Chapter 91

The elves had been frantic searching for Ang, especially after killing two World Tree saplings; Galad and Kalandel were so consumed by guilt they wanted to hang themselves, and they’d exhausted the transmission array’s energy with endless communication requests.

Anna pretended the transmission array had no power and prepared to shut it down, but Galad immediately sent over a huge sack—over two thousand magic crystals—with only one request: that Anna keep the communication array running.

True tycoon—two thousand magic crystals could buy two bottles of diluted Holy Essence.

So the communication array remained active; as soon as Negril opened it, an urgent voice came through: “Is Lord Negril back? Is Lord Negril back? I’ll call the Queen right away, please wait.”

A few minutes later, Galad’s slightly hoarse voice sounded: “Lord Negril, you’ve finally returned—please, you must help me.”

“Huh, little elf, why’s your voice hoarse? Are you alright?” Negril asked in surprise. What happened? Even the Elf Queen was frantic—had the World Tree saplings died again?

No way—that thing was nearly impossible to kill once it sprouted. Look at the little sapling on Ang’s head—he never watered it, never fertilized it, just kept planting vegetables on top of it, and it thrived just fine.

Since learning his title of Dragon Hunter, Negril had always called her “little elf,” and Galad didn’t mind, because she knew the creature on the other end was far older than she was.

And his lineage was undoubtedly ancient—every time he casually mentioned an elf’s name, it was so distant it had long since become a black-and-white portrait hanging on the Tree Wall.

“We’re desperate—we’ve been searching for you for half a month. At first we hoped you’d guide us to save the World Tree; now we just want you to sell us another sapling.”

Negril gasped: “You actually killed it? No way—you managed to kill something this hard to kill?”

As he spoke, Negril recalled the World Tree walls on the surface, enduring the chilling winds of the Wind of Rest night after night, yet still growing vigorously—so much so that those tending them had to prune them regularly, or they’d grow into giant tree balls.

But those World Tree walls needed watering and fertilizing; the only one that didn’t was the one perched on Ang’s head.

Negril’s words filled Galad with shame—and deep shock. Negril hadn’t denied he still had World Tree saplings; he’d said “something this hard to kill.” Why would he think it was hard to kill? Had he grown them before? Had he grown them large?

Galad longed to crawl through the transmission array and drag Negril and the saplings over herself.

As expected, after his sigh, Negril casually added: “Same price as last time, but no more elf beans—swap them for Moon Spring Rice seeds. How many do you want?”

“W-what? How many?” Galad didn’t process it.

“World Tree saplings. How many?” Negril said dismissively, his tone like a wholesale shop owner dealing with a retail customer.

“Y-you… how many do you have?” Galad felt the world spinning too fast—could World Tree saplings even be sold wholesale?

He didn’t know—he’d just returned. He’d need to ask.

After asking around, Negril awkwardly rubbed his tiny claws and returned to the transmission array: “Uh… well… um… the saplings are all gone.”

“What!” Galad roared, the sound exploding like thunder, shaking nearby trees, sending birds scattering, and making wild deer over ten kilometers away perk up their ears in alarm.

The elf attendants beside her winced, some covering their ears, others leaping aside like startled rabbits, staring at Galad in fear.

Usually, this Elf Queen was tall and slender, with a flat waist and defined lines, looking nothing like a powerful warrior—but this roar revealed the true might of the Dragon Hunter.

Negril’s ears buzzed; he quickly hunched his neck: “Little tree, little tree—I’ll swap them for little trees, finger-thick little trees, free of charge.”

Galad’s fury choked in her throat; her eyes widened in disbelief: “You mean… the saplings are gone? You’re swapping them for grown little trees?”

Was this real? No more calves—now you get full-grown cows?

“Yes yes yes, exactly! Oh dear, I’ve been gone a month—those guys let all the saplings grow up! So embarrassing!”

Galad felt like vomiting. She’d just killed two saplings—and now he told her that, by accident, all the saplings had grown up?

“How many… World Trees… do you have?” Galad asked, each word deliberate.

Negril clapped his hands over his mouth—trouble. He’d slipped. He’d never dared reveal how many World Trees he had; if the elves knew the truth, they’d explode. But he’d slipped anyway: “Uh… um… uh… um…”

After stammering, Galad grew impatient and demanded: “Do you have ten?”

Good heavens—the most powerful Elf Queen in history dared only guess ten. If she knew the truth—wouldn’t she crawl through the transmission array? Ang had sprouted two thousand five hundred saplings—all alive.

Oh my god, the most powerful elf queen in history dared guess only ten trees—if she knew the truth, wouldn’t she crawl through the teleportation array? Ang triggered twenty-five hundred seedlings, all of which took root.

“What about five? Do you have five?”

“Uh… maybe… probably… I’ll go ask.”

There are exactly five of them, all small trees about the thickness of a finger with branching stems.

“I’ll take them all—fifty thousand magic crystals each, plus one Druid Heart, one bottle of Life Essence, one nest of wild elves, and one sack of Moon Spring Rice seeds.”

“All of them? No no no—maximum three. And I don’t want wild elves.”

Negril tensed—these elves had hidden agendas! Trying to smuggle in wild elves? That damn thing had telepathy—soon every secret here would leak to the elves.

Hearing Negril refuse, Galad realized his misunderstanding: “Lord Negril clearly knows about wild elves—but I meant a nest of wild elves….” Wild elves had no bloodline connection to domestic ones, so no telepathy.

“I don’t want wild ones either—swap for Life Essence. And only three trees.”

Galad spoke slowly: “Swapping for Life Essence is acceptable—but Lord Negril, you know our people would never let any World Tree fall into another’s hands. Please consider selling us all five. Otherwise, it may damage our friendship.”

What would “damage friendship” mean? It meant becoming enemies. These elves would scour the world for his trail. Being hunted by stubborn elves was no small matter.

He’d been pretending all along—to make “only five” sound believable. Negril feigned hesitation, stammered a while, then reluctantly agreed.

Two million five hundred thousand magic crystals wasn’t small change—without a magic crystal mine, no one could gather it quickly. Luckily, elves were all tycoons with mines.

Half an hour later, two million five hundred thousand magic crystals, five bottles of Life Essence, one Druid Heart, and one sack of Moon Spring Rice seeds arrived in nine batches.

Negril hadn’t planned to take the Druid Heart—he already had a more insane planting god at home.

But remembering that Druids could also shapeshift, he reluctantly accepted it.

Negril also dug up five small World Trees—finger-thick, about a person’s height, bundled them, and sent them over.

Payment and goods exchanged. Just as he was about to shut down the transmission array, a phrase in Dragon Language suddenly echoed through the line: “￥%#@, long time no see, how’ve you been? Come chat.”

The phrase no one else understood was Negril’s name in Dragon Language.

The phrase others couldn’t understand was Nagrith’s name in Dragon Tongue.