Chapter 148

Who's such a buzzkill? Sand pirates? Aren't all the sand pirates wiped out? How dare they still come out to die? And who the hell is this "King of Sand Pirates"?

The Winged Knights' dragon-slaying battle dealt a devastating blow to the sand pirates; nearly half the desert's pirate bands were summoned, then crushed in one charge, scattering in panic.

Scattered in the desert, individuals alone stand little chance of survival; in normal combat, pirate casualties may have been only a thousand or so, but those who fled and died afterward numbered at least two to three thousand.

Of five thousand sand pirates, fewer than two in ten survived.

Severely weakened, the sand pirates won't trouble the region for a long time—yet under these conditions, a "King of Sand Pirates" still appears?

Nagelis and Luo Ge exchanged a glance, then sprang to their feet. Ang, who had been using his Cross-Dimension Hand to plant crops, also leapt up, his soul flame blazing fiercely from his head.

"No need, no need, don't get angry—let Luo Ge handle it." Nagelis held Ang back. A few pitiful sand pirates? Does Ang really need to lift a finger? That would be a disgrace to all their little brothers.

But Ang didn't sit down. He shook his head and said: "So many energies."

"So many energies? Are there many people?" As the sand pirates entered the village, Nagelis noticed they numbered only twenty-odd riders. The leaders were well-equipped, clad in light armor; the rest were bare, unarmored.

Two of them wore cloaks, hiding even their eyes—no one could tell if they were sand pirates or slaves.

"How many are there? Are there more outside?" Nagelis flapped his wings into the air, peering beyond the village—but in the darkness, nothing stirred.

With only this many men, they dare call themselves "King of Sand Pirates"? I'm impressed.

But when Nagelis turned back, he saw Ang had already summoned the Death Scythe, ready for battle. His rare seriousness made it seem as if the twenty-odd sand pirates were an army of ten thousand.

Nagelis could no longer afford to be casual. He flew to Ang's side and asked: "What did you sense?"

"So many energies." Ang repeated his earlier words.

He stared blankly at the sand pirates—where were these "so many energies"?

The leader was a weather-beaten, sun-blackened "peasant." Most sand pirates looked like this—after years of wind and sun in the desert, even the softest skin turned rough. From appearance alone, they were unmistakably sand pirates.

Twenty-odd riders weren't many, but enough to massacre a village of a hundred households. Domit felt the same.

Lately, power shifts in the desert had been frequent. Formerly notorious sand pirate bands vanished one after another—rumored to have been slaughtered after failing to kill a dragon. Suddenly, vast territories lay empty.

Domit, who once hid from others, now felt bold. He'd never dared raid villages before, since most villages paid tribute to and were protected by sand pirates.

Along the way, he'd encountered no large pirate bands—only two cloaked figures in the stony sands, who asked him to escort them to the nearest place with water and food, offering two magic crystals as payment.

Domit was a sand pirate, but if the pay was right, escort work was acceptable—though safety was another matter.

He played a small trick: the cloaked figures wanted escort to a place with water and food? The Falling Dragon Lake had water—brackish water—and food too, though barely enough to eat.

What would their faces look like when they saw a lake of brackish water and a pile of shriveled, moldy grain? Would they still want to be escorted out?

If they did, the price wouldn't be the same anymore—perhaps their entire fortune and lives?

Along the route, many villages lay in ruins—some abandoned, others filled only with emaciated, walking corpses too pitiful to even bother robbing. Who could have expected that just before reaching the Falling Dragon Lake, they'd find a village singing, dancing, and full of laughter?

Listening closer, he realized it was a wedding. Hearing "wedding," every sand pirate felt a sudden heat in their bellies.

A wedding meant young women. After a month-long ride across the desert on stallions, the thought of young women made any sand pirate lose control.

Imagining tying the groom to a post while they surrounded the bride's creamy skin—excitement made them unable to sit still on their horses.

But to deter retaliation from other pirates, Domit loudly proclaimed himself: "King of Sand Pirates."

He knew sand pirates had no kings. If this village had a protector, let that protector go deal with the "King of Sand Pirates."

"Don't you know that in this vast desert, a bride's first night belongs to the King of Sand Pirates?!" Domit repeated, this time roaring. His men obediently drew their swords and blades—a cold, deadly atmosphere.

But strangely, the villagers exchanged glances, their faces twisted in odd expressions. Finally, their eyes turned to Ang and the others. Before a lord who owned a dragon, twenty-odd sand pirates meant nothing.

Following the villagers' gaze, Domit and his men looked over. First they saw a tiny angel in a white dress, pink and sweet—eyes instantly gleamed.

Some people, when overcome by emotion, easily ignore other things—like Ang, wielding a massive scythe; the small zombie in soul armor; Luo Ge, wreathed in black mist; and the three tiny dragon hatchlings—one yellow, one yellow, one silver.

Then one of the cloaked figures spoke: "Foolish, death-deserving idiot."

The two cloaked figures stepped forward. With each step, beetles fell from beneath their cloaks, scuttling into the ground as they went—leaving a trail of beetles like flowing black water. Domit and his men felt their scalps crawl.

What had they been escorting? Why so many insects on them?

One sand pirate closest to them was grabbed by a cloaked figure, revealing a thin, bony hand wrapped in black cloth. Between hand and cloak, a swarm of mosquito-like insects flew out, buzzing toward the pirate.

The pirate's skin erupted in goosebumps. He screamed—but as he opened his mouth, the insects flooded in, gurgling like a drowning man. He collapsed, writhing.

This sudden turn stunned everyone. Domit never imagined the people he escorted would suddenly attack them!

If it were blades and swords, the pirates might have drawn their weapons—but these insects and beetles were too bizarre. Everyone instinctively screamed and recoiled.

But it was useless. From beneath the cloaks, wave after wave of flying insects surged forth like black smoke, striking the pirates, crawling into their clothes, biting through skin, or burrowing through mouths, noses, and ears.

Within a few breaths, the ground was covered with writhing sand pirates—even their horses weren't spared.

"So that's what you meant by 'so many energies'," Nagelis realized.

Domit was the only surviving pirate. His mind screamed a thousand curses—but all came out as: "Spare… spare me…"

The cloaked figure leaned close, whispering: "You're this stupid, and blind? Even if I spare you, you'll die again next time. Can't you see the array of powerful beings before you? And several dragon hatchlings? Even that little girl who made your eyes gleam radiates holy power."

As he spoke, the cloaked figure twisted Domit's head toward Ang and the others. With the warning, Domit finally saw them clearly—no longer blinded by emotion, he understood what they meant.

Just those three hatchlings were beyond his reach. Three hatchlings meant at least one adult dragon.

"Better to die as a 'Zhen' than as a fool—become nourishment for Lord Hemoelthos." The cloaked figure finished. Domit felt a sharp pain in his chest—their bony hand had pierced it.

Domit's wound writhed, as if something was burrowing inside. The cloaked figure withdrew its hand. Domit collapsed, lifeless.

Finally, the cloaked figures turned, placing hands over their chests in a bow: "Mighty beings, we mean no offense. These sand pirates are not ours. Their actions are unrelated to us. We are followers of Lord Hemoelthos, here only to seek fertile land."

"Hemoelthos? Never heard of him. Where did he come from? A new god? His methods are strange." Nagelis muttered. As the God of Common Sense, he'd heard of every named deity—but never this Hemoelthos.

But that wasn't strange. Countless faiths existed; even the most dominant Light couldn't illuminate every dark corner. Probably just some minor god.

"Oh, followers of Hemoelthos? Nice to meet you! I think I heard you mention 'Zhen'? What's 'Zhen'?"

The two cloaked figures exchanged glances—even though their eyes were hidden, they clearly understood each other.

"'Zhen' is Lord Hemoelthos's definition of the most abundant substance in the world. Above Zhen, all things grow: dead trees sprout, bones revive, white-haired elders regain youth, the crippled grow limbs anew. No more flaws, no more pain in all creation. Find the most fertile land, and you find Zhen—it is Lord Hemoelthos's gift to the world!"

Pausing, the cloaked figure added: "Want to know more? Join our Chaos Temple, pray, and learn more." They both held out small booklets.

So their glance had been a decision to proselytize to Nagelis and the others?

Ang's eyes sparkled. Zhen? It sounded like a mix of Sacred Essence Fluid, Life Essence, and dragon soil mixed with bird droppings? Could grow anything? Was such a powerful fertilizer real?

Nagelis felt absurdity rising. Minutes ago, it was a villainous scene—brutal pirates trying to claim a bride's first night. Before they could act, the villains were killed by their own cloaked escorts. Now, those escorts were trying to convert them. It was ridiculous.

Better to avoid trouble. Though they didn't know who Hemoelthos or the Chaos Temple were, and the cloaked figures' methods were strange, they couldn't just kill them for that.

Nagelis shook his head: "No, if not…" He was about to say more when Ang suddenly slammed his scythe's haft into the ground.

A sharp crack echoed—something beneath the sand burst. When he lifted the scythe, a burst beetle clung to the haft's tip.

It was one of the beetles that had fallen from the cloaked figures' bodies—somehow, they'd silently crawled beneath Ang and the others' feet.

Nagelis stared at the beetle on the scythe, then at the cloaked figures. They, too, looked surprised—how had Ang detected the beetles underground?

But since they were discovered, they stopped pretending. They roared: "Then die—"

As they shouted "die," the corpses of the fallen sand pirates exploded. Countless flying insects poured out—dozens of times more than had entered them.

Looking again, the corpses were reduced to nothing but skin and skeletons.

The insects had used the pirates' bodies as breeding grounds, multiplying at an unimaginable speed.

Simultaneously, beetles surged from the sand, joining the insects in a tidal wave rushing toward everyone present—including John and the villagers.

But the moment they finished shouting "die," a flash of cold light sliced across their necks. Two heads tumbled to the ground.

"What trash dares shout 'die, die, die' to the Lord?" Luo Ge materialized behind them, swinging his blade again—this time cutting them cleanly at the waist.

The remaining torso halves fell to the ground—but they didn't die. They flailed their arms, desperately trying to grasp their severed lower halves.

Luo Ge slashed four more times, severing both arms. Now nothing could move: "I suspected you were liches all along."

From the severed pieces of the cloaked figures, swarms of beetles and insects poured out, rushing in all directions.

Facing this overwhelming tide of insects and beetles, Ang realized the Death Scythe was ineffective. He sheathed it and unleashed magic.

Rows of explosive fireballs shot toward the insects.

The little angel curiously picked up a beetle. It had a glossy black shell, six legs, and pincer-like mandibles. She bit down—and bit off a chunk of her palm.

"Ow!" The angel crushed the beetle in her hand, lifted her skirt, and stomped rapidly on the ground with her tiny white legs. Every stomp produced a crisp crunch—even beetles hidden in the sand couldn't escape.

The zombie crouched down, slapping its palms—pat, pat, pat—like whacking moles, crushing beetles in the sand.

Luo Ge swung his twin blades, charging through the black smoke of insects.

Nai Aili and Bai Hou stretched their necks, spitting their tiny flame-like dragon breaths.

Everyone used their own methods—but against this endless tide, they were overwhelmed, unable to eliminate the insects quickly enough.

Swarms of insects and beetles closed in on the villagers, who screamed in terror.

Nagelis panicked: "We can't let the insects kill the villagers—otherwise their numbers will explode again."

He was desperate, but realized it was too late. These beetles and insects weren't powerful—they couldn't even pierce his scales. They posed no threat to them—but to the villagers, they were deadly.

Even if they covered their mouths and noses, the insects could still bite through skin, burrow in, devour flesh, and multiply wildly.

With such vast numbers, even the most efficient Ang couldn't destroy them fast enough. Once they surged into the villagers, another explosion would follow instantly.

The villagers were doomed. Poor John. Poor bride.

Just as Nagelis despaired, Ang suddenly stomped hard—accelerating the life processes of every living thing within the entire village.