Foreign Land Reclamation By a Vegetable-growing Skeleton

Holy Wall City was not far, especially with the aid of horses, they could see the city, seemingly embedded into a mountain side, after a day and a night’s journey.

From afar, they could see a beam of light launched from within Holy Wall City into mid-air, gradually weakening a few hundred meters above the ground and finally disappearing.

“What is that?” Negris asked. Now being projected onto Ange, Negris undertook the task of communicating, while Ange only needed to maintain an expressionless countenance.

This well matched with his disguise, no one was suspicious about where the voice was coming from, since ascetic monks are known for their reticence – the less they speak, the more devout their asceticism.

“Oh, that’s the Guidance Stairway. Once connected to Heaven, the stairway there would, in turn, link to ours, allowing a large number of people to be transported at once,” explained Brand.

Understood, so it was the receiving side of a teleportation array.

“What a pity,” sighed Negris.

“Sir, what is a pity?” Brand asked, baffled.

“Nothing,” Negris replied casually. He however thought to himself: what a pity that Heaven will never be linked here again, and this Stairway is now merely an ornament.

Upon arriving at the gates of Holy Wall City, Ange took out the Beast-Seeking Stick, according to Serene, this stick could lead them to the location of the Dimension Beast.

Unfortunately, this guidance was planar and unidirectional, not very intuitive, only indicating a rough direction. They had to reach the approximate location to ascertain the exact spot.

If they took a wrong turn, the direction of guidance would change, if they went beyond the location, it would point backward.

Standing where they were about to arrive at Holy Wall City, the Beast-Seeking Stick made a ninety-degree turn, pointing to the left.

Following the indicated direction, Ange and his companions arrived at a massive settlement after a rapid trot of tens of miles.

Only the term settlement could describe it, it did not resemble a town or city. All sorts of buildings, tents, and wooden sheds scattered around, with no obvious plan or design.

This was the back of Holy Wall City, where humans halted the attack of the undead. Here, they concentrated various supplies, produced all kinds of equipment, repaired armours and weapons, trained soldiers, and treated the wounded, among others.

This was the arrangement planned by humanity over a thousand years ago, but a millennium had passed, and with the numerous reinforcements arriving and departing, the place has undergone significant changes.

Just like a room that had never been cleaned, over a thousand years, an innumerable number of occupants have come and gone, some brought furniture, some bedding, some left books, all piled together and never disposed of, resulting in the present mess.

With the growing population in the Land of Fallen, it has now become a slum. The impoverished, their clothing scarce, their eyes vacant, would lie or sit by the roadside. Only when Ange approached did a slight spark return to their faces and they would hastily kneel and mumble something.

The murmurs were low, barely discernible. Ange halted, using his consciousness to focus, making out what they were saying: “Please be kind sir, bestow upon us food and health, wealth and glory, and may all our wishes come true…”

However, this kind of mumbling seemed more like a routine, devoid of any belief. From them, Ange could not feel the existence of any faith.

As soon as Ange passed by, they would again lay flat, mumbling: “May the holy bread be delivered soon, may the holy bread be delivered soon…”

The holy bread was the relief food provided by the church every day, made by baking a mix of coarse flour and chaff. It was rough, unpleasant to taste, scratchy in the throat, but it would stave off hunger. These poor souls spent their days lying idle, waiting for relief, being idle again, waiting for relief, and so on, till they die…

Along the way, many similar impoverished souls could be seen, making Ange feel that they were more devoid of vitality than the skeleton zombies in Witch City.

Only the young children seemed to retain some spirit. Despite the harsh environment, there were still innocent children playing around. Spotting Ange approaching, they would scatter in a flurry, hiding behind pillars and walls, and timidly watch from there.

A two or three-year-old toddler with a rather thick neck, running too fast, tripped over and fell with a thud. This scared him into bursting into tears.

A little girl of about seven or eight ran out of a nearby shanty as fast as she could. Rushing in front of Ange, she forcefully nodded her head in greeting, and only then, dragging the child who was crying, retreated to the side of the road, casting a glance at Ange.

Upon seeing Ange’s expressionless face, the little girl’s heart beat frantically, and she rapidly nodded again, pressing the child’s head, hoping he would also show respect by nodding.

However, the two or three-year-old child was too frightened to do anything but cry, which agitated the little girl to the point of tears. “Nod quickly, the grown-up will become angry if we don’t,” she pleaded.

Ange titled his head in confusion, and said to Negris, “I’m not angry.”

Helplessly, Negris replied, “Maybe it’s because your face is too severe, you have no expression. If you want to show you’re not angry, you should smile.”

“Oh,” Ange continued in the same expressionless manner, but tossing a beetroot towards the little girl, he said, “I’m not angry.”

The little girl looked at the juicy beetroot before her, and then up at Ange’s expressionless face, in disbelief she said, “Sir, what did you say?”

She had heard him, but she did not believe that the expressionless Ange had spoken those words, she thought she had misheard.

“I’m not angry, eat,” Ange repeated.

Now she listened properly, her eyes fixed on Ange as she carefully picked up the beetroot and moved it towards her mouth. Throughout this process, she remained in disbelief but seeing Ange still expressionless, she took a bite of the beetroot with gusto.

Ange was still expressionless, but now she understood, this man must have facial paralysis, he’s truly not angry.

Perhaps it was because of her narrow escape, or the sweetness of the beetroot, or perhaps it had been a long time since someone had treated her kindly, the little girl was tearfully touched.

She chewed the beetroot vigorously, wiping her tears with her little hand before nodding towards Ange again.

A Soul Flame rose from within her and shot directly towards Ange.

Back in the village of Brand, Ange had harvested not a few Soul Flames, as he had performed several miracles. But those Soul Flames had all been initially directed towards the Gods of Light and he had just managed to intercept them.

Everyone thought he was an ascetic monk from the Church of Light, and everything he exhibited was the power of God.

But this time was different, the Soul Flame was directed towards Ange. This little girl wasn’t dedicating her belief to the Gods of Light, but to Ange.

Ange nodded at her and continued onwards.

Negris cursed within his soul, “It’s truly appalling. Conditions here are even worse than those in the desert oasis. At least Hope Oasis had human control, but here it seems like nobody is in charge. Many of the children have swollen necks, seriously malnourished; has the church really abandoned these people?”

“Swollen necks, is that a disease?” Ange asked in confusion. He had noticed that some children had rather thick necks and thought it was a characteristic of their race.

“It’s a condition called goitre caused by malnutrition,” Negris explained.

Just then, Ange felt something and looked back. They had already walked several hundred meters away, but looking back, Ange could see a handcart had arrived close to where the little girl stood.

Two attendants dressed in white robes were arguing with the little girl, one of them snatched the beetroot from the girl’s hand, picked two pieces of bread from the bucket in the handcart and tossed it into the girl’s lap.

“Do you really think someone like you deserves to eat beetroot? Go nibble on your holy bread. What’s this about an important person? Where is this important person? You must have stolen this,” one of the attendants berated her, even lifting his foot, ready to kick her. The frightened girl quickly evaded his boot.

A moment later, the girl’s face lit up, and joyfully she shouted, “Sir!”

Following her gaze, they could only see a sneering unicorn carrying the expressionless ascetic monk, followed by three elite paladins.

With such paladins as his attendants, this man might truly be an ‘important person’.