Chapter 139: Ultimate Transformation Art

Soul Moss is a magical plant; like most magical plants, it decays when removed from soil and must be stored immediately in magical containers or stabilized with preservation spells. A child plucking it barehanded is nothing short of wasting a treasure.

A roar from the sky startled the child, who plopped onto the ground and frantically waved his wooden shovel upward.

The child tilted his face up, revealing a face dotted with tiny dragon scales on his cheeks, nose bridge, and brow tips.

"Huh? A dragon thrall? Whose dragon thrall? Is this yours, little Alice?" Nagelis asked in surprise.

Nai Aili flew down, sniffed the child, and sneered: "Yes, I don't want this dragon thrall."

"What? Why not? It's your dragon thrall—you're responsible!" Nagelis said.

Brucek also landed, solemnly stating: "Grandma Nai Aili, though your rank is high, you cannot abandon your own dragon thrall. If you truly intend to, I will invoke the Black Dragon Code."

Nai Aili pouted Weiqu ly: "Fine…," then swatted Nagelis on the head with one claw: "You handle it. You reek of feces."

Pfft! So that's why she was disgusted—just wash off the smell!

A dragon thrall is a creature contaminated by dragon power. Some beings living within dragon territories come into direct or indirect contact with dragon energy, becoming contaminated and turning into dragon thralls.

Being contaminated by dragon power is neither clearly good nor bad: some creatures gain a fraction of dragon power, accelerating their cultivation or learning exponentially, while others cannot withstand it, falling ill or dying outright.

But regardless of the consequences, the dragon itself must take responsibility. The Black Dragon Code mandates: whoever contaminates, must govern. Any dragon thrall created by a dragon must be handled by that dragon—abandonment is forbidden.

Of course, dragons are not benevolent creatures. The Code only requires responsibility—it doesn't specify how. Whether to consume, enslave, or raise the thrall, all are valid forms of accountability.

The little angel landed. Since it stopped turning to ash whenever it released holy light, An Ge no longer confiscated its wings.

It flew to the child's side and snatched him up.

The child immediately panicked, wildly swinging his wooden shovel, thwacking it against the little angel's body. The pure white dress and delicate face were streaked with gray smudges.

The little angel delivered an unceremonious punch straight to the child's eye socket.

"No! Ooooh!!" Nagelis screamed in horror—how could such a punch not shatter the child's skull?

Fortunately, the skull didn't explode. The child's eye socket turned black and bruised, tears streaming as he dropped the shovel and clutched his eye, wailing loudly.

The little angel punched the other eye socket—now both eyes were panda-black.

The child's nose ran with snot, his face twisted in pain—he couldn't cry out right away. Soon, the pain eased, and he started wailing again.

Unsurprisingly, the little angel punched him again—this time on the cheek. Cry, get punched. Don't cry, no punch. The child instinctively clamped his hand over his mouth.

The little angel nodded in satisfaction, shook the child vigorously, dislodging all his debris, then raised holy light and swept it across his face—cleaning away every trace of grime.

Dirt, blackheads, flakes—all vanished under the purification spell's glow, far more effective than any Death Finger Whitening and Blemish Removal spell.

The oil had matted his hair into a single clump; after the purification spell, it was as if scrubbed with a stiff bristle brush—clean enough to refuse knots, though the damaged hair quality couldn't be restored, now dry, frizzy, and split.

To this dragon thrall child, such a feat was miraculous beyond comprehension—he stared wide-eyed, worshipfully at the little angel.

The little angel methodically scrubbed him clean, until he looked like a freshly hatched chick—hair fluffy, soft, and adorable.

Nagelis flew over and asked: "Little one, what's your name?"

"Yi yi ya ya." The dragon thrall child emitted meaningless sounds.

After some effort, Nagelis said: "Can't speak, no language ability. Is he truly alone here? Impossible."

"Little one, where do you live? Are there others?"

"Yi yi ya ya." The dragon thrall child replied.

Due to being a dragon thrall, he looked sturdy, but after closer inspection, Nagelis realized he was probably only four or five years old.

A dragon thrall child with no language ability, unable to communicate—no useful information could be gleaned. Nagelis had to search the surroundings himself.

Children this age lack survival skills, so his range wouldn't be large. After circling the area, Nagelis found his dwelling.

Just nearby, a shallow hollow—barely large enough for two people to sit in, sheltered from wind and rain. Inside, a skeleton sat at the deepest point, covered in dust—clearly dead for a long time.

Yet a blanket was carefully draped over the skeleton, only its corners showing signs of disturbance. Beside the marks was a polished, shallow depression—roughly the size of the dragon thrall child.

From just the skeleton and the hollow's traces, Nagelis could deduce what had happened.

The skeleton had once lived here with an infant. Something unexpected occurred—the adult died suddenly. The infant survived alone, feeding on Soul Moss and other plants grown by dragon power, becoming contaminated and turning into a dragon thrall.

With no one to teach him, he couldn't speak. He didn't even understand the skeleton was dead—he still covered it with the precious blanket, while taking only a tiny corner for himself.

Despite such hardship, the child had struggled to survive.

Hearing Nagelis's deduction, Nai Aili's maternal instincts surged: "Oh my, so pitiful! Don't be afraid, don't be afraid! From now on, Dragon Mother will care for you. Come here, let Dragon Mother hug you!" She reached out to embrace him.

But the dragon thrall child darted behind the little angel, watching warily.

"Ah, don't run! I'm your Dragon Mother! Come here—you're my dragon thrall, no need to fear, I won't hurt you," Nai Aili said.

The dragon thrall child didn't respond, just stared, alert. Nai Aili tried circling to grab him, but he dodged behind the little angel.

"Alright, it seems my dragon thrall doesn't recognize me," Nai Aili sighed.

"You Xianqi ed him when he was filthy—he remembers your disdain," Nagelis chuckled smugly, then got swatted across the face by Nai Aili's claw.

An Ge tilted his head, staring at the skeleton for a long while, then gestured with one finger.

The skeleton, still covered by the blanket, suddenly stood upright.

The dragon thrall child's eyes flashed with delight—he squealed "Yi ya yi ya!" and dashed toward the skeleton. But after a few calls, realizing the skeleton ignored him, he bit his lip, tears welling in his eyes.

Nagelis flew to An Ge and asked: "Why move it?"

"Residual consciousness." An Ge said.

Nagelis flew to the skeleton, examined it closely, and finally detected the lingering traces.

Residual consciousness is information left behind by a soul with intense willpower, embedded in a corpse or object. For example, the hand bones of Bonekeeper Rock retained vast information, later decoded by the Purple Bone Titan to construct a teleportation array linked to the World Transit Station.

Without Rock's residual consciousness, even if the teleportation array were built, the Purple Bone race could never have connected to the World Transit Station.

Similarly, this skeleton retained similar information. If the deceased hadn't been someone like Rock—with a powerful soul—the only way such traces could remain is if his soul was violently active at death—commonly called "dying with eyes open."

An Ge didn't need the Purple Bone race's complicated methods. He simply sent a bit of soul energy, letting it coalesce into a soul flame centered on the residual consciousness, then used that flame to decode the information.

"Child, take care."

"The magic rice is almost ready—I won't accept failure."

"I am the strongest Druid."

"Dragon dung smells awful…"

An Ge read out each decoded message. The last one nearly made Nai Aili's scales flare.

"So he was a Druid. What's magic rice? A new rice strain he cultivated? 'Take care'—does he mean this child? No name? Not his child?" Nagelis analyzed the decoded messages, then searched the skeleton's original position and found a bundle.

"A sack of rice seeds, a planting manual, a Druidic secret technique, a robe, and some trinkets."

"Let me see the robe!" Brucek spotted the emblem on the robe and exclaimed.

After examining it, Brucek said: "I know who he is—Spring Wind Grand Druid, the strongest human Druid. He vanished a few years ago. Never thought he'd die here."

"Last year, at the Spring Wind Cup Druid Competition named after him, a grain variety yielding over a thousand jin per mu appeared. Rumor says his rival cultivated it and deliberately unveiled it at the competition named after him, hoping to provoke him out. Never imagined he was already dead," Brucek said in disbelief.

"Strongest human Druid? Very strong?" Nagelis asked.

He'd never heard the name—but that wasn't strange. As the strongest human, even if mighty, he was still human. A thousand years ago, he hadn't even been born. For example, the Truth Mage who blocked Brucek at the open sea—Nagelis didn't even know his name.

Brucek thought for a moment: "Close to Truth level."

Coming from Brucek, a Truth-level being, that carried no exaggeration. Nagelis was stunned: "Close to Truth? Then he was incredibly strong—how did he die here?"

He immediately examined the skeleton—no external injuries. Clearly not killed by violence.

"Perhaps he was just too old. He was nearly five hundred. Humans have no recorded lifespan beyond that. He was the longest-lived human warrior I know." For some reason, Brucek's tone carried a hint of relief.

"If it really is him, this child isn't his. He's five hundred—he couldn't possibly…" Brucek added.

Nagelis sidled up to Brucek and whispered: "Do you have a grudge against him? Why do you sound relieved?"

"Grudge? No, no!" Brucek shook his head quickly: "Impossible—I never met him. I'm just relieved. Thank goodness humans are short-lived. At five hundred, he was already close to Truth. If they lived longer, our dragon race wouldn't survive."

He glanced enviously at Nagelis: "Still, the most enviable are undead. Eternal life. Sigh. Mortal races—no matter how powerful, cannot escape aging, sickness, and death. Yet even the weakest skeleton among the undead lives forever. So enviable."

Instantly, Brucek lost interest in speaking. The thought of dying in thousands of years drained all his enthusiasm.

Nagelis didn't know how to comfort it. Could he say he wasn't undead—he was alive because he'd become a god? That would only crush Brucek further.

Just as he tried to change the subject, a chilling aura erupted from An Ge's position.

Nagelis turned—An Ge was absorbed in reading the Druidic secret technique. The chilling aura emanated from him.

Nagelis recognized this aura—he'd never forget it. The very aura that had beaten him into a corpse and dragged him back to the Tomb Palace.

Why was An Ge emitting Bonekeeper Rock's aura?

Before he could ask, An Ge's body twisted. His Rock Hand rose before him—and a shadow slowly reflected in the air.

Purple-gold bones, violet soul flame, eyes glowing with Mourning Fire—there stood the figure that made it tremble: the Lord of Mourning, Bonekeeper Rock.

Rock raised his hand, touching An Ge's. The space twisted. An Ge and Rock seemed to merge—until only a purple-gold skeleton remained standing.

Brucek swallowed hard and said: "Using physical objects as medium, spiritual energy as bridge, transforming all things—this is the Ultimate Transformation Art of Druids."

"I… I know that. But why can he transform into Bonekeeper Rock?" Nagelis stammered.

"The stronger the spiritual power, the more powerful the being you can transform into. Perhaps the Bonekeeper Rock you mentioned had weak spiritual power? Using physical objects as medium—does An Ge have something belonging to Bonekeeper Rock?" Brucek said.

She'd never seen Bonekeeper Rock. The bloodline knowledge she possessed was dry and vague—she couldn't sense how powerful he truly was.

Nagelis gasped inwardly: Does An Ge have spiritual power equal to Bonekeeper Rock's? No way!

At that moment, An Ge lifted his feet, then stomped hard on the ground.

After that step, An Ge seemed to exhaust all his strength—his form twisted violently, reverting to his original gray-bone skeleton.

"Phew. Less than ten seconds. Good, good," Nagelis sighed—a mix of disappointment and relief. Ten seconds was reasonable for a transformation.

If An Ge could maintain Rock's form indefinitely, Nagelis might suspect his entire displayed power was an act.

"That final stomp—was it a King's Arrival? Why no effect? Did the skill break because he reverted?"

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