Chapter 318

As the core relic of the vast battle ten thousand years ago, this ancient battlefield is permeated with intense resentment, countless spirits wandering here. And the reason it lies in the north part of the warship stems from its former name—the Dark Flame Empire's underground fortress, the Mage Tower.

For mages, even if they discard their reborn racial identity, being born in the Dark Flame Empire already amounts to an extraordinary start akin to an SSR. After all, it is a glorious empire led by the Magic Emperor, where its mages enjoy unparalleled social esteem and status.

In short, although warriors and crossbowmen can also become elite if their rank is high enough, compared to mages who, upon employment, are invariably called 'sir' by commoners and thus become petty nobles, this is still rather cumbersome.

Furthermore, according to imperial law, a mage's rank is closely tied to noble titles; not all great nobles are high-ranking mages, but every high-ranking mage is certain to be ennobled as a great noble, thereby enjoying a life of having clothes brought to hand and food brought to mouth—each day they need only do magical research and, as an emotional outlet, bully men and women, oppressing the populace.

Even more so, to pursue stronger magical talent, the Dark Flame nobles have a tradition of holding a hundred‑day heaven‑offering ceremony for newborns, begging the Magic Goddess for a great blessing they have never received but might possibly obtain, so that their descendants with decent magical aptitude can go further on this arduous path.

Of course, if limited to this, it would merely be the nobles' prayer ritual to maintain their status; obsession aside, it certainly does not deserve the prefix 'even', so……

Those who lack, or merely have poor aptitude, are placed on the altar's tray, where a sufficiently venerable mage cuts out their heart alive and squeezes the scalding blood into the mouth of the blessed one.

——This substance is called the Goddess's Qiongjiang by the Dark Flame people; they believe drinking it earns the Goddess's favor and boosts magical talent.

Under such extreme mage worship, the status of the Mage Tower within the Dark Flame Empire's underground fortress is self‑evident; its strategic value far exceeds that of the Training Ground, Armory, and Garrison Barracks, and it is the main target of the Bright Empire's armies, where the true bosses reside.

Nevertheless, even if the armies of the two empires were immensely strong in life, the fact that after ten thousand years the spirits have still not left this area shows the situation: probably only some resentful souls obsessed with their grudges remain wandering here.

Thus the Shadow Prisoners advanced smoothly; weak spirits were slain on the spot, strong ones, after being overwhelmed and defeated, were converted into our forces—clearly a series of fierce battles with no loss to the living, and overall combat power at least doubled.

As for the occasional stronger demonic spirits that appear, the four elite officers—Dragon God, Lich, Feather Person, and Spider Queen—step in to block them, two on the left, two on the right; these wretched, hideous beings, looking like desiccated corpses, have no idea what heinous crime they committed before being torn to pieces.

Wait a moment.

The necromancers were about to fight over control of these high‑rank spirits, and the result? You four, scrambling for bravery, just flung them all away for me?

Seeing those necromancers staring up at the sky, mouths agape, dazed amidst the scattered spirit fragments, with a layer of dust on their faces they couldn't be bothered to wipe, Ji Ming, feeling a twinge of pity, had to speak again.

"Lost lambs, I know you wish to offer me your loyalty, but on the battlefield the desire to achieve merit is not yours alone—look at those mortals walking the earth!"

After giving those clearly incompatible underlings a rap, Ji Ming observed the battlefield situation and discovered some further problems.

The vengeful ghost spirits serving as cannon fodder hold the middle line, the necromancer cores provide support and control, and the zealot fanatics as output conduct mobile breakthroughs.

It must be said that Wendigo's arrangement of his subordinates is indeed quite ingenious, actually forming an alternative warrior‑pastor‑law iron triangle, creating a virtuous cycle of combat power.

Yet the excellence of the small design cannot conceal the crudeness of the grand design; indeed, Lao Yang Tou, lacking large‑scale war experience, may never have considered this aspect, merely thinking of letting these subordinate groups break through or overwhelm with force.

When launching mass combat, the excellent underlying structure failed to exert its due effect—either our vengeful ghosts were too few, overpressuring the zealots, or too many necromancers in one spot caused regional waste of combat power, directly slashing the efficiency that could otherwise have been further improved.

So Ji Ming, after observing a while longer, halted the advance temporarily, regrouped the mages and zealots into more than twenty squads forming three battalions from over two hundred people, and required them thereafter to fight within a relatively fixed range.

Although the first use of formations was imperfect—both Ji Ming and the combat‑responsible prisoners lacked skill and mobility, making force allocation overly rigid—the improvement in combat efficiency is obvious; at least there will no longer be clumps of members leaving others unable to find help when needed.

Although many zealots, out of loyalty, still choose to ignore and speak stubbornly, comfort is comfort; the necromancers, who are essentially hired hands, could not help but start voicing their opinions.

"I said, why did earlier battles always feel off? It's because I have too few follower warriors beside me—those high‑rank spirits I have to intercept solely with magic; how could I not be tired?"

"I, on the other hand, have somewhat too many follower warriors around me; my healing spells can't keep up, so I can only forcibly reclaim some of the possessing spirits, repeatedly having them calm down and withdraw a bit."

"Well, uh, we should lie low… I think the Shadow God losing to the Lord of the Living is not unjust; look at their strategic vision—even a messenger can spot the problem at a glance—how mighty must that deity themselves be?"

Although these words are defiant, the facts lie here; other mages, no matter how subjective, can only respond in kind.

"Mm, indeed."

"Mm, indeed."

"……Huh?"

Looking at this inexplicably intruding black‑robed follower, the mages' expressions turned awkward; they had been gripping their staffs ready to kill and silence, but then suddenly remembered they were on someone else's turf.

Tsk, that Shadow God is merely a defeated subordinate; a good bird chooses its tree—I'm just switching masters for a better future, what's wrong with that?

They then straightened their backs in unison.

"Knowing that is fine—do you understand?!"

Who would have thought the follower would earnestly nod and put his words in their proper place.

"I know."

"???"

The strange follower lifted his hood, revealing a rabbit‑person's face, and spread his hands.

"Who would suffer that remodeling just for a full meal? I've finally broken free of control—why would I still pledge allegiance to whatever, and show off my madness to whom?"

The reason the so‑called zealots are "crazy" ultimately lies in the influence of their surroundings; now they have become solitary imprisoned captives, and after the Pioneers surrounded them and chanted sutras for a day, having thought it through clearly, they ought to have faced reality long ago.

Thus their thoughts began to stir; zealots seeking an escape route, though not yet forming a large voice, are certainly not few in number! In this strange atmosphere, they look left and right, eager to know others' ideas, and the number of captives doing so keeps growing.

Ji Ming naturally noticed their emotional shift and couldn't help but lament that Lao Yang Tou is practically his benefactor—he not only sent ready‑made troop templates but also a large batch of combat‑ready seedlings, allowing Ji Ming to cross the river by holding his coat without doing anything himself.

Moreover, the Feather Person, Spider Queen, Lich, Werewolf… seem, thanks to Lao Yang Tou's covert assistance as an otherworldly transport captain, that I too could soon start anew and forge a strange council.

If we truly follow this line of thought, counting myself makes five; if we could also bring in Little Lion, we'd be only one short—this……

"Huh?"

Just as Ji Ming was pondering where to find that mysterious seventh person, he suddenly felt the ominous luck begin to hum, as if something had locked onto him.

The next second, the entire underground space began to shake violently; had the Dark Flame Empire not magically reinforced the surrounding rock strata when building the fortress, this place would surely have been shaken to collapse.

The ground also suddenly split open a hideous giant fissure, rising like the spine of the earth amid painful twisting and compression, finally solidifying in the smoke and dust mixed with human bone ash into a massive, heavy, gloomy presence.

Its twisted, bizarre form sprouts all manner of quasi‑biological limbs, and the countless red‑light eyes covering its body brim with malice; this creature resembles a sprouting moldy potato, yet no one can laugh at it.

On the contrary, the worldly‑wise Spider Queen lifted her remaining eye upward and emitted a frightened squeak.

"This is a Ground Resentment Demon; I thought it didn't even exist!"

In fact, the war ten thousand years ago did not end because the fortress exit collapsed and sealed; on the contrary, since both the living and the dead were trapped inside, the survivors of both sides conducted in the ruins a battle that could be called a mortal‑cooking free‑for‑all.

What's more terrifying is that death is not the end; given that the miserably dead harbor all kinds of obsessions, it is inevitable that not all spirits can coexist peacefully—some especially ferocious ones take pleasure in slaughter and conquest.

Over the long ages, the so‑called ancient battlefield is actually a rife with ambush and betrayal, deceit and slaughter—a paradise where the living scheme against the living, the dead scheme against the dead, and the long dark age seems endless.

And after the dust settled, all negative emotions were transformed into dense resentment, deeply rooted in this filthy, polluted land, becoming a powerful anomaly said to exist only in legend—the Ground Resentment Demon.

Composed of countless obsessions, it cannot think or communicate; being strongly bound to the land, it cannot leave the ancient battlefield, only falling into a prolonged slumber—this is also the fundamental reason why, although the northern part of the underground city occasionally stirs, it never sees a large host of spirits marching south.

But now, having been disturbed, it has awakened; the previously faint, scattered anomalous qi across the land have all coalesced into a terrifying monster blocking everyone's path.

This Ground Resentment Demon, which after myriad ages still boasts a level of sixty‑plus, upon first appearing in the world lifts its head and lets out a wail—clearly underground, yet it causes scarlet blood rain to fall in the air.

Unlike Wendigo's silent malice, the aura of the Ground Resentment Demon is chaotic and frenzied, as if countless people clad in mourning kneel on the ground, rending their hearts and weeping until one feels a chill inside.

Therefore all living beings that got drenched were horrified to discover their flesh and blood beginning to dissolve, and the strangeness furthermore felt that in their consciousness an evil aura far more overbearing than themselves appeared, brutally as if trying to assimilate them as well.

How ruthless?

Although Ji Ming had lightning protection and was surely unafraid, his precious seedlings had suffered heavily; several of the lower-level ones were almost melted alive, so he had no choice but to hurriedly transmit all the mages and fanatics back to the sidelines, temporarily avoiding this deadly rain.

Upon seeing the Feather Person who tried to take the initiative being whipped by a tentacle into a baseball, hitting the ceiling with no power to resist and falling down as a corpse, he then simply bundled this group of minor bosses and threw them out of the battlefield; now this place is no longer a contest they can participate in.

But in the sonata-like sound that was like crying and wind, the ground resentment demon, having lost all its targets, could only turn its attention to this small cage crackling with electricity at its feet; the gaze from countless eyes felt like a thousand fingers pointing, and even Ji Ming felt his back tighten.

And at that very moment, members of the core Production Team who sensed a dangerous aura coming from the north all sent messages, saying they were already on their way here and would soon arrive at the battlefield.

But unlike before, the reply this time was not 【I already know, be careful on the road】, but an extremely simple 【No need】.

Ji Ming, who had been able to drag the cage forward safely only by relying on teleportation, at this moment used another teleportation to walk out of the Faraday cage, surrounded by heavy lightning, and hovered before the ground resentment demon.

"Great Luo Golden Immortal, a supreme deity descending to the world, I actually also want to know just how divine my so-called 【Spiritual Might】 really is."

If it were a normal person, they definitely would not dare to strike at Ji Ming now; after all, humans might not fear a sea urchin covered in spikes, nor would they be foolish enough to grab it without any skill, but standing here is a ground resentment demon with only a lingering grudge, so in the next moment.

Wuu~

The heavy wail sounded like a train's whistle, and its whole body, nearly all its limbs, surged forward in a rush toward the living being floating in midair, as if trying to drown it alive in death.

But just as the two were about to make contact, Ji Ming moved his arms, took a deep breath, and clenched his fists tightly.