Chapter 28: Do You Have Beets?

Looking at the three hundred magic crystals in his hand, one-third of them blue, Ang suddenly wondered whether he should return to Zhigong.

Ang had never considered this question before; he wanted magic crystals because they could activate the teleportation array, allowing him to return to the farm at Zhigong, where the fields had once again reached planting time—as a skeleton who grew vegetables, returning to till the soil was only natural.

This question had never been a problem for Ang—if he were still the simple little skeleton he once was. But now that he held the magic crystals and could return at any moment, the question suddenly made him hesitate: should he go back to Zhigong?

He glanced at the glowing moss and the pure white holy mushrooms around him, thought of the noisy little zombies, then recalled the luminous moss fields and the soon-to-be-plowed Tiankeng planting zone; Ang made his decision in two seconds: he wouldn’t go back.

This was a decision beyond Ang’s instinct—it had little impact, but carried extraordinary significance.

Since he’d decided not to return, Ang put away the magic crystals, but after patting himself down, he realized he had no pockets; fine, he’d just dig a hole and bury them.

Just as he was about to dig, Negrilis could no longer watch: “Aren’t you wearing that magic rune leather ornament? Its full name is the Dimensional Space Location Transfer Bracelet—shortened to Location Bracelet. Give it a little energy, and it can transfer objects of corresponding mass. Magic crystals are light—just put them inside.”

“Put them inside?” Ang tilted his head.

Following the reverse steps of transferring grain, he actually managed to put the magic crystals inside; because of their low mass, the energy needed to store all three hundred crystals was less than one-twentieth of a bag of grain.

If calculated by mass, storing valuable items inside was indeed extremely cost-effective—as long as the bracelet remained, nothing would be lost.

After securing the magic crystals, Ang called over the little zombie and the bull-headed skeleton, led the angel skeleton, and prepared to move to the Tiankeng planting zone.

Negrilis couldn’t bear it anymore: “Why don’t you just engrave a soul imprint on this skeleton? Given the vast difference in soul strength between you two, it’s easy to succeed—you don’t need to tie it up.”

The angel skeleton’s current appearance was dangerously misleading: small, like an adorable little girl, yet bound like this—anyone with even a shred of compassion would find it unbearable, yet only someone as heartless as Ang could take it for granted.

“Soul imprint?” Ang tilted his head: “I don’t know how.”

“Yes, yes, yes, I know you don’t—I’ll teach you. I’m practically your butler already.” Negrilis grumbled.

A soul imprint was a skill nearly all higher undead understood—it forcibly engraved one’s own mark onto the soul of a lower undead, granting total control over it.

But Ang was no normal higher undead; he had already condensed a soul heart and reached the Gold Skeleton rank, yet he had only one subordinate with a soul connection—the little zombie. Most Gold Skeleton Kings had thousands, even tens of thousands of subordinates.

Even the lone little zombie’s soul link with Ang was established through the soul network, not a soul imprint—this meant Ang had no idea what a soul imprint even was.

After receiving Negrilis’s transmission of the soul imprint technique, Ang grabbed the angel skeleton and pressed his will toward its soul.

One was a higher undead with a soul heart; the other, a newborn skeleton. Even though its body was that of an angelic warrior, it was still fundamentally a newborn skeleton—with no capacity to resist.

Yet it didn’t seem to resist at all; when first grabbed, it struggled slightly, but upon seeing Ang, it ceased resistance—the imprint settled effortlessly into its soul.

A soul-level connection formed between Ang and the angel skeleton—identical to the one with the little zombie. Ang could now sense its emotions and impose restrictions upon it.

“Don’t hit people,” Ang commanded, then untied the rope binding it. He had tied it up because it was too rowdy; with a soul imprint to restrain it, the rope was unnecessary.

Yet the angel skeleton touched its empty neck, realized its restraint was gone, and instantly spread its wings, lunging at the little zombie.

“Don’t hit people!” Ang commanded in his soul. With a thought, the angel skeleton froze mid-lunge, crashing to the ground, unable to move even a single finger.

This was the advantage of soul control: with a single thought from Ang, it lost even the ability to think.

This was also why the Undead Temples—designed for collecting faith—were not highly valued by Undead Kings; Kings had far more efficient control methods. The soul network was vastly superior to faith energy.

‘Not a person…’ Ang suddenly sensed this meaning from the angel skeleton’s emotions.

That made sense—the little zombie wasn’t a ‘person,’ so it could be hit…

“Not…” Ang was about to correct this loophole when the little zombie moved—it punched the angel skeleton’s cheek, leaving a fist-shaped dent on its clean, white face.

For the first time, Ang felt a sense of annoyance. He released his control over the angel skeleton and let them fight it out—he didn’t care anymore.

One newborn wight, one newborn skeleton—one thick-skinned and tough, the other flesh-covered; one swift, the other agile—neither could gain the upper hand. Halfway through the fight, they noticed Ang walking away and immediately stopped, chasing after him.

The bull-headed skeleton stared blankly for a moment, then trotted after them.

The bull-woman’s family quickly slung their buckets over their shoulders and followed. The holy mushrooms around the temple were still being cultivated—they required large quantities of purified holy water. The bull-woman’s family was responsible for hauling back the water Ang had purified each day.

Holy water was essential for growing holy mushrooms; without purification, the mushrooms quickly rotted.

…

Gnome Kleeg watched helplessly as the hard-won holy mushrooms slowly rotted away.

As the most skilled gnome in the underground city, Kleeg naturally didn’t want to miss such a high-value crop. He begged Philin to get him a live holy mushroom—but after watering it twice, it turned into this.

“Not every kind of money can be made,” Kleeg scratched his head. “If it were this easy, it wouldn’t be so expensive.”

He’d thought it was easy when Ang produced ten jin of holy mushroom powder in half a month—but now he had to admit: for some, it was easy; for others, it was harder than climbing to heaven.

“I need to find a way to get Philin to get more. This is a divine substance for treating basic illnesses. With it, minor ailments can be cured at the start, preventing them from turning into serious diseases that end in painful death. Sigh.” Kleeg sighed, glancing back at a box in the corner—inside lay his son’s bones.

Just as the bull-woman hung her ancestors’ skulls on her wall, preserving the remains of loved ones at home was perfectly normal in the underground city, which worshipped undeath. Kleeg’s son had died from pneumonia triggered by a common cold.

If holy mushroom powder had been available then, the cold would have been cleared immediately, never progressing to pneumonia.

Thinking of it, he acted—he opened a parchment and began writing, then turned and handed it to Philin for approval.

Thirty magic crystals per jin was still too expensive—but it didn’t matter. Getting money was Philin and Eske’s job; as long as he could buy holy mushroom powder, that was enough.

…

Unaware he was being plotted against, Eske sneezed, rubbed his nose, and asked Ang: “Would you like me to build a lighting array for you?”

A lighting magic array was essential for planting zones; underground light was simply too low. Though glowing moss provided supplemental illumination, a high-power lighting array could still supplement light during critical periods—such as grain filling or ear formation.

Ang was interested in anything related to cultivation. He nodded. Since Philin wasn’t nearby to translate, he put on the scarecrow hat, transformed into a human form, and said: “How much?”

Seeing the skeleton suddenly transform into a lifelike human male, Eske rubbed his eyes, his face filled with disbelief: “This… is this an illusion? How can it be so clear? I… I…”

Eske instinctively raised both hands—he wanted to blast it with every dispelling spell he knew—but quickly regained control and suppressed his impulse.

After calming himself, Eske said: “Money isn’t necessary. It’s a very simple array. The main trouble is that it needs mana input to function—setting it up isn’t difficult…”

Here, Eske suddenly remembered Philin’s previous instructions and hastily added: “Uh… it’s an equal exchange, right? Let me calculate… thirty jin of grain? Is that acceptable?”

Thirty jin of grain for a mid-level mage to inscribe a magic array would be an insult in the human world—but Eske felt slightly embarrassed, thinking he’d asked too much, because this wasn’t the human world—it was an underground city so starved for food they ate grass.

Thirty jin? He couldn’t make change. One bag was twenty jin—two bags would be forty: “Forty.” He pulled out two bags of grain.

Price hike? Honestly, as the underground city’s administrator, Eske wasn’t starving—but every extra grain meant extra security, especially since he knew the current situation: Philin had already prepared for a necrotic calamity.

But after thinking, he blushed and asked: “Do you happen to have any beets? If you do, could you exchange these grains for an equivalent amount of beets?”

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