Chapter 888: Wild Mourning Skeleton?

Ange walked back with the Star-Gazing Ticket and asked Gray Stick: "Did you forge this ticket?"

Gray Stick lifted her head weakly, glanced dazedly, shook her head, then slumped over and fainted.

Soul-searching is an intense spiritual assault; Gray Stick has held on this long mainly because she's too weak—the King feared he'd accidentally kill her, so he went easy, or else her soul would've been erased at once.

"So, do you have a use for it?" the King asked.

Ange showed off the ticket and said: "I can replicate the seal."

For a freak like Ange, who can conjure teleportation arrays from nothing, crafting a star chart isn't hard—the hard part is getting it right, because star charts change constantly.

Ange suspected that each day's star chart was unique; if you held a January ticket but the star pattern was from June, you'd be exposed immediately—this might be one way Star-Gazing Tickets prevent counterfeiting.

But it didn't matter—find one ticket matching the date, take a look, and Ange could replicate it.

So now Ange needed a ticket from the correct time period, just enough to see the seal—not precise; a ten-day or half-month discrepancy in the star pattern wouldn't be noticeable.

Additionally, he needed a fake ticket—perhaps because the seal was too hard to forge, the ticket's physical body was crude, and the date was handwritten.

"Alright, here you go," the King said, then slapped Gray Stick's head, jolting her awake with a shiver.

But after soul-searching, Gray Stick was dizzy and disoriented, her mind foggy; it took her a long while to regain her senses.

Realizing she'd provoked something terrifying, Gray Stick begged: "I'm sorry, everyone, I was wrong, I'm blind—you're great people, don't hold me accountable. The money on the table is yours, and in the hidden compartment in the corner is my hard-earned hundred magic crystals—I'll repay you, please spare me."

The King walked to the corner, pulled out a bag, and inside was indeed a hundred magic crystals.

"I have elderly parents and young children—I was young and foolish, didn't mean to deceive you, please have mercy on me, let me go… uh." Gray Stick continued begging, her words polished, clearly recited many times before.

But she soon couldn't scream anymore, because the King walked to another wall, smashed a brick, and pulled out another cloth sack.

Inside was another hundred magic crystals. The King then went to the flowerpot, waved his hand, and the crushed stones serving as soil rose into the air—more than half beneath were magic crystals.

Finally, the King turned toward the bedroom.

Gray Stick's face turned ashen; she struggled desperately to rise, but her limbs were weak, she kept stumbling and falling to the ground.

On her final fall, she nearly crashed into the goblin sculpture—her head about to split open—when Ange caught it.

Gray Stick felt a warmth in her heart—this man still had a conscience—just as she opened her mouth to thank him, Ange shoved her aside and picked up the goblin sculpture.

The goblin sculpture looked ordinary, but Ange recognized it at once—it was a Sacrificial Offering channel, just like the demon idol of Big Cat, where you place a Sacrificial Offering to send it to the other side.

It was also a point for divine power transmission—what could be sent depended on the god's ability; Big Cat, being a scammer, could only send one claw.

A true god from another world? Ange thought, rubbed his fingers, scraped off some wood shavings, and sprinkled them on the sculpture—the shavings instantly grew into thin vines, binding the sculpture tightly.

Seeing this miraculous sight, Gray Stick's heart sank—she realized she'd truly provoked something beyond her comprehension; this was no longer mere trickery or fraud.

The King walked out of the bedroom, dumped all the loot on the floor, and said: "Only eight hundred magic crystals? Pathetic. Broke-ass." Then he grabbed it all, stuffed it into a bag and pockets.

Gray Stick fumed inside: If you think it's too little, give it back to me—I earned every single drop with my own sweat and hard work…

"Are you thinking, 'Why not give it back if you think it's too little?'" The King kicked her and said: "Get up. Lucky for you—you've completed your task, so I'll spare your life. Otherwise, I'd throw your soul into Soul Prison to be forged until you're burned to ash. Know what Soul Prison is? Want to experience it?"

Gray Stick shook her head vigorously.

"Want to? Then experience it." The King jabbed a finger into Gray Stick's forehead—she instantly felt like she'd been thrown into a fire; as agony surged into her soul, she screamed internally: I shook my head because I didn't want it…

After a brief taste, Gray Stick began experiencing phantom pain—she constantly felt her skin burning, making her obedient to the extreme.

With her cooperation, Ange produced several Star-Gazing Tickets with no date and no seal.

"Forget everything, or this mark will drag you into Soul Prison and burn you to death." The King poked her chest, forming a purple flame that sank beneath her skin.

Gray Stick's eyes widened in disbelief as she stared at the King's finger.

"What? Do you recognize this?" The King noticed her expression, raised his finger, and asked.

Gray Stick quickly shook her head.

The King smiled: "I didn't search your soul thoroughly—I only pulled out your most important memories, like where you hid your money. Clearly, your money matters to you. Less important memories require a full soul-search to uncover—but after that, you're brain-dead. Want to become a fool?"

Gray Stick shook her head frantically and said: "The purple soul-flame reminded me of a rumor from a few years ago—the Divine Light Corporation had a divine-tier mercenary group—the Blackthorn Mercenaries—who captured a wild Mourning Skeleton. I just remembered—it was huge news back then. Wild Mourning Skeletons are extremely rare."

"Blackthorn Mercenaries? Does one of them use a black whip?" the King asked.

"Yes, yes! Uh—my lord, are you that wild Mourning Skeleton? How are you here? They're from the Divine Light Corporation!" Gray Stick exclaimed.

"If they only ever captured one, then it must've been me," the King grumbled, not feeling ashamed—he'd been weaker back then, so losing was normal—but: "Why 'wild'? Are there domesticated Mourning Skeletons?"

"Yes. The Divine Light Corporation has a technique to manufacture Mourning Souls—their Undying Mourning Soldiers are famous."

The King's soul trembled.

Ange's soul trembled.

When asked about the Undying Mourning Soldiers, Gray Stick admitted she didn't know much—those were Divine Light Corporation rumors, and by the time they reached her, a fifteen-level con artist in the Feilie Empire, they'd been distorted through countless hands.

"I'll have to pay a visit to the Divine Light Corporation," the King said seriously. "Manufacture Mourning Souls? Mass-produce undying souls? The King of All Undead in the Void cannot allow this to happen."