Chapter 962

Ang had never seen anyone charge through the void before—his posture was like Harvey’s assault on Shengbicheng, each step leaving an imprint as he sprinted across empty space.

“Huh?” The little wraith blinked confusedly, then swelled like a balloon, growing massive and burly, as if asking Ang if he wanted to fight.

The sapling also let out a “Ya.”

Ang let out an “Ow.”

The little wraith said “Oh,” then curled back onto Ang’s finger, but the entire Heavenly Fortress stirred, swiftly circling the Godhammer Plane and glowing as it sped deeper into the void.

The Godhammer Plane was nearly the same size as the Heavenly Fortress—there was no hiding it—and Feiodor spotted a glowing corner of the fortress from afar, shouting in his soul: “It spotted us! Hurry, don’t let it escape!”

All the Mourning Undead Soldiers involuntarily stirred their souls—they’d chased for miles and finally caught up, during which the target had dimmed several times, making them anxious each time, fearing it might never glow again.

Now that they’d finally caught up and the target seemed to have noticed them, how could Feiodor possibly hold back?

The Heavenly Fortress had already rounded the Godhammer Plane and accelerated away; naturally, they charged straight through the Godhammer Plane to pursue in a direct line, so the Mourning Undead Soldiers surged onto the plane’s solid ground, speeding after it.

Someone kicked a black crystal loose and cried out in surprise: “My lord, black crystals! There are black crystals here!”

“Don’t get distracted—deal with the glowing fortress first, then come back for them,” Feiodor shouted.

Then nothing followed—until they stepped onto a relatively flat stretch of ground and suddenly felt their feet drop away, CRASH! CRASH! CRASH!

Soul explosions, soul freezing, soul shrieks erupted one after another, all detonating at once—traps specifically designed for undead.

As Feiodor and the others were reeling from the blasts, the ground flipped over and countless shadowy figures burst forth, swarming toward them.

Feiodor barely had time to shout: “Spirit Warriors! Break out!”—when a hammer smashed into his face.

Chaos Warriors swung long swords, crimson blade auras flickering, slashing down; one raised his hammer and swung it back; mages summoned crimson Mage Hands to drag back anyone trying to flee.

Ang’s group had already teleported back to their airship and were watching the scene; seeing this, Negril couldn’t help complaining: “Chaos energy is way too OP—how could the Lord of Mourning be this weak? No wonder the Old Undead got…”

“No no no, these aren’t the Lord of Mourning,” Negril seized every chance to bring up His Majesty’s past scandals; Du Luo, a former official of the fallen dynasty, couldn’t take it anymore and interrupted: “Do they have Feiti’s flash? Does Locke have his Void Seal? Does Harvey have his herniated disc?”

“True—this kind of ambush, Feiti would just flash away, Locke would use his Void Seal to shatter their coordination. I didn’t see these Mourning Undead Soldiers use any skills—can’t they? But what’s Harvey’s herniated disc?” Negril asked curiously.

Du Luo shrugged: “How should I know? I’m not close to him. Didn’t you coin that nickname for him?”

Seeing them veer off-topic again, Anthony quickly pulled them back: “So these undead soldiers are just Mourning Bones without any skills—they suffer terribly against enemies with Chaos energy, because Chaos energy bypasses defense. On the main plane, only sword saints like Lu Se can even damage Mourning Bones, but here, even great swordsmen can cut through them; once surrounded, they’re dead.”

“These aren’t ordinary swordsmen—they use Spirit Warriors as soul cores. Every single one is a Spirit Warrior. Can Spirit Warriors even be used like this? If I’d known, I’d have taught my two idiots how to bind Spirit Warriors.”

Each human’s body now glowed with a shadowy form, like armor or a construct wrapped around them, greatly enhancing their combat power—whether swordsmen or mages, they all looked as if possessed by a soul.

Soul possession normally requires divine power as an intermediary, but these Spirit Warriors skipped the deity entirely—a group of Spirit Warriors bonded to each person directly amplified their combat strength.

The only drawback was that everyone had to train together and cultivate the same Spirit Warrior.

Outnumbered and caught in the trap, Feiodor and the Mourning Undead Soldiers were nearly wiped out in one wave.

Seeing this result, Negril grumbled: “Pathetic. No wonder the Divine Light Alliance got beaten back—but why don’t Mourning Skeletons have any Source Power? Other beings do. It’s so unfair.”

Who knew? Though there were many kinds of Source Power, if you didn’t have it, you just didn’t have it.

“They’re cleaning up now—should we go down? Should we call the little wraith back?” Negril asked.

Hearing his name, the little wraith popped out from Ang’s finger, blinking blankly.

“Alright alright, Holy Heaven—should we call the Holy Heaven back?” Negril corrected himself.

“No, keep flying forward, fly dark, turn a corner—we’ll prepare too. If they don’t return the Silver Coin, we’ll turn hostile,” Anthony said.

Du Luo asked: “How do we turn hostile? We’re outnumbered—we can’t beat them.”

Anthony replied: “Teleport back, burn their capital city, lure them back to defend, then burn their base too. Last time Silver Coin went to their base, he scattered massive amounts of Illusionary Grass spores—might not affect Spirit Warriors, but it’ll wreck ordinary people. Once the Spirit Warriors are drawn away, the spores will cloud the minds of the civilians—they’ll burn their own base down.”

To prevent Ogar from turning hostile later, Anthony had prepared a backup plan—even if they couldn’t recover Silver Coin’s body, they’d teach the other side a lesson.

But Negril mused: “I haven’t seen their Empress Feile or Ogar fight—could they be watching us too?”

“Huh? Lord Negril is wise! So the capital is just a feint—the real target is their base. But I hope they don’t turn hostile—Ogar’s actually quite trustworthy, a good partner.”

Ogar was indeed trustworthy—he sealed all the Mourning Undead Soldiers in specially crafted coffins, loaded them onto the airship, then returned Silver Coin without a word, and sailed off in full force toward the Feile Empire.

But Ang’s Scale Ring could “see” the departing airship steadily losing weight—clearly, some personnel had already teleported away in advance.

Silver Coin returned unharmed to the airship; their cooperation ended peacefully, though both sides remained wary.

With time to spare, Ang finally began clearing the Godhammer Plane—he scraped off the surface soil, extracted all the black crystals, and tossed them through the tunnels into the interior space.

Negril grumbled: “You think he’s digging for black crystals? No—he’s digging dirt.”

Once the black crystals were cleared, the remaining topsoil was ready for planting.

As Ang happily tilled the soil, a middle-aged man drifted over from the Infinite Void, dragging a long line of coffins, and stared at Ang in disbelief: “You… you’re farming?”

Ang had already noticed the man and alerted everyone; all gathered around, staring at this “living” human, equally stunned.

“Undead? So… alive? What’s going on? Is he with the Mourning Undead Soldiers?” Negril whispered.

Ang suddenly said: “He has Chaos energy.”

“What? Chaos Source Power? He has it?” Negril gasped—he’d just complained moments ago that Mourning Undead Soldiers lacked Source Power, and now here was a “living” undead with it?

“Who are you?” Anthony called out loudly.