Chapter 12

The next day, Ang summoned Negrilis’s divine name, and the bronze dragon’s consciousness manifested within his soul.

Ang described the strange connection between himself and the little zombie, asking what caused it.

No sooner had he finished than Negrilis shouted: “Impossible! That’s a soul bond—but you acquired it by it offering itself to you? A newly risen wraith, offering its soul to you? What joke is this? You’re not a monarch.”

Ang tilted his head, as if understanding, yet as if he didn’t—so he just stared blankly.

“Hey hey hey, talk! What’s this silence mean?” Negrilis grew angry.

Ang tilted his head again and said, puzzled: “One question. Tomorrow.”

Negrilis nearly spat blood: “No no no, this isn’t just one question—I’m asking you! It offered its soul-fire to you? Voluntarily?” Negrilis pressed urgently.

Ang nodded.

“But… but…” Negrilis didn’t know what to say: “But you’re not a monarch.”

Ang stared at him blankly.

Negrilis wrestled with himself for a long while, then decided it was better to explain fully—otherwise, half-answers would choke him.

“You and the little… this wraith, Sidore Chuk? The soul bond between you and Sidore—that’s a soul bond, between two undead. An upper-tier undead and its subordinate share a soul bond; it cannot betray you, you control everything about it—its soul, its thoughts, even its destruction.”

“There are two ways to form a soul bond: one is that you grant it its soul. Did you grant it its soul?” Negrilis asked.

Ang shook his head, then asked an unrelated question: “Why is it called Sidore Chuk?”

Negrilis snapped: “Can’t you look? It’s written on its collar.”

“The other way is that it offers you a soul oath. Did it offer you a soul oath? Or do you even know what an oath is?” Negrilis sneered—he didn’t underestimate Ang and the little zombie because they were weak, but because Ang was this stupid, he could only annoy people.

Ang shook his head.

Negrilis sighed and shook his head: “Neither of those two? Then only one possibility remains: the Soul Network. But you’re not a monarch.”

Negrilis, utterly baffled, said: “You’d better search for any surviving undead temple. If your soul can link to it, then it’s truly the Soul Network.”

After Negrilis left, Ang pulled the little zombie over, yanked open its clothes, and indeed found several characters on the collar—Sidore Chuk.

When the human had died of starvation, his clothes were intact; after becoming a little zombie, he ran wild everywhere, and the worn areas had worn away entirely, leaving only half still clinging to his body.

Since the clothes bore a name, that name must have been the corpse’s original name.

Though the soul inside was not the same—the little zombie was merely an undead entity spawned upon this corpse—it didn’t matter. It was just a name, and at least better than “little zombie,” less likely to cause confusion.

Seeing Ang pull at its clothes, the little zombie thought Ang wanted them, so it quickly took them off and handed them over. Only when Ang indicated he didn’t want them did it put them back on. But the tugging had torn the clothes further.

Thus, Ang claimed this area, cleared farmland, arranged broken stones in rows, then laid glowing moss over them.

Glowing moss, a hardy moss that could spread across every damp corner unattended, now thrived wildly under the deliberate environment Ang built. Not only did it fill every furrow of the farmland, but it also covered the cliff edges—entering the area meant being bathed in fluorescent light, as bright as day.

With ample light, Ang sowed seeds along the ridges built between two rows of glowing moss.

Ang didn’t understand much else, but when it came to farming, he was experienced—over a thousand years of farming experience let him swiftly discern crop properties.

Moss needed moisture but not standing water, so he laid stones at the bottom of the furrows; crops couldn’t be too damp, so he planted them on the ridges, spaced in rows to ensure each row received adequate light.

Yes, Ang intended to use the glow of the moss to illuminate the crops—whether it would work remained unknown.

During this time, Philin returned once, exchanged ten soul crystals for forty-five bags of grain, then spotted Ang’s glowing moss field and took notice.

In his mind, Ang was a Warden—he wouldn’t waste time on useless things. Could glowing moss be used like this?

The greatest problem in the Undercity was the dwindling arable land. Adequate light was hard to achieve without exposure to the Wind of Rest—meeting both conditions was difficult, but fertile soil was easy; just dig harder.

If glowing moss could be used this way, the “adequate light” condition could be eliminated—the Undercity had plenty of places to grow things.

A week later, all the sown seeds had sprouted.

…

In a dark corner of the Undercity, a necromancer’s corpse lay stiff and mottled with lividity—unusual, for a week had passed, and a normal corpse should have rotted and swarmed with maggots.

But he had been a necromancer in life, with too many preservation methods; even the mere erosion of death's breath was enough to slow decay.

Without warning, a red flame ignited atop the corpse. It sat bolt upright, eyes snapping open—black orbs with no whites.

On its forehead, demonic curved horns twisted and grew. A low voice spoke: “Useless waste. Even picking up corpses gets you caught. In the end, even His Noble Lordship Dimas must do it himself.”

After the demonic whisper, the horns retracted, the pupils returned to normal black-and-white contrast, the lividity vanished entirely, and the skin regained the color and elasticity of the living.

After tidying himself, the demon Dimas inspected his body, nodded in satisfaction, and quietly slipped out the door.

Through winding tunnels and winding stairs, Dimas crawled out of a heavy coffin—hundreds of identical stone coffins stood here.

…

Philin, who had been watching Ang closely, naturally knew about the sprouting seeds. Already cash-strapped, he scraped together another ten soul crystals, feigning a grain exchange to come and inspect personally.

After seeing it, Philin was thrilled—the glowing moss truly could provide light for crops, far superior to their current method of using manpower to power magical lamps.

Even a little use would save them enormous manpower.

“My lord, can we use this method?” Philin asked hopefully.

Ang didn’t understand his meaning, tilting his head to look at him.

That posture frightened Philin again—he hastily pulled out another soul crystal, pained: “Please, my lord, permit us to use your invention. We will pay you one soul crystal per month as usage fee.”

This time Ang understood: using someone else’s invention required a fee. He took the soul crystal and nodded.

One soul crystal was plenty. Each transaction, Ang followed his first habit—absorbing half the crystal’s energy into his soul. The first time had been accidental; the next two became routine. One soul crystal now equaled two transactions’ worth.

As he tucked away the soul crystal, Ang suddenly remembered the bronze dragon’s suggestion. He asked Philin: “Is there an undead temple here?”

Philin, who had just sighed in relief, felt his soul lurch into his throat.