Chapter 202

Clutching Ange's hand bone, the bald god-body kept sliding down, sliding and sliding until it hit the ground.

But while the god-body fell, a tiny white wisp did not—it detached from the body and clung tightly to Ange's finger.

Ange felt something odd: could such a small thing really control a god-body?

Yet it was clearly at its limit; clutching Ange's finger, it noticed no glow, so it tilted its head up, formed a finger, and poked at the finger it held.

Ange had no choice but to summon holy light, bathing it in its glow.

Ha~ The little wisp sighed in satisfaction, clinging firmly to Ange's finger.

Ange suddenly understood why it could control the god-body—it was his own energy that had powered it, and now it was completely drained, hence motionless.

But it was already incredible; after all, a god-body was a formidable vessel capable of clashing head-on with hardened bones, and it had only shattered both arms after exchanging so many punches with Ange.

Could such a god-body be controlled by this tiny wisp? If he kept feeding it energy, could it keep driving the god-body to clear land and farm?

He'd try it later; having decided, Ange cut off a small segment of the healing World Tree branch.

This was a diseased, withered piece cut from the Life God itself—it immediately recognized that newly sprouted World Tree branches lacked this age.

"You… truly cured my withering disease. How did you manage it…" the Life God said slowly.

Ange pulled out a bag of insect ash.

"Such intense vitality—perhaps I should try this. Could you sell me some…?" Even at this moment, the Life God spoke with its usual unhurried tone.

Negril hurriedly said: "Yes yes yes, no problem—notify your elves to lift the flight ban, we'll fly straight to you."

"Flying is too slow. Come here," the Life God murmured. As it spoke, the lush trees and plants on all sides drew back, revealing a path.

This sudden retreat startled the sapling—it thought the trees were withering, so it frantically waved its branches: Grow—grow hard—grow—grow hard—but sadly, its power couldn't oppose the Life God; the forest still parted.

Flying is slow? Negril and Anthony exchanged glances—was there a teleportation array nearby?

Following the forest path forward, the trees grew denser, completely obscuring the sky above, as if they walked through a circular tunnel woven from intertwined branches and vines.

Walking and walking, they estimated they'd gone three or four kilometers when suddenly the path opened up—they arrived at a vast platform.

The platform resembled a giant tree's branch, surrounded on all sides by dense foliage; sunlight filtered through the leaves, and at the edges, thick white mist hung, seemingly bottomless when looked down upon.

"Where are we? We're on a tree, aren't we? The floor is living wood," the undead horse stomped the ground with its hooves.

The Life God's voice sounded: "Don't step on me…"

"Uh—You? Sorry, sorry!" The undead horse quickly apologized, tapping its hooves to erase its footprints.

"You? How did we end up on you? What happened? We just entered the forest moments ago—you were still thousands of kilometers away!" Negril exclaimed. Anthony stared in shock back at the path behind them.

But behind them, there was no path—only a massive tree hollow, visible all the way to the end.

"I created a temporary spatial passage. This way," the Life God said. Immediately, a tiny elf floated over, circled Ange and the others, then flew off in one direction.

Negril and Anthony were stunned—not by the instantaneous thousand-kilometer teleportation; a true Life God moving them to another plane wasn't surprising.

What stunned them was the complete silence of the process—they felt nothing, as if they'd merely walked a few kilometers. That was the terrifying part.

Even beings of their caliber sensed no spatial shift; ordinary people passing through that path would think they'd simply walked a few kilometers, unaware they were already thousands of kilometers away.

As they walked, stunned, a branch suddenly hung down, bearing a ripe, sweet-smelling fruit.

Lightning instinctively licked its lips—it had eaten this fruit before; though it only tasted the flesh, the seeds all removed, the sweetness had stayed in its memory.

As a child, it sometimes ate such fruit, but never thought much of it—until it left after breaking its horn, wandering the human world for years, enduring hardship, then tasting this sweetness again—then the memory became unforgettable.

Want to eat.

The moment the thought arose, a white figure lunged forward, snatched the fruit, and yanked it down.

The little angel carried the fruit back to Ange, holding it high with both hands.

Ange had barely taken it when Lightning rushed over: "My lord, you only need the seeds, right? The rest can be mine?"

Ange shook his head: "Not now." Then he stuffed it into the Palace of Rest.

Soon, they descended a spiral staircase formed by a massive twisted branch, entering a hollow tree trunk—like the hollow center of a dead log, only hundreds of times larger, like a giant pit.

They quickly reached the bottom; the ground's material confirmed they were still inside the World Tree's main trunk. Around them were dozens of semi-independent hollows, each filled with all kinds of objects.

The Life God's voice sounded: "I don't know how your things are valued. These are items lost or offered by beings over the past tens of thousands of years. I don't know which are valuable—choose freely, or take them all. I don't know… will these be enough to exchange for the powder that cures my withering disease?"

Negril and Anthony were already dumbfounded; they trembled as they replied: "Enough… enough… your things…"

"Angel's Staff, Papal Scepter, Holy Spirit Badge, Holy Knight Emblem, Sacred Codex…"

"Flame Dragon Stone, War God's Hammer, Iron Demon God's Heart…"

"Arcane Mage's Notes, Truth Mage's Notes, Sword Saint's Secret Manual—others keep them as single copies, you pile them up…"

"Boundless Crystal, Core of Spatial Artifacts—five bags here, Star Realm Stone, Void Locator Stone—you have one bag…"

"Eldrich, Mithril, Magic Copper, Mana Crystal, Thunderwood—any magical material I know, you have here…"

After surveying the surrounding items, Negril and Anthony were speechless with shock. Overwhelmed, they stepped back, took several deep breaths to calm themselves, then mournfully said: "All are treasures—but why are so many broken? Many are ruined!"

"Broken? Maybe they've been stored too long. Some items have been here for tens of thousands of years—poor-quality materials have turned to dust." The Life God replied slowly.

"Pfft—tens of thousands of years… couldn't you have set up a permanent ward or seal?" Negril was heartbroken, barely able to speak.

Whether the Papal Scepter or the Iron Demon God's Heart—all were genuine. From the emblem on the Papal Scepter, Anthony even recognized it as the one used continuously from the First Pope to the Fifth Pope, now saturated with holy power.

Yet now it lay there like a rotting log, radiating no power whatsoever.

The Iron Demon God's Heart was the same—rust-covered, its internal components fused into a single lump, unable to turn.

Such supernatural items, even if thrown into mud, wouldn't decay quickly; three or five centuries couldn't corrode them.

But the Papal Scepter had been lost four thousand years ago.

These were the best cases. Items made from biological tissue—pearl necklaces, dragon-tooth bracelets, dragon-scale armor—had long since crumbled to dust under time's erosion, unrecognizable in form, like that pile of ash in the corner.

"Oh, that's ash. I picked up an angel's bones seventy thousand years ago—never thought they'd turn to dust."

Seventy thousand years… so even holy relics turn to dust. Given enough time, even divine weapons cannot resist entropy.

All man-made objects were ruined beyond recognition. To Negril's anguished questions, the Life God merely replied calmly: "This is part of nature. No need to interfere—it's useless to me anyway."

"Then… what's valuable? Can anything exchange for the powder? If not, I'll have the elves search for what you need," the Life God said slowly.

Negril glanced at Ange; Ange nodded, and began transferring the insect ash.

Negril hurriedly said: "Whether it's valuable or not, heal yourself first—hurry up! Don't dawdle. If your consciousness fades halfway through, it'll be trouble."

"Alright…"

Ange transferred over ten tons of insect ash. Negril cried out in pain: "Is this enough? This stuff is extinct—use a little, lose a little. Enough to heal you is enough; more is waste!"

Ange's jaw moved, as if to speak, but the Life God's voice interrupted: "More. This won't even circle my feet."

Hearing this, remembering the Life Tree's colossal size—its trunk diameter measured in kilometers—filling its feet would require emptying Ange's entire hoard.

"Then just cover half," Negril groaned.

Ange didn't stop—he kept transferring until he'd emptied every last bit of insect ash from his hands. Now he held only the filtered insect ash liquid and the refined essence.

But he wasn't upset—he'd mastered the method of breeding the insects, and the pit in the Palace of Rest held their eggs; with the right conditions, he could breed more and burn more ash.

The insect ash was lifted by an invisible hand; the bag split open, and the ash formed a stream that drifted away.

The transaction complete, Negril confidently began selecting its reward—but it felt nothing here matched the value of the insect ash, for in its mind, the ash was irreplaceable.

Hemelthos was dead; no more Insect God or Insect Masters remained to kill them. Who could have guessed Ange had preserved the breed?

Man-made objects decayed easily, but naturally formed materials—like eldritch, mithril, Star Realm Stones—remained intact, for their existence stretched as long as the plane itself.

"Five baskets of Boundless Crystal—take them all, it doesn't need them. Star Realm Stones—take them all, it doesn't need them. Eldritch and Mithril—take them all, it doesn't need them," Negril muttered under its breath, its tiny claws never pausing as it tossed items to Ange.

"What about these weapons and armors? They're all rotten—no power left," Negril said.

"Take them! Take them!" Anthony exclaimed urgently: "I know some artifact restorers. Bring them back, have them repaired, then auction them as antiques—or return them to the Church to build prestige. As the divine one who recovered the Church's lost relics, isn't it perfectly reasonable for me to become Pope of the Holy Church?"

"Reasonable, reasonable," Negril sneered, pretending to toss the holy relics over—prompting Anthony to slide over in panic: "No need for the Lord of Knowledge to trouble himself—I'll collect them myself!"

Carefully wrapping the holy relics, he stuffed them into his cloak.

After a flurry of activity, they packed up everything of value from the World Tree, finally soothing Negril's conscience—unless they stripped it bare, it felt cheated, especially since most items were broken, and only the raw materials were useful.

At that moment, the World Tree's voice slowly sounded, tinged with weariness:

"I've scattered the powder onto my roots. I already feel an endless surge of vitality—it's rekindling my life force, healing my withered branches. This exhausts me. I may need to sleep for a while to absorb this energy. I can't escort you out."

"Fine, fine, go sleep. We'll find our own way. Oh, by the way—we'll take a few more Life Fruits," Negril said, clearly unwilling to leave until it had stripped the Life God bare.

But the Life God gave no reply—whether asleep or not, it had fallen silent immediately after speaking. What an incredible sleep quality!

Everyone scattered to pick Life Fruits—they were precious! Each contained World Tree seeds, and the fruit itself was rich in nutrients; long-term consumption extended lifespan, and in the human world, they'd fetch a fortune.

As they picked, suddenly, a leaf fell.

Leaves fell—rustling, rustling—masses of them. So the Life God's "sleep" caused leaf drop?

Leaves rained down. Soon, the canopy was bare, leaving only branches—visibility instantly cleared.

Negril lamented: "You drop leaves, fine—but you drop the fruits too? Now there's nothing left to pick! Ange…"

Negril called Ange's name, but found him staring beyond the canopy. Following his gaze, it saw the furious Elven Queen Galad.

Beside her stood the transformed giant-eagle High Priest Kaelandiel, countless two-headed chimera knights, a dozen Elven Arcane Mages, one Truth Mage, three Elven archers walking on air…

Almost all the Elven elites had appeared, surrounding the canopy, glaring angrily at Ange and the others.

Galad's eyes burned with rage; she ground her teeth as she asked: "What have you done to the Life God?"

This massive force made Negril's scalp tingle; it trembled as it asked: "Didn't the Life God tell you… what was about to happen?"