Chapter 62

Ang happily gathered all the crops—it was his first large-scale harvest since leaving Zhigong.

As he gathered, Ang identified several problems: first, the soil was severely compacted, having lost much of its fertility.

Second, water conservation: during these three hours, he had watered nonstop, yet the total amount used was likely less than one fiftieth of what he’d used in a full growing season before.

This was probably due to accelerated growth, efficient water uptake, and reduced natural evaporation.

Third, pollination failed: the growth period lasted only three hours, and the flowering phase was likely under ten minutes; pollinating within such a brief window resulted in abysmal success rates—at least twenty percent of the flowers received no pollen.

Fourth, the grains had grown much larger: previously, one grain was only five to six millimeters long, but now it was about twenty millimeters—four times longer, like tiny wooden sticks.

Even with twenty percent of the flowers unpollinated, the yield per mu had tripled compared to before.

Overall, the Speed Death Aura’s effect was superb; the soil compaction and loss of fertility could be solved by crop rotation: the farm had three thousand mu of farmland, and planting three hundred mu at a time allowed for nine rotations.

If that failed, he could rotate other crops, or apply fertilizer; if that failed, there was still…

After rapidly finishing planting the three thousand mu of farmland inside Zhigong, Ang carried all the seeds and buckets outside.

Beyond the abyss, an endless wasteland stretched out; the Zhigong Wind had just passed, and Ang rushed out immediately, scattering the seed bag’s contents, which spread evenly under the wind vortex’s disturbance.

Under meticulous cultivation, Ang would dig trenches and build ridges, bury bone powder and ash, sow, then cover with soil; for longer-cycle crops, he’d even start seedlings early or cover them with straw for warmth.

But now, before him lay an endless flat wasteland, untouched by farming for over a thousand years, and incredibly fertile.

With the accelerated growth period so short, there was no need to cover the seeds; roots could penetrate deep, stalks stood firm, and without wind during the day, the crops wouldn’t topple.

In the air, one meter high, Negril flew forward, hind legs gripping a sack with several small holes; as it flew, seeds continuously leaked out, forming trails of sown seeds.

“Why am I sowing for you? Show me some respect—I’m the God of Knowledge, not the God of Agriculture,” Negril grumbled as it flew.

On the other side, the Angel Skeleton flew silently back and forth, carrying a sack, uttering not a single complaint; whenever Ang glanced over, it would pat the sack, signaling it was working hard.

Meanwhile, the little zombie was digging pits—huge pits—removing the handle of the hoe, slipping the remaining shaft over its hands, and rapidly scraping the ground; vast amounts of soil were flung out between its legs.

After scattering the seeds, Ang began watering; since his Purification Spell had upgraded, other magic schools had also improved.

Now, using only first-tier mana, he cast Purification, Cleansing, and Rain Spells with third-tier effects; Burning, Pollination, and Soil Loosening achieved second-tier effects—all while still consuming only first-tier mana.

Negril answered this question thus: “What’s so strange? It’s just improved proficiency—your mana is now optimally combined, achieving maximum effect. Every talented mage can do this.”

Then it muttered bitterly: “You’re the only one who brute-forced it through sheer volume. Pfft.”

The proficient Rain Spell turned Ang’s sprinkler into a water gun, spitting and spraying the ground thoroughly.

On the thoroughly soaked earth, seeds either lay exposed or were half-buried in soil; then Ang stomped deeply into the sown ground—and instantly, all life accelerated.

Lightning kept its distance; among Ang’s companions, it alone remained alive, and upon hearing “Speed Death Aura,” it immediately fled as far as possible.

From its vantage point, it could now clearly witness a miracle-like transformation.

Vast stretches of land sprouted green shoots, resembling a grassland; seedlings grew stronger, stalks straightened, adding a touch of green to the gray, lifeless sky and earth.

Unicorns were naturally attuned to nature; Lightning had grown deeply uncomfortable living in this world, so it usually hid in the abyss, secretly stealing beet leaves from the Minotaur family.

This miracle-like transformation struck it hardest.

The entire growth process lasted three hours; Ang was exhausted, especially during pollination, when no one else could help.

He used the Pollination Spell to lift pollen into the air, then left it to fall freely, sticking wherever it landed; thick clouds of powder hung over the crops—anyone with pollen allergies standing in the field would be suffocated.

Even so, Ang still felt overwhelmed; the flowering period was too short, and for the first time, he felt his mana couldn’t recover fast enough—he was casting spells at three per second, like a woodpecker, making Negril turn away in disgust: “Can’t watch. Too demoralizing.”

The crops ripened, turned golden, and bent heavy under their own weight; Ang terminated the Aura and sprinted through the field, dragging the Reaper of Death.

In the human world, goblins had invented harvesting machines, but compared to Ang’s method of swinging the scythe backward, they were painfully slow.

After harvesting, the sky gradually darkened; evening approached.

The stalks were bundled and dragged by Lightning to the edge of the pits dug by the little zombie.

The wind grew stronger; Ang had to get all the crops into the pits before the Zhigong Wind rose, or else overnight, the grains would turn to powder.

There was no time to thresh; Ang cut the ears one by one with his scythe, letting them fall into the pit, layering the bottom.

Once all the ears were harvested, everyone jumped into the pit and lay directly atop the grain; finally, the Zhigong Wind howled through.

Negril dug a hollow in the grain pile, curled up like a dragon resting on treasure, and sighed: “You actually did it—sowing and harvesting in a single day, turning this boundless wasteland into fertile farmland. You’ve changed this world.”

Ang tilted his head, about to speak, but Lightning scoffed: “Changed what? You work yourself to death for just two hundred mu a day. How many days a year? Is there even a winter here? Say three hundred days—that’s only sixty thousand mu. What difference does sixty thousand mu make?”

“In the human world, they farm millions of mu at once, plus all kinds of cash crops, wild flowers, trees, and forests covering hundreds of millions of hectares. This world is too barren—even wood is scarce. Life is already hard enough. Might as well all slit our throats and reincarnate as undead.” Lightning, as always, was vicious.

Inside Zhigong, Ang could plant three hundred mu at once, but on the wasteland, time was tight and the task urgent; for safety, he reduced each planting to two hundred mu.

“Heh,” Negril shot Lightning a scornful look. “Ang plants two hundred mu alone per day. But if others helped with sowing, watering, and harvesting—while Ang only activated the Aura—how many mu do you think he could cover in a day?”

Lightning opened its mouth but couldn’t speak. Indeed, with help, Ang could activate the Aura at least three times a day, with no time pressure—each activation could cover three or four hundred mu, totaling over a thousand mu per day, nearly three hundred thousand mu per year.

“And don’t you think the crop yield is high? At least triple that of ordinary crops. But you’re right—this world is too barren. No matter how much food you produce, it won’t change anything.”

Lightning gasped: three hundred thousand mu, tripled yield—that’s nearly a million mu’s worth of output. Few mid-sized duchies could match that grain production.

And all of this came from Ang alone. Calling it “changing the world” was no exaggeration.

Lightning stubbornly retorted: “Impossible to plant that much. Doesn’t the Aura consume anything? You can’t keep it on every day.”

Negril had indeed overlooked this, turning to Ang: “What does activating the Aura consume?”

“Two thousand soul flames,” Ang replied.

Activating the Aura for three hours consumed over two thousand soul flames—more than transferring an equal weight of grain from Zhigong. But remember: transferring only cost transport; the Aura was production.

Ang was also delighted: soul flames finally had a use. With more believers, he now received one or two thousand soul flames daily, piling up uselessly in his hands. Even one Aura activation per day kept his consumption balanced.

By consuming only believers’ faith, he could produce grain endlessly—a truly profitable, cost-free venture. Lightning’s venomous mouth had no opening left; it bit savagely into the grain beneath it.

After chewing once, it paused, puzzled; after chewing again, its eyes widened in shock: “Delicious! So delicious! Super delicious grain!”

Three “delicious” in a row made Negril curious, though it couldn’t eat; it asked: “How delicious?”

“Fragrant, sweet, sticky, bursts in your mouth, each grain distinct—better than the finest Moon Grain from the elves.” Lightning was ecstatic, ready to bite again, but the little zombie lunged and shoved it with its head.

The Angel Skeleton also rushed over, spreading arms and legs across the grain, staring at Lightning with a clear “all mine” expression.

“Aow!” Ang called out, summoning the two back; only Lightning ate in this pit—Ang wouldn’t withhold any crop.

Lying atop a pile of sweet, fragrant grain, one could simply open their mouth and eat until full—wasn’t this the life he’d dreamed of? If only horns could grow.

Lightning dazedly contemplated this, until a sudden urge startled it: “No good—I need to pee.”

“No!” Negril shouted first; the pit was full of grain—any fart would ruin it all.

“But… but… I can’t hold it!” Lightning grimaced, glancing at the grain beneath it, then up at the howling Zhigong Wind outside—it would become a corpse if it climbed out.

Ang crawled over, grabbed its foot, and yanked it backward into Zhigong; he dug a hole in the empty farm area, let it go, then brought it back out.

“You weigh a thousand jin, right? Moving you in costs soul flames, moving you out costs soul flames—your piss is expensive. Maybe just cut it off.” Negril sneered.

“You don’t need to pee, and you can’t use it anyway—why keep it? Maybe cut it off?” Lightning retorted, unafraid of verbal sparring.

As the two bickered, Ang suddenly sensed a voice: My Lord Ang… save me…

Ang was bewildered; this was the first time he’d received such a belief from afar. Usually, when near believers and absorbing soul flames in the shrine, he heard voices—but now, no believers or soul flames surrounded him.

Following the voice, Ang projected his awareness inward, quickly entering a consciousness—he immediately knew who called: it was the goblin Silver Coin.

At that moment, Silver Coin’s neck had just been snapped by a Black Knight, moments from having his soul drained and memories extracted.

The fading consciousness sensed Ang’s arrival and cried out: “Lord Ang, I shall worship you with the devotion of gold! I shall follow your will, spread your glory—save me…” Before finishing, a force began pulling his soul away.

A soul flame erupted from Silver Coin’s consciousness, and Ang, bewildered, grasped it.

Honestly, Silver Coin had called the wrong god; Ang was no proper deity—he didn’t know what to do in this situation. But he still tried, instinctively struggling against the force pulling Silver Coin’s soul, and managed to snatch back at least half of it.

Then what? Not knowing what else to do, Ang stared blankly as Silver Coin’s corpse was tossed to the ground, the Black Knights vanishing. After thinking a moment, he decided he should return Silver Coin’s soul to its body.

So he shoved it back—but the half-soul couldn’t rejoin. What to do? Patch it. Ang unconsciously drew upon his own soul energy, attempting to repair Silver Coin’s fragmented soul.

As he did, his skull erupted in blazing flames; vast amounts of soul energy crossed dimensions and streamed into Silver Coin’s shattered soul.

A single soul flame, normally effortless for Ang to conjure, proved unexpectedly difficult—this time, it took dozens of times more energy just to barely repair Silver Coin’s soul.

After placing it back, Ang could no longer hold on; his consciousness snapped back into his body.

Regaining awareness, he saw the little zombie, the Angel Skeleton, and Negril watching him with concern: “What happened? Why did your soul energy suddenly overflow?”

Ang described the events; Negril’s face twisted into a strange expression: “You just performed a dimensional projection? And under a believer’s call?”

…

Two chapters merged. Discuss rationally. If you find flaws, I’ll quietly fix them—no arguing, or I’ll have to mediate again, and then there’s no “quiet” effect. No arguing, no arguing.