Chapter 108: Chop It Off, Shave It Straight, and It'll Be Fine

Its whole body blazing with raging soul-fire, filthy soil flaking off in the flames, blue fire burning in its eye sockets, making it look like a messenger of death crawling out from some ancient abyss—when its gaze locked onto him, Old John felt his entire body freeze solid.

What on earth did I drag back? I'm as good as dead, right? Old John muttered, dazed.

His legs were a bit weak, but not from fear—from shock; deep down, Old John was surprisingly not that scared.

Worst case, he just dies. He's already at that age, his leg is crippled, the second half of his life holds no hope, death is no big deal—he only wishes his soul may rest in peace.

One can only say a fifty-something youngster lacks experience; a ninety-something youngster like Silver Coin would know that falling into the hands of an undead is far more than just "worst case, you die."

But what puzzled Old John was that the ash-bone skeleton that crawled up did not kill him—it merely tilted its head, glanced at him, and suddenly produced a sack of grain, setting it down in front of him.

Huh? What's that supposed to mean? Bribe money for his life? Old John had already decided this skeleton was going to kill him, so every move it made, he read in the worst possible light.

Trading grain for his life? He's no fool—agree, and his life is gone; the dead don't need to eat, so the grain can simply be taken back.

Back in his mercenary days he'd heard similar legends: demons conjure up beautiful women to bewitch people, trading a beauty for one thing on your body. If you agree, the demon takes what's between your legs, leaving you able only to look, not to use.

Old John wouldn't fall for that trick—he shook his head firmly: "I don't want the grain."

Seeing Ange froze. Don't want the grain? Then what to do?

Normally, when believers offered soul-flame, he'd return grain to them. Although the believer before him had wavering faith and very weak soul-flame, along the way back he'd gathered it wisp by wisp, enough for one or two strands.

No grain means no equivalent exchange—what to do?

"What do you want."

What do I want? I want a life without worry over food and clothing, a hundred mu of fields, herds of cattle and sheep, a noble status—being able to stomp on the constable's face and have him laugh apologetically while I do it.

After thinking it over, Old John felt that was too much, and said offhandedly: "I want to heal this crippled leg, then become a mercenary till I'm ninety."

He said it all in one breath—in other words, heal the leg, become a mercenary, live to ninety were strung together; mainly he was afraid that after healing the leg and becoming a mercenary, he'd die the next day…

Of course, that was Old John just talking off the top of his head. He didn't believe a pile of bones he'd casually picked up could heal his crippled leg. In fact, that it didn't chop him down on the spot and instead gave him a sack of grain had already greatly surprised Old John.

Heal the leg? Seeing Ange squatted down and poked at Old John's crippled leg.

It was an outwardly bowed shin. Based on Seeing Ange's experience of swapping bones over a dozen times, it was a fracture that hadn't been reset in time; after healing, bone had over-grown, causing the break to set at an angle—that's why it was crippled.

Easy fix—just swap in a new bone.

He looked around. Uh, where to find a suitable bone?

There were indeed other remains buried in the ground, but they were all rotted—digging them up wouldn't work.

"How about you chop it off, shave it straight, then reattach it?" Lord Nai Ge Li Si, projected onto Seeing Ange, suggested.

"Oh." Seeing Ange summoned his scythe and was about to chop Old John's leg off.

"Hold on—if you just chop him like that he'll pass out from the pain and bleed out. First seal off his senses, knock him out, then chop. Then seal the wound as fast as possible to stop the bleeding. Uh, grab him so he doesn't run."

Before Lord Nai Ge Li Si could finish, Old John had already scrambled up in a panic and was hobbling away.

He just wasn't afraid of death, not of being chopped. Seeing the cold glint of the scythe blade, he instantly found the motivation to flee—getting chopped by that thing would hurt like hell.

Too late. Seeing Ange took one stride and caught up; before he could scream, his soul was sealed.

In an instant, Old John lost control of his body. He could only watch helplessly as Seeing Ange set him aside, chopped off his leg, sliced open the outer flesh, snapped the bent part of the shinbone, shaved off the overgrowth, eyeballed it straight, dripped a few drops of an unknown liquid on it, then released Holy Light.

Seeing this, Old John had already lost the ability to think. A skeleton releasing Holy Light? It had to be Holy Light, because under its glow the chopped and shaved shinbone actually fused back together.

Not just the shinbone—the sliced flesh also slowly healed, becoming a straight, whole lower leg.

He compared the lower leg to the thigh, shaved off the excess. The half lower leg sat in the skeleton's hand like a melon—hefted it, not even, shaved a bit more, hefted again, still not even? Shaved a bit more.

After confirming a perfect fit, the skeleton summoned Holy Light, shone it on both the join between lower leg and thigh, then fitted them together and shone Holy Light on it again.

The once-two-piece leg visibly fused back together.

Done, complete. Skeletons really are convenient—just swap in a new one. Humans swapping bones is way too much trouble, Seeing Ange thought to himself.

After regaining sensation in his body, Old John didn't react for quite a while—he kept holding his lower leg up in the air, staring at it. Only when his leg went numb did he half-doubtingly stand up, repeatedly stamping the leg that had once been crippled.

"It really healed? No pain? Not bent? Not crippled?" Every sentence out of his mouth was a question. For an ordinary person, this was truly a soul-shaking miracle.

But if he'd seen Seeing Ange slowly restore the angel skeleton from bare bones into a blank little girl, he'd probably have taken this level of healing for granted.

Lord Nai Ge Li Si, however, was completely unimpressed, urging within Seeing Ange's soul: "Alright, alright, ask him if it's good? If it's good, let's leave here first. Put the hat on—your bones are way too conspicuous."

Old John said, half-afraid-of-hoping, half-afraid-of-losing: "Seems a bit short."

Short? Easy—chop it off, drip some essence, let it grow faster, Seeing Ange summoned his great scythe.

"No no no, not short, not short. I'm just used to limping, haven't adjusted yet. Not short, not short." Old John's face went white. He waved his hands hurriedly and even hopped a few times to show off his leg.

What had just happened had already dealt a tremendous blow to his soul. To Seeing Ange, the scene of chopping, shaving, and reattaching was utterly unremarkable, but for an ordinary person it was enough to make them collapse on the spot.

The fact that Old John could still speak coherently was already a bonus from the overjoyed shock of his leg being healed. Another round? He'd rather his leg be half an inch short than go through that again.

But it really was just that he'd limped for so long and hadn't adjusted—like when someone suddenly chips a tooth, they keep poking at it with their tongue because they can't get used to it.

Good. Since "equivalent exchange" was satisfied, Seeing Ange was at ease. He put on his hat and prepared to leave.

The habit of "equivalent exchange" carried no compulsion, but it had been formed back when he was still muddled. Not doing it left him deeply uneasy, always feeling something was left undone.

But the moment he put on the scarecrow hat, a commotion rose outside the door: "This is the place, this is the place, Father Priest—it's this household that worships the undead, and they keep a bunch of skeletons. They must be trying to summon skeletons. Who knows where those skeletons came from—maybe they killed living people and shaved the bones off."

A kind old cripple who helped bury ownerless remains had been twisted into a demon who killed the living to shave their bones and summon skeletons.