Chapter 411: To Heal or to Repair

The little angel wanted to unleash holy light, but Ang grabbed it back; the little zombie simply jumped down, spread its legs just before hitting the water, and "stepped" across the moat.

Its soul armor surged, wrapping its entire body, and two hoes materialized in its hands.

"Death Sword Saint! It's the Death Sword Saint! Everyone, be careful!" the pursuing knights shouted in panic.

Nageleis, the egg dragon, muttered: "Death Sword Saint? What nonsense is this? Oh, they think the little zombie is alive, then see its soul armor and assume it's the Death Sword Saint? Does this world even have such a profession? When did it learn to walk on air?"

"Death Sword Saint? Sure, there is—those who cultivate soul martial energy, all skinny like zombies. You can mistake that?" Luokesi swiftly drew her sword and yelled: "Then I can impersonate a Death Swordsman too! Let's go kill!"

Saying this, she ran down the castle, sword raised.

"Where are you going?" Nageleis asked, confused.

"I'm taking a boat—I can't jump across!" Luokesi shouted as she dashed down the stairs.

"... Has she never learned to control her soul energy?" Du Luo and Nageleis exchanged glances.

By the time she rowed to the opposite shore, the little zombie had nearly finished the battle—each strike unleashed a deathwave, then it charged, rammed, hauled, rammed, hauled...

The few remaining enemies, restrained from using big attacks, had their eye sockets punched one by one by the little angel—now all sporting black eyes.

They bound the surviving enemies and dragged them back to the castle. Luokesi muttered dejectedly: "I'm so weak."

Ang and his group had shattered her confidence. She'd thought herself the strongest wraith in this desert, yet Ang casually brought along a little girl far more terrifying than her.

She didn't know Ang had restricted the little angel from using holy power—otherwise, it would've been even worse.

After all, this was the realm of undead. No need to reveal too much of the Holy Church's power; even Ang had removed his Holy Armor.

"You really are weak. Whatever, I'll spare you." Nageleis flew over and tapped her forehead with a tiny claw.

A surge of information flooded Luokesi's soul—all basic techniques for manipulating soul energy.

Those who had fled far away, one rider galloped back, dismounted at the shore, knelt, and shouted gratefully: "Thank you! Thank you for saving us! The Du Lait family will forever remember your grace. We have nothing to offer in our flight—please accept this small token."

He pulled something from his chest, placed it on the ground, bowed several more times, then backed away holding his horse's reins, mounted only after retreating a distance, and rode off.

"This guy's quite polite." Nageleis was delighted, flying down in high spirits.

Though the little angel and zombie hadn't saved them intentionally, their gratitude still warmed the heart.

The item left behind was a badge—pure gold, heavy, weighing several taels, equivalent to over a dozen gold coins.

"They even gave their family crest as a gift? They must've been truly desperate. Huh, this emblem... why does it look familiar?" Nageleis struggled to lift the several-tael gold badge.

"Damn it, this heavy? No no no, am I really this weak now? Ang, if you don't make my body bigger soon, I'll pluck your vegetables!" Nageleis grumbled as it flew back, especially whispering the word "vegetables" so low it was nearly inaudible.

"Du Luo, look at this emblem—I think it's your Alchemy King's mark," Nageleis pointed to a symbol on the badge.

Du Luo examined it, pulled out his Golden Touch rod, compared carefully, and said: "It's definitely my hidden inscription. Though altered slightly, the core is mine. How? Why would a local family crest bear my inscription?"

Adding one's own inscription in inconspicuous places was a common eccentricity and anti-theft tactic among master craftsmen—inside wine spouts, along silk underwear seams, beneath statue feet.

These hidden inscriptions were nearly impossible to detect unless the object was broken or examined with special means.

If someone copied the item but omitted the inscription, it was easily exposed.

This inscription was Du Luo's anti-theft mark—using simplified lines to shrink it, making it easier to engrave into tiny corners.

His official inscription was nearly identical but more complex, with more lines; yet either version, placed side by side, would instantly reveal their connection.

"Could some of your works have ended up here, and someone saw your hidden mark, liked it, and stole it for their family crest?" Nageleis speculated.

Du Luo rolled his eyes: "Do you think that's possible? Even the Emperor and my lord can only project their consciousness here. How could I have any works reach this place?"

A flash of insight struck both their souls: "The House of the Departed!"

"Someone found my hidden inscription in the House of the Departed and stole it for their family crest?" Du Luo deduced.

"Maybe not just the House of the Departed. Perhaps the Emperor built other things of yours and copied your inscription too. Someone found it mysterious, saw it on many objects, and stole it for use," Nageleis said.

This was the most plausible explanation.

Du Luo's eyes gleamed: "Across a world, I encounter a family using my mark as a crest. This is fate's design. I'll find them."

Nageleis sneered: "Or maybe they didn't use it—they wiped out the family that did and stole the crest."

When Lei Ting wasn't around, everyone saw: the second loudest mouth was this copper dragon.

Du Luo pulled on his cloak, wrapped himself in it, and vanished. Instantly, an invisible foot kicked Nageleis, sending it tumbling into a nearby flowerpot.

Not long after, the fleeing group, nervous yet excited, returned with Du Luo.

"What happened? Why did they follow you so easily? How did you earn their trust?" Nageleis whispered, leaning close.

These people were fleeing—their vigilance was at its peak. Earlier, they'd only bowed from across the river, never considering entering town to rest.

Du Luo chased after them and won their trust so easily? Didn't he fear they'd suspect malice, and that he'd capture them for a reward?

"The Du Lait family are all alchemists. I just performed a few alchemical techniques—they recognize quality," Du Luo whispered back.

True enough, when the Du Lait family approached, they bowed deeply to Du Luo: "Lord Du Luo, thank you for sheltering us. To serve at your side and receive your teachings is our honor."

The leader of the Du Lait family was the very man who had bowed and left the gift—named Lait. There were seven of them: two men, five women. Besides Lait and a young boy, all five others were adult women, aged eighteen to thirty.

Nageleis studied them closely, sensing something odd.

"They seem strange," Nageleis asked.

Du Luo nodded—he'd noticed too. He turned to Lait: "Explain your peculiarities to Lord Nage."

Lait and the women looked uneasy, instinctively resisting, glancing at each other hesitantly, then reluctantly removed their clothes.

As soon as they did, Nageleis saw the oddity: each of the seven had part of their body missing, replaced by mechanical constructs.

Instantly, everyone gathered to stare. The little angel even curiously poked one woman's metal arm.

Luokesi exclaimed in shock: "I know who you are now—the Du Lait family, the half-demon clan."

Lait politely reached up to remove his hat—but realized he'd already lost it. The hand he raised was a metal arm, its rough shell riveted together.

Several rivets had fallen out; a crack split the shell, revealing internal structures—gears, lead screws.

To prevent debris from entering, they'd wrapped it in gauze—but gauze couldn't block fine sand. Sand leaked in, mixed with lubricating oil, forming black clumps.

Lait and the others grew somber, pulling their clothes back on, smiling bitterly: "We're not half-demons. We're just poor disabled people."

Through his explanation, Ang and the others learned the true origin of the Du Lait family.

"Though called a family, we have no blood ties. Each of us is disabled, and we came together because of our defects."

"Our first patriarch was a powerful alchemist who crafted mechanical limbs. If any disabled person wished to learn, he taught them patiently."

"After he died, those who had studied under him banded together, calling themselves the Du Lait family. In truth, we're more like a mutual aid society—but calling ourselves a family gives these orphaned disabled people a sense of belonging."

"Every member of our family was rescued by our elders from across the world—some born with defects, others injured later in life."

Lait spoke until his throat was dry, his stomach growling. They'd been fleeing for so long without food.

Ang produced spirit beans, one for each.

Though stunned, Lait assumed they were some special alchemical item. After eating, he continued:

"But ordinary people don't understand us. Seeing our missing limbs, they instinctively reject us, even slander us as half-demons who need to drink blood and eat living organs to move."

"Before, undead maintained order. But since the Starburst, the whole world has fallen into chaos. Those chasing us are slave-catchers from the Beast Merchants' Guild—they want to enslave us."

"We started with over thirty fleeing. Now only seven remain."

As Lait spoke, his heart sank—he noticed everyone listened intently, yet their faces showed no pity, no sympathy. To them, their suffering seemed insignificant.

Instead, they were more curious about their mechanical limbs. While he spoke, the little dragon and the alchemist were already discussing.

"These adults' defects aren't fatal, but the boy's is. Without treatment, he won't survive to adulthood," Nageleis whispered.

The boy's chest had a hole, replaced by a metal construct—faint traces of blood could be seen flowing through.

"Congenital heart defect? His heart developed poorly. He relies on the construct to pump blood. But as he grows, he must replace parts periodically—each replacement risks death," Du Luo whispered back.

"So it's not that the adults' defects aren't fatal—it's that those with fatal defects don't live long?" Nageleis said.

"Probably. Their tech is crude, but the concept is brilliant. Replacing defects with constructs lets those with non-fatal injuries live normally. Look—they move during flight like they're not disabled at all," Du Luo nodded approvingly.

Applying construct tech this way was something he'd never imagined. Zombies and skeletons? Just swap out broken parts. Any carpenter could handle that.

"It seems they've borrowed necromancer phylactery tech—but the material doesn't fuse well with flesh. It causes rejection. If it bonded with flesh, the skin would stretch naturally as the body grew—no need for periodic replacement," Nageleis said.

Du Luo's eyes lit up: "You've always complained your body won't grow. I have a solution."

"What solution?" Nageleis's eyes gleamed.

Lait had finished explaining the Du Lait family. He was anxious—expected sympathy, but their faces showed only curiosity. This wasn't good.

No compassion at all—were these people evil?

Just then, Du Luo stepped forward, raised his Golden Touch rod, and lightly tapped the crack on Lait's arm.

All rivets fell away; the shell opened completely.

Another tap—a hum. The sand and grime on the gears and lead screws dissolved or shattered, turning to liquid and draining out. The internal structure became spotless.

Lait, being an alchemist, recognized it instantly: "Sonic Cleansing Technique?"

Du Luo pulled out a small piece of graphite, tapped it with his rod—the graphite melted into liquid.

He tapped and lifted; the graphite droplet floated into the arm's gears and lead screws, melting onto them.

"Sss—Gold Lubrication Technique? This... this is too extravagant! My broken arm doesn't need such advanced methods—it's a waste!" Lait's voice trembled.

Du Luo shrugged: "No problem. I still need to find lower-grade materials."

What were lower-grade materials? Lubricating oil. For Du Luo, finding oil was more trouble.

He closed the shell, swept his finger along the seam—the riveted arm now fused into a seamless whole.

"Seamless Fusion Technique..." Lait muttered, heart aching.

Like seeing a pure gold toilet—he felt his soul bleed. "You don't need such luxury for a shit pot!" Du Luo's techniques were wasted on his broken arm.

After demonstrating his skill, Du Luo asked: "What's the boy's name? His construct heart..."

Before he finished, the boy's face turned blue, lips purpled, limbs darkened, and he collapsed.

Du Luo had just said the construct heart was prone to failure—and it failed right then.

Lait and the women panicked, rushing over—but they had no tools or materials on the run. Lait helplessly turned to Du Luo.

Du Luo remained calm: "The construct heart failed? Minor issue. But do you want to replace it with a new construct heart—or cure his original heart defect?"

"What? Cured? He has a congenital heart condition—can that really be cured?" Wright doubted he had heard correctly.