "Traveler, do you think they have looted Zhongli's room?"

The girl shook her head helplessly, while Tartaglia carefully opened the oil paper package.

Sure enough, there was the familiar brown medicine powder inside, and even the degree of fineness of the grinding was exactly the same as I remembered.

Tartaglia tilted his head back and poured the powder into his mouth. The dry bitter taste instantly exploded on the tip of his tongue, making him frown unconsciously.

"Well…"

Tartaglia tried hard not to vomit, and his Adam's apple rolled up and down a few times.

Miraculously, as soon as the powder was swallowed, the burning pain in the body began to slowly subside, and the backlash caused by the Demon King's armed forces was also alleviated a lot.

It is worthy of being the prescription prescribed by Mr. Zhongli.

Feeling the pain gradually ease, Tartaglia carefully folded the remaining oil paper and put it in his pocket.

This packet of powder might come in handy someday.

"Thank you so much, Master Farmas."

The firelight from the smelting area passed over the figure of the ruins guard and fell on his pale face, but it could not hide the smile that was gradually regaining its color.

Although he said thank you to FAMAS, the young warrior must have someone else in his mind. (End of this chapter)