Chapter 180

The Earth Sacred Hammer has a demon spirit? I've never heard of that. Anthony blinked, immediately realizing this was a breakthrough—he'd been struggling to uncover the hammer's origins, and now a demon spirit appeared. Why not just ask it directly?

"So it's called the Hollow Spirit Hammer. What's a Hollow Spirit Hammer?" Anthony asked.

"Why should I tell you? Move back, don't crowd me like that—your breath is blowing on me." The Earth Sacred Hammer replied irritably.

Nagris turned and growled: "Aow."

The little angel immediately dashed over.

"Hollow Spirit Hammer means the echo of a soul in emptiness—it's a hammer that can touch soul echoes," the Earth Sacred Hammer replied swiftly.

"What's it good for?" Anthony asked.

Under the little angel's watchful gaze, the Earth Sacred Hammer cooperated fully: "It can summon the corpses on the ground by touching soul echoes."

"That's just 'Royal Presence'—any golden skeleton can do that. Why bother sealing it?" Nagris muttered.

"That's not the same. What a golden skeleton can do and what a hammer can do are not the same concept, because anyone can use the hammer. Can you imagine two armies clashing, one side has lost half its troops, the other has lost a third, the tide is turning, victory is near—then suddenly all the corpses on the ground rise up as enemies? Now I understand why the Duke of Black Mountain never loses."

"But can the Church of Light let such a person live?" Nagris asked, puzzled.

"Maybe they couldn't defeat him. The Duke of Black Mountain himself is a high-rank Sword Saint, with two Arcane Masters, one Truth Sword Saint, six high-rank Sword Saints, a elite cavalry regiment, and the support of most anti-Church nations. The fact that he hasn't destroyed the Church of Light is already impressive."

"So the hammer's first seal is essentially a ceasefire agreement between two sides?" Nagris speculated.

"Probably. Ask it, demon spirit—are you the embodiment of the ceasefire agreement?"

"Are you stupid? I'm just a seal. How would I know what I represent? Do you know what you represent? You represent a fool."

Anthony was stunned by the insult. After a long pause, he muttered blankly: "Is this demon spirit related to your Lightning?"

Nagris stifled a laugh: "No, it's easier to handle than Lightning—it doesn't have legs. Little angel, take it. Use it to level the land. The soil layer on Huxindao is too shallow and full of rocks—perfect for this."

Huxindao was originally a stone mountain; its thin surface soil was mostly weathered dust or sediment, packed with countless rocks. If the Earth Sacred Hammer were used to level it, arable land could increase five to six times.

The little angel happily shouldered the hammer and ran off. Ang followed excitedly. The little zombie followed too.

The two old hands stared at each other.

"Forget it. I've copied down both the seal and the Requiem of Undeath. I'll study them slowly later. Let me know if you find anything—you're the God of Knowledge," Anthony said, eager to leave.

Twenty days later, the tens of thousands of acres of farmland leveled by the Earth Sacred Hammer on Huxindao were entirely planted with demonic rice. Meanwhile, the elf bean sprouted a second bud.

"Ang, bad news! The elf bean's second bud has been stolen by something… Wait, did you cut it off?" Nagris flew over in a panic, only to see Ang holding the tiny bud, carefully pressing it against the World Tree.

The bark of the World Tree had been peeled back, the bud trimmed flat, pressed tightly against the inner tissue, then doused with holy water and covered with clean, holy-light-purified soil.

"You're… grafting?"

Ang nodded.

"Why think of grafting? You haven't even grown the elf bean yet."

"Slow." Ang sneered. Twenty days, and only a second bud? By the time it bore beans, it would take decades.

"It takes sixty years—thirty to bloom, thirty to fruit, then it withers. The peak yield lasts twenty years, producing about five hundred beans per year."

That means one elf bean's lifetime yields over ten thousand beans. Sounds like a lot, but if each person eats one a day, ten thousand beans feed ten thousand people for one day. For a twenty-thousand-man army, how many elf beans would be needed?

And that requires sixty years of land fertility.

Elf beans demand enormous fertility. Ordinary soil can't grow them. Their roots spread widely—plant one elf bean, and nothing else grows well within hundreds of square meters.

So despite its strategic value, elves can't make elf beans a staple food—they can only grow a few as strategic reserves.

Now Ang, out of nowhere, tries to graft the elf bean onto the World Tree? Because he thinks it grows too slowly?

Indeed, if it could grow as fast as the World Tree without draining soil fertility, elf beans would become the world's staple grain. But if possible, why haven't the elves done this?

"Oh, I forgot—the elves have only one World Tree, and they treasure it too much to ever try grafting. Only you have a pile of World Trees to mess around with," Nagris realized, suddenly excited.

But this was clearly not easy. The first bud grafted withered and turned black. Ang kept dripping life essence, divine essence, insect ash, essence-insect-ash liquid—but nothing saved the bud.

The first method failed. Ang quickly prepared the second, but needed a new bud to grow—the entire process was painfully slow.

As Ang squatted before the elf bean bud, waiting for the new shoot, Lisa's voice echoed in his soul: "Master, come see—they're fighting."

They were fighting—the fallen legion refugees and the desert nomads. Punches and kicks flew, shoving and pushing.

One side cried pitifully: "You desert nomads bully outsiders! You give us nothing, deny us everything! Why? Just because you got here first?"

The nomads were furious: "This is the desert—everything is precious. You waste everything. Water is sacred, yet you use it to bathe? Go back to your city dwellers!"

A month's accumulated grievances erupted into brawling.

When Ang arrived, everyone lay panting on the ground, exhausted. Why pick noon to fight? No one died, but more than a few were dehydrated from the sun.

Fale and Shafia were dragged, defeated, before Ang. Nagris, furious, was also hauled up. Ang roared: "What's going on?! Did you eat too much and have nothing better to do?!"

Fale and Shafia nodded frantically in unison. Fale began complaining:

"Master, it's because we ate too much. We have sweet rice every day—something only nobles used to enjoy. Now we do nothing, lie in our pit-huts, get up only to eat. After those few days harvesting rice when we first arrived, we've been idle ever since. Of course trouble follows."

Shafia nodded, adding: "They waste food and fresh water. We nomads bathe only three times in our lives—at birth, before death, and after childbirth. These people want to bathe daily with fresh water? It's infuriating."

"Huh? Only three times? Then how come you're so clean?" Nagris immediately got distracted, curious.

No sooner had he spoken than he sensed a killing aura. He turned—nearby, Nai'ai had narrowed her dangerous slit pupils. He panicked and backtracked: "Just curious, curious! You don't have to answer!"

"What's the big deal?" Shafia said openly. "Use sand. Clean sand. The best time is late afternoon, when the sand is hot but not scorching. Rub it on—it cleans well and is good for the skin."

"That's a good idea. Fresh water in the desert can't support bathing, but now there's a river here—fresh water isn't lacking."

"They waste it, they're unhygienic, they defecate in the reeds and pollute the river and water sources. We scolded them, and they accuse us of bullying outsiders." Shafia grew angrier, glaring at Fale.

No need to ask—the ringleader was definitely Shafia. What a temper this Dragon Speaker has!

Fale sighed helplessly: "It's mainly because we're too idle. We have no outlet for energy. Master, is there any work you can assign us? Like land reclamation? Keep them busy, and they won't think of fighting."

Ang listened, instantly wary. When Nagris turned to look at him, Ang said at once: "No. Mine."

Fine, they've learned to preemptively answer. No negotiation possible. Joking—farming is Ang's only hobby. If they farm, what does Ang play with?

Of course, if they wanted to reclaim new land elsewhere, Ang wouldn't care. But these fields here? All his.

Farming's out. What else is there—something labor-intensive, suitable for this environment?

Nothing came to mind immediately. He sent them to plant grass mats and jujube trees along both banks of the river.

But this wasn't a long-term solution. Every ecosystem is interconnected. Too many crops along the riverbanks would drain the river's water.

Reduced river flow meant less water entering Zhuilong Lake. With unchanged evaporation, less inflow would shrink the lake, lower water volume, raise salinity, reduce fish and shrimp—and trigger a cascade of consequences.

Unless the land was naturally water-rich but desertified for other reasons, Ang wouldn't plant grass across the entire desert. Water simply couldn't sustain a grassland.

"What if we build a Beauty City?" Lisa suddenly exclaimed, eyes gleaming. "Very few things draw people across vast distances, through heat and hardship, willingly handing over their money. Beauty is one of them."

"Huh? That's a familiar argument. I think I heard it from someone—Sawa. Where are Sawa and Waneya?"

Sawa clearly wasn't qualified for this level of meeting. A messenger was sent to fetch her. She arrived quickly.

Once they started talking, wow—they were like long-lost sisters: "Devout believers, beauty-loving women, impulsive men."

"Wow, sister, you've heard that too? My teacher says it all the time. Pilgrimage, cosmetic surgery, aphrodisiacs—all big industries."

"We have a core advantage now: Pure Visage, Spot-Removal and Wrinkle-Removal. Think about it—women in their seventies or eighties come to the desert, return thirty years younger, skin softer, whiter, more radiant. They'd go mad."

The two women chattered excitedly, quickly fleshing out the Beauty City concept. Even Shafia and Nai'ai joined in, thrilled.

Ang didn't understand any of it. He went back to planting vegetables.

Feilin and Nagris were pushed aside, smiling wryly. Clearly, they couldn't join the conversation—but their silence confirmed the idea had merit. The women's excitement proved it.

"By the way, Nagri, do you know where Ouk is?" Feilin asked.

"Ouk?" Nagris recalled the fanatical boy who'd rushed into the shrine clutching his sister. "Isn't he at the shrine in Wuyao City?"

"No. Long ago, he teleported to an oasis. Just said, 'I go to fulfill the divine prophecy,' then vanished. I asked everyone—no one's seen him." Feilin sighed.

Nagris tensed. In the Abyss of Rest, disappearance meant nothing—as long as he avoided the Resting Wind, the Abyss held little danger.

But here? Danger abounded. Bandits, slave traders, monsters, beasts—all could kill. A ten-year-old boy wandering alone? Extremely dangerous.

Nagris couldn't sit still. He turned to Ang: "Ouk is missing. Do you know where he went?"

Ang tilted his head, withdrew his awareness into his soul, and probed the symbol belonging to Ouk.

Ang's awareness instantly crossed vast distances, projecting onto Ouk's body.

Ouk was in a pitch-black cave, groping forward, slipping occasionally, yet never crying out. When he slipped again, he touched something different.

He brought his hand to his nose, sniffed, and his face lit up with joy. He devoutly intoned: "My Lord Ang, grant me eyes to see through darkness."

Ang immediately felt a surge of power flowing into the symbol of Ouk in his soul. He was used to this—people often borrowed his power and returned soul flames. He didn't care who.

Instantly, darkness vanished. A vast cave lay before him, half-filled with slimy biological tissue, countless insect eggs covering every visible surface.

As Ouk gazed around, a presence, filled with confusion, settled on him—wondering how this person had appeared here.

The projection on Ouk's body instantly recognized the presence: it was the same consciousness he'd attached to the statue in the Undercity's depths when he'd used soul impact. So Ouk's "fulfill the divine prophecy" meant destroying Hemertos.

Ang explained. Nagris leapt up: "He's insane? He's going alone to kill Hemertos? Where is he? Which cave?"

"Two." Ang tilted his head. "He summoned the Bone Priest."