Chapter 76: Do You Know Who I Am?

The world vegetable hadn’t been grown yet, or it would have truly terrified Negrilis, but Ange was clearly working toward growing it—he had first soaked the ground with water, buried the seeds, and then touched them with his fingers.

The seeds remained motionless for half a day.

Alright, world vegetables weren’t that easy to grow, but Ange wasn’t discouraged at all—even growing a holy mushroom required control groups, let alone a world tree.

To that end, Ange set up hundreds of growth combinations: soil made of pure volcanic ash, soil mixed with bone meal, soil mixed with wood ash, soil mixed with manure; he also adjusted pH levels, water permeability, and other factors into over a dozen variations.

Then he replicated these combinations along both banks of the great canyon, varying the temperature: the canyon’s two sides offered the most perfect conditions, with temperatures ranging from a few degrees at the top to hundreds of degrees near the lava river—find the right elevation, and you’d find the matching temperature.

Considering the world tree’s uniqueness, Ange also buried a few seeds beside the lava river at several hundred degrees, but they were quickly cooked—this case proved the seeds couldn’t germinate under temperatures of several hundred degrees.

“Several hundred degrees! Several hundred degrees! You actually expect it to sprout? Just not cooking it would be a miracle! Boiling water at a hundred degrees can cook it—what are you thinking with several hundred degrees?!” Negrilis roared, furious at Ange’s reckless approach.

“Can it be cooked?” Ange tilted his head, fetched a stone bowl, and cast a rain spell to fill it with water.

Thinking for a moment, he cast a purification spell, dropped in two seeds, cupped the bowl in both hands, then cast the Burn the Land spell—flames instantly erupted from his palms, scorching the bowl’s base, and soon the water inside boiled.

After a while, Ange pulled out the seeds, crushed them, and pointed to the still-green kernels inside: “Not cooked.”

Negrilis’s face swelled up; he covered it and ran off.

Are world tree seeds really this tough? Even boiling water can’t cook them? What crop seed can withstand boiling water? I’ve never heard of such a thing.

Even the God of Knowledge had never heard of it—that means none exists. In other words, perhaps only world tree seeds can withstand boiling water, but no one dares boil them, so no one knows.

If they can withstand boiling water, they can withstand temperatures above one hundred degrees. Ange placed some seeds in areas around two hundred degrees, watched for a while, confirmed they weren’t cooked, and then buried them in soil.

He planted seeds everywhere possible—including areas where the Wind of Resting blew across the surface. Though the Wind of Resting destroyed all biological vitality, maybe the world tree could withstand it?

He selected ten plump seeds and soaked them in essence fluid, ten he placed in the Wind of Resting Palace’s farm, ten he crushed the outer skin of, ten he froze overnight, ten he boiled for a few minutes, and so on—these were all germination methods; he didn’t know which would work, so he tried them all.

But the soil and air in the great canyon were acidic; to be safe, Ange kept half the seeds to plant later back in the Wraith City.

Negrilis’s scalp prickled. The world tree was the sacred relic of the elves, their god—through countless worlds and endless abysses, there was only one unique world tree, and the elves treasured it deeply. Any desecration or offense could provoke the elves’ wrath.

One fruit produced thousands of seeds, yet the elves gave only one as a reward. Unless utterly desperate, they wouldn’t scatter diseased branches across the world. What if Ange truly discovered how to cultivate the world tree—growing them like vegetables? What would the elves do? Would they go mad?

It was very possible. Plants have plant traits—if you find the right environment, they can sprout in bulk. If their sprouting takes a long time, well, Ange just happened to possess the divine technique to accelerate seed germination.

To grow into a full world tree, many additional factors might be needed—but sprouting doesn’t require them, does it? Just sprouting a few hundred world tree seedlings would drive the elves insane.

Oh my god, just thinking about it was thrilling—let’s do it.

But it wouldn’t be finished in a moment—the seeds had only just been planted, when the black knight shouted from the cave: “L-Lord, uh, your, your, my former boss is looking for you.”

Negrilis rushed forward first, glaring: “Former boss? You contacted your old comrades?”

This was a serious matter—if the black knight had contacted his former allies without permission, Negrilis would advise Ange to kill him immediately.

The black knight waved his hands frantically: “No no no, the teleportation array wasn’t shut off—suddenly a communication came through. Only my former boss knew about this array. It really was him, so I told him about switching employers, nothing else. But he wants to speak with you.”

Negrilis sized him up. With the soul-link’s compulsory effect, the black knight couldn’t lie. If it was just this, it was understandable. Then Negrilis couldn’t help but wonder: “Who was your former boss? Why didn’t he demand your soul’s devotion? Didn’t he fear betrayal?”

“Hey, how could he? But later, due to special reasons, he erased our oaths and set us free. My former boss was Black Knight Emperor Piero.”

Negrilis jumped up in shock: “What! Piero? He’s still alive?”

The Black Knight Emperor, inventor of the Rebirth Altar, the first artificial undead in history—Negrilis of course knew him, and knew him well.

This guy often got access to the Brass Book Tower and asked Negrilis many ordinary “knowledge” questions. He built the Rebirth Altar—maybe Negrilis had even contributed to it.

This Black Knight Emperor hadn’t died?

“He wants to speak with us?” Negrilis asked.

“Yes yes, he now calls himself Anthony, the Cardinal Archbishop of the Human Diocese of the Light Church. That angel and we were all sent by him…”

The black knight hadn’t finished when Negrilis slammed his head into the ground: “Light Church? Cardinal Archbishop? Angels take orders from him?”

The twists and absurdity shattered Negrilis’s worldview—the Black Knight Emperor had become a Cardinal Archbishop of the Light Church?

Even sitting before the teleportation array, Negrilis couldn’t process the news; his mind was flooded with questions he didn’t know how to begin.

Ange, however, had no such distractions. He put on his straw hat and asked: “Who are you?”

A calm voice came from the teleportation array: “I am Anthony, Cardinal Archbishop of the Human Diocese of the Light Church. Hello, may I ask who you are?”

“Ange.” Ange replied.

Such a brief name made Anthony feel displeased—what was this? Mocking him?

“May I ask your identity?” Anthony asked again.

Ange tilted his head. What was identity? After thinking, he replied: “Vegetable-growing skeleton.”

Anthony relaxed—he clearly was mocking him, but it didn’t matter. After living so long, would such mockery anger him?

“Is this the skeleton knight Ange who used the Death Scythe to claim the soul of Bolck?” Anthony said.

Negrilis leaned close to the black knight and whispered: “You’re Bolck?”

The black knight nodded.

“How does he know your soul was taken by the Death Scythe?” Negrilis asked.

“My companion didn’t die—he escaped back.” Bolck whispered.

Another black knight survived? Withstood a single Holy Flash from the angel skeleton and lived?

But thinking again, it was very possible—the “holy” light of the angel skeleton didn’t inherently damage undead beings. As long as you weren’t hit directly, you wouldn’t burn. Perhaps the soil absorbed most of the damage, letting the black knight escape.

Ange thought for a long while before realizing the other meant him—the Death Scythe existed, but “skeleton knight”?

“Yes.” Ange replied.

Still mocking? Anthony grew angry: “Skeleton Knight Ange, honest communication is the foundation of resolving issues. You captured my man, stole my property, and now you treat me like this? This isn’t the attitude to solve problems.”

Ange was confused. What did he mean? Honest communication? Foundation? Attitude? Solving? So complicated.

Since he didn’t understand, Ange tilted his head and asked: “What do you want?”

Now it was Anthony’s turn to freeze: “What do you mean, ‘what do you want’? You captured my man, stole my property, and now you ask what I want? I want my man and the holy relic.”

“Oh, how to exchange?” Now Ange understood—he wanted something from him. Simple—equivalent exchange.

Anthony took a deep breath. He understood Ange’s meaning: captured his man, stole his property, and now demanded payment for their return. Fine. Very fine.

“What do you want?” Anthony asked, suppressing his anger.

The holy relic was vital. With a single bone, an angel could be resurrected with holy light. For safety, he’d sent two additional black knights—so even if the angel died, they could recover the relic. But the worst-case scenario had occurred.

The other black knight escaped and reported everything to him, making Anthony feel even more absurd—the holy angel hadn’t been killed by enemies, but had simply endured the Wind of Resting until it died from the wind.

Who would believe that? Were these holy spirits this stupid? When he fought holy spirits before, he never thought they were this dumb.

Maybe the ones he fought before were higher-ranked. The smaller the holy spirit, the higher its rank. This one, a one-meter-eighty giant, was low-ranked, weak, stupid, and single-minded—furious.

But even a dumb one was still a holy spirit. Losing one outright was hard to explain—even as a Cardinal Archbishop, he couldn’t easily cover it up.

Even if he managed to cover it up, the situation in the Wind of Resting Abyss would be exposed. All these years, how much effort had he put in to make the Light Church ignore this place?

The urgent priority was to recover the holy relic and cover up the incident. Later, when he had time, he’d deal with Ange slowly.

This question stumped Ange—he wanted what?

“Want… seeds…” Before he could finish, Negrilis lunged and clamped his hand over his mouth.

Negrilis was laughing hysterically inside—he knew this would happen. Anyone unfamiliar with Ange would be driven mad after a few sentences. If Ange finished saying “want seeds,” Anthony would explode.

Ha ha ha, though Negrilis desperately wanted to see this scene, to prevent the negotiation from collapsing, he decided not to provoke him.

After covering Ange’s mouth, Negrilis took over: “Piero, long time no see. Do you know who I am?”