Chapter 61: Rapid Death Halo

After stealing the soul-flame of faith from Ang, Negrilis knew this day would eventually come—after all, with faith, how could one lack a divine core? Unless a true god discovered him in advance and slapped him dead.

But the problem was, the monarch was gone.

As long as no one intervened to stop Ang, with his current number of believers, he should be able to ignite divine fire and attain a divine core within a few centuries.

Don’t think that’s slow—there’s even slower, like the God of Knowledge…

Negrilis himself took over six thousand years to ignite divine fire; luckily he was a bronze dragon with a long lifespan, or he would have died of old age.

He originally thought it would take centuries to ignite divine fire; who could have guessed the original divine core was sealed within the Deathfire of the Tomb Palace, instantly saving Ang hundreds of years of accumulation?

What else could one say? Aside from sheer luck, Negrilis couldn’t think of any other word to describe it.

Now he was more curious about what divine skill Ang had awakened.

“What’s a divine skill?” Ang tilted his head, asking in confusion.

“Like your Death Scythe—you can release the skill without much effort,” Negrilis said.

A skill is essentially a technique combination that conforms to the power system and requires minimal effort to activate.

For example, golden skeletons—they summon corpses easily; just kick a grave a few times and vast swathes of corpses rise, giving rise to the technique “Imperial Arrival.”

Awakening means suddenly understanding how to summon corpses more efficiently.

Skills must always conform to the power system—for instance, a mage will never awaken a skill related to battle aura.

But divine skills are more complex: besides conforming to the power system, they must also conform to the belief system—a necromancer who kills like cutting grass could never awaken a holy light skill that heals and protects.

Yet requiring conformity to both power and popular belief leads to bizarre, inexplicable changes—for example, the Harvest Goddess’s divine skill is: “Gaze of Conception”—under her gaze, the probability of conception increases dramatically.

Thus, many infertile couples hang statues of the Harvest Goddess in their bedrooms, making love each night beneath the watchful eyes of a kind goddess holding ears of grain.

Isn’t that strange? According to Negrilis’s research, it may be because in the people’s simple beliefs, harvest and conception are linked—harvest means abundance, means being able to raise more children, means reaping; children are a kind of harvest too.

Ang tilted his head and asked: “Your divine skill.”

“Huh? Why ask that? I didn’t ignite divine fire,” Negrilis said nervously.

Precisely because he didn’t understand, that’s why he asked! Ang tilted his head the other way: “Your divine skill?” Rarely had Negrilis heard such a tone of confusion in his voice.

Negrilis fidgeted, then muttered: “Enlightenment Halo.” The voice was so low it could easily be missed.

“Enlightenment Halo—what does it do?” Ang asked again.

Since it was already out, Negrilis no longer cared about the scalding water—he gave up and said: “It has a tornado-like effect—those near me gain wisdom more easily, learn more knowledge, experience greater inspiration, and achieve higher academic accomplishments.”

Honestly, this divine skill is utterly useless—it can only enlighten others’ wisdom, never Negrilis’s own.

So whenever it stays with others, their wisdom rises while Negrilis’s remains unchanged—isn’t that a de facto intelligence-reducing halo?

Moreover, the halo’s effect is gradual—not immediate. Only those who stay with it long-term are affected.

Intelligence doesn’t matter if it fluctuates by one or two points; only when accumulated to a critical mass does a qualitative change become obvious.

Who has the qualification to stay with a bronze dragon every day? Clearly, this divine skill is absurdly useless.

“Oh.” Ang nodded, understanding, then transferred the armored zombies inside, arranging their heads inward in a circle, and placed Negrilis’s bronze book at the center.

Negrilis felt blood rush to his head—was Ang trying to enlighten these zombies’ wisdom?

Ang nodded: “Can’t it be done?”

Zombies and skeletons have the lowest intelligence—they most need enlightenment. If they could become as smart as little zombies or angel skeletons, commanding them would be far easier. But would it even work on them?

“Fine.” Negrilis gritted his teeth. He, a God of Knowledge, was now supposed to enlighten zombie skeletons? “Damn it—I think you’re the one who needs enlightenment.”

“Oh.” Ang replied, extending a bony hand inward, preparing to drag Negrilis out. Clearly, Ang had taken his words seriously—he planned to carry the bronze book with him to enlighten himself.

“Stop! You’re smart enough—you don’t need the Enlightenment Halo. Let me stay here; these zombies really need to improve their intelligence,” Negrilis hastily changed his tune.

He was insane if he went out—sealed inside the bronze book, Negrilis had zero self-defense capability. What if it got stolen? Was there any place safer than the Tomb Palace? Projecting himself gave him more freedom and safety—he was a fool if he let Ang take him out.

Ang retracted his Interdimensional Hand.

Negrilis wiped nonexistent sweat with nonexistent hands, thinking inwardly: Damn it—I’ll never talk nonsense to this stupid skeleton again. He takes everything literally.

The bronze book obediently settled into the center of the zombie circle, radiating its invisible halo—after all, inside the Tomb Palace, the bronze book’s position made no difference.

“You haven’t told me your divine skill yet. You didn’t fail to awaken one, did you? That doesn’t make sense—once divine fire ignites, you should know what abilities you have.”

Ang didn’t know how to describe it—he thought of it, and appeared in the farmland area.

Negrilis zipped over instantly, watching as Ang extended a finger and gently tapped a flower bud.

Instantly, the flower bloomed, then rapidly withered and turned yellow, finally crumbling into ash—all in less than a tenth of a second.

Negrilis’s entire book leapt up in disbelief, screaming: “Damn it! Rapid Death? A halo? Does such a divine skill really exist?”

“Accelerated death?” Ang tilted his head.

Negrilis explained: “Rapid Benfu death—I always thought this skill was fictional. In a Rapid Death Halo, all life burns its vitality rapidly, accelerating the entire life cycle until death. Any mortal being—animal or plant—is affected.”

“A creature that normally lives a hundred years might age to death after hours within your halo. No defensive magic or equipment can resist it—unless another similar barrier or domain exists.”

“That’s insane! Anyone who fights you risks Rapid Death—half an hour with you means aging ten years. Who among short-lived species would dare provoke you?”

“It’s unfair! Why did you awaken such a practical divine skill? Are you the love child of the Goddess of Luck? Death Scythe, Rapid Death Halo—all practical combat skills. But you don’t even like fighting! What’s a vegetable-growing skeleton doing awakening these skills?”

By the end, Negrilis sounded almost resentful—why couldn’t he awaken such a useful skill?

Ang ignored him, walking to the center of the farmland and stomping firmly on the ground.

Since gaining the Interdimensional Hand, Ang had been multitasking—farming here all along, sowing seeds across three hundred mu, one-tenth of the entire farmland.

This was nearly the limit of what a single skeleton could cultivate before. But now, with the Death Scythe, harvesting speed had increased dramatically—he could probably handle even more.

As he stomped, crops around him visibly sprouted, grew, formed ears, filled with grain, bloomed, fruited, and ripened…

Perhaps because the area was large, the acceleration wasn’t as fast—it took three full hours for the crops to complete their entire growth cycle, then immediately began to wither and turn to ash. But Ang suddenly interrupted the Rapid Death Halo and used his Interdimensional Hand to drag the Death Scythe across the crops.

The entire accelerated process was abruptly halted.

Negrilis snapped his book shut, unable to watch—he knew this would happen. Any skill in Ang’s hands became a farming skill. Damn it—is this why he awakens practical skills?!

…

Silvercoin clung to his box: “No. Not giving it up. I live with the box, the box dies with me.”

“No, Silvercoin Chairman, your box plus your body is too large for our teleportation array. Don’t worry—you go first, we’ll teleport your box to you immediately.”

“No. I’d rather not go back than leave it behind,” Silvercoin refused loudly.

“Then let’s teleport the box first, then you. Is that okay?” Lan offered another plan.

“No, that’s even worse! What if it gets lost? No gnome ever lets his junk shop leave his side. Give up,” Silvercoin declared firmly.

Lan grew angry: “If our teleportation array weren’t so small, and if you didn’t have connections in the human world, would we even bother you? I’d go myself. We’ve negotiated so long, given you so many discounts, and now you’re refusing because of a box?”

“We never agreed to separate me from the box. No force can separate me from it. Give up. Had I known you wanted to split me from my box, I never would have negotiated with you,” Silvercoin snapped.

“What about the power of money?” Lisa blocked the furious Lan, stepped calmly to Silvercoin, took his hand, and slipped a vial of Holy Essence into his palm.

“Your box is full of junk, worthless. You yourself said that pure Holy Essence like this sells for 1,500 magic crystals in the human world—equivalent to 15,000 dwarf gold coins. Could this change your mind?” Lisa said.

Upon hearing “1,500 magic crystals,” Silvercoin instantly clenched the vial, his face twisting in hesitation.

His box’s contents were indeed chaotic and picky—find the right buyer, like bronze dragon scales, and you could sell for 500 magic crystals. But without the right buyer, most items were worthless.

The box itself was probably the most valuable—technically a space item—but even then, it couldn’t possibly be worth 1,500 magic crystals. But the problem was—it was his gnome junk shop. Without this box, could he even call himself a gnome merchant?

After much hesitation, Silvercoin weakly said: “It’s not impossible… but you have to pay more.”

Lisa smiled faintly, pulled out another vial of essence, and shoved it into Silvercoin’s hand, her eyes gleaming dangerously: “One vial is a deposit. After teleporting and retrieving your box, you return it. If you want to sell, the box becomes ours. Deal?”

This time it was Lan who hugged Lisa—she knew this woman too well. Talk about anything, but mention money and she might go berserk. If she smashed Silvercoin’s head, the whole plan would collapse.

Silvercoin nodded, clutched the essence vials, yanked his box backward—and it vanished into Lisa’s hands.

Crouching in the small teleportation array, a flash of white light—and Silvercoin disappeared.

After his figure vanished, Lan spat: “Damn gnome, money-grubbing bastard. Can we trust him? What if he just vanishes and we can’t rebuild our big teleportation array?”

Building a large teleportation array capable of transporting living beings had always been the dream of Frost City. Their current small array could barely handle someone as slender as Silvercoin—far too inconvenient.

To build a large array, they needed several key materials, none of which exist in this plane—and they’re controlled goods, unobtainable through normal channels.

Now, with Silvercoin and the Silverlight Guild as a connection, the chance of acquiring these materials increases greatly.

Not just for the array—also for vast quantities of food. Frost City’s farmland was burned to ashes; feeding the survivors will be extremely difficult.

Silvercoin is part of the Holy Blade Army, but the Silverlight Guild isn’t—he’s merely one of its partners.

In such guilds, a vice-chairman is equivalent to an independent caravan—highly autonomous. Silvercoin has his own people and business, reporting only to Leonhard and the Quartermaster. Others in the Holy Blade Army don’t even know he exists.

Now that Leonhard is dead, the Holy Blade Army will likely descend into chaos. Until a new Holy Knight takes over, no one will remember a gnome.

As long as the Quartermaster is properly greased, a report titled “Adventurer infiltrated enemy camp, gathered intelligence, captured, bribed guard, escaped, and returned with vital information” will appear on the Cardinal’s desk.

With this plan in mind, Silvercoin, back in the human world, quietly visited the Quartermaster’s private residence under cover of night. He knocked a few times—the door flew open, and a black hand snatched him inside.

Inside the room, he saw three shadow-like figures. One was holding the Quartermaster, a blurred face pressing close, sucking out strands of soul flame.

“Black… Black Warrior!? Don’t, don’t search my soul—I’ll tell you everything!” Silvercoin pissed himself, blabbing before the other even spoke.

The Black Warrior who held him snorted, twisted his neck—breaking it—and leaned in to extract his soul and search his memories.

Long after, the Black Warrior’s eye sockets split open slightly, murmuring: “Vegetable skeleton? Holy Maiden? Sword Saint? Angel? Strange combination… interesting Abyss… the Archbishop will like this.”

The voice faded, like their shadows, growing fainter until they vanished into thin air, leaving only two corpses.

(Two chapters combined) Requesting monthly votes.