Chapter 235

Du Binqi walked ahead, and though he tried hard to conceal it, his face inevitably betrayed distaste, especially when he saw the skeletons and zombies.

His occasional displays of arrogance and contempt reflected the innate superiority of a city dweller looking down on a country bumpkin—something the Grand Sage found deeply irritating; after all, he himself was thick-limbed and looked like an old farmer—what was there to be superior about?

The Grand Sage himself was a remarkably amiable undead, personally driving a cart to distribute relief grain, chatting easily with village heads, town mayors, and even ogre aunts—utterly devoid of arrogance—but what was his true identity?

Grand Sage of the Undead Empire, the wisest soul beneath the Monarch himself—even the staunch Bone Locke and Harvey would never dare be arrogant before him.

Yet, considering the high-yield grain seeds he had brought, the Grand Sage decided he could tolerate these flaws, as long as the food crisis could be resolved.

The Grand Sage never imagined that the visitors were not from the Church of Light, but Druids.

Like followers of the Light, Druids were inherently hostile to undead creatures—they tended life and instinctively despised death—so from the outset, the Grand Sage had never considered them as candidates.

But Du Binqi's arrival opened the Grand Sage's mind, instantly making him realize that Druids might be the best solution to this problem.

The Grand Sage now faced a food crisis; if sufficient grain could be produced, all other problems would vanish.

Due to various factors, the yield in the Lands of Despair was only a little over a hundred catties per mu; if yields could triple, self-sufficiency would be achievable.

These Druids claimed to have brought grain seeds yielding a thousand catties per mu, with a short growth cycle—mature and harvestable in just three months.

A thousand catties per mu meant a tenfold increase.

Tenfold wasn't necessary—tripling would suffice; if they could quadruple it, he'd have surplus grain to weather famines or disasters.

Even if they couldn't triple it, doubling it would save countless lives.

The group passed through Shengbicheng and reached the eastern side of the Central Mountains, where the Grand Sage pointed ahead and said:

"The west is still not entirely safe—you may clear farmland here. Any vacant land is yours for the taking; even if you wanted my grave, I'd move it immediately for you, as long as you grow enough grain before the next Eternal Night." The Grand Sage patted his chest.

This level of support was immense, yet Du Binqi sneered: "We'll see. The soil here doesn't look especially fertile—it won't yield a thousand catties per mu. Five or six hundred would be a miracle. Let's keep looking; we hope to find richer land."

"No problem, no problem—please, search freely. Once you find suitable land, I'll immediately clear it for you. Shadow, guard these noble guests well. I have other matters—I cannot accompany you constantly; forgive me." The Grand Sage said.

As the Grand Sage mentioned "Shadow," several shadows emerged, bowed to him, then glowed with red eyes, each locking onto a Druid before slowly dissolving.

This wasn't protection—it was one-on-one surveillance; with these Shadow Guards watching, the Grand Sage dared let them roam freely.

When the Shadow Guards appeared, the other Druids were startled—but Du Binqi showed no surprise, not even glancing at them; he simply pulled several beans from his pocket and scattered them on the ground.

"Life spirits slumbering in the earth, heed my call—awaken!" Du Binqi raised his left hand and chanted aloud; the surrounding air rapidly moistened, condensing into mist that drifted down and seeped into the soil.

Within minutes, the ground was soaked; the scattered seeds visibly sprouted and grew, rapidly becoming a small tree.

Once the tree had grown, Du Binqi stepped back, making way for his subordinates, who swiftly took position and emitted red and blue light onto the sapling.

Under the light, the sapling grew rapidly, soon reaching half a person's height, its trunk thick as a waist.

The dwarf tree suddenly moved—its massive root system pulled from the earth, twisting into two short legs, scuttling forward.

Treeherder—the Druids' favorite helper.

Five Treeherders moved slowly in five directions, their feet occasionally extending root tendrils into the soil to analyze its composition.

Occasionally, they uprooted local plants, dragging them along with soil to collect samples.

But once they entered the Deadlands, they could no longer collect any plant samples—not even their own roots would sink into the earth.

After releasing the Treeherders, Du Binqi's robe swelled without wind, his magic pulsing across his body.

After more than ten seconds, Du Binqi flipped backward violently—his entire body transformed into an eagle, soaring into the sky—Shapechange: Eagle.

The other Druids, far weaker than him, needed a full minute to transform; Du Binqi had to wait until all five had changed into eagles before choosing a direction and flying off.

One Druid suddenly remembered something and asked anxiously: "My lord, shouldn't we wait for the Shadow Guards? I fear we might accidentally encounter other undead."

Du Binqi didn't turn back: "No need—they're already on you."

As Du Binqi spoke, a blurred face of a Shadow Guard slowly materialized before the Druid: "Do not worry, noble guests—we will safeguard your safety."

Shortly after the Druids flew away, a goblin and an undead arrived on bone horses back at Shengbicheng, and before entering the gate, they spotted the Grand Sage returning.

Felik rushed forward: "Grand Sage! Grand Sage! I found it! I found it! I brought high-yield grain seeds—thousand catties per mu!"

The Grand Sage stared at Felik with a strange expression: "You brought thousand-catties-per-mu seeds too?"

"Too?" Felik blinked: "Does that mean someone else found high-yield seeds too?"

The Grand Sage explained about the Druids; before Felik could respond, the goblin beside him shouted:

"Grand Sage, beware of frauds! They casually claim thousand-catties-per-mu yields—what proof do they have? They mention the Spring Cup Competition—what evidence? What if the yield is only a hundred catties? Grand Sage, wasting a planting season means a million living beings will starve for four more months!"

Hearing the goblin's heartfelt plea, the Grand Sage asked: "Who are you?"

"Chairman of the Silver Light Trading Guild, Goblin Silvercoin, at your service, Grand Sage. I apologize for the sudden visit—this small gift, I hope you'll like it." Silvercoin said warmly, offering a box with both hands.

The Grand Sage was stunned—someone was giving him a gift?

This had never happened in thousands of years; he was an undead, without a body, having lived too long to desire anything—others didn't know what to give, so eventually, no one did.

The Grand Sage was now curious—what could this goblin possibly give him? A magic crystal? A soul crystal? Or…

He opened the box—and inside lay a dull, gray moss.

A disappointed voice came from beside: "Moss…?"

Felik had also been curious—what could possibly move an undead? He knew a little about such things, and had wondered all the way here—only to find moss? Was this an insult?

But the Grand Sage carefully lifted the moss and said:

"This isn't moss—it's grave grass. I haven't seen it in ages. The climate and soil of the Lands of Despair don't suit its growth. Planted around graves, it calms the spirit, soothes the soul, and repels spirits—resentful ghosts fear it most. With it, no resentful spirit dares disturb you."

Hearing this, Felik's eyes gleamed—he didn't care about anything else, but resentful ghosts? He couldn't ignore them, especially since he drifted outdoors often and was constantly plagued by them.

Swatting one was easy; killing them all was impossible—soon, one or two would pop up again somewhere nearby, wailing "Aaaah—Aaaah—" endlessly, driving one mad.

The Grand Sage gazed wistfully: "The most lush grave grass once grew in the garden before the Monarch's palace and in the Undead Temple underground. I haven't seen it in so long—I love this gift. How did you obtain it?"

Silvercoin didn't flinch: "I acquired it while purchasing various fresh curios from the human mercenary guild. I'm glad you like it."

Of course, he hadn't bought it from the mercenary guild—he'd plucked it from the garden before the Palace of Rest.

The Grand Sage didn't think it came from the Palace of Rest; he asked casually and let it go, then closed the box and tucked it into his form.

With the gift as foundation, the Grand Sage now found Silvercoin much more agreeable, speaking with the affectionate tone reserved for nephews or nieces: "Why do you think these Druids are frauds?"

"No, Grand Sage—it's not that I think so, but if they are frauds, the consequences are too dire—you'd lose a planting season, and tens of thousands might starve." Silvercoin said solemnly.

"Our grain can still last several planting seasons," said the Grand Sage.

"But can you guarantee that if they're frauds, you'll solve the food crisis before your supplies run out?" Silvercoin asked.

The Grand Sage frowned: "What are you implying? Speak plainly—no roundabout talk."

Though the Grand Sage's tone was blunt, Silvercoin relaxed—he knew such bluntness was reserved for those close to you; clearly, the gift had worked.

"Grand Sage, what kind of backup do you need? For example, a trading guild capable of mobilizing vast grain reserves and transporting them remotely via teleportation arrays—and a Druid who also possesses high-yield seeds and is certain they can grow them in the Lands of Despair." Silvercoin patted his chest.

"You can mobilize vast grain reserves and deliver them to the Lands of Despair?" The Grand Sage ignored the part about the Druids' high-yield seeds.

What were the odds? Not a single one appeared—then two arrived at once? The Grand Sage assumed Silvercoin was merely inflating his bargaining power.

"No problem—if they can't grow enough grain, I'll transport it from the Prime Plane," Silvercoin declared.

The Grand Sage naturally welcomed this; as Silvercoin said, he needed multiple safeguards—but he knew Silvercoin wouldn't work for free, so he asked: "What do you want?"

Silvercoin blinked: "Huh? Isn't it the Scepter of Heaven?"

"The Druids arrived first. If they truly grow thousand-catties-per-mu grain, the Scepter of Heaven goes to them—you may choose something else." The Grand Sage said.

"No, Grand Sage—that's unfair! If they grow a thousand catties, what if we grow a thousand too? What if we grow a thousand and one? Should the Scepter still go to them?" Silvercoin protested.

"How easy is it to grow a thousand catties per mu? If your yield is even half a catty higher, the Scepter of Heaven is yours."

"Perfect! It's a deal!" Silvercoin sighed in relief, thrilled.

At that moment, the Grand Sage's face suddenly changed: "No! They're fighting! Who dares attack my guests?! Who in the Lands of Despair dares defy me?!"

Furious, the Grand Sage stomped his foot—death energy surged from the ground, and a six-horse undead war chariot slowly rose, carrying him like a black streak, hurtling toward the horizon—faster than flight.

Watching the Grand Sage depart, Silvercoin and Felik exchanged glances: "Is that… our direction?"

"No! They're fighting the Grand Sage!"

…

Ang and Du Binqi's Druids, along with the Shadow Guards, had clashed—why?

Because they immediately spotted the field Ang had prepared: leveled, tilled, and fertilized—so fertile, even by Druid standards, it was extraordinary.

Since the Grand Sage said any land was theirs—even his grave—he'd move it—then this patch was perfect.

So the Shadow Guards appeared before Holquch, coldly stating: "Your land is requisitioned."

They assumed the field belonged to Holquch—no one thought such farmland could be prepared by a skeleton.

Holquch was stunned—this land wasn't his. He quickly fetched Ang and repeated the Shadow Guards' words.

Ang's head instantly burst into flame—he summoned the Scythe of Death and slashed.

The Shadow Guards were stunned—this skeleton dared defy the Grand Sage's requisition?

All Shadow Guards manifested, surrounding Ang; the little angel charged in, the little zombie rushed forward, Negrilis dashed in, the big cat leapt in.

Big Bone also charged, waving his limbs wildly: "Don't, fight, they're the Grand Sage's guards!"

Was it "don't" or "fight"? Big Bone's words left everyone utterly confused.