Chapter 80

“Where has Lord Ang gone again? I miss him so much, I’d give anything to follow him day and night.” Lu Se spoke softly, carefully biting off a tiny piece of the last beet dry, holding it in his mouth unwilling to swallow, savoring it slowly.

This was the last beet dry—if Ang didn’t return, he’d be out of food. He’d originally planned to save it for battle to restore strength, but spending day after day here with nothing to do, where was there any battle? He’d accidentally eaten it all.

Aaah! Where has Lord Ang gone? I miss his beet dry so much!

At the edge of the basin where the World Transit Station stood, a point of light flared up—like a massive illumination array, clearly visible even in broad daylight.

“Here we go again, Grandmother Lisha… Miss Lisha does this every day, so dull and boring—how does she keep at it? And Grandmother Lan, she got fooled too… can’t call her Grandmother Lan anymore, I’d get killed for it.”

“Ugh, I’m going insane—all these ancient witches over a thousand years old, acting younger than my little sister. Even Anna is tempted to become a lich, saying turning early preserves youth, and if you wait till you’re old, you can’t stay young anymore. Insane—they haven’t even lived enough yet and they want to die.”

As Lu Se muttered under his breath, he glanced cautiously around, ensuring nothing had slipped past his Sword Saint’s perception to eavesdrop on his complaints.

And indeed, he spotted one—just beyond, in a crack between rocks, Phyllin’s pet ghost, Blackie, was peering up at him with a tiny head.

“Haha, good morning, Blackie,” Lu Se laughed. “I’m off to find Miss Lisha.” In a flash, he vanished.

The glowing spot had since been built into an altar—though crude, made of large stones and shale slabs—it incorporated countless techniques.

Grandmother Lan had explained them to him: for instance, the height of the stone platform, designed so that worshippers below looked upward, creating the illusion that the person on stage was toweringly large.

The stone pillars and shale slabs partially surrounding the platform were arranged and angled with precise calculation; when the speaker on the platform spoke, his voice would reflect off the pillars and shale behind him, producing reverberation that made his voice sound deep and resonant.

The direction of the altar was also carefully chosen to ensure sunlight streamed through gaps between the stone pillars behind, illuminating the person on stage and casting a halo of light around them, enhancing their image as majestic and sacred.

“Oh my god,” Lu Se had been stunned when he heard it all—could an altar have so many tricks? Isn’t it just a bunch of people gathering and chatting?

Grandmother Lan had glanced at him and said something profound: “Lisha says belief can be devout, but spreading belief requires technique.”

Lu Se was still young—he didn’t understand the meaning of those words, thought they were all mystical nonsense, and trusted only Lord Ang.

He’d planned to wait until the ritual ended before asking about Lord Ang’s whereabouts, but Lisha suddenly shouted from the platform:

“My people, our Lord Ang is calling us—he has tamed the Wind of Rest in the distant Land of the Dead, near the former Demon Valley. Vast wastelands have turned into fertile soil. Lord Ang is summoning us to cultivate these fertile fields. All who know farming, gather now—we depart immediately. The rest, keep digging.”

Before Lisha even finished speaking, the crowd below erupted.

“What? Tamed the Wind of Rest? The Wind of Rest was tamed?”

“Impossible! That’s the Wind of Rest—it’s blown for over a thousand years, and it was still howling last night. How could it be tamed?”

“Why not? He’s our Lord Ang—haven’t you seen the miracle of him stepping on barren earth and turning it into fertile fields, with grain hanging heavy everywhere? What’s impossible about taming the Wind of Rest? And didn’t she say it happened in the Demon Valley? Maybe the Wind of Rest there has already stopped.”

“If we tame the Wind of Rest, can we grow tons of grain?”

“Not just grain—we can plant fruit trees. Fruit for eating, trunks for furniture, tools, coffins.”

“Yes, yes, coffins—if we had a coffin, I wouldn’t have to bury my parents’ bodies in the wasteland and spend every year searching the ground for their remains, wondering where their spirits wandered off to.”

“Can we grow other things too? Can we grow minotaurs?”

“Foolish child, you can’t grow minotaurs.”

…

Lisha’s words had raised everyone’s hopes to the peak—Hail Ice City and Lich City, constrained by terrain, barely managed to grow grain; other crops were vanishingly rare.

The most vital economic crop should be trees—in fact, among the elves, trees were the single most important crop, without exception, providing fruit as food.

Without trees, there would be no wooden goods at all—no furniture, no tools, no utensils, not even window frames or doorframes. Everything would have to be made from stone, which was far more time-consuming and fragile.

Why did Hail Ice City have only three crossbows? No trees. Why did the terraces of the Great Rift have no fences? No trees. Why were all the buildings in Lich City made of stone? Again—no trees.

Tree bark could be twisted into rope—without trees, there was no rope at all. The straw ropes made from stalks couldn’t even tie a door shut.

Trees, cotton, hemp, beans, bamboo—countless things could be grown from the soil. Clothes, oil, carts, tools, weapons—commonplace in the Material Plane—were rare luxuries here.

Those who never lived in this world could never understand its hardship. Simply surviving was hard enough—what was the point of living? Perhaps only undead creatures had the right to exist in this world.

If the Wind of Rest could truly be tamed, this world would surely become beautiful.

Others needed to pack and gather before departing, but Lu Se didn’t—he heard Lisha’s words and bolted off, leaving a trail of dust as he vanished beyond the horizon.

A Sword Saint was still a Sword Saint—he ran faster than a galloping horse. Along the way, he finished off the last half of the beet dry he’d been saving, arriving at the Demon Valley just before dusk. Far off, he saw a tree on the wasteland—a sapling barely reaching his shoulder.

Seeing that tree, Lu Se skidded in shock, nearly sliding right up to the sapling.

“This… this… there’s a tree here?! There’s a tree! A tree!” Lu Se was overwhelmed with joy, his mind blank except for the word “tree.”

He looked left and right—no one else in sight. He didn’t know what to do. He felt he must protect this precious tree, lest the Wind of Rest return and kill it.

But how to protect it? He searched around—no stones to be found, or he could’ve built a stone ring around it.

He’d just build a dirt mound instead. He glanced at the sky—it should be enough time. He set down his longsword, gathered his battle aura into his hands, and began digging. Great clumps of soil flew up between his feet.