Chapter 77: New Sprout

The opposite side fell silent instantly; if not for the still-operating teleportation array, one might have thought the communication had been severed.

After a long pause, Anthony’s voice finally sounded: “You captured Polk; knowing the name Pierro isn’t surprising, but the only one who hasn’t seen me in ages and dares speak to me in such a cheeky tone is one person—the God of Knowledge?”

“Sigh.” Negril sighed deeply. “You recognize me the moment I speak, yet you don’t even know my divine name—after all the knowledge I’ve taught you.”

Anthony spoke with embarrassment: “Aren’t you called the God of Knowledge? Every time I entered the Brass Book Tower, I could only ask one question—if I asked your name, I couldn’t ask anything else. Hehe, I’m not that gullible.”

Negril sneered. Knowledge-seekers’ cautiousness—if he knew that uttering a god’s name allowed unlimited questions, would he spit blood?

“How did you end up becoming the High Pontiff of the Human Church of Light?” Negril asked curiously.

At this question, Anthony grew angry; since Negril was an old acquaintance, he let slip rare unsteadiness:

“Where else could I go? The World Transit Station suddenly shut down, everyone vanished without a trace. I called the Sovereign—he didn’t answer. I called Solidbone—he ignored me. I couldn’t return to the Palace of Rest. Everywhere was chaos, and strange winds began to blow.”

“With no other choice, I brought everyone to the Prime Material Plane, intending to hide for a while until the Sovereign returned. But the Church of Light kept eyeing the World Transit Station, scheming to invade the Abyss of Rest—only to be blown back by those strange winds every time.”

“Since I had nothing else to do, I reincarnated as a human, infiltrated the Church of Light, and went to great lengths to conceal the truth about the Abyss of Rest. I burned their Archives, wiping out most of their written records. Once the old generation passed away, the Abyss of Rest was gradually forgotten.”

“I kept reincarnating, leveraging accumulated connections and relationships to climb higher. The higher my status, the more secrets I could access. Now, in the entire Human Ecclesiastical District, not a single written record of the Abyss of Rest remains.”

“But I never expected that a frivolous Divine Knight from a remote corner of my diocese would send a team into the Abyss of Rest—and they all perished, including himself. I needed a plausible excuse for their failure, prevent any investigation into the Abyss of Rest or the World Transit Station, and erase all traces of exposure.”

“I was still wondering when the Abyss of Rest gained someone capable of wiping them out so easily—turns out it’s the God of Knowledge, the Brass Dragon. By the way, why are you in the Abyss of Rest? Has the World Transit Station reopened? Has the Palace of Rest been restarted? Has the Sovereign returned? If he doesn’t come back soon, I’ll become Pope.”

Negril nearly spat blood: “Pope? The supreme mortal vessel of divine authority, the Divine Representative of the Church of Light?”

“Exactly. It terrified me. Last time I was about to be chosen—I had to fake my death, abandon the identity I’d painstakingly built, and start over from scratch. Otherwise, you’d be calling me His Holiness Saint Anthony right now.”

Anthony’s tone was full of complaints, leaving the Black Knight beside him stunned. When had he ever heard the Black Knight Emperor speak like this—whining, almost pouting? What kind of creature was this little Brass Dragon?

Negril banged his head against the ground: “You gave it up? Why? The supreme mortal vessel of divine authority? The Divine Representative?”

“Am I insane? I’ve seen gods before—do you think I’d become someone else’s puppet? Do I look like I have a death wish? If they found out, the Old Dog of Light would burn me alive on the spot.” Anthony sneered.

Negril covered his face. That phrase “I’ve seen gods before”—he must have meant himself.

True enough. A divine representative is just a puppet. If the god ever descended upon you, what if you got caught? Far better to be a High Pontiff, free and unbound.

Negril and Anthony chatted idly until the teleportation array ran out of energy; finally, Anthony teleported a sack of magic crystals over to keep the conversation going.

“I never imagined so much happened afterward,” Negril sighed.

“Yes. By the way, you haven’t told me how you got to the Abyss of Rest—has the World Transit Station reopened?” Anthony asked.

Negril’s eyes flickered. “No. The World Transit Station is still being excavated—it’s reached the control room, but hasn’t activated. Or rather, the door to the Palace of Rest hasn’t opened. I’m here because someone called out my divine name.”

“Called out your divine name? What does that mean?” Anthony asked, surprised.

“Call out my divine name, and you receive my projection—you may ask me questions anytime.” Negril said.

“Anytime? Projection? You mean if someone learns your divine name, they can summon you anywhere, anytime, for guidance?” Anthony’s tone betrayed a near-fainting urge.

“Yes.”

“When I entered the Brass Book Tower before, each time I had one question—could I have used that chance to ask for your divine name?” Anthony ventured.

Heh heh heh—I’ve been waiting for you to ask this. Negril answered firmly: “Yes.”

“Pfft! I got swindled…” Anthony spat blood—especially after he’d just boasted “I’m not that gullible.” Now he realized how foolish he’d been.

Negril’s cruel amusement was immensely satisfied. This was a scene he’d awaited for countless years—and now it had finally happened to the Black Knight Emperor. The satisfaction was overwhelming.

“Great God of Knowledge, can I still ask for your divine name now?” Anthony asked.

“No.” Of course not—if he could, how would Negril’s cruel amusement be fulfilled? Let him choke on his own blood.

“Alright, God of Knowledge, let’s talk about the Sacred Relic and Polk. I hope you’ll consider our past relationship and release Polk and return the Sacred Relic.” Anthony lost his idle mood.

“I can’t decide that. I’m merely projecting onto someone to catch up with you. For this matter, you need to…” “Uh-oh, he’s gone again—your men are gone too. Clever little bastards.” Negril turned his head—the cave was empty. Even Polk had vanished.

Ever since hearing Anthony speak to Negril in such a familiar tone, Polk had wisely retreated. Never eavesdrop on your boss’s conversations with old acquaintances—even your former boss’s. You never know what secrets you might overhear; it ruins relationships.

“First, tell me what you’re willing to offer in exchange for the Sacred Relic. Ang follows the principle of equivalent exchange.” Negril said.

“Ang is the one who called out your divine name? A gray skeleton?” Anthony asked.

“Not a gray skeleton. Didn’t you see his Death’s Scythe? A Golden Skeleton. For certain special reasons, his body hasn’t metalized.” Negril sneered, silently adding: I’d scare you to death if I told you.

“So it’s a Golden Skeleton…” Anthony murmured, realizing he’d have to pay dearly to recover the Sacred Relic.

Anthony had once been the Black Knight Emperor—the first Black Knight ever, inventor of the Reincarnation Altar. But no matter how illustrious his title, his soul had never risen beyond Soul Heart.

In the hierarchy of undead, he was on the same level as Golden Skeletons, Iron Zombies, Lich Kings, and Necro-Saints. The one in charge across from him was a Golden Skeleton—equal in rank. This wouldn’t be easy to bluff.

But what could he offer of equivalent value to redeem the Sacred Relic? That artifact was priceless. Anthony’s head ached.

After much thought, Anthony said: “I have Sacred Mushroom Powder—it treats external wounds and internal bleeding…”

Negril replied with a strange expression: “Useless.”

“I thought so too. Undead don’t need it. Divine Essence can regrow severed limbs—but we don’t need that either. Magic crystals? I can mobilize about two hundred thousand. More would require public funds—it’s complicated.” Anthony said.

Not that we couldn’t use them—we have plenty ourselves. We just used over a liter of Essence Liquid to plant something. As for magic crystals? With Essence Liquid, who needs magic crystals?

“By the way, you said you’re excavating the World Transit Station. Even if you can’t reach the Palace of Rest, couldn’t you still use it as a teleportation array? That would require massive magic crystals. I happen to have a new product that continuously converts fire elements into magic crystals. I recall there’s a lava river in the River of the Dead—plenty of fire elements there. Perfect for you. Safe, efficient, energy-saving, eco-friendly—blah blah blah…”

Negril frowned: “There’s such a thing? How come I never heard of it?”

“Oh, it’s the latest invention of the past thousand years—goblin engineers and human mages. You didn’t know? God of Knowledge, you need to update your knowledge. It’s called an Element Converter. I have a small one, about half a person’s height. Place it where fire elements are dense, and it produces over a hundred fire magic crystals per day.” Anthony said.

Negril sneered: “I’ve updated. My gardening knowledge is now cutting-edge—I’m researching how to grow the World Tree. Is it really that useful? Let me ask Ang.”

He flew out, far away, and saw Ang crouched on a dirt slope above the lava river. Before him stood a dozen lush green sprouts.

“You’re planting again? Can’t you ever rest? What’s this crop this time? More beets? Can beets even sprout in this heat?” Negril muttered as he flew over. But as he flew, he sensed something wrong—the surrounding temperature was too high.

Though not precisely measurable, it was at least a hundred degrees. Beets couldn’t sprout at such heat—and only a dozen sprouts? Too few.

A chilling realization struck him: “Damn it! You really made the World Tree sprout?!”

…

In the exquisite, magnificent Elven Palace, Queen Galadriel gazed at the distant World Tree—towering like a mountain—and worried. She had exhausted every possible method, yet found no way to save the World Tree.

The World Tree comforted her: “This is the natural cycle. Do not grieve. The death of the old gives birth to the new.”

But as the ruler of the Elven race, Galadriel could not merely consider nature—she must also consider the rise and fall, the survival of her people…

Suddenly, a white speck flashed in the direction of the World Tree. High Priestess Kaelandiel, carried by a gust of wind, flew straight to the platform where the Queen stood. Had her identity not been recognized, the defense array would have already struck her down.

Before she even landed, Kaelandiel cried out excitedly: “Your Majesty, the God of Life says He has sensed a new sprout of the World Tree!”

PS: Tomorrow’s release—will try to post two extra chapters. Regardless of how many, I’ll combine them into one update so you don’t have to wait.