Have you even stopped using “Your Highness” now, Demon Lord… or should I just call you Demacia? The projection of Demacia in Owen Clark’s consciousness looked helpless and replied, “Your clan has worshipped me ever since you gained independence. I am one of the four Demon Lords of the Abyss, the object of your clan’s worship. I encountered some danger and had no choice but to escape the Abyss as a demon seed. The demon seed is the root of a demon’s existence, essentially the demon’s soul, containing my most essential power and all my knowledge. As long as I accumulate enough life force and energy, I can reconstruct my body and be resurrected.”

“The benefits I can bring you are…” Demacia suddenly fell silent and stopped speaking. Owen Clark found it odd, called out a few times in his mind, but got no response, and complained, “What’s this, a bathroom break?”

Looking up, Village Chief was standing right beside him. Owen Clark immediately straightened his face and stood up quickly, only now remembering that he had come here today to receive enlightenment.

Village Chief stroked his graying beard, looked Owen Clark up and down with puzzlement. Judging by appearances, Owen Clark didn’t seem like someone who could have broken the totem. Maybe the totem was just old and worn out. Village Chief shook his head, put the totem matter out of his mind, and spoke gently, “Little Owen Clark, you’re already six years old. The heavy responsibilities of the future rest on the shoulders of the young. You are qualified to know the truth about our clan.”

“Yes, sir.”

Village Chief’s tone became serious. “We are not human.”

Owen Clark quietly reminded him, “Village Chief, next time you insult yourself, remember not to include me.”

Village Chief glared at Owen Clark and slowly began to recount the history of their people:

“We are the Mimics. The Cold Valley Tribe is the last gathering place of the Mimics’ descendants. We are the last Mimics in this world. Although we look like humans, our bloodline contains unimaginable power.”

“Before I talk about our bloodline abilities, I need to tell you the history of our race.”

“Legend has it that the ancient gods created the world and all living things. Whether that’s myth or fact, it has nothing to do with our clan. No matter if other races were created by gods, our clan definitely was not.”

“Because we were man-made… Mimics are the highest achievement of alchemy—the creation of life.”

“The very first Mimics were slaves of various races captured by humans. After three hundred years of experiments, extracting and fusing hundreds and thousands of substances, they were finally transformed by the humans of Odin Continent through alchemy into war puppets, forming our dirtiest bloodline.

“That was at the end of the Age of Darkness. The humans of Odin Continent were fighting for control of the continent against the night races—werewolves, vampires, and the underworld clan. Countless wars and flames of battle engulfed Odin Continent. Blades and claws clashed in fierce sparks, blood flowed in streams. That was over a thousand years ago.”

“As war puppets, Mimics were constantly created and constantly discarded, as if trapped in a cycle of fate. We still possessed intelligence and thought, but under the constraints of sorcery contracts, we could only loyally carry out the orders of our creators.”

“Oppression breeds resistance. Eventually, an ancestor of the first generation of Mimics succeeded in purifying the bloodline, fusing the abilities given to us by alchemy into a true bloodline talent, gaining the power of inheritance, and founding a new race. That ancestor found a way to break the sorcery contract, tore up the soul contract forcibly imposed by humans, and led the remaining few hundred kin in rebellion. According to the fragmentary epics, at that time, the humans imprisoning our forerunners numbered a full hundred thousand…”

At this point, Village Chief glanced at the already stunned Owen Clark, waited a moment for him to process, then smiled and asked, “Can you guess what happened?”

Owen Clark blurted out, “Of course they succeeded, otherwise our clan would have been wiped out long ago.”

Owen Clark felt deeply unsettled. He had always thought he was human, but now discovered he was actually man-made. Although, humans are also man-made, going from two cells to a big lump—what a strange process, truly inexplicably strange…

You ask what this has to do with the current topic?

Well, nothing. Let’s get back to the previous topic.

Village Chief nodded. “You’re right. Several hundred ancestors broke through the encirclement of tens of thousands. Although the humans imprisoned us, they also created us. After escaping, the pioneers joined the campaign against the night rulers as a new race, helped the humans defeat the night races, and repaid the debt of creation. After that, the ancestors came to this remote, uninhabited region and established the Cold Valley Tribe. That is the truth of our clan.”

Owen Clark was speechless for a long time, not knowing what expression to make.

Village Chief’s face grew solemn, and he said in a firm voice, “Maybe our rise was dirty, but you must remember this—We possess the dirtiest bloodline, but also the most formidable future.”

“What does that mean?” Owen Clark rubbed his chest. Not dirty at all.

As Village Chief spoke, Owen Clark gradually learned about the Mimics’ bloodline abilities.

Mimics can fuse the bloodlines of all species. After fusing a bloodline, their physical abilities are greatly enhanced, and they gain certain traits and talents of that race. The rarer and stronger the fused race, the greater the enhancement. They can fuse with weak creatures like moles, or with powerful ones like dragons.