Chapter 188

Ang looked up at the sky, then down at the ground, hesitating.

Exploring the Heavenly Realm wasn't his interest—it couldn't grow crops. That was Negril's task; it said gods might be reborn or returning inside, and to prevent the Church of Light from being reorganized, they had to eliminate the enemy.

But Negril wasn't here. Accustomed to Negril pointing things out, without its guidance, Ang preferred to go back and plant things.

Not only was Negril gone, but the little angel, the little zombie, and Titan Lightning were all absent too. Only the heavy infantry, shield-bearers, zombies, and Patsey remained in the Palace of Rest. Should he go back and pick up people first?

From Ang's hesitation, Shamara guessed his thoughts and cried urgently: "I don't know if the breach is random or occasional—if it's occasional, we might wait forever for another chance."

As he hesitated, Ang felt Negril's projection arrive, and it immediately scolded Shamara: "Are you insane? Running around when the wind's blowing? The Wind of Rest will kill you."

"The barrier is broken."

"Huh? Then hurry back and get help."

"Too late—the barrier is healing. We don't know when it'll open again."

"Damn it, how do you know? Are your eyes made of titanium? Up, up, up—let's go see what's happening."

With the air bubbles formed by air-bubble stone, Baihou flew safely—so long as the Wind of Rest didn't strike directly, it caused no harm and even repaired flesh and bone.

Soon they reached the midsection, and everyone felt weightless—including Baihou.

They'd encountered this once that morning. Prepared, Baihou simply tilted sideways, waited for the weightlessness to pass, then leveled out—but heaven and earth had flipped. The Abyss of Rest was now above, the Holy Heavenly Realm below. To approach the Heavenly Realm, they had to fly "down."

At this moment, the gravity of the Abyss of Rest vanished, replaced by the gravity of the Holy Heavenly Realm.

Aside from the shift in gravity, nothing else changed. The Wind of Rest still howled endlessly. Baihou maintained speed, spiraling downward.

"Phew, amazing. By the way, if we pulled a house to the gravity midpoint and balanced it, would it hover there…? Never mind, I shouldn't be discussing this with you. I'll write to the Star Republic later." Mid-sentence, Negril realized it had picked the wrong audience—Ang stared blankly, Shamara stared blankly…

Negril quickly changed the subject: "This air-bubble stone is incredible. I wonder which plane it comes from—definitely not from the Prime Material Plane. Such extreme matter couldn't form there. Using wind to suppress wind—what a strange phenomenon. If we had lots of these stones, everyone could carry one, stick it on a stick, and travel through the Wind of Rest."

"What if it breaks?" Shamara asked.

"That's a problem, yes. Ordinary people can't dig shelters fast enough. But how could it break? It's stone, not a bubble. Wind won't shatter it." Negril laughed.

No sooner had it finished speaking than a sharp "crack" came from Baihou's mouth. The air bubble flickered and vanished entirely. Violent Wind of Rest slammed into everyone. Baihou took the full force and let out a pained "Aaaah!" as it spat out shards of air-bubble stone.

"You cursed mouth—you're done…" Negril glanced at the still-thousands-of-meters distance to the Heavenly Realm, frantic.

Ang and Shamara could endure this stretch, but Baihou couldn't. The wind here was too fierce, its body too large, catching too much wind—its wings, head, tail, and other weak spots would freeze quickly.

Especially its head. Without the air-bubble stone, its head became the leading cone against the wind. It would be destroyed soon—and once the head was ruined, even resurrection wouldn't work.

Ang rushed forward, sprinting along Baihou's long neck to its head, then pulled out a flowerpot and jammed it onto its skull.

The sapling, suddenly produced, was dazed. After a moment, it reacted, waving its leaves: "Push—huh—push—huh huh—"

Around the sapling, the fierce Wind of Rest diverted, flowing around Baihou's head.

Baihou exhaled in relief, stopped circling, and turned straight down, plummeting like a falling object, swiftly covering the kilometers, then flapped its wings to slow just three hundred meters below the dome.

The Wind of Rest's damage was already visible—Baihou's wingbeats lacked their former agility, nearly crashing into the dome as it struggled to stop.

"Hurry, hurry, Shamara—find the breach! Where is it?" Negril shouted. But when Ang turned, Shamara was clutching her head, summoning black holy flame to block the Wind of Rest—no time to search.

Ang found it quickly, pointing: "There."

Negril couldn't see it, but in Ang's eyes, that patch of dome was weaker than the rest, slowly strengthening. Shamara was right—the damaged section of the Light Dome was healing. If they arrived a moment later, the breach might be sealed.

Baihou flew desperately toward the spot Ang indicated, hovering above the breach, flapping its wings furiously.

The dragon's thin membranous wings were the first to fail. Stiff patches had formed, and as Baihou moved, the membrane tore with a "ssss."

But at this moment, Baihou felt no pain—only terror. Seeing its wing tear, it widened its eyes and let out a terrified "Aaaah!" like a eunuch watching his fingertip peel.

Ang leapt toward the breach—it wasn't truly a breach, just a weakened spot. It should be called a barrier weak point.

Ang slammed hard into it—but the barrier didn't break. Instantly, flames roared from his head as he unleashed the full power of Rock's Hand.

CRASH! The barrier roared in response, utterly unmoved.

Hearing the sound, Negril realized the trouble—compared to an individual, the barrier's strength was too immense. No human force could break it, like a steel wall dozens of meters thick.

Only the plane's power—the Wind of Rest—could possibly shatter it.

"Stop! Quickly retrieve Baihou and find shelter from the wind!" Negril shouted.

But as far as they could see, the Light Dome enclosed the entire divine realm—the realm itself was like a city inside the dome. Without breaking the dome, where could they shelter?

Ang ignored Negril's words. He raised Rock's Hand, clasping it with another spectral image of Rock—Transformation!

As the hardened-bone Rock, Ang punched the weak point. But that was only the start—within the next seven seconds, he delivered sixty-seven punches, smashing a large hole clean through the barrier.

Baihou, already at its limit, plunged headfirst through the hole, followed by a torrent of Wind of Rest.

Baihou fell freely—its body had stiffened, wings useless. If it hit the ground, it wouldn't die, but it would suffer full-body compound fractures.

Negril prepared to resurrect it, hoping its brain wasn't smashed.

Shamara, who had been standing on its back, spread her wings, pressed both hands against Baihou's body, and instantly the plummeting silver dragon became as light as a feather, drifting slowly downward.

Eventually, they landed on a vast square—the Square of the Gods.

The square was silent, utterly still. Only the wind howling through the breach echoed—oooh ooooh—like wailing ghosts.

Ang rushed to Baihou's side, bathing it in bright holy light.

Wind-stiffening was no serious injury—just time-consuming, due to Baihou's size.

As Ang kept applying holy light, a white wraith appeared from nowhere, drifting slowly until it reached Ang's side, extending two tiny hands toward the holy light, as if warming itself.

Wraith? White? Warming itself? A cascade of questions filled Ang and Negril's souls. Ang deliberately moved his hands aside—the white wraith hurriedly drifted after them, its tiny hands always pressed against the holy light.