Chapter 966

Everyone was initially startled by this undead skeleton named Brit, because the skill he used was a spatial movement similar to Feti’s—a truly practical and annoying ability, useful in both combat and escape, even more so than Locke’s Void Seal.

Moreover, he was a skeleton, not one of those undead soldiers wrapped in flesh and skin.

Then, in the next instant, they were stunned again by his mention of “Light Plague,” and even Ang pulled his arm back and came over to look outside.

“Light Plague? What’s that?” Negril asked, puzzled.

Not only was he puzzled, but the Grand Councilor was too: “What’s Light Plague?”

“It’s just Light Plague,” Brit pointed to the sun above and said, “For some reason, sunlight has become extremely toxic, as if it now contains a force that causes life to wither. It kills plants, turning their surfaces black and charred, like they’ve been burned by fire.”

“Animals too—anyone exposed to prolonged sunlight develops cracked, blistered, and necrotic skin; too much exposure kills them. At first, no one knew why, and many people were injured after spending a day in the sun; cattle and sheep died in massive numbers. No one understood the cause, so everyone called it the Light Plague.”

The Grand Councilor stared unbelievingly at the sun in the sky, then checked his own skin—it showed no change.

As they neared the plane, sunlight had been steadily intensifying, so he’d been exposed to it all the way—yet felt nothing. Did it not affect undead beings?

“Does it affect you?” the Grand Councilor asked.

“No, it doesn’t affect undead beings—only plants and animals. Sunscreen prevents harm unless you’re exposed too long. But plants can’t survive it; if this continues, all vegetation will wither. We’re rushing to harvest crops now. I can’t talk more—I’m fast, I’m in charge of moving things. I’m off.”

Brit leaned back, and the light around him twisted and contracted, then exploded in a flash—he vanished.

“I need to help too. You guys have fun,” the Grand Councilor said, hearing how dire and serious the situation was—he no longer cared about Ang and the others. He turned and waved his hands behind him.

The dozen or so coffins trailing behind him snapped upright in a line, like a row of swords pointing at the heavens, their demonic runes slowly glowing.

The Grand Councilor stomped his feet in midair: Thump-thump-tap—thump-thump-tap.

A rapid series of claps echoed as the coffins burst open, each undead soldier stepping out, marching in unison under the Grand Councilor’s lead toward the distance.

Negril gasped at the sight of the undead soldiers: “Chaos energy? They’re infused with Chaos energy? Why didn’t those taken by Olga have it? Did the Grand Councilor hoard it?”

Anthony also said: “These undead soldiers seem soulless—they move only because of the Grand Councilor’s Royal Presence. Are they not reborn through soul containers, but instead meant to guard his weapons from desecration?”

Thus, the Grand Councilor left, abandoning the airship and Ang’s group behind.

Anthony had no idea what to do next—he turned to Ang, only to see Ang reaching out the window, grabbing the light.

He reached out, clenched his hand—and a clump of light was caught in his palm. He pulled it back, placed it on his other hand, then reached out again to grab more, repeating the motion until the pile of light on his other palm grew larger and larger.

Everyone gaped in disbelief at this impossible sight. Though Ang made it look casual, everyone knew this was an astonishing miracle—even Negril felt he was witnessing a divine act.

No, not just felt—it was, truly, a miracle.

After gathering several handfuls of sunlight, Ang rubbed them between his palms, producing multicolored hues, then pinched out a strand of purplish-red light and said: “This one, too much.”

Negril translated: “You mean this purplish-red light in the sunlight has increased? Is this what caused the Light Plague?”

Ang nodded.

“Why has this light suddenly increased? Has the sun changed? By the way, what about the World Tree in the Flame Empire’s main plane?” Negril asked.

If the sun had changed, the Scorchwind Forest would be affected too.

Ang closed his eyes, sensed quietly for a moment, then said: “Yes, a little.”

“Just a little? Less severe than here? That doesn’t make sense—the main plane is closer to the sun; if there’s an effect, it should be worse there.” Negril said.

Ang closed his eyes again, sensed for a while, then said: “Air, weakens it.”

“Do you mean the main plane’s air is thicker? Or does it contain some other component that reduces the harm from this purplish-red light?” Negril asked.

“Other component,” Ang said.

Anthony and Silver Coin both stirred, asking simultaneously: “What component? Can it be separated or manufactured?”

“What are you thinking?” Negril asked curiously.

Silver Coin said: “If we can manufacture it, demand will be huge. A monopoly business—very profitable.”

Anthony said: “Given the situation here, other planes won’t escape either. Crop yields will plummet massively—many will die. If we can produce this component, we could save countless lives.”

Negril’s heart lurched—he realized: if even the Flame Empire was affected, this was a large-scale event spanning both the Flame Empire and the Divine Light Alliance. The impact wasn’t limited to here.

A single plane’s crop failure could be offset by importing grain from others—but if every plane suffered reduced harvests, even total crop collapse, the crisis would be catastrophic. The end of worlds was coming. All factions would wage war without restraint for food.

Realizing the gravity, Negril involuntarily turned to Ang.

Ang nodded, then made a gesture: lifting something before him and tossing it upward.

Negril instantly understood: “Elemental Transmutation—you can use your Elemental Transmutation ability to convert other substances into this air component?”

Ang nodded.

Negril slapped his waist, excited and proud: “No wonder you’re the Seven-in-One Void Origin—you’re truly unstoppable.”

Indeed, Ang’s status was already on the level of a Creator. If his true form could cross over, why would he ever need to be so low-key?

“So how do we sell it? What will the Grand Councilor pay with?” Negril turned to Silver Coin and Anthony.