Chapter 955

Ang rapidly summoned different seals, hammering them into the hammer one after another; whichever seal stirred, he smashed it back down, like whacking moles, forcibly crushing the awakening seals back into stillness.

This was actually a monstrous thing, because each seal possessed a different elemental property—strong or weak electromagnetism, dark elements, and more—no one could master so many forces simultaneously, yet Ang switched between them effortlessly, without even transforming.

Negril watched Ang’s actions and asked in shock: “What did I do? Why is it reacting so strongly?”

Ang still had the energy to reply: “Activate power, incantation.”

“Pfft… One incantation activates its power? That’s so low-tier?” Negril felt like vomiting—this hammer clearly had intelligence, albeit incomplete; it was likely damaged before, making it a sentient weapon, which qualifies as a divine artifact, soul weapon, or spirit weapon, like the Little Angel’s Hammer of the Earth.

The Hammer of the Earth was the quintessential divine artifact; though its spirit was overly temperamental, such an artifact could never be activated by a mere incantation—that was far too low-tier.

Hmm… then again, if you threatened the Hammer of the Earth by dunking it in manure, you could trigger its power too—but that wasn’t an incantation.

Only low-tier weapons required such a primitive activation method as an incantation; it was utterly incompatible with a weapon like the Ten Thousand Pull Divine Hammer.

Ang shook his head, looking troubled: “Incantation, release, original seal, power, activate, burst through, my seal.”

“You mean the incantation can remove its original seal? The one that made it grow large?” Negril spread his arms, gesturing toward the entire underground space, incredulous.

This was even more absurd—a hammer the size of a human head versus a hammer filling the entire space—there was a difference of millions of times in volume, and such a massive increase was triggered by just one incantation?

Though unbelievable, it was true: the original seal had been removed, power unleashed, and the Ten Thousand Pull Divine Hammer sought to revert to its original colossal size, but Ang kept patching new seals over it, resealing it again and again.

If the Ten Thousand Pull Divine Hammer had full consciousness, it would surely be screaming right now—what kind of person reseals the very seal you just removed?

Now it bore two layers of seals: the first was its own engraved markings, which had shrunk it from a giant hammer to a large hammer; this layer had been removed by Negril, only to be resealed by Ang.

The second layer was Ang’s own seal, shrinking it further from a large hammer to a small hammer.

With both seals firmly in place, the Ten Thousand Pull Divine Hammer could no longer struggle; it lay there, weakly gasping: “Talk… too… much… dead… dead…” No one knew whose words had created such a powerful obsession in it.

Anthony and Du Luo had finished searching the entire plane and returned to report: “No other discoveries, but the main structure here seems extremely sturdy, and the death aura is dense—soil and stone show signs of being saturated.”

“I also noticed some black crystals show deformation from heavy pressure—could it be these weren’t originally black crystals, but transformed over time from being saturated here? If they’d been black crystals from the start, they’d only shatter, not deform,” Du Luo said.

Black crystals were extremely hard and rarely deformed—only shattered—but many showed deformation, suggesting they were compressed first, then transformed into black crystals.

Negril nodded: “Possible. Otherwise, smashing black crystals is too terrifying.”

Compared to smashing black crystal bodies, Negril preferred this theory—otherwise, it was too terrifying: who threw this hammer? What kind of being were they? Could the Old Immortal, restored to full power, defeat them?

Carrying these doubts, Negril inventoried their haul.

A plane almost entirely composed of aggregated black crystals, likely compressed during formation by devouring forces, making it exceptionally dense and sturdy; its outer surface had loosened over time and could be peeled away, but its interior remained solid—even the large hammer’s strikes only cracked it with a spiderweb pattern.

According to Du Luo’s suggestion, it should be converted into a Void Fortress; even without the Heavenly Fortress’s barrier, its defensive power would far exceed that of the Heavenly Fortress.

“Modifying it is easy—remember the energy tower at Qiaotoubao? I’ve reverse-engineered it; we just need to build two here, and we can move this plane,” Du Luo said.

Due to its size, moving this black crystal plane was easier than moving Qiaotoubao, so one energy tower could do it—but we built two because the plane’s sturdiness could withstand greater acceleration without disintegrating.

Then there was the new seal—or rather, a new script—a single incantation activated the Ten Thousand Pull Divine Hammer’s power; we’ll study it further to see if it has other effects.

Finally, there was the hammer itself—too bad it’s sealed. Who knows what use it might have? The Hammer of the Earth could loosen soil—could this one do the same?

While daydreaming, Du Luo tossed down a teleportation platform stone; Ang dug up a pile of black crystals, then hand-crafted a teleportation array and teleported back directly.

Coming here required slow flight; returning didn’t—this teleportation array was for next time; next time, we just teleport straight here.

Not long after returning to Qiaotoubao, Anthony received word: “The Mourning Undead Legion has mobilized—they’re flying there, and our spies can’t keep up.”

…

In the void, thirty-odd Mourning Undead soldiers were “jumping”—they first kicked hard against the void, then shot forward; with no resistance, their speed surged, and after adjusting their posture, they kicked again, accelerating further.

With no resistance, each kick stacked their speed, until their flesh swelled and they stopped accelerating.

Leading them was a middle-aged human male with a square face; he should’ve looked like a wrinkled zombie, but as his speed increased, his flesh swelled, stretching his skin taut—he now resembled a middle-aged man with dry, unmoisturized skin.

He stared at the lone glowing point in the distant darkness, frowning, his soul uneasy.

His companions sensed his soul’s fluctuations and sent a soul message: “Lord Feodor, your soul is trembling—is something wrong?”

Feodor shook his head: “No, I’m thinking about something else.”

“Something else? What?” his companion asked.

Feodor hesitated, fell silent for a moment, then slowly said: “I’m wondering if this glowing fortress might be connected to the Grand Councilor. We all know the Grand Councilor’s last known location was the Vast Void. Now, a glowing fortress appears in the empty Vast Void—could it be his?”

“Huh?” His companions were stunned—none expected Feodor to be thinking this: “That possibility can’t be ruled out… but what do we do? The Council’s order is to breach it and capture the glowing fortress—if it really belongs to the Grand Councilor, and we attack, what if he gets angry?”

“What do we do? Hmph…” Feodor was about to speak when the lone glowing point in the darkness suddenly went dark.