Chapter 119

Olem wandered back to the edge of the wasteland, staring blankly at the row of houses—each about two meters tall, made entirely of what looked like sandstone, seamless and without any visible joints.

Sandstone is a gravelly rock; scraping it with a hard object sheds individual grains, sufficient for building but unsuitable for tall structures.

But the problem was—where did the sandstone come from, when the ground was nothing but sand?

Moreover, beyond the two-meter ground level, the interiors sank over a meter deeper, giving the rooms a ceiling height of roughly three point three meters—unusually spacious, yet windowless and pitch-dark.

Inside, there was nothing but sandstone floors and walls, and a staircase leading to the entrance.

Yet to Olem, this simplicity seemed extravagantly luxurious—besides the Dragon Temple and a few noble residences, where in the oasis had anyone seen such ceiling height or such solid construction?

For someone like him, living with his family in a goat-skin tent was already luxurious; most people lived in hovels.

Hope Oasis was twelve days’ journey from the nearest human town, K Lun Town; a silver-coin tea could sell for the price of a gold coin, so no one would waste precious cargo space on building materials—and even if they did, no one here could afford them.

The Dragon Temple was built entirely from materials transported by Lady Nai’ai.

Such luxurious buildings—four in a row, each eighty to ninety square meters—had simply appeared here out of nowhere.

Olem, dumbfounded, found his two soldiers and asked: “This… these… how did they get here? How did they appear?”

The two lance soldiers were even more stunned, gaping with wide eyes, pointing at Ang’s figure in the center of the wasteland: “T-that Mage Lord made them grow.”

Grow? By heaven’s mercy, Olem had never even seen a normal house being built—he couldn’t imagine how a house could grow from the ground, like a farmer who’d spent his whole life in brick-and-tile homes unable to picture what a cave-dwelling dug from the earth looked like.

After finishing the four houses, Ang ignored them and immediately went to the abandoned farmland, ordering the zombie to dig trenches.

He’d originally planned to water the land first, but during construction, he noticed something: the area wasn’t short of water—below one meter, the sand was damp; if crops were buried below one meter, wouldn’t they sprout?

Normally, seeds couldn’t be planted that deep—they’d rot before sprouting—but Ang didn’t care; he had his aura to accelerate growth, as long as the plants broke the surface before rotting.

What to plant? Grain? No—too deep for good yield. Beetroot? Worse—it needs shallow planting. What else could he grow?

After rummaging for a long time, Ang pulled out a plant as thick as his arm.

On the road from Mara Town to K Lun Town, the Holy Knights, eager to please the Ascetic Master, had sent him all kinds of oddities—this plant was one of them; they called it “Ge Shu.”

Nai Gris said it was a crop with extremely high starch content, drought-resistant, cold-tolerant, heat-resistant, sun-loving—the favorite of dwarves, edible as food and usable for brewing alcohol.

Ang looked up at the increasingly scorching sun above. I’ll plant you.

But desert sunlight was too intense, temperatures too high—planting Ge Shu alone might not work; Ang thought he should interplant trees to provide shade.

He found Olem and pointed to the oasis in the distance, where three-meter-tall trees grew everywhere: “What are those?”

These trees were everywhere in the oasis, often planted in neat rows, clearly intentional.

Olem’s respect grew even deeper—if his earlier warmth and reverence had been due to the Bronze Dragon, now it came from genuine awe for Ang’s power: “My lord, those are Green Jujube trees—taste quite good. Go, pick some for the lord.”

Olem kicked one of his clueless lance soldiers, then pulled out a magic crystal and land registration certificate: “The magic crystal’s useless—the registration doesn’t charge. Please take it back.”

Ang took only the land registration certificate, refusing to take back the magic crystal—he had too many: “Keep it.”

Olem’s heart pounded wildly—just running an errand and he earned a magic crystal? The Mage was too generous!

The lance soldier returned with a large bundle of green jujubes; Ang, used to fair exchange, reached for coins again—but Olem stopped him: “My lord, that’s enough, thank you for your gift!”

It wasn’t that he wasn’t greedy—it was Ang’s generosity that made his skin crawl; he’d never imagined one day he’d be frightened by someone’s gift.

“Oh.” Ang didn’t know the value, but if others thought it fair, he understood now—he knew a patch of wasteland and a handful of green jujubes were worth nothing next to a magic crystal.

Ang returned to the center of the wasteland; Olem stared blankly at the magic crystal in his hand.

The two lance soldiers walked up on either side, nudged him with their elbows, and glanced at the crystal—signaling: we get a share too.

“Three gold coins each, split when we return,” Olem tucked the crystal into his chest, and made up his mind—the Mage is filthy rich; I’ll become the Mage’s follower!

Ang probably never imagined that one magic crystal had ignited the ambition of a high-rank swordsman.

Back at the wasteland, Ang let out an “Ow!”

The zombie ran out of the newly built house—the sun had grown fiercer, making it uncomfortable, so it had hidden inside.

At Ang’s call, it ran out under the blazing sun, frantically digging with its hands—digging deep trenches of about a meter, then sprinting back inside like a gust of wind, panting with its tongue out, looking like it was about to die of heatstroke.

A lich doesn’t pant—it was putting on a show for Ang, trying to slack off.

Ang ignored it; other undead suffered soul damage in sunlight, but the zombie and the angelic skeleton didn’t—they shared a soul link with Ang, whose soul energy constantly replenished their losses; exposure actually strengthened them, increasing their sunlight resistance.

While the zombie dug, Ang peeled open the green jujubes and removed the pits.

The shells were extremely hard, so he crushed them with force—the cracked pits sprouted faster and with much higher germination rates than intact ones.

He cut the Ge Shu into chunks, each retaining at least one bud, and interplanted a green jujube tree at intervals.

After planting everything, he pulled out the saplings and balanced them on his head.

The saplings were already waving their true leaves impatiently: Push—grow—push—grow.

Ang was about to step down and activate his aura when a weak, resigned voice came from afar: “What are you doing now—”

“Planting!” Ang replied confidently.

“Fine, fine, fine,” Nai Gris rubbed its head, flying over in exasperation: “But why plant here?”

From Ang’s tone, Nai Gris knew it couldn’t stop him—the vegetable-loving skeleton had already been unusually obedient to leave K Lun Town.

But this place was truly no place for farming—farming in a desert?

Besides, the Dragon-slaying Knights were coming soon; no matter how much he planted, it would all vanish anyway.

Nai Gris asked this way deliberately—planning to use excuses like “this isn’t your land” to dissuade him—but Ang pulled out a piece of paper: “This is mine.”

“Pfft! Who gave you this?” Nai Gris felt like vomiting—how had a land certificate appeared in the blink of an eye?

Now who could possibly stop Ang from planting on his own land?

Ang ignored it entirely and stepped down on the footprint.

The other oasis sandfolk, still stunned by the sudden appearance of the four luxurious sandstone houses, were now awestruck by the miracle before them: the abandoned wasteland, long dead from water depletion, suddenly erupted with countless green sprouts, among them sprouting jujube saplings.

Everyone involuntarily surged forward, staring at the greenery, murmuring to themselves.

Ang quickly erased the footprint—someone had already stepped into the aura’s range; continuing to activate it would accelerate their aging.

The accelerated growth of sprouts and saplings halted—but it was already enough to shock everyone; they knelt involuntarily outside the farmland, bowing devoutly: “A miracle! A miracle! The Dragon God has descended!”

Nai Gris, who had thought Ang was just fooling around, now bristled at the humans’ cries: “What Dragon God? Does your Dragon God grow vegetables?”

At that moment, a piercing dragon roar echoed from the sky—a massive golden figure pierced through the clouds like a golden arrow streaking toward the ground.

Just before impact, the golden arrow twisted sharply, spread its wings, and instantly slowed its descent, spiraling down like a falling leaf, circling again and again until it landed gently.

The moment its feet touched the ground, the entire earth seemed to sink.

Now the sandfolk had found their true object—they turned and prostrated themselves before the colossal golden being.

But the colossal creature had no attention left for the sandfolk—its eyes locked on Nai Gris, its brow ridges furrowed in confusion, hesitation, disbelief, then tentatively called out: “￥%#@ Uncle?”

Nai Gris’s face twisted with extreme embarrassment: “Don’t call me Uncle, don’t call me Uncle, little Nai’ai—calling me Uncle is too awkward!”

Nai’ai’s face flushed with shyness, tentatively calling: “Darling?”

Instantly, every eye turned to Nai Gris—Lu Se and Lei Ting’s eyes practically shot out gossip flames!

…

Several days’ journey away, in the central, most luxurious tent of the Dragon-slaying Knights’ temporary camp, Tiesi sat on a chair, reading documents under the bright, high-color-rendering magic lamp, occasionally marking them.

The desert night was windy and cold; the tent flap opened, and a heavily armored knight entered, bringing a gust of cold air—but neither man cared; the knight even said: “It’s too stuffy in here—open more windows, let air flow.”

“Too windy,” Tiesi replied without looking up.

The knight removed his helmet, revealing a rugged face, hung the helmet aside, strode to the table, grabbed the water jug, and gulped down a full belly, then reported: “Four days from Hope Oasis—we’re not on trade routes, so we rarely meet caravans; the few we’ve encountered have already been taken by sand raiders.”

Tiesi didn’t look up: “‘Taken’? You mean robbed? I strictly forbade leaks—those merchants are probably already dead. It’s the easiest solution. Don’t be vague with me—I know the consequences of every order.”

The knight scratched his head, embarrassed to be seen through: “You’re leading troops for the first time—I just worried you’d be unprepared. Armies are machines of war; they turn cruel at the slightest motion.”

“Don’t worry. I must experience these things to become a competent commander. The Lord once said: ‘Kind people should not hold power.’… Never mind. Are the weapons ready?” Tiesi abruptly changed the subject.

“Yes, sir—all switched to Scale-Breaker arrows, paired with dwarven-made Dragon Crossbows—guaranteed to pierce dragon scales,” the knight swore.

Tiesi shook his head: “I’m not worried about piercing scales—I’m worried about finding the dragon, restraining its movement, and securing its corpse. If we can’t get the corpse and it flies off to die on someone else’s land, the title of Dragon-Slayer goes to someone else.”

“Oh~” The knight nodded in understanding: “So that’s why you insisted on bringing the Winged Knights?”

Tiesi smiled slightly: “Only your Winged Knights have aerial combat capability—only you can catch and kill a dragon.”

The knight grimaced: “You overrate us. Our aerial skills are garbage in a dragon’s eyes—zero maneuverability.”

“Normally, yes—but our target is a ten-thousand-year-old dragon. According to records, this Bronze Dragon is ten thousand years old—can it even fly? Even if it manages, it won’t outrun your Winged Knights.”

The knight’s expression eased slightly, but still looked uneasy.

“And better yet—Bronze Dragons are extinct. Killing this one won’t provoke dragon retaliation; the Bronze and Red Copper dragons will only cheer.”

“Really? Bronze Dragons are extinct?” The knight asked, delighted—if true, there’d be no repercussions.

Tiesi nodded firmly: “Yes. I bought this information from a Dragonkin at great cost—the dragon race has already broadcast it via bloodline resonance to all dragon-blooded.”

“Then I’m relieved. What about the sand raiders?” the knight asked next.

“Of course—to lure out the dragon. Let them attack the oasis first, draw the dragon out, then you strike.”

The plan was meticulous; the knight suddenly felt confidence, his heart quickening—the title of Dragon-Slayer was so glorious.

Three days later, the sand raiders and the Winged Knights began to separate—the raiders accelerated, moving ahead to assault the oasis and lure out the Bronze Dragon; before the main force arrived, the vanguard scouts reached the oasis.

Their attention was quickly drawn to the row of luxurious sandstone houses in the desert, then to the rows of green crops beside them.

In the desert, seeing any green was rare—it made them instinctively turn their horses and charge into the farmland, tearing off leaves and chewing.

“Pfft, leaves taste awful—dig deeper, see what’s underground!”

A group of sand raiders frantically dug into the farmland.

Olem sprinted to the lake at the oasis center—Nai Gris was whispering with a Bronze Dragon, while Ang sat nearby, bored, poking holes in the ground and dropping in grass seeds.

“My lord! My lord Ang! Bad news! Sand raiders! Sand raiders are digging up your land!”