Chapter 87

Speaking of this matter, Negrilis wanted nothing more than to dig a hole and crawl into it right then and there; when he was dragged back and passed through the World Transit Station, he had indeed shouted a few complaints upon seeing the crowd.

But until he died and was sealed away, he never found such an opportunity—and the grave he mentioned was the grave where Bone-Lock slept, not the grave where his bones were buried after death.

Urinating on someone’s grave after they died was simply too—stimulating; just thinking about it was thrilling: “Where’s the skeleton?”

After reporting to Ang, he packed a potted sapling of the World Tree and teleported it over.

As long as it sprouted, the saplings weren’t worth much—a single fruit contained thousands of seeds; aside from the branch from the silver coin tree, the teleportation array in Frost City had also been requisitioned and received a branch, so now Ang had distributed nearly two thousand five hundred saplings.

Distributing saplings was easy; growing them into full trees was not.

“At this location in this plane,” Anthony transmitted a coordinate: “Bone-Lock and the six-winged archangel Galirix of the old Church of Light perished together; if you can find Bone-Lock’s skeleton, you should also find Galirix’s holy relics. I hope you’ll leave the relics for me.”

“Only one coordinate? What about the teleportation beacon? Why don’t you go get it yourself?” Negrilis suddenly had a bad feeling.

“There is a teleportation beacon—I would’ve gone for it myself long ago if there were one. But there isn’t. You’re the God of Knowledge; with a coordinate, you’ll surely find a way to get there.”

“Damn it, I’m the God of Knowledge, not the God of Space! You expect me to cross planes with just a coordinate? You greedy merchant, give me back the World Tree sapling! Hey, hey, hey… hung up? Damn it!” Negrilis was so furious he wanted to smash the teleportation array.

A spatial coordinate is merely a number, but without a teleportation array or delivery array, attempting to cross planes with only a coordinate is extremely dangerous and unlikely to succeed.

If this coordinate belongs to the Prime Material Plane, it’s even harder—solid plane barriers block passage, and you’re likely to crash into them and flatten into a pancake.

In contrast, abyss to abyss has higher success rates because neither has plane barriers to obstruct passage.

Why does a World Transit Station exist? Because it offers the shortest distance, thinnest barriers, and lowest cost to every plane.

Having only a coordinate, with no teleportation or delivery array to guide you, is like riding a dragon at full speed through thick fog—you have no idea what lies ahead.

Those who undertake adventures based solely on a coordinate—or no coordinate at all—have a specialized profession: Void Adventurers. They’re almost always high-level space mages, typically isolated since childhood, orphaned, with all relatives and friends dead and creditors chasing them; anyone with even a shred of emotional attachment would never risk such a near-certain-death job.

Now, that damned Piero had tricked him out of a World Tree sapling with nothing but a coordinate. Damn it, he’d been fooled.

He’d already been cheated; he couldn’t just swallow the coordinate. Holding onto a sliver of hope, Negrilis input the coordinate into the teleportation array and sent a communication request.

But for a long time, there was no response—he didn’t know whether there was even a teleportation array near that coordinate.

Even if there was a teleportation array, if it wasn’t activated, it wouldn’t receive the request; even if it received the request, if the other side didn’t respond, this side wouldn’t know. This one-way blind operation made cross-plane communication extremely difficult.

Until the magic crystal was drained, the teleportation array still gave no response. Negrilis, unwilling to give up, went to Ang and said: “Ang, have your follower Zihai—the one who sent you the Hand of Lock—activate her teleportation array and see if it can lock onto this coordinate.”

“Why?” Ang asked, puzzled.

“Because there’s likely the rest of Lock’s bones there,” Negrilis replied.

When Anthony mentioned Bone-Lock’s skeleton, Negrilis immediately thought of Zihai—she had sent over one of Lock’s hand bones; perhaps the other parts of Lock’s skeleton were scattered across that plane.

If it matched the coordinate, it would be 100% certain. Anthony’s words stirred Negrilis’s long-buried memories—he was now barely able to contain himself, constantly wanting to do something at Bone-Lock’s grave.

“Oh.” Ang retracted his awareness and extended it toward the symbol within his soul belonging to Zihai.

As soon as he projected himself, Ang sensed something wrong—a giant mouth was leaving Zihai’s body, two dagger-like fangs pulling out of her flesh, tearing backward and widening the wound, blood gushing forth.

Zihai’s tribespeople, fearless and desperate, attacked the mouth’s owner relentlessly, forcing it away from Zihai’s body, where it retreated unwillingly.

Ang projected onto Zihai’s body—only then could he see what she saw. Only after the enemy retreated did Ang clearly see its form: a black panther.

Zihai’s body continuously spewed blood, her life force draining rapidly. Her tribespeople gathered around, urgently calling out: “Chieftain! Chieftain! Are you alright? Wake up! Wake up! Don’t die! Great Shaman! Great Shaman, come quickly!”

The tribe’s great shaman arrived, took one look, and felt utter despair—this wound was far beyond the healing capacity of any shaman like him; Zihai was dead.

Seeing the shaman’s expression, everyone realized Zihai’s fate and burst into tears.

In this world, death was common—but facing it directly still brought unbearable sorrow, especially since Zihai, this generation’s chieftain, was strong, cared deeply for her people, and had even reclaimed the God of Purple Bones…

Wait? The God of Purple Bones! Someone suddenly realized: “The God of Purple Bones! The God of Zihai! We’ve found our god! The god can save Zihai! Pray quickly!”

At this shout, everyone snapped to attention. Previously, when they fell ill or were injured, they relied solely on the tribe’s shamans; they’d grown accustomed to taking the great shaman’s word—if he said it was hopeless, they accepted it.

But now it was different—the Age of the Shaman was over. The God of Zihai had granted them divine medicine, cured the tribe’s plague, and even bestowed seeds… uh, they hadn’t grown.

The God of Zihai could surely save Zihai.

In a rush, everyone formed a circle around Zihai, kneeling devoutly and praying.

Even if they hadn’t realized it, Ang had already prepared to send the Purifying Light spell to Zihai. As luck would have it, just as they began kneeling, the first Purifying Light spell arrived at the wound—the wound glowed faintly.

The Zihai tribe members were utterly stunned. Previously, when the great shaman performed his rituals, they sometimes worked, sometimes didn’t—hours of dancing might yield no result. How could the God of Zihai be so responsive? One kneel, and immediate response?

Instantly, they bowed even harder, pounding the ground into indentations, thudding loudly.

Under this devout prayer, Zihai’s wound visibly healed. Everyone’s hearts swelled with disbelief: My god, the God of Zihai is so powerful, so merciful—responds at the first kneel! Don’t kneel, you lose! Don’t kneel, you’re cheated!

Thick streams of belief surged toward Zihai like free water. Ang realized he didn’t need to channel power from his main body—these Zihai tribespeople’s offerings were already sufficient, even abundant.

Thus, Zihai’s body blazed with radiant light.