Chapter 45

After the Temple of Undeath reopened, only about two hundred people came regularly to pay homage; as the initial fervor faded, the offerings of soul-flame dwindled, sometimes only one flame every three or five days.

Only the most devout, like Ouk, offered one or two flames each visit; later, at Negrilis’s suggestion, Ange gave him three jin of grain daily and had him spend half a day working in the temple, guiding the faithful.

Fundamentally, Negrilis was being kind—using a few jin of grain to meet the needs of a fanatic—but the returns were invaluable: every day, Ouk offered at least five soul-flames, his contribution matching that of over a dozen casual worshippers.

Moreover, the worshippers he guided also found it easier to offer soul-flame.

But no matter what, the temple’s income kept declining—sometimes over a hundred, sometimes just dozens; yet Ange didn’t care—he only needed to transfer out the grain, and each soul-flame could transfer five sacks, so his daily harvest was more than enough, with surplus still being stored into his leather-embellished bracelet.

It wasn’t until Lisha arrived in Ice City that the number of soul-flames began to increase gradually, but never reached three hundred.

In other words, the soul-flames Ange had accumulated over three or four months were nothing compared to this sudden surge—tens of thousands of soul-flames rushed toward him, flooding into the leather-embellished bracelet until it burst, each rune lighting up one after another, all the way to the last one.

Once all runes lit up, the leather-embellished bracelet melted, seeping directly into Ange’s bones and fusing with his hand bones as one.

Lisha and Phelin both noticed this—they were stunned that Ange’s bracelet had melted. Wasn’t that the symbol of a Warden? Had Lord Ange… upgraded?

They didn’t know, and dared not ask, silently turning their gazes away.

Ange stared blankly at his hand; the fused hand bone gave him a strange feeling—how to put it? His hand now felt as if it could reach into the Palace of Rest at any moment.

Previously, he needed to focus his will to enter the Palace of Rest, concentrate on an object, then transfer it out. He could move things in and out, but couldn’t move them within the Palace of Rest.

Now, however, as soon as he thought of it, his hand could reach in at will, and he could move anything inside—utterly miraculous.

Thinking it over, Ange moved his hand toward the tower sealing the Bronze Dragon, and picked up the Bronze Book lying open on the lectern.

A sharp snap rang out.

The young Bronze Dragon, surrounded by children playing and teasing, suddenly collapsed to the ground.

Ange pulled the Bronze Book out with force.

Negrilis projected onto Ange’s body, staring in disbelief at the Bronze Book in Ange’s hand, murmuring: “This… this is the book that sealed me? How is it so small?”

The Bronze Book lay closed in Ange’s palm, no larger than his hand; even when opened, it spanned only two palms—nowhere near the colossal size Negrilis had imagined.

“How did you get it out? Isn’t it sealed?” Negrilis asked, puzzled.

The Bronze Book sealed Negrilis; the tower sealed the Bronze Book. Ange could transfer many things out, but never the Bronze Book.

He had been utterly clueless, unsure where to begin—yet suddenly, Ange just pulled it out, so abruptly it left everyone speechless.

“Like this.” Ange lowered his hand; his hand bone vanished up to the elbow, along with the Bronze Book and Negrilis’s projection within his soul.

Negrilis re-projected into Ange’s soul, but before he could speak, Ange pulled his hand out again—the arm and the Bronze Book reappeared, but Negrilis’s projection vanished once more.

Negrilis projected again, urgently saying: “Stop, stop, stop! Every time you put me in, I drop. Every time you pull me out, I drop. In and out, I keep dropping—this is my actual body, treat me with some respect!”

“Oh.” Ange replied.

“Wait, doesn’t pulling me in and out consume soul energy? Why is it so easy?” Negrilis mused.

Ange thought for a moment, then extended his hand inward.

“Ow…”

He pulled his hand out…

“Ow! Stop, stop, stop!”

Ange tilted his head: “Seems there’s a cost.”

“You don’t have to test it on me! Why not try with a few sacks of grain?” Negrilis roared.

Testing with a few sacks of grain still consumed soul energy—and even more than the Bronze Book. The only conclusion was that the Bronze Book was simply too light.

This result left Negrilis disappointed: “If it didn’t consume soul energy, this would truly be a divine artifact—a weapon capable of shifting battlefield balance. You could store troops and equipment inside, then suddenly release them before the enemy, or even deploy them deep behind enemy lines—who could stop you? What a waste.”

“If that’s all it does, what’s the point of this change? Just to pull me out? Meaningless—I’d even be afraid of losing me this way. Here, lend me some soul energy, channel it into the book.” Negrilis said.

Ange channeled some soul energy into the Bronze Book—then raised his hand and realized the bracelet was gone; it had fused into his hand bone. Could he draw soul energy directly from his hand bone?

Yes—but after drawing the equivalent of twenty-some soul-crystals, his soul energy was depleted.

Ange had been storing soul-crystals in the bracelet since the temple opened until that recent surge—roughly twenty-five thousand total. Now only twenty-some remained? The bracelet’s transformation had consumed twenty-five thousand soul-crystals?

Fortunately, twenty-some soul-crystals were enough. Negrilis condensed a ball of soul-fire, which rose from the Bronze Book, drifted into the young Bronze Dragon, and merged with its original soul.

The young Bronze Dragon shook its head and wagged its tail, then opened its mouth: “Now I can transfer consciousness directly, no more projection. Put the book back in and see if I fall out.”

Ange returned the book to the Palace of Rest—Negrilis did not fall out. He sighed in awe: “Your undead soul-link is so practical. Projection is too unstable.”

Ange clearly didn’t understand what it said, nor was he listening—he was twitching his shoulders, his entire arm below the elbow extended into the Palace of Rest.

“What are you doing now?” Negrilis asked.

“Planting things.” Ange said.

“Planting things?” Negrilis was baffled—how could you plant things with your hand inside the Palace of Rest?

He was about to ask again, then suddenly remembered—the tower’s seal was gone. Could he now move freely within the Palace of Rest?

With a thought, the Bronze Book inside the tower flew up, shot out of the tower, and sped rapidly through the Palace of Rest, arriving quickly at the farm.

There, a lone hand bone floated about, holding a hoe to dig trenches, picking up seeds and placing them, covering them with soil, watering them…

“Ku Ba Da! You upgraded to a hand that pierces two worlds—and you use it to grow vegetables!”