Chapter 183: The Thing That Made Her Unable to Eat

Shamara's situation is dangerous; the Church of Light is a millennia-old sect, and when fully mobilized, a lone Shamara stands little chance of gaining any advantage.

Shamara's greatest advantage is contamination, which causes the Church's divine practitioners to avoid fighting her—but once their fears are eliminated, or if non-divine practitioners are sent to surround her, her advantage vanishes.

The Church of Light formed the Fallen Knights Order, gathering contaminated divine practitioners and holy knights, granting them ranks, and dispatching them to hunt Shamara, while also hiring top mercenary bands or mages and posting an S-class bounty on her through the Mercenary Guild.

After the Earth Holy Hammer mission was completed, the Fallen Angel mission became the easiest S-class bounty in the Mercenary Guild, drawing the attention of the entire plane, and everyone grew restless.

In the end, with nowhere left to run, Shamara fled to Darkface City and hid within its labyrinthine underground caves, occasionally emerging to steal food but never killing anyone.

Shamara rarely kills people; unless someone dies accidentally in battle, she usually just contaminates them.

Facing this situation, Negril took the initiative to have people leave food, water, clothing, cloth, pots, pans, daily necessities, and even several packs of absorbent cotton at the sites where food was stolen.

Logically, Shamara, at her age, no longer needs absorbent cotton—but what if? A Fallen Angel—who knows if she might regain youth?

As expected, the next day, among the pile, only the absorbent cotton was gone.

Whether it was the absorbent cotton that won Shamara's favor, from then on, she stopped stealing food from Darkface City and instead took only what she needed from fixed locations, never taking more than necessary; after taking things a few times, she left behind a black crystal.

After analyzing it, Negril discovered it was a Holy Crystal—like a Soul Crystal, it was a condensed form of energy, but here it was formed from Fallen Power.

The black Holy Crystal's function was unknown, but Holy Crystals held immense value—one could exchange it for several ships full of food, making Negril feel deeply uneasy.

Alas, as a follower of the Death God, under Ange's influence, the principle of equivalent exchange had become instinctive; seeing that the other's gift far exceeded its worth, Negril grew agitated and placed some high-value items on the goods—such as Meishencheng's new product: the Holy Essence Life Silkworm Silk Face Mask.

"These are Holy Mushroom Powder, Holy Mushroom Powder, you know? Even after extracting the essence liquid, it's still Holy Mushroom Powder, not trash—you just throw it away?" When seeing the leftover Holy Mushroom Powder after extracting Holy Essence Liquid, Sawaa had screamed in anguish like this.

"What else?" Lan shrugged carelessly.

So Sawaa demonstrated how to turn waste into treasure: "Mix Holy Mushroom Powder with Holy Water, bone glue, and fragrance, boil into a paste, and apply to the skin."

After a while, when washed off, everyone found their skin had become as white and tender as freshly peeled eggs, and even minor blemishes and pimples vanished entirely.

Lan went mad, sprinted to the teleportation array, teleported back to the Abyss of Rest, then returned after a while, weeping bitterly: "Holy Mushroom Powder, Holy Mushroom Powder, the kind already extracted—I piled it all on the ground, a mountain's worth, now it's all rotten, wasted, wasted! Why didn't you come sooner?"

With this trick, Sawaa instantly secured her position as Chief Alchemist.

For convenience, everyone pre-cut and soaked cotton cloth, ready to lay directly on the face—but found the cotton too thick and poorly ventilated.

Eventually, they discovered the silk from silkworms that fed on World Tree leaves was the best material, especially the fire-immune kind, which felt cool and icy on the skin and instantly triggered visible skin regeneration.

Such face masks could be used by liches too—not everyone was like Lisa, Ange's Soul Warrior, able to directly use the Pure Visage Spell.

Ordinary liches, after using the Pure Visage Spell to restore vitality, would experience continuous dehydration and toughening of flesh and skin; they couldn't keep going back to Lisa or Ange, but if they could maintain their condition with masks, then return for a full-body Pure Visage every three or five years, wouldn't that let them remain vibrantly alive indefinitely?

"How much for a box of twelve—Holy Mushroom Powder plus World Tree Silkworm Silk?" Lisa shook the ceramic box in her hand, filled with twelve Holy Essence Silkworm Silk Face Masks, deliberately omitting the keyword "extracted."

"Holy Mushroom Powder and Life Tree Silkworm Silk are both expensive on their own—we can't sell them cheaply," Sawaa exclaimed excitedly.

You don't realize until you come—Ange's Lord has too many treasures, no wonder he dares use World Tree branches as decomposition rods; his World Trees aren't counted by tree, but by patch.

Formerly impoverished Sawaa, who had feared scarcity, used to want to hoard every good thing; hearing they'd be sold made her ache with loss.

"But it can't be more expensive than Holy Essence Liquid—otherwise they'll just buy the liquid directly," Anna, her face covered in a mask, said rationally.

After discussion, they priced it at eight hundred magic crystals—just a tiny bit of extracted Holy Mushroom Powder soaked in water, plus a palm-sized piece of silkworm silk—and dared to sell it for eight hundred magic crystals; it was simply too profitable.

Such a box of masks, of course, couldn't equal the value of a black Holy Crystal, so Negril also included a set of lightning-immune undergarments as a gift.

Previously, Negril didn't understand why they used lightning-immune silk for undergarments; after being educated, it understood: absorbent, breathable, anti-static, worn like nothing at all.

Even better than nothing—because it absorbed moisture without sticking to the skin, nor becoming sticky when wet; it was truly divine.

As Anna said, a person's lifetime, undergarments are the second-most enduring thing wrapped around the body after skin itself; even slight discomfort magnifies over time into unbearable irritation, so bedding and undergarments must be the best.

Indeed, as Anna said, in Meishencheng, silkworm silk undergarments became the best-selling item, due to their low cost—the only limit to sales being their production volume.

Clare's mother didn't weave often enough to keep up with the demand for masks and undergarments; finally, Clare devised a solution: stimulate the silkworms to produce more silk, spin it into thread, and weave by hand.

Production increased, but quality dropped—no longer the seamless, dense weave Clare's mother achieved—but it didn't matter; undergarments didn't need such fine quality, and masks needed even less.

Thus, silkworm silk cloth was divided into three grades: the highest grade was naturally woven by Clare's mother, mainly used for making angelic dresses, with scraps used for scrolls.

Whether it was the masks or the undergarments that won her over, gradually, she no longer avoided people; sometimes, before the giver had even left, she appeared openly, took what she needed, then indicated it worked well and asked for more next time.

Occasionally, she left behind another black Holy Crystal; to this day, she had left three black Holy Crystals.

Not understanding the black Holy Crystal's function, Negril stored them all temporarily, waiting for Ange to awaken before deciding.

Thus, Shamara and Ange's faction had formed this ambiguous relationship: neither enemy nor friend, each taking what they needed, mutually non-aggressive.

"So if we hire her to kill someone, and offer something she needs, she likely won't refuse; given her status, killing a duke wouldn't worsen her situation—killing the Pope wouldn't make it worse either," Negril analyzed.

Ange tilted his head, as if thinking, then after a long while asked: "Can't we just chop him?"

Negril quickly waved its claws: "No chopping, no chopping—our identity is too sensitive; as Abyss Wanderers, we're technically Abyss invaders. Only because the Dragon Clan, Elves, and Anthony spoke for us at the Plane Conference did we avoid being targeted—but killing a human duke would incite universal outrage. Shamara can chop, we can't—because Shamara is a native."

After speaking, Negril shrugged again: "Of course, if you don't care about losing your farmland, chop him—just retreat to the Abyss of Rest, abandon these fields. You're the Death God—invade? So what? Are you afraid of them?"

The main material plane couldn't even produce a single deity now; Ange, as the Death God who inherited the Soul Network of the Death King—what's wrong with invading? I invade you—so what? Come fight me.

But Ange would never abandon so much farmland for one human duke; upon hearing this, he immediately shook his head like a rattle: "No chopping."

"Then let's go find Shamara," Negril said.

Perhaps mutual trust had formed; two days later, Ange's group met Shamara in Darkface City.

But the moment Shamara saw Ange, her expression changed instantly: "You?!"

Black Holy Flames erupted from Shamara's body, spreading behind her into a pair of pitch-black luminous wings, a spectral image of a Holy Angel appearing on her, then violently contracting, armorizing onto her.

Instantly, a woman in coarse linen robes transformed into a majestic battle angel.

She leaned forward, shot forward like lightning, raised both hands, and a sword of black Holy Flame materialized in her grip, slashing horizontally.

Negril was completely stunned—it had just remembered it had never told Shamara about Ange; Shamara and Ange had met before, when Ange was "Ascetic Ange."

"Don't attack, we're fake, we're fake…" Too late—Negril had barely opened its mouth when Shamara was already before Ange, the black Holy Flame sword slashing.

Ange arched his body and unleashed a soul-shattering scream—the Soul Shock. Ange now remembered vividly the soul shock from the Bone Priest in the cave, as if chanting.

He had no such technique—he could only unleash it all at once.

Like an invisible great hammer smashing into Shamara's face, her head snapped back, her vision darkened.

Ange stepped forward and punched—his fist struck her chest; the Holy Armor cracked with a sharp snap, and she flew backward.

She flew over ten meters, plowing two furrows in the ground, the black Holy Flame sword embedded upright to stop her motion.

But when she looked up, she faced two rows of explosive missiles—level-four fully formed explosive missiles.

Enduring two direct hits, Shamara abandoned all dignity, lunged forward, rolled like a lazy donkey, rolling, rolling, rolling…

Ange's gaze locked onto her; the explosive missiles curved through the air and slammed into her body and the ground.

As if the ground were lined with magic crystal bombs, as Shamara rolled, explosions followed her path—her Holy Armor cracked everywhere under the bombardment.

Soon she rolled to rocky terrain, leapt desperately to hide behind the rocks—Darkface City's terrain always had obstacles within ten steps, giving the fleeing side a huge advantage.

But just as she was about to duck behind the earthen wall, a beam of light struck her.

Almost the instant the light flashed, a Holy Spirit's spectral image emerged from her body, blocking the beam, while her wings folded back, wrapping around her.

After the Holy Light faded, the Holy Spirit's image and wings vanished completely—Shamara was left with only her Holy Armor.

A black line shot forward—the zombie slammed into Shamara, tackled her, then swung its two hoes like raindrops, striking her body with a rapid succession of sharp, metallic clinks.

This combo was devastating—tackle, dig, many opponents couldn't react before being pierced with a row of blood holes; Shamara's Holy Armor cracked from thigh to helmet under the relentless hoe strikes.

The final hoe aimed at Shamara's neck—she blocked it with her elbow, while her eyes glowed with black Holy Light, focused on the zombie's face, as if energy were about to fire.

But a pair of soft, white, Holy Light-wrapped little hands were already raised before her, ready to intercept her attack, while the tip of a great scythe hovered just before her nose.

Slowly, slowly, Shamara dimmed the black Holy Light in her eyes, her Holy Armor receded, her body relaxed, surrendering all resistance; finally, her gaze shifted to the scythe's wielder.

"Your Holy Light is so pure—you're not from the Church of Light. But… the Scythe of Death—you're an undead?" Shamara's eyes were pure and curious, seemingly indifferent to her own life or death, far more interested in Ange's identity.

Ange nodded, then said: "Kill for us. Duke Light."

Shamara was surprised: "You mean you're not here to kill me, but to hire me to kill—Duke Light? Why?"

"He burned my fields," Ange said.

Shamara's eyes were full of question marks—burning fields and killing people, how are they connected?

But pure people have pure advantages; she quickly stopped pondering the question and asked: "What's the payment?"

Negril leaned forward and asked tentatively: "Magic crystals?"

It had expected to spend hours persuading Shamara—never imagined a fight would suffice?

"Not needed," Shamara shook her head.

"Then what do you need?" Negril asked.

"There's one thing that makes me unable to eat properly—if you can solve it, I'll accept your contract," Shamara looked curiously at Ange, then at the little angel, and suddenly said: "It's not a real Holy Spirit."

PS: Time zone messed up. Will catch up tomorrow.