Chapter 981

???

Upon hearing Li Ang’s words, Prince Andre was momentarily stunned, his emerald eyes filled with doubt.

After all, on the path of “going to die,” Li Ang had already tricked him once before—right before pulling out his soul, Li Ang had assured him repeatedly, “It’s connected,” “I know plenty of people,” “Don’t worry.”

But once Prince Andre gave up resistance, those promises instantly changed: “Don’t say you know me,” “Say I killed you,” “Tell others we’re mortal enemies”—which version was more believable? There was no need to think twice.

And yet Li Ang, who clearly had enemies everywhere in the Death Realm—even mentioning his name could bring trouble—claimed he had a way to get him to the City of Regret despite the White Snake’s revenge? Was he seriously not joking?

“Relax, this time I’m not fooling you.”

Slightly embarrassed by Prince Andre’s skeptical gaze, Li Ang cleared his throat and explained:

“Besides, I do have connections over in the Death Realm, and I know quite a few people—though my ‘acquaintances’ might not be the kind you imagine… Never mind that.

In short, if you truly intend to die and absolutely must reach the City of Regret, I do have a method that might help you slip through… Don’t move, okay?”

Under Prince Andre’s stunned gaze, Li Ang’s “bright red” soul swiftly detached from his body, then he dipped both hands into the still-wet blood on his own skin and began smearing it over himself.

“You… uh… what are you doing?!”

“Don’t move. It’s dirty, but it’ll guarantee you pass through the Gate of the Dead.”

After coating Prince Andre in the never-coagulating blood of the Three-Headed Dog God, Li Ang nodded in satisfaction and turned to the bewildered Prince:

“Once you reach the entrance of the Death Realm, if the Death Messenger guarding the Gate of the Dead tries to devour you while you’re weak, tell him you were sent down by someone named Li Ang.

If he dares to pluck even a single hair from you, once I’ve finished what I’m doing, I’ll slip into the Death Realm and eat him alive—along with his entire lineage and every living thing on his territory. One by one, I’ll consume them all.”

???

“Um… are you sure this plan will work?”

“Relax, most of those Death Messengers have seen me… uh… seen me during a meal. Just repeat what I told you—it’ll work!”

“...”

So what exactly did you look like during a meal, to terrify even the messengers of the Death Lord?

“Also, besides the gatekeeper Death Messenger, the most troublesome one for you will be the Fleshed Doe of the Death Lord.”

Without answering Prince Andre’s question, Li Ang continued:

“That doe governs three locations: the Mirror Lake of Hidden Robes, the Black Forest of Corpse Soil, and the White Bone Palace. She’s also one of your Execution King Society’s own. If you, a traitor of the Execution King Society, show up, she won’t let you pass—she’ll simply destroy your soul within her domain.”

“What level is a Death Lord?”

“There’s a huge gap in power among Death Lords.”

After thinking for a moment, Li Ang replied:

“The Death Realm has many special locations—Cities of Regret, Crow Nests of the Dead, White Bone Palaces. The true gods who govern these places are called Death Lords. The weakest among them are roughly equal to the old Three-Headed Dog God who once guarded the Gate of the Dead—bottom-tier true gods.

The strongest among them reach the level of Pillar Gods, and since they’re bound to their domains, they’re nearly impossible to kill. The Fleshed Doe governs three special locations, making her the most powerful among the ‘non-Pillar Gods.’”

So… top-tier true god?

Hearing this, Prince Andre let out a bitter laugh, a flicker of barely perceptible despair crossing his eyes.

Even at his peak, with the power of a World Fragment, he’d barely crossed the threshold of a true god. Now, with his soul shattered by seventy or eighty percent, he couldn’t even handle a Level Two Cleaner—how could he possibly survive against a top-tier true god?

“Relax, you won’t need to fight her.”

After signing his name on Prince Andre’s chest with his own dog blood, Li Ang undid his outer coat and began writing furiously on the pale white inner garment. After two lines, he undid the inner garment and smeared dog blood across the deep blue undershirt.

Uncomfortable with Li Ang’s bizarre actions, Prince Andre forced himself to stay still, but still gritted his teeth and asked:

“What are you doing?”

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“Writing a note.”

As he scribbled, Li Ang didn’t look up, instructing:

“When you reach the Fleshed Doe’s domain and she gives you trouble, open your coat and show her the inner garment. Tell her if she kills you, the Director of the Virgin Division will get drunk again and, like last time, come after her in a drunken rage.

If another Death Lord, drawn by your scent, comes looking for trouble, stick to what I told you before—say you were killed by me and we’re blood enemies. If that doesn’t work, show them your undershirt.”

“...”

If they won’t let me pass, I show them my underwear? That sounds… incredibly perverted…

Nodding awkwardly, Prince Andre asked curiously:

“What did you write on my… my undershirt?”

“A little threat.”

Li Ang smiled:

“If they won’t let you through, I’ll kill myself before the Dog God revives, take his place as gatekeeper of the Death Realm, and visit her territory daily for a snack—whatever I see, I eat.”

“Huh?”

“It’s just a last-resort insurance. I’m not planning to actually slit my throat, and I can’t guarantee this threat will work—so unless it’s critical, don’t take off your clothes.”

After pulling Prince Andre’s blood-smeared clothes back together, Li Ang pulled him to his feet and shoved him hard into the hazy gray mist thick with death, toward the distant Gate of the Dead.

“Go! Good luck!”

“Wait! Why are you… oh no!”

As Prince Andre, full of questions, tried to speak again, Li Ang shoved him off-balance. When he regained his footing, he stood outside the open Gate of the Dead, now standing in line among a crowd of wailing dead souls.

Outside the towering gate, drenched in blood, stood an enormous fish tank. Inside, a dozen grotesque fish—each with a giant single eye in its mouth and a mouth where its eyes should be—floated in murky water, shouting through the glass:

“Hurry up! Don’t loiter outside!”

“Exactly!”

“This is so annoying! Why do we have to be on duty when there are so many Death Messengers?”

“Yeah, yeah!”

“Do you think we’ll end up like that stupid horse before—meeting that food-seeking God-Eater?”

“Shut up, shut up!”

“Wait! A powerful soul’s coming!”

“So fragrant! So fragrant!”

Here it comes!

As the dozen eyes embedded in mouths fixed on him, and crushing pressure bore down, Prince Andre’s already weak soul went numb. He silently prayed—please, Li Ang’s plan must work.

But before he could speak, the fish recognized the blood on him and shrieked in unison. Then—CRASH! CRASH! CRASH!—they shattered the tank, sprouted thick fin-legs like humans, and scrambled away in panic.

“Run! The God-Eater’s hungry again!!!”

“Help! Help!”