Chapter 414: Become the Sacrifice of the Undead Offering!

Beifeng City was in chaos; even the trash on the streets went uncollected, shop doors along the main roads were tightly shut, and pedestrians on the road hurried past in fleeting glimpses.

Ang's group attracted considerable attention, but no one dared approach after seeing their clearly intimidating appearance.

Negril fell into the same confusion he'd felt in the Land of Despair, unsure where to go, but the leader, Silvercoin, had no such hesitation—he observed briefly, then walked straight into a narrow alley.

Soon, the group reached a quiet alleyway, where at its end, a swordsman poked his head out and sized them up warily.

Silvercoin held up a bundle of fresh vegetables—though "fresh" was a stretch, as they'd been grown long ago, only appearing fresh because they'd just been taken from Ang's divine domain.

The swordsman pulled his head back in, then quickly popped it out again and nodded at Silvercoin.

Negril was utterly baffled and couldn't help asking: "What's the meaning of these gestures?"

Silvercoin walked straight toward the end of the alley, explaining as he went: "On the main road ahead, I saw the sign of the Grain and Oil Guild. Grain is a bulk commodity—it needs huge warehouses to store it. If they're selling grain out front, there must be a warehouse behind."

"The front shop is closed, but someone must be in the back warehouse. Even if they've stopped business, they can't move all the grain away at once, so I came to check—and sure enough, someone's there."

"I held up fresh vegetables to signal I have 'vegetables.' If they need them, they'll let us through. If not, we'll try somewhere else. But it seems our luck's good." Silvercoin grinned.

Negril suddenly understood: "You merchants are cunning—your trading tricks are endless."

"Not really—just small tricks. You don't even need to be a merchant to use them. Many commercial customs here differ from the main plane; I'm still learning." Silvercoin replied humbly.

The group reached the alley's end, turned a corner, and found a row of burly swordsmen staring at them.

Silvercoin walked past as if nothing were amiss, handed out a small card, and beamed: "Hello, first meeting—I'm Silvercoin, Vice-Chairman of the Silverlight Guild. Here's my card." A true merchant's demeanor.

Silvercoin had once used wooden cards carved from the World Tree, but no one here recognized the World Tree, so its "prestige" effect was useless. These cards were hastily made, silver-plated, and gleamed brilliantly.

Silvercoin's merchantly manner relaxed the men; they took the card, stepped back, and revealed a human behind them who also looked like a merchant.

Silvercoin grew even more enthusiastic, immediately handing out cards, then engaging in hushed whispers and hand gestures for a full half-hour before they finally finished.

When Silvercoin returned, he signaled everyone to retrace their steps. After leaving the alley, Negril couldn't help asking: "What was that? What did you talk about? Why leave without selling anything?"

Silvercoin said: "Sold. Six thousand jin of fast-growth vegetables. Thirty magic crystals."

Six thousand jin sounded like a lot, but when Negril heard "thirty magic crystals," he frowned: "Only thirty magic crystals? That's cheap!"

Silvercoin was stunned: "Cheap? No, not cheap at all. Thirty magic crystals equals three hundred gold coins—that's one gold coin per twenty jin of vegetables. It's astronomically expensive. When they quoted it, I couldn't believe it. On the main plane, similar fast-growth vegetables cost a few copper coins per jin."

"Huh? Vegetables are that cheap?" Negril froze.

He truly didn't know vegetable prices—it wasn't knowledge, just market conditions. He thought it cheap because Silvercoin routinely earned hundreds of thousands of magic crystals; this kind of deal, barely dozens of crystals, damaged Silvercoin's image.

"Of course it's cheap. If unsold, they rot in the ground. Vegetables have a short shelf life, don't store well, and can't be shipped far. The fact that I can supply such fresh vegetables surprised them."

"This region is a remote desert. Fresh vegetables are rare—mostly dried cabbage or radishes. That's why they paid a high price."

Negril was still annoyed. All this trouble for just dozens of magic crystals? Even if they sold every vegetable in Ang's divine domain, it might not reach a thousand magic crystals.

Silvercoin smiled: "Compared to selling luxury goods, I prefer bulk commodities like grain and salt. Demand is high and stable. If I secure the grain and salt supply for one city, I can earn a thousand magic crystals a day—thirty thousand a year. What if I control ten cities?"

"Even three million a year is still little," Negril scoffed. "Not enough for half a month's profit in Meishen City."

"Pfft—" Silvercoin nearly choked, rarely losing his temper: "Can you compare this to Meishen City? That's a monopoly!"

"Then why not just hand over the vegetables?" Since the price was fair, why not deliver directly?

Silvercoin shook his head: "No way. The Lord's divine domain is a secret. If we deliver here, they'll know he has a preservation storage space—that's worth more than anything. What if they try to rob us? We'll deliver outside the cemetery. Let them come pick it up themselves."

Right—the container was worth more than its contents. What if they tried to rob us? Of course, kill them. Negril, accustomed to bullying under Ang's power, had never once considered being robbed.

The group retreated from the alley. A few steps later, a man suddenly rushed out and blocked their path, raising both hands high above his head and bowing deeply to the ground.

"Is this… begging?" Negril stared.

This was the first time Ang's group had ever been begged from. The experience was so novel they didn't know how to react.

Silvercoin, however, treated it like a treasure, quickly pulling the beggar into a corner. Ang's group surged after him.

The beggar was confused—what was happening? He eyed them warily, slowly drawing his hands to his chest.

"Don't be nervous, don't be nervous—what's your name?" Silvercoin asked gently, then asked Jili for a few small bread cakes—she was the only one among them who actually ate.

"John." The beggar, John, clearly starving, lit up at the sight of the bread. He grabbed it and bit off half in one gulp. When he tried to bite again, he swallowed hard, mustered immense willpower, and reluctantly tucked the bread into his chest.

"Another John? People here love naming themselves John?" Negril grumbled. He'd already met John, Old John, Little John, John Ox—over twenty Johns. The namers were lazy.

Seeing him tuck the bread away, Negril asked again, puzzled: "Eat it! Why not? Aren't you hungry?"

John bowed humbly: "Thank you for your generosity. I'll take the rest home for my wife."

"You have a wife? Eat, eat! Answer a few questions, and these cakes are all yours. Go ahead, eat boldly." Silvercoin held up the remaining cakes.

He'd grabbed John to learn about the city's situation. Otherwise, they'd be blind. This should've been done upon entering the city, but the grain guild was right outside, visible the moment they arrived, while beggars weren't.

Jili complained: "Save some for me! These are beef cakes I baked with beef essence flour and snow from the lake—you're giving them all to him, what am I supposed to eat?"

With every ingredient Jili named, John swallowed hard. By the time she finished, his stomach growled involuntarily, his eyes fixed on the remaining cakes in Silvercoin's hand.

He'd eaten too fast earlier and hadn't tasted the cake's flavor. Now, with Jili's description, his mouth flooded with beef and wheat aroma.

"How long since you last ate?" Silvercoin asked, handing him another cake.

"Three days." John took the cake but didn't eat it—instead, he tucked it away, pulled out the half-eaten piece, and nibbled slowly.

"How many people in your household?" Silvercoin asked.

"Two… one. My wife stays home." John's mood suddenly sank.

"Is it one or two?" Silvercoin pressed.

John's eyes reddened: "There's also a daughter—but she's cursed. She won't survive. When I return home, I'll be alone."

"Cursed?" Silvercoin muttered, noting it down, then asked: "Why did you think to beg from us?"

John wiped his eyes with the back of his hand, grateful: "You came from the grain guild. I thought you might have food. The grain shops have been closed seven days. Only the black market sells food. I had no choice—I just tried. Thank you."

"Seven days? Do you know why?" Silvercoin asked.

John replied: "It seems sorcerers have cut off the roads. Beifeng City is now cut off from the outside world."

"Cut off the roads? Why?" Negril couldn't help asking.

In a world with teleportation arrays, cutting roads was pointless—nobles and the rich could still travel via arrays; their connection to the outside world couldn't be severed.

"Maybe they want to starve us poor people to death. Most of Beifeng City's grain comes from outside. With the roads cut, many of us will starve." John smiled bitterly.

Silvercoin asked more detailed questions: How many pedestrians lately? Any luxury carriages or knights entering or leaving? What's sold on the black market? Any robberies?

After finishing these minor details, Silvercoin's expression turned thoughtful.

Seeing Silvercoin finish, Negril immediately stepped forward: "John, take us to your home. You said your daughter's cursed—let's see what kind of curse it is."

Negril was curious about curses. Curses were a special kind of power, often leaning toward divine magic—rooted in faith and spirit.

Necromancers excelled in curse magic. With Negril's knowledge, seeing a curse let him roughly estimate the mage's strength.

John, stunned, led the way, a flicker of hope igniting in his heart—could these people dispel the curse?

But that hope shattered at his doorstep. From inside came his wife's pitiful weeping. John rushed in and soon joined her in sobs.

Negril sighed: "Ah, the poor—even their crying is quiet."

John's house was small. Silvercoin, Negril, and Ang entered, leaving no room for others—they waited outside.

Upon entering, Ang saw a desiccated corpse lying on the bed. Why "desiccated"? Because the body had shriveled to bone, like a dried-out corpse.

But Ang still "saw" residual warmth inside the corpse—the death had been recent.

Ang followed the corpse's form, his gaze shifting to the corner, where a rat hole yawned.

John had already braced himself emotionally; now, it was merely the crushing of hope. After a few sobs, he recovered, turned, and bowed deeply to Ang and the others, then moved to roll up the straw mat.

The corpse would be wrapped in straw and dumped in the cemetery—undead creatures would handle it. This was the best burial: the soul would return to the Immortal God's embrace, eternally at peace.

"Wait." Negril stopped him: "Not dead yet. Might still be saved. Ang, come look."

Ang cast several Cleansing Spells. The emaciated corpse revived noticeably. Then he cast Rebirth, striking the corpse's heart. The body lurched upright, gasped sharply—alive.

The act terrified John and his wife. Only when their daughter opened her eyes, lay back on the bed, and rasped "Dad… Mom…" did they react—but they still dared not approach.

The Immortal God? Is this healing… or reanimation?

Ang ignored them. He conjured a water orb, pulled out a spirit bean, crushed half of it, mixed it into the water, and poured it into the girl's mouth.

Then he cast Cleansing Spell again. Cleansing Spell again. The corpse-like body visibly regained color and plumpness.

Only when the girl's life force stabilized did Ang stop, turning his gaze once more to the rat hole in the corner.

The girl could now sit up herself. She stared at her hands, touched her body—nothing missing, no withering weakness. She wasn't dead? The curse was gone?

"Dad… Mom…" the girl rasped.

John and his wife couldn't believe it. John gathered courage, hesitantly reached out, squeezed his daughter's arm—soft, warm, not the cold stiffness of a corpse. His daughter was alive.

The three embraced, weeping softly.

At that moment, an enraged voice erupted from the rat hole: "Damn it! Who stole my offering? Meddling fool! Didn't your teacher teach you not to interfere?! Then you'll take her place—you'll be my sacrifice to the Undead Offering!"

A wisp of black smoke rose from the rat hole, coalescing into a vicious face.