Chapter 288: Arcana·River of Flame

"Save me… or don't, it's fine…" The god of life's consciousness gasped, nearly making Negril stumble headfirst into the ground.

"What do you mean? Do you want to be saved or not? What's your situation right now?" Negril roared directly into the Heart of Life with his mind.

The god of life's consciousness drifted slowly, showing no sign of panic, yet conveying an urgently dire message: "These insects have parasitized my body and roots. You reminded me—I went to inspect, and they erupted, gnawing at my trunk. Within two days, they'll have devoured me whole."

"Damn it! In two days they'll eat you alive, and you're still dawdling and chatting with us? Speak faster—will you die if you do?!" Negril snapped, immediately turning to Ang: "Ang, move fast—get to the Elf Forest at maximum speed."

"Oh." Ang opened the carriage door, stepped away two paces, pulled out the Heavenly Scepter, and activated it.

Crack! A teleportation gate split open before him; Ang stepped through and vanished before everyone's eyes.

Only a group of stunned papal guards and ceremonial troops remained behind.

"Was that… just now… the Heavenly Gate?" someone in the procession whispered.

Anthony had to step forward and laugh it off: "Haha, Lord Ang has been summoned by the gods—he's already departed to Heaven. Keep it quiet, keep it secret, and when you return, go to the Oath Chamber and swear a secret vow, understood?"

"Yes, Your Holiness!" the guards shouted in unison.

Anthony's phrasing—"when you return," "go yourself"—was masterfully subtle; by the time they reached camp, the tale of Lord Ang being summoned by the gods, crossing the Heavenly Gate, and returning to Heaven spread like wildfire.

When the rumors reached the curious onlookers, they faced guards who had just sworn secret oaths to keep silent—and immediately conjured countless versions of the legend in their minds.

…

Ang crossed the teleportation gate, returning to the Holy Heavenly Realm, channeling holy light, and teleporting again to the Abyss of Rest, landing at the Windbreak Forest of the World Tree—just a few steps from the Demon Valley.

Through the teleport array in the Demon Valley, he was directly transported to the Elf Forest; though he jumped twice, it was the fastest way to reach the Elf Forest.

Stepping out of the teleport array, Ang's first sight was insects covering the sky and earth—tiny, smaller than mosquitoes, yet swarming everywhere.

Around the teleport array, all the elves had gathered; elf mages had raised a protective barrier to keep out the swarming insects.

The ground inside the barrier was already covered in insects, and several skeletons, reduced to bare bones, lay scattered—by their slender frames, unmistakably elfin.

The insects' assault had already caused elf casualties—even inside the barrier.

Yet the insects' primary target wasn't the barrier; they blanketed the sky and earth, swarming onto plants, trees, birds, beasts, insects, and fish—anything alive was doomed to be overrun.

If this continued, the entire forest would be devoured bare.

Outside the barrier, several figures wrapped entirely in insects charged back—each body sheathed in insects like a beekeeper covered in bees, but far denser, far more numerous, far more nauseating.

They all shook themselves simultaneously, blasting the insects off with powerful aura, which fell to the ground with a pattering sound.

The insects fell away, revealing faces of breathtaking beauty—Queen Galad and her guards. A layer of aura glowed over her body, preventing any insect from touching her skin.

After shaking off the insects, Galad and her guards rushed into the barrier and cried urgently: "No good—the insects are too dense. We can't break through."

"What's the situation outside?" asked Estdoria, who remained inside the barrier, her bright eyes gleaming with sharp intensity.

"The young World Tree is nearly devoured. The God of Life released white mist to block the insects, but I saw from afar its leaves falling—keep this up, and it'll be bald again soon," Galad said anxiously.

Suddenly, both Galad and Estdoria turned their heads simultaneously toward the teleport array—they had sensed Ang's arrival.

"Lord Ang!" Galad exclaimed in delight: "You arrived so quickly!"

Estdoria also bowed with a complex expression, hand resting on her shoulder.

Negril pressed urgently: "How's the situation? Where's the Tree of Life?"

"We don't know—we can't get through. Too many insects. Besides these tiny ones, there are giant, mantis-like humanoid insects with razor-sharp scythes on their arms—they ambush us from within the swarm," Galad said, agitated and visibly irritated.

Not just her—nearly all the elves wore similar expressions of irritation, like someone spotting cockroaches in a toilet.

Indeed, the swarming insects were maddeningly overwhelming.

Negril turned to Ang: "Contact the Tree of Life. Ask it how it is. It says it'll be devoured in two days—ask if it has any way to eliminate these insects."

"What? Two days?" Galad and Estdoria were stunned first, then shocked again upon seeing the Heart of Life in Ang's hand: "How is the Heart of Life in your possession?"

Ang replied casually: "The old tree gave it to me."

Galad and Estdoria's expressions twisted with complexity—the God of Life's most precious core, the one even the elves never received, had been given to someone else…

"We're here." Ang sent a thought directly into the Heart.

"I've locked onto the giant insect's position. It seems immune to my attacks—kill it for me. They've eaten so much—my forest is being devoured. Save the forest," said the God of Life.

Listening to the God of Life's rambling words, Galad and Estdoria exchanged glances—they had never seen the God of Life behave so humanly. In the past, the God of Life had been like spring wind and earth—omnipresent, yet never this intimate.

Kaelandael sighed inwardly: Of course—in the God of Life's heart, we are no different from birds, beasts, or plants. The notion that "the World Tree belongs to the elves" was merely our delusion.

No one had time to care for the elves' inner sorrow. Once the enemy insect god's location was confirmed, Ang shoved Negril back inside and summoned his Soul Armor, preparing to charge out.

"Wait—I'm coming with you," said Galad.

"I'll clear the way," said Estdoria.

Before Ang could refuse, Estdoria stepped out of the barrier, her body surging with endless magic power.

The instant her toe touched the ground, a ring of fire erupted from beneath her feet, spreading outward—wherever it passed, grass and insect corpses ignited, forming a half-circle of flame.

"Spirits of Flame, heed my voice—come to me, become a river of fire, drowning the path ahead."

Whoosh… whoosh… whoosh… Fire elements surged rapidly, gathering before Estdoria, burning forward like a river of flame, rolling onward.

Negril sucked in a breath: "Arcana·River of Flame!"

No wonder she was a Truth Archmage—she unleashed an Arcana spell at once. The River of Flame was a progressively strengthening forbidden spell: initially weak, but growing infinitely powerful as it consumed more matter and generated more fire.

With enough fuel, it could reduce an entire city to ash; combined with another Arcana·Burning Wind, its hot gusts could dry out an entire forest.

Yet here, Estdoria merely intended to use it to clear a path—she concentrated the flame ahead, laying it like a fiery carpet stretching into the distance.

Galad charged out behind the flame, plunging into the insect swarm—but when she turned back, she saw Ang hadn't followed.

When she retreated to look, she found Ang staring intently at the ash on the ground, frozen in place.

"My lord, what's wrong?" Galad asked, puzzled: "Is something amiss?"

Negril was already screaming inside his soul: "Leave it to you, leave it to you—I'll make them preserve every insect corpse and ash for you, okay? Hurry up, save the old tree first—don't get distracted! Don't waste time on fertilizer right now, aaaah!"

Galad was utterly baffled—how could she guess Ang was paralyzed by the insect ash on the ground?

Ang tilted his head and suddenly asked: "Do insects have bones?"

"Huh?" The random question left Negril stunned—but it was normal; Ang's mind worked differently, often asking bizarre questions.

Yet Negril didn't stay stunned long—just as Ang asked, he stomped hard on the ground and dragged his foot, slipping—King's Arrival.

Ang's question—"Do insects have bones?"—meant: Can I raise these insect corpses?

The ground, thick with insect corpses, surged like a wave—but Ang was immediately crushed flat.

One corpse = one soul network thread. With hundreds of millions of insect corpses nearby, his soul network instantly became a tangled knot.

Fortunately, they were insects—if these were normal corpses, this volume would have ruptured his soul network entirely.

Ang steadied his mind and strained to stand.

The surrounding insect corpses surged again, sending ripples like waves across the ground.

No—too many. He couldn't stand. Though each corpse was tiny, their sheer number exceeded Ang's control limit.

Normally, a Gold Skeleton could control a few hundred corpses—up to two thousand was normal; over ten thousand was overload.

The Lord of Mourning might control a hundred times more—perhaps a million. That number could fill the entire range of King's Arrival.

Yet Ang's skill's area contained at least hundreds of millions of insect corpses—no comparison at all.

"Are you insane? You don't actually plan to raise all these corpses with King's Arrival? Everything has a limit! So many nodes—how will you connect them? You'll rupture your soul!" Negril gasped.

"And even if you did—what would you do with them? A pile of insect corpses? Just feed the living ones?" Negril grumbled.

Living insects were agile—but corpses raised by King's Arrival were rigid, sluggish.

If they were human corpses, their numbers and fearlessness might overwhelm enemies—but the enemy here was insects, whose numbers dwarfed the corpses—what else could they do but feed the living?

Ang ignored him. Suddenly, a massive flame erupted from his head, its glow soaring several meters high like a burning torch—except its flame was deep blue.

Negril blurted involuntarily: "Are you mad? Why reveal your Undead Godhead? I get it now—damn it—you're not raising corpses at all! You're collecting every scrap of insect ash, wasting nothing!!"

Using the Godhead as a node, his soul network spread outward. Ang, crowned by the "great torch," strained slowly to his feet.

The insect corpses around him finally stirred, one by one rising, converging into a single mass.

Then Ang pressed down on them, activating the Hand Beyond Worlds, shoving them into the Palace of Rest.

Negril had no words left—after all that effort, just for insect ash? Can't you have higher ambitions?!

But Ang's nature—he was too tired to even scold. He sighed weakly: "Hurry—leave the rest for later. Save the Tree of Life first."

Galad misunderstood: "My lord is collecting insect corpses? I understand—they eat the corpses and evolve, right? Elves, listen to me—burn the corpses!"

Immediately, several elves cooperated: some summoned wind tornadoes, others fire tornadoes—combining into a composite spell—Windfire Dragon.

Where the Windfire Dragon passed, insect corpses were sucked up, incinerated within the vortex, then reduced to ash and sprayed into the sky, evenly raining down.

Ang tilted his head and muttered: "They stole it…"

Not only stole the corpses, but did it efficiently—fine, save the old tree first.

Ang strode forward, charging toward the Tree of Life, diving into the insect swarm—everywhere, insects flew and crawled; more clung to plants and animals, tearing frantically.

As living things were devoured, the insect population exploded exponentially.

But the insects couldn't chew through Ang's gold bones. Some blind ones landed on him, bit hard—CRACK! spitting out broken teeth, then flew off cursing.

Running, he reached the stump of a giant tree. He looked up—the tree was reduced to a stump, its crown and trunk riddled with holes.

"Isn't this the World Tree we sold to the elves? Good heavens—chewed to this? Where's the Tree of Life? Don't tell me it's gone too," Negril said.

Ang pressed forward. Soon, he noticed a white mist thickening around him.

He took a few more steps, then stopped, staring at the ground—before him lay a carpet of insect corpses, most of which bore white "flowers" growing on them.

Negril clapped in admiration: "Fungi! So it's fungi! This mist isn't mist—it's fungal spores. Using fungi to kill insects—brilliant! No wonder it's the Tree of Life!"

As he pressed forward, about to break through the mist, a thick black vine lashed out—its metallic sheen unmistakably not ordinary plant matter.