Chapter 146

Why the Place of Slumber vanished, why the Palace of Rest shrank—these were far beyond their understanding; if Luo Ge hadn't mentioned it, Negril would have thought the Palace of Rest had always been this way.

After hours of discussion, they reached no conclusion, so they dispersed with unanswered questions; before they knew it, three months had passed.

Over the Heart Island of the Falling Dragon Lake, a black dragon flew past, and several figures jumped down like dumplings into the water, splashing with thuds.

The little angel leapt up from the wetland mud, howling as it chased after the wild ducks near the water's edge.

Just before reaching the surface, the little zombie flipped nimbly, landing lightly on the water, then sprinted wildly—its shoes morphed into broad palm-like soles, increasing surface area like duck feet, rapidly kicking to let it run directly across the water.

Catching up from behind, the little zombie quickly neared the ducks, startling them into frantic flight.

The little angel let out a shriek and whipped out a long lash—formed from holy light—that wrapped around the little zombie's feet.

The little zombie lightly tapped the holy light lash, its speed surging as it leapt through the air toward the ducks.

A silver figure flashed past like lightning, snatching a duck in its jaws, then whipped its tail and vanished just as swiftly; all they saw was the white scales along its throat.

White Throat was undoubtedly a silver dragon—just three months out of its egg, it had already demonstrated astonishing speed talent.

The little angel let out an angry howl, its wingtips twitching as if to spread open, but it thought better of it, caught up to the little zombie, and punched it square in the eye socket.

The little zombie, Bufuqi, brawled fiercely with the little angel, fists flying.

The black dragon was naturally the bone dragon An Ge had dug up from the Falling Dragon Lake; after days of effort, he fully restored its skin, creating an entirely new undead being distinct from bone dragons or corpse dragons.

Built on a bone dragon's frame, covered in scales and hide, it possessed a dragon's flight ability but lacked internal organs or muscles—it was still fundamentally a bone dragon.

Yet because of its skin covering, it looked exactly like a true dragon, fooling many.

Negril and Luo Ge drifted down slowly, followed by a goblin carrying a parachute.

The inventor of the Magic Egg Cannon, goblin engineer Wali Gu.

Wali Gu looked at the desolate Heart Island and muttered: "Where's the farmland here? Are they going to test with these waterweeds?"

Muttering as he adjusted his parachute's direction, he drifted toward dry ground, unlike the little angel and little zombie who landed in the water.

An Ge, who had landed early, was already leveling the ground, shouldering a hoe, stepping backward as his Earth Crack spell fractured the soil, which the hoe then turned and loosened.

Wali Gu sneered: "That's it? That's it? This efficiency can't even match a dwarf who can't farm—how dare you compare it to our goblin engineers' constructs?"

Wali Gu slowly opened his tool chest, speaking to Negril as he floated over: "But remember—we agreed: if my engineering team beats your manual team, you'll fund my Magic Egg Cannon."

Negril nodded: "No problem, no problem—as we agreed: if you win, the blueprint for the fully automatic seeder-harvester belongs to us; we'll invest in your Magic Egg Cannon's research and production. If you lose, you either accept employment with the Silver Coin Guild or pay a ransom for your freedom."

"Sigh…" Wali Gu sighed: "I feel your conditions are as treacherous as goblin merchants—why should I only give you the seeder-harvester blueprint if I win? Shouldn't it be: if I win, you invest; if I lose, you get the blueprint?"

Negril said matter-of-factly: "If you lose, why would we want your seeder-harvester? Isn't that precisely why you lost—because it's useless?"

"Then why should I pay a ransom? If I don't pay, I'm forced into employment—what exactly is this Silver Coin Guild?" Wali Gu asked. A Gear Prize Master like him forced to accept employment from a guild? This was disgrace.

Negril asked, puzzled: "What else? Though you weren't captured by us, we saved you—and incurred massive losses. You can't expect good people to bear those losses—then who'd dare rescue anyone?"

"Don't twist concepts—it was the sand raiders attacking the oasis that we drove off; rescuing you was incidental."

"Doesn't matter if it was incidental—we saved you. Do you acknowledge that?"

"... es."

"We spent money sourcing materials so you could research the automatic seeder-harvester and compete with us—true, right?"

"Yes."

"The ransom or employment is because you lost. If you won, we wouldn't just take your blueprint—we'd keep funding your next project. We're helping you, aren't we?"

Wali Gu was bewildered: "So I'm supposed to thank you?"

"Of course you thank us—we saved you, didn't we?"

"... es…" Wali Gu had to admit, yet something still felt off.

Negril sneered inwardly: Dare you accuse me of twisting concepts? Let me show you what real concept-twisting looks like.

After a moment of daze, Wali Gu snapped to: "But you forced me into this competition!"

"Who forced you? Are you admitting your automatic seeder-harvester is inferior to our manual team? If so, we'll cancel the match immediately." Negril asked, perfectly confident.

"No! We must compete! Don't cancel!" Wali Gu nearly cried.

Now it was he begging them to hold the competition—win, and they'd take his blueprint and fund his next project; lose, and he'd pay ransom or sell himself. It was worse than being sold and helping count the coins—no doubt crafted by some heartless goblin merchants.

Thousands of miles away, the Silver Coin Guild sneezed.

"First contest: tilling. Engineering team: Wali Gu, Gear Prize winner, and his fully automatic seeder-harvester. Manual team: the little zombie."

Seeing the mysterious, formidable little zombie clad in soul armor, Wali Gu hurriedly said: "Construct advantages are automation and durability—as agreed, we each till two hundred mu."

"Fine, fine, two hundred mu—want more? How about four hundred?" Negril said generously.

"Fine, four hundred mu." Wali Gu agreed, pulling from his tool chest his engineering construct: a strange machine with two large wheels and a massive plow trailing behind.

At the signal, the little zombie immediately began dog-paddling, churning up soil with astonishing force.

Wali Gu slowly activated his construct, set its parameters, and it began moving steadily forward, its plow deeply turning the earth.

Meanwhile, Wali Gu leisurely pulled out a reclining chair and sunshade, brewing milk tea.

A day and night passed. Wali Gu, asleep from boredom, was woken by Negril: "The little zombie has finished four hundred mu. First contest: manual team wins."

"Impossible!" Wali Gu shouted in disbelief, rushing to inspect the little zombie's field—indeed, every inch was tilled, clearly hand-worked: uneven depth, jagged edges, like a dog had chewed it—but it was all turned.

His own construct had only tilled ninety mu—less than half.

"Second contest: seeding. Manual team: An Ge. Engineering team: Wali Gu and his construct. Use the tilled land. Each sows two hundred mu. Begin."

Wali Gu quickly swapped the rear attachment of his construct, replacing the plow with a seeder. By the time he finished setting it up and let it begin seeding, he rushed over to observe An Ge—and instantly despaired.

An Ge casually tossed seeds into the air; as if an invisible hand guided them, they fell in perfect rows and intervals, then soil covered them, followed by gentle raindrops.

An Ge had not only seeded—he'd also watered. In an instant, ten mu was done; Wali Gu's construct had barely seeded the first row. Though it seeded six furrows at once, its speed couldn't compare to An Ge's.

Losing two rounds straight, Wali Gu was crushed. He'd always believed construct advantages were unbeatable—no matter how powerful a mage or swordsman, they couldn't match constructs, which never tired, ran on magic crystals, and worked day and night.

Mages and swordsmen wouldn't farm—but even if they did, Wali Gu wouldn't fear them. Yet he hadn't expected An Ge and the little zombie never tired either, and worked day and night too.

An Ge didn't just finish two hundred mu—he finished the other two hundred as well. No need to compare: Wali Gu's construct had barely seeded twenty mu. Even that was fast—but compared to An Ge, it crawled like a snail.

"Fine, I lost. No need to compete in harvesting—do whatever you want with me. I can't pay the ransom." Wali Gu gave up.

"Compete! How can you not compete? Until it's finished, how do we know your construct's strengths and weaknesses? What if its harvesting ability is exceptional?" Negril said.

"How? Wait until next year when the crops grow?" Wali Gu snapped.

"Step back, An Ge!" Once Wali Gu was outside the aura's range, Negril signaled An Ge.

An Ge stepped on his footprint—the seeds began growing wildly.

A familiar process: three hours later, the crops entered maturity and harvest stage.

Wali Gu stared, eyes darting between An Ge and Negril.

"Stop staring. Get to work. You harvest your two hundred mu. An Ge harvests the other four hundred. See who's faster."

"Got it!" Wali Gu suddenly perked up.

The result needed no watching: An Ge ran back and forth, scythe reversed, and finished four hundred mu in moments; Wali Gu's construct had barely covered ten mu.

Yet now, his face bore no earlier despair—only excitement and suppressed exhilaration.

Negril said to him: "Three contests complete. You lost all three. Pay ransom or accept employment?"

"Employment! Employment! I have no money—I accept employment!" Wali Gu blurted.

"Huh? You changed. You're eager now?" Negril asked, puzzled.

"Step on a footstep and crops mature instantly? A person like that wants to hire me? I'd be insane to refuse! My lord, you should've shown this earlier—no need for any contest!"

Negril said: "You misunderstand. The contest was to assess your construct's capability. Though it can't match An Ge's efficiency, its full automation is still impressive. Build dozens more, and the output will catch up. Since you've accepted employment, the seeder-harvester blueprint is now a work-made-for-hire—belonging to the Silver Coin Guild."

"Huh? I accept employment, but you still take the blueprint? Didn't you say if I lost, the seeder-harvester was useless?" Wali Gu was confused again.

"Not useless. Just a little useful."

While Negril bullied the innocent goblin engineer, An Ge began tilling again, then dug a trench to divert lake water in.

The lake water was brackish. Previously, An Ge had used magic to water the crops. Now he was diverting brackish water—did that mean?

Negril flew over, excited: "An Ge, have you successfully bred brackish water magic rice?"

Ten thousand times! Ten thousand times! For three months, Negril had flown with An Ge across every wetland and saline land of the Falling Dragon Lake, completing ten thousand trials. If this failed, An Ge would do another ten thousand. Good heavens—the thought made one go mad.

After three months and ten thousand experiments, An Ge successfully bred over a dozen rice strains capable of growing in saline soil—all based on magic rice, hybridized with brackish water grasses.

But An Ge couldn't yet determine which strain was the true brackish water magic rice—he needed to grow them to find out.

Merely surviving in brackish water wasn't success. It had to match magic rice: high yield, salt-alkali resistance, thrive on brackish water.

If it resisted salt-alkali and grew in saline land but required fresh water, that was acceptable too—it could be planted on saline lands near freshwater sources, like the estuaries of the Two Rivers in the northwest.

Habitually dividing the paddy fields into dozens of plots, he diverted lake water, sowed seeds, stepped on footprints, and the crops surged upward.

After repeated experiments and comparisons, An Ge isolated three strains: First, Brackish Water Magic Rice No. 1—the highest yield, matching normal magic rice at seven hundred jin per mu.

Brackish Water Magic Rice No. 2—the lowest yield, only five hundred jin per mu, but most salt-alkali resistant, brackish water tolerant, lodging-resistant, flood- and drought-resistant, most resilient.

Brackish Water Magic Rice No. 3—six hundred jin per mu, average in all traits, neither good nor bad—but with one peculiar trait: its seeds could only germinate after being blessed by a sapling's "blessing"; the harvested seeds could not germinate again.

These were the strains with clear, standout traits—but other strains had their own advantages. An Ge planned further research.

To study these, he had worn out the handbooks left by the Spring Grand Druid, and learned several new druidic secrets.

While An Ge happily farmed, the highest-level teleportation conference on the Material Plane was underway: participants included the Human Truth Mage, Dragon Clan Chief, Elven Queen, Pope, two Archbishops, and the Dwarf War God.

Just by the attendees, one knew the conference's stature—but the meeting mentioned a sudden force appearing in a desert oasis, calling them "Abyss Wanderers."

Someone proposed expelling or eliminating this force that had drifted from the Abyss.

At the meeting, someone proposed expelling or eliminating this force that had drifted in from the Abyss.