Chapter 237

The Grand Sage's chariot raced at breakneck speed toward a massive canyon hundreds of kilometers away, where a colossal fissure had suddenly torn open across the flat land, as if the earth itself had been violently ripped apart by some immense force.

Around and along the walls of the canyon, graves of all sizes had been piled up—some like small mounds, others marked with tombstones, and still others left wide open like exposed burial mounds.

At the sound of hooves, several skeletal zombies poked their heads out from the graves, their eyes glowing brightly as they watched the speeding chariot pass by. From the chariot's perspective, it felt as though they were being stared at by a ground littered with glowing blue eyeballs.

Of course, the Grand Sage was long accustomed to this scene and didn't slow down at all, racing straight through.

Inside the canyon, skeletal zombies were also peering out from the cliff walls on both sides.

The speeding chariot executed a sharp drift, skidding several body-lengths before screeching to a halt. The Grand Sage leapt out and swiftly glided toward a large cavern deep within the canyon.

Upon entering the cavern, he instantly saw a cluster of holy light, sizzling and smoking there.

The Grand Sage gasped in shock and cried out: "Holy Light energy? Servant of the Light! Die!"

The hand clutching the holy light gently clenched—and crushed it. Then Harvey's voice sounded: "It's me…"

The Grand Sage flicked his wrist, and a sphere of energy radiating soul vibrations rose into the air, its soul waves spreading outward and reflecting back upon touching objects.

Since undead creatures perceive the world through soul vibrations, such a sphere was equivalent to a flare for them.

Undead could actively emit soul vibrations to observe their surroundings, but this method easily provoked reactions—quickly devolving into "What are you looking at?" "So what if I am?"—leading to fights.

In a world filled entirely with undead, what would happen if you constantly broadcasted active soul vibrations to scan around randomly?

Thus, undead living in the Empire of the Dead all understood one rule of politeness: If you can't see someone clearly, flash them with a flare.

Soon, the Grand Sage spotted Harvey, sprawled half-reclining on a stone chair in the darkness.

"It really is you. What was that holy light just now?" the Grand Sage asked, puzzled.

Harvey didn't even twitch a toe; he opened his right palm toward the Grand Sage, revealing a cluster of holy light sizzling and burning there.

"You're injured? What happened? Did a servant of the Light assassinate you?" the Grand Sage exclaimed in alarm.

They were already hundreds of kilometers deep into the Lands of Despair, where every square kilometer was filled with undead. If a servant of the Light could penetrate this far and wound a Lord of Mourning, it certainly wasn't an ordinary one.

"During the city breach," Harvey said lazily.

"During the breach? That can't be—I watched the entire thing. When did you get hurt?" the Grand Sage recalled the battle, confused.

"When I crashed into the wall—a shadow burst out from within and struck me, knocking off my finger." Harvey lifted his palm, revealing four purple-gold finger bones and one gray-white one.

But the gray-white finger bone was now riddled with holes from the holy light's burning.

Harvey glanced at it, found it annoying, reached out, plucked it off, and stomped on the cavern wall beside him.

The wall bore human-shaped indentations, each embedded with a golden skeleton. With one stomp, one of them fell loose.

The golden skeleton blinked in confusion, scratched its skull, and sat up, staring at Harvey with bewilderment.

Harvey pointed at its finger: "Jili gulu…"

Without a word, the golden skeleton raised its middle finger, gripped it with its other hand, yanked it off, and handed it to Harvey before darting off.

Not long after, the golden finger had turned silver, clattering back as it ran—clearly, it didn't know which silver skeleton it had stolen the bone from.

"You're ridiculous—stealing your own subordinate's bones? How can you be so shameless?" the Grand Sage sneered.

Harvey shrugged helplessly: "What can I do? The gray bone I picked up got burned to this state by the holy light. If I don't swap it for something harder, it'll vanish again soon. I was just going to grab any random bone and strengthen it myself."

"What kind of holy light is so powerful it can't even be suppressed by you? It's been burning for days now!" The Grand Sage leaned closer, then cried out in alarm:

"Bad! It's the Fire of Belief!"

Harvey slumped back onto the stone chair, glancing sideways at the Grand Sage.

The Grand Sage was used to Harvey's habit of lying down rather than sitting, and preferring expressions over speech; he volunteered:

"The Fire of Belief is an especially vicious flame. It's like nailing a portion of a belief network onto your body. As long as those believers continue to devoutly worship the Light, their faith will endlessly fuel the flame, burning your body."

Harvey asked: "Can it be removed?"

"Very difficult. It's intangible—and worse, it's something many Light worshippers dream of. This is the seed of godhood. With the Fire of Belief, one can gather believers' faith and gradually grow into a new deity. But if it's nailed onto you? That's a disaster." The Grand Sage shook his head, unsure what to say.

Harvey caught the key point: "Godhood? They nailed a seed of godhood onto me? That's too costly."

"Cost doesn't matter if the return is worth it," the Grand Sage said. "Your only options are to abandon this body, find a Light deity to remove the Fire of Belief, or kill all those believers so their faith dies out and the flame stops burning."

"Abandon this body? No—I spent too long refining it into this form. I won't give it up. A Light deity? Hah—there may not even be many left. Killing all the Light believers is easier, but too much trouble. I'll think about it later. This tiny bit of holy light? It's no big deal."

Harvey stretched, settling deeper into the stone chair in a more comfortable position. God only knew how a skeleton figured out which pose felt better—his bones were already scraping powder off the chair.

Then he remembered something: "Why did you come here?"

"I met the God of Knowledge," the Grand Sage said excitedly.

"Oh? Where did you meet it?" Harvey perked up, sitting straight on the chair.

But after the Grand Sage described his encounter with Negrilis, Harvey immediately lost interest and slumped back down.

"Huh? Aren't you surprised?" Harvey's reaction left the Grand Sage bewildered.

"Not surprised. It doesn't want to see us," Harvey said.

"Ah!?" Since meeting Negrilis, the Grand Sage had been in a state of excitement, too caught up to think clearly—until Harvey's words snapped him awake.

Negrilis truly didn't want to see him. Otherwise, why wait until the Grand Sage was about to force the issue before revealing itself? And Negrilis clearly hadn't just arrived in the Lands of Despair—if it had been here this long and never sought them out, it was clearly avoiding them.

This was hard for the Grand Sage to accept: "Why doesn't it want to see us? I arranged its feces cleanup. I arranged its little lamb meals. And now it won't even see us? Doesn't it know we miss His Majesty?"

"His Majesty… is gone," Harvey murmured, dazed.

If the Monarch were still alive, Negrilis would never treat them this way. This change only confirmed their earlier suspicion: the Monarch was gone.

"He said Piero saved it. The Palace of Rest must have suffered something—otherwise, it couldn't have escaped its seal. But it didn't say what happened, only that it didn't know," the Grand Sage frowned.

"Piero…" Harvey sat up involuntarily: "That guy is even harder to deal with than the God of Knowledge. Too slippery."

Even Harvey, already deceased, found Antony a formidable opponent—definitely not one you could defeat while lying down.

"So what do we do now?" the Grand Sage asked.

Harvey hesitated, then reluctantly rose: "Fine. Let's go see it."

Trudging slowly toward the cavern entrance, the sky suddenly began to lighten.

Harvey looked up: "Huh? The Eternal Night is over. Whatever. I'll find it during the next Eternal Night. I'm going to sleep."

Finding his excuse, Harvey turned back and threw himself once more into the stone chair.

The Grand Sage stood there stunned for a long while, then sighed helplessly: "If you were just a little more diligent, we wouldn't have taken a thousand years to break through the humans' defenses."

From inside the cavern came Harvey's lazy voice: "Can't. I've got a slipped disc. The more active I am, the faster it gets worse."

The Grand Sage had no choice but to drive back alone, facing the first ray of sunlight after the eternal night...

…

When the first ray of sunlight after the Eternal Night fell, Ang was preparing a breadfruit. Earlier, when the Druids had been scared off by Lightning, they'd left behind a remark: "Even if you steal the breadfruit, you can't grow seeds from it."

They seriously underestimated Ang.

From the moment he watched them eat the breadfruit, Ang knew why there were no seeds inside—the fruit wasn't ripe yet.

Some plants only produce seeds after their fruit is fully matured. The breadfruit clearly belonged to this category.

The Druids were right: if a fruit hasn't produced seeds, once picked, it can't grow new ones naturally.

But Ang wasn't ordinary—he could force fruit to grow from dead branches of the Tree of Life. Would he be afraid of a simple breadfruit?

He poured essence fluid over the fruit's surface and activated the Instant Death Aura. The once-plump fruit rapidly shriveled and dried. When opened, its starch had been almost entirely consumed, leaving only dozens of black seeds.

Ang selected one plump seed and planted it.

Near lunchtime, a Druid pushed through the bamboo grove and entered the enclosed breadfruit tree. To prevent further theft, the Druids had grown bamboo around the tree, blocking even the tower's view—let them try stealing now.

But the Druids hadn't noticed that many bamboo shoots beneath the ground had been plucked.

Pushing through the bamboo, they counted the fruits—none missing. The Druids kept exact records of how many fruits grew.

They picked their lunch portion and had just lifted them out when they caught a scent—the smell of roasted breadfruit. They instinctively glanced at their own arms.

The breadfruits were all there. Who was roasting breadfruit?

Following the scent, the Druid reached the thorn wall, chanted a spell, and a vine shot out, lifting him above the wall. He looked out—and immediately saw the particularly annoying unicorn.

Lightning sat on the field ridge, front hooves hugging a roasted breadfruit, biting into it and licking the inside with its tongue—lick, lick, lick.

Seeing the Druid's head appear, Lightning cheerfully greeted: "Hi! Have you eaten yet? Still arguing today?"

The Druid turned pale with rage but dared not speak, muttering to himself: "You stole just one breadfruit. Wait till you finish it—then what will you eat?"

This "muttering" was loud enough for Lightning to hear.

After lunch, after working all afternoon, the Druid who came to pick breadfruit again smelled roasted breadfruit.

He climbed the wall—and saw the unicorn sitting in the same spot as before, glancing sideways at him, tongue lazily extended, licking the opening of the fruit.

The Druid was furious. He comforted himself: "Don't get angry. Don't get angry. It's still the same fruit shell. He's stuffing something else inside to annoy us."

At dinner, the unicorn returned again—this time holding two breadfruits, licking one side, then the other.

The Druid snapped. With a roar, he transformed into a giant bear and smashed the thorn wall with a paw: "I'm going to tear—"

Mid-sentence, he saw dozens of heads pop up behind the unicorn on the ridge. A little girl was excitedly watching him, about to climb out—until a golden skeleton grabbed her by the neck.

An ambush? The Druid's heart lurched with dread. He quickly corrected himself: "I'm going to tear… some wild greens to season with."

He clumsily grabbed a handful of weeds with his massive paw and retreated. Chanting a spell, the shattered thorn wall slowly regrew.

Back to report to Du Binqi, the Druid whined: "They're trying to provoke us into fighting—so the contest will be canceled and they won't lose."

Du Binqi agreed. A group with no Druids at all couldn't possibly win a farming contest without underhanded tricks.

But…

"You say they have lots of breadfruit? Looks like they've managed to grow them. They've got some skill. We can't be careless—if we lose to them, we'll lose face. Add two more hours of light exposure," Du Binqi said.

The other Druids groaned but didn't object. Indeed, if they lost a farming contest to a group of dead skeletons, little girls, and embryo dragons with sarcastic mouths, they'd never show their faces again.

After everyone fell asleep, Du Binqi quietly approached the water barrels—these collected dew at night for irrigation, saving a lot of magic power.

Du Binqi pulled out a bottle and poured its black liquid into the water, murmuring: "It's time you saw what real technique looks like."

ps: End of the month—don't let your monthly votes expire! Aaaooo!