Chapter 82: Almost Got Cut to Death by a Sword (Two and a Half Chapters)

Without noticing, Ang’s magical ability had improved again; he could now cast first-tier spells with both hands simultaneously…

Why is it still first-tier!? Didn’t you say you improved!?

Yes, you did improve—your mana recovery speed got better! Negril spat blood all over the ground upon hearing it, if it could still spit blood.

But it’s not absolute; spell tiers are limited by mana. If you use the Right Hand of Lok to cast, the mana is temporarily stored in the Death Hand Bone, allowing a second-tier spell to be cast.

So now, when Ang casts using the Hand of Lok, he can release second-tier spells; if he casts Purification, Cleansing, or Rainfall, due to his proficiency, the effect is optimized to match fourth-tier spell power.

Fourth-tier is a threshold for mages; crossing it allows one to call themselves an intermediate mage.

But Ang achieves this effect with second-tier spells—fourth-tier power, second-tier mana cost, maximum mana recovery. If anyone were unlucky enough to duel him in magic, they’d find themselves facing a humanoid fourth-tier spell cannon… though this cannon uses Rainfall to water crops.

Finding Ang was like finding a granary; Lu Se’s restless heart finally calmed. He sought a spot to rest, when suddenly he heard rapid footsteps.

He turned to see the little zombie spreading its arms like wings to balance itself, charging straight down the slope into the valley, its legs kicking so fast they nearly left afterimages.

Reaching the edge of the chasm, the little zombie let out a loud “Aoo!” toward Ang’s direction, raising high the object in its hand—a wisp tightly gripped in its grasp.

Ang summoned the angelic skeleton back: “Caught it. Reincarnate it.” Then he called Negril inwardly.

After Ang armored the wisp as a warrior, the little zombie said it wanted armor too. Ang initially planned to give it the Black Knight armor, but after negotiation, Negril said he knew the boss on the other side and shouldn’t steal his underlings, so the little zombie didn’t get armored—these days it went out on its own to hunt wisps.

“Wisps aren’t that easy to catch; wild ones are vicious. The little zombie’s soul isn’t strong—how could it possibly catch a wisp…” Negril grumbled as it flew back, disbelieving all the way—until it saw the wisp in the little zombie’s hand.

“You actually caught it? How? Isn’t its soul stronger than yours?” Negril was stunned—the wisp in the little zombie’s hand clearly had a stronger soul. How did it even “catch” it?

“Aoo!” The little zombie punched the air twice.

“...You hurt it first, then caught it? That works? Even with a weaker soul, you can beat one stronger? Impressive.” Negril was speechless.

It was indeed a valid method, but in the undead system, stronger soul usually meant greater power. A wisp with a stronger soul being injured by a little zombie with a weaker soul… really… are all of Ang’s companions such freaks?

“Then hurry up! While it’s stunned from being hurt, reincarnate it now.” A crowd surged into the cave housing the reincarnation altar.

Though soulflame consumption had been high lately, there was still enough to activate the reincarnation altar—and it kept flowing continuously.

At every moment, he felt two points in his soul network—Lisa and Ock—constantly sending soulflame into his soul. More strangely, there was also a trickle from the silver coin; though not constant, whenever it came, it was intense, as if performing some ritual.

Adding these new believers from the Demon Valley, daily soulflame increased to around 2,500—enough for one Swift Death Aura, with a little left over, sufficient to activate the reincarnation altar.

Negril told Ang: “You do it. I’ll teach you. Your mental strength and elemental control are monstrous, your soul strength is high—you’re the perfect candidate to run the reincarnation altar. Not just for reincarnating wisp warriors—even for turning undead into liches, your success rate will be high. From now on, anyone who wants to die, come to you.”

Different people running the reincarnation altar yield vastly different success rates—from twenty to eighty percent. Living humans turning into liches have slightly higher success; undead turning into black knights have much lower success—but none have ever reached one hundred percent.

Without the reincarnation altar, a living human turning into a lich has a terrifyingly low success rate. With auxiliary materials, the odds improve slightly, but rarely exceed fifty percent.

Why, after all these years, has Phyllin produced so few liches in the Lich City? Even Cleg, wanting to reincarnate, couldn’t guarantee success—because the success rate is too low.

But Ang’s case is too unusual. Negril had never seen anyone with mental strength this high—not even the ancient Bone-Lock could match it.

Bone-Lock was the Lord of Death, with soul power second only to monarchs—but could his mental strength have been this monstrous?

The reincarnation altar demands immense mental strength and precise control. Control? No need to explain—Ang has spent millennia using pollination magic to fertilize crops; he could thread a needle with pollination spells effortlessly.

With these conditions, Ang should achieve an eighty percent success rate turning living humans into liches, and around sixty percent turning undead into black knights.

Activating the reincarnation altar, he threw the wisp inside. Six stone pillars shot beams of light, striking the wisp. Its ethereal form restructured under the altar’s power, rapidly becoming solid.

A solidified wisp stood motionless on the altar.

After a long process of armor imprinting, the little zombie finally armored the wisp warrior onto itself. After adjusting, its hands now bore two… hoes—hoe blades without handles, fitted over its hands like claws.

Negril couldn’t look. Why hoes? Had Ang corrupted it?!

The angelic skeleton, having seen Ang’s armor before, felt nothing—but now seeing the little zombie’s armor, it grew resentful. It ran over, pointing at the little zombie and letting out an “Aoo!” at Ang.

Before Ang could respond, the little zombie ran over, pounding its chest: “Aoo!”

Then it turned to leave, preparing to hunt more wisps. The angelic skeleton followed—but soon both returned, heads hanging low. Outside, the wind had picked up.

…

Lu Se waited until everyone finished and the reincarnation altar fell silent, then pointed to the nearby teleportation array: “I just remembered when I last heard of the World Tree—it was from the teleportation array. The silver coin told us.”

Earlier outside, when Negril mentioned the World Tree, Lu Se had felt he’d heard the name recently—but couldn’t recall where—until he saw the teleportation array.

The silver coin had taken initiative, gathering many iron tools, ropes, equipment, daily necessities, and continuously teleporting them to the small teleport array in Ice City.

The teleportation array was too costly to use, so they could only use the small one, slowly, like ants moving a nest.

During the teleportation, the silver coin had mentioned the name “World Tree.”

The silver coin had said: “Those elves are insane. They say the World Tree has sprouted, demanding humans hand over the sapling—or they’ll launch a holy war. The whole world is searching for the World Tree.”

“By the way, do you want a World Tree branch? Just anonymously link to the elves’ teleport array, and they’ll give you a sick branch for free. If you cure the World Tree, you’ll earn the elves’ friendship. I’ve already claimed one.”

Anna said: “We can’t cure tree diseases. What use is it?”

“Decoration! A dead World Tree branch as a decoration on your desk changes your entire status. If you’re negotiating a deal, bring someone into your room, and just one look at your World Tree branch will shock them. They’ll see your wealth and power—you treat World Tree branches as decorations—and they’ll submit without a fight.”

Anna was stunned by this advanced business thinking and asked: “What if the person doesn’t know what the World Tree is?”

The silver coin sneered: “If you don’t know the World Tree, what business do you have negotiating with me? If you didn’t know before, I’d understand—but now, with the elves making such a fuss, anyone who still doesn’t know isn’t a merchant.”

Anna was deeply impressed, but still declined: “No thanks. I don’t do business, and I can’t cure trees. Waste of teleport array space. I don’t want it. For us, even the most luxurious decoration is useless compared to a shovel.”

The silver coin nodded approvingly—a person who clearly knows what they want, unswayed by vanity.

…

After Lu Se finished, Negril and Ang exchanged glances. Inside Ang’s eye sockets, his soulfire flared brighter.

On the Material Plane, the silver coin, having just shown off his World Tree branch to a former colleague, received a thunderclap: “Lord Ang wants my World Tree branch?”

“Yes.” Ang touched the symbol belonging to the silver coin and spoke through his soul.

Perhaps he didn’t control his soul’s intensity—the mental impulse made the silver coin’s head ring. He hurriedly replied: “Yes yes yes, Lord Ang, wait a moment—I’ll teleport over immediately.”

“Teleport here.” Ang sent the silver coin a new teleport array identifier.

Most teleport arrays lack coordinate maps; they interconnect through identifiers. Without an identifier, you must know the exact coordinates of a teleport array and search blindly—the chance of finding another is negligible.

“Yes, my lord.” The silver coin replied respectfully.

After cutting the connection, the silver coin looked sadly at the World Tree branch on his desk. As he’d said, it had no practical function—but its significance was great. Possessing it meant owning at least one teleport array—a symbol of power and credibility. Business partners saw it and felt more secure.

Under identical conditions, others would always choose to partner with merchants who owned World Tree branches and teleport arrays.

But what could he do? Lord Ang wanted it—he had to sacrifice it.

He hastily packed it and teleported.

After the transfer, Ang had him receive it, then sent him a pot of saplings: “Here, return your sapling.”

Took your branch, returned your sapling—equal exchange.

But the silver coin nearly spat blood: “L…Lord, this… is a World Tree sapling?”

“Yes.”

The silver coin felt the pot was burning—so hot he nearly dropped it. This was a scorching sapling.

…

With the new branch inserted into essence fluid, Ang repeated the process and obtained another new fruit. He hollowed it out and extracted over a thousand seeds.

He tossed the useless fruit aside. Before it hit the ground, a “horse” appeared ghostlike before it, snatched it in its mouth, and bolted away.

“Ku Bada, give me some!” Lu Se was a step too slow, shouting as he chased after it.

When he caught up with Lightning, he saw it had already bitten off half the fruit and was now spitting on the other half.

“Ku Bada, Negril, come here—let’s saw off this horse’s horns. I’m furious!” In less than an afternoon, Lightning had successfully enraged the Sword Saint. If there were a “hate-drawing” skill, this horse would be maxed out.

…

Three days later, the silver coin arrived at the edge of the elves’ Greenleaf City, the border between human and elf territories.

Due to the elves’ strange activity, in just a few weeks, a temporary town had spontaneously formed here. Buildings and tents sprouted like mushrooms after rain. Merchants, mercenaries, assassins, spies, slave traders, information brokers—every kind of person crowded the town.

The elves welcomed it. Only in such chaos could humans not unite, could they not speak with one voice. The elves even stationed troops at the town’s gate, rewarding anyone who provided verified information.

But this also meant the town gate was always packed. The elves were too beautiful—whether they had information or not, everyone came just to stare.

“Move aside, please let me through.” The silver coin struggled through the crowd, unable to push past the lecherous old men ahead.

“Get lost! Why are you shoving? You filthy goblin—do you think you can look at elves? You can’t even reach them.” The man ahead, annoyed, shoved him hard in the rear.

“I need to get through—I need to see the elves. I have good news.” The silver coin pushed harder, shoved harder.

No one believed him: “Stingy goblin merchant—when did you switch to selling information?”

“Don’t waste your time. These days, dozens of goblins have been thrown out. The elves only want World Tree news—don’t bother.”

He failed to push through—and was shoved out. He felt something off, reached into his chest—and found his money pouch gone.

“Damn thief.” The silver coin cursed bitterly. He hadn’t been slashed or arrested in Greenleaf City—but blocked by a crowd of lechers—and lost his pouch.

Fortunately, the shop box was clutched tightly to his chest, with anti-theft straps—those damn thieves couldn’t get to it, or it would be gone too.

He found a secluded corner, opened the shop box, pulled out a sphere, returned to the gate, and hurled it into the crowd of lechers. The sphere burst into powder, coating them all.

“Itchy! So itchy! #￥#（@ Itchy!” The crowd screamed and scattered.

“Itch to death, you bastards.” After the powder cleared, the silver coin strolled calmly to the elves’ tent: “Hello, I wish to meet Queen Elara. I have World Tree information.”

The lead elf glanced at him: “We don’t buy things.”

Indeed, many greedy goblins had come selling products, distracting the elves from their work. Some goblin goods were genuinely appealing.

“I have World Tree information.”

“Lying will get you hanged from a tree—you might die.” The elf threatened. At first, many bold fools tried to scam them with false info—but after a few were hanged, no one dared anymore.

“I have World Tree information.”

No matter how the elves questioned him, the silver coin repeated this phrase. Eventually, he was taken into Greenleaf City.

“I have World Tree information. I must see the Queen. If I don’t see the Queen, I won’t speak.”

“I have World Tree information. I must see the Queen. You can’t decide.”

“I have World Tree information. If it’s false, hang me.”

Due to his persistence, an elf priestess used magic to probe his forehead, then allowed him to meet Gellad.

“You insisted on seeing me. I hope your information justifies my time.” Gellad said sternly.

Some audacious fools would go to any lengths to deceive and trick their way into meeting Geralde, even fearless of death. Faced with such fanatics, Geralde was beginning to feel uneasy, hoping this goblin wasn’t one of them.

To her surprise, Silvercoin shut his eyes tightly and shouted: “Your Majesty, if I bring news of the World Tree, what can my master receive? No—what can my master gain?”

“Your master? Who is he?” Geralde asked. Silvercoin’s voluntary act of closing his eyes gave her a slight favorable impression—at least this goblin lacked impure motives.

“I can’t tell you yet,” Silvercoin replied loudly.

Geralde paused, then spoke slowly: “If your master is not an evil man, he shall earn the friendship of the elf race.”

“Uh, Your Majesty, I don’t quite understand—what is ‘the friendship of the elf race’? Do you get discounts on purchases?” When saying “discounts,” Silvercoin deliberately adopted a flippant tone—a negotiation tactic to convey disdain for the “offer.”

Elf friendship? Can you eat it? In business, nothing was more annoying than such illusory returns—what if their “friendship” amounted to nothing more than a few meals?

Geralde clearly had no goblin’s cunning. She grew angry: “To gain the friendship of the elf race means no one dare oppose him—he and his descendants shall be protected by the elves. No one may harm him. Even if he perishes and his clan is wiped out, the elves will never betray this friendship.”

Silvercoin’s eyes flew open in shock. Damn it—so this was what “friendship” meant. A bond that would not break even in death or clan annihilation. This promise was too grave.

Yet Silvercoin did not lose his head. He pressed on: “What defines ‘evil’? Is it your definition? Or humanity’s? Or the Church of Light’s?”

“Naturally, it is defined by the World Tree,” Geralde said as if it were obvious.

“Good. Swear by the name of the World Tree, Your Majesty.”

For the sake of the World Tree’s news, Geralde swore an oath by the World Tree’s name. The World Tree was the deity of the elf race—this was a divine oath, binding absolutely.

Only now did Silvercoin finally exhale. Though he appeared bold enough to incite a Light Acolyte with a vial of essence and to trick an elf queen with a sapling, his heart had been hanging in suspense the entire time.

“I don’t have news of the World Tree…”

“You! Wretch!” Nearby elf guards erupted in fury, drawing their swords and rushing forward to cut the goblin to pieces for mocking their queen.

Silvercoin turned pale with terror and cried out: “I brought the World Tree sapling! I brought the sapling!”