Foreign Land Reclamation By a Vegetable-growing Skeleton

Feilin flew towards Ange’s Sky Pit with a small bucket brimming with the Liquid of Breath of Death, his heart full of joy. He had produced this liquid over three nights, by magically accelerating the Resting Wind. The yield was ten times more than what he produced earlier at the camp.

Of course, it wasn’t an easy task. Just accelerating Resting Wind overnight was a tiring process, even with Lord Ange possessing plenty of Everlasting Spring Stones.

With a sufficient amount of the Liquid of Breath of Death, Feilin quickly discovered its various applications like repairing patches of skeleton, toughening zombie flesh, accelerating soul growth, and catalyzing Breathing Soil. It was essentially an enhanced version of Resting Wind with better effects and less harm.

Resting Wind could affect souls, but the Liquid of Breath of Death wouldn’t, as long as souls weren’t immersed in it. Even using it for a bath wouldn’t pose a problem.

As he entered the Sky Pit, he saw from afar that the angel skeleton, Little Zombie, and Bronze Dragon were all soaking in a large tub.

“What are you doing? Aren’t you afraid to rot?” he asked. Feilin could accept an angel skeleton taking a bath, but Little Zombie and Bronze Dragon were both necromancers – they could rot if soaked in water.

Negris, with his long neck drooping over the edge of the tub, lazily lifted an eyelid at Feilin’s question. Raising a claw, he let the Liquid of Rest trickle between his toes.

Feilin, with wide eyes, peered into the tub and exclaimed, “Are you actually bathing in it? Where did you get so much Liquid of Breath of Death?”

Without raising his head, Negris pointed with a claw towards the top of the Sky

Pit and casually asked, “What are you here for? Anything important?”

Feilin recoiled slightly with his bucket, reluctant to reveal: “Just came to see the lord and relay some information. I’ll go find him now.”

Negris flicked his little claw, too comfortable to bother with a reply.

Is it really this comforting? Feilin looked at his small bucket, contemplating whether to return and take a bath in it. But, to gather enough liquid with his production rate for a bath would not be easy.

As he approached the top of the pit, Feilin saw Lord Ange, digging like a seasoned farmer, creating a hole on the ground with the soil piled on either side forming an embankment.

“Lord, may your soul rest peacefully. May I ask what you’re doing?” Feilin greeted.

Ange tilted his head, unsure how to answer, so he simply continued digging.

Feilin, used to Ange’s habits, didn’t feel offended and approached the mound to take a look. What he saw left him astonished, causing him to lose his footing and tumble down.

The ground was dug into a large fan-shaped pit by Ange. The curve of the fan was level with the ground, gradually deepening towards the center until it was half a person deep. The dug-up soil was piled along the sides, forming an embankment about a person high.

The curved line of the fan faced the direction of the Resting Wind, creating a wind tunnel over the Everlasting Spring Stones piled in the center. This arrangement would clearly enhance the effect of the Wind.

“Why didn’t I think of that? Why couldn’t I think of that? Such a simple method that I couldn’t think of, while maintaining magic for three nights.” Feilin felt embarrassed. He decided to stay, hoping to gather enough Liquid of Breath of Death for a bath, depending on how thick-skinned he was.

As nightfall approached, a Resting Wind rose. Hidden in a wind-protected cave, Feilin watched the wind effectively blow, prompting the Everlasting Spring Stones to drip Liquid of Breath of Death, eventually forming a stream flowing into the pit before Ange.

The efficiency was astonishing. In less than twenty minutes, a bucket was filled up. Ange immediately transferred it to the Resting Camp, watching it dissipate quickly.

Ange continued this process throughout the night, filling up one bucket after the other, ensuring there was always a bucket ready to be filled.

Over ten hours, he managed to transfer almost thirty buckets, roughly a cubic meter of Liquid of Breath of Death.

There seemed to be a change in the Resting Camp, although it wasn’t clear where the change was occurring.

Ange didn’t mind and continued the task over eight nights, reportedly transferring about nine cubic meters of Liquid of Breath of Death to the Resting Camp.

Starting the third day, Ange started noticing a change – the dispersal speed of the Liquid of Breath of Death started reducing; what would normally vanish in three minutes now took three and a half minutes. On the fourth day, it took ten minutes.

On the eighth day, a bucket of Liquid of Breath of Death took almost an hour to disperse. That was nearly the same as the external dispersal speed. The Little Zombie and the others, bathing for an hour, almost thoroughly dispersed the Liquid of Breath of Death, suggesting the density of death aura had reached saturation level in the Resting Camp.

At that point, the main hall of the Resting Camp was set alight by a massive flame. A beam of light burst into the sky, moving along an arc, and collided into Angels consciousness with a thundering speed.

Ange’s body burst into black flames.

Negris, feeling the anomaly, hastily pulled back his consciousness to let the

Bronze Book in the Resting Camp fly to Angel s side. He anxiously asked, “What happened? Are you alright? What went wrong?”

Ange pointed towards the main hall of the Resting Camp.

Negris then noticed the flames in the main hall. “Oh, is that the Undead Fire? The Main Flame of Death lit up? That’s it?”

The Undead Fire that lit up the Undead Temple in the Underground City was the source of the faith for the undead. People worshipped it and their faithful belief would keep it burning endlessly.

Regardless of how many Undead Fires there were, they all originated from only one source, which was the Main Flame of Death. It was the origin of all Undead Fires and also the ultimate source of the Undead faith.

However, whether the Undead Temple’s Undead Fire is lit or the Main Flame of Death existed was deemphasized, as long as there was sufficient faith, a regular Undead Fire could also become the Main Flame.

“Just the Main Flame of Death?” Negris asked.

If that was the only change, Negris would be disappointed. He had seen Ange’s body emitting black flames with a major commotion.

“And, this beam of light from here,” Ange gestured between the Main Flame of Death and himself.

After hearing Angels description, The Bronze Book snapped shut, its voice tinged with jealousy: “That’s a divine status you have there. Now, you’re not a false god anymore, you’ve obtained divine status. Usually, after acquiring this status, you awaken some divine techniques in line with your faith.. So, what is your divine technique? A Dogshit Luck Halo?”