Foreign Land Reclamation By a Vegetable-growing Skeleton

Chapter 201: Chapter 145: The Land of Slumber is Gone?_2

Translator: 549690339

Ange had come back for the witches of Dark City that couldn’t leave. Therefore, he wasn’t in a hurry to return. He spent a few minutes using magic to construct a sunken sandstone chamber before immediately setting up shop.

All witches who were infected with the undead virus were to take turns coming to the chamber to receive treatment.

The hygiene of the witches left much to be desired. After death, when they could no longer smell foul odors or feel itchiness, pain, or stickiness, their desire to keep themselves clean would rapidly diminish. This was especially the case when they were not properly maintained. Once they showed any signs of decay, they would just give up, patching things up here and there just so they were out of sight.

Most of the witches’ bodies were covered with bandages. Their adornments, once removed, would reveal bodies in appalling condition.

When their hygiene was poor, the undead virus would spread like fish in water. Almost every witch was infected with the virus — some severely, with flesh rotting away and bones corroded. Some showed milder symptoms, but were also completely bald.

You could feel the pessimism, despair, and dejection from every witch, obviously tormented by the virus to the point that they no longer wanted to live.

Negris watched in horror: “This virus is indeed so wicked. Once infected, if it can’t be eradicated, you could only just watch as your own body rots away. At the end, you might be left with only a head just like a golden tooth, utterly terrifying.”

As Negris spoke these words, he was actually facing a witch whose face was half rotten. The witch managed a feeble smile, replying, “Yes, yes, it’s indeed very terrifying. If it wasn’t for the fact that I can’t die even if all is rotted away, leaving just a head behind, it would be even more terrible.”

“Hehe, don’t worry, you’d already be dead if only your head remained, since your soul isn’t in your head,” Negris replied with a smile.

The witch gave it some thought and found it to be true: “That’s right, I’m a witch and don’t need to worry about that. Haha, thank you for reminding me.”

“You have a good attitude. What’s your name?” Negris asked. By the time the two of them started talking, Ange had already started the treatment.

Lisa could also provide treatment, but faced with thousands of infected undead witches in Dark City, she wisely chose not to intervene.

People do not grieve for poverty, but for inequality. If nobody could be cured, then so be it. But the moment treatment becomes available, but is not available to everyone promptly, problems would arise.

If disputes arise due to the treatment, Feilin would not be confident of keeping Lisa safe. Hence, she simply handed the task over to Lord Ange, as only Ange could continuously treat everyone without rest within a short period of time.

The witch’s attention was hooked by Negris’s words, and he didn’t immediately notice Ange’s treatment for him. He replied, “My lord, I am called Konab, a handsome bard.”

“Err, I get the bard part, but why are you a handsome bard?” Negris asked, puzzled.

“Ah? Is there a problem? This is my most prominent trait, like your wise and enlightened traits that people can instantly recognize,” Konab sincerely replied, with an expression that left people unable to tell whether he was flattering or simply stating a fact.

Negris fell into laughter: “Hahaha, young man, you have a keen eye, instantly noticing my enlightened and wise characteristics. Very good, very good. Indeed, one can consider it as being handsome.”

Konab initially thought that Negris was returning his compliment, but then he noticed something strange about his face. The withered and decaying parts were slowly becoming plump again.

He wanted to use his hand to touch, but just raising his hand made Konab shudder: Is this my hand? This hand — rough yet alive, full of flesh — is this mine?

He crossed his hands and touched both sides, unable to resist pressing on his waist. It couldn’t be seen because of his clothing, but his waist, once half-rotten and revealing the spinal bone, was now back. He was once named the “wolf waist” in his living days, but now he was almost waistless.

As he pressed, he felt the solid flesh, not the void. His waist, as well as other defective and decayed parts of the body, had unknowingly grown back.

“I … this … is it …” Konab was so excited he was incomprehensible and struggled to find words. Just during their short conversation, he, a witch who was half rotten, on the verge of being buried, had miraculously recovered to his handsome self prior to death. Is this a miracle? Is this a miracle?

He looked at Ange excitedly, wanting to say something, but was choked up and couldn’t get the words out.

Ange grabbed his collar and tossed him out, saying, “Next.”

There was a commotion outside, and the Witch who recognized Konab shrieked. Rogge had invited them to come for disease treatment, but there was no mention they could be restored to their original appearances.

Ange didn’t care how everyone felt. He was only purifying the infection. The resurrection was a side effect of the Face Purification Technique, and it was none of his concern.

When Lisa and others arrived, they saw a scene of chaos. Untreated Witches were waiting anxiously under the scorching sun outside the chamber.

People tried to jump the queue and fights broke out occasionally, Rogge would rush over, beat the fighters and send them to the end of the line.

On the other side, Witches who had been treated were gathered, animatedly discussing something. Konab propped up a stake, stood on top of it, and passionately recited a praise poem he had just improvised on the spot:

“The great Lord Ange, holding the Light of Face Purification in his hands, easing our wounds… He stands eight feet tall, handsome and mighty, his stature as firm as a pillar reaching for the sky, his gaze piercing the mist like lightning…”

Lisa’s eyes sparkled with delight, “A bard? Great, I want him.”

She then rushed into the chamber, “My Lord, why have you been hiding here? It’s such a great opportunity to showcase miracles. Whenever the Church of Light has any healing events, they hate not being able to announce it half a month in advance so that everyone in the village can witness and gain faith.”

“My Lord, if we don’t seize this high ground of faith, our enemies will. We shouldn’t always find it troublesome. You don’t need any preparation, your actions are miracles. You don’t need to perform, every move you make can become an epic.”

“Even if you don’t care, having more Soul Flames never hurts, right? Otherwise, you won’t be able to activate the Instant Death Halo.”

It must be said, Lisa had mastered the art of persuading Ange. When it came to Soul Flames and Halos, Ange finally got up.

Leaving the chamber, he rearranged the area, built a high platform with sand and dirt, and sat on it. One by one, the Undead ascended the stairs. No matter what angle, everyone could clearly see Ange’s actions.

Lisa also found Konab, she subtly showed the holy light of the Face Purification Technique, then took out a bottle of Liquid of Rest, let Konab take a sniff, pulled out a bag of gold coins, and smiled, “Are you interested in becoming a Saint Bard that spreads the glory and deeds of our Lord?”

From day to night, one by one, the Witches were treated, the camp was filled with laughter, a laughter of relief and rekindled hope, which could be heard from time to time.

Rogge was relieved too. The Dark City dwellers were a heavy burden he bore, and a main reason for his depression and desire for eternal rest. Although Anthony had erased some of his memories, as long as the burden remained, he would one day fall back into his depressive state, never to escape.

But now, the burden was lifted, Ange had cured everyone’s diseases, and Lisa seemed very happy to take over these people, he could now discard all his burdens.

“Oh, I forgot, I can’t go back anyway, I don’t need this key to the Land of Slumber anymore, I’ll give it to the Lord, maybe he can use it.” Saying this, Rogge produced a Soul Flame from his spirit.

“Land of Slumber? What’s that?” Negris asked, Ange also tilted his head in confusion.

“Oh, the Land of Slumber, where the souls of the Undead sleep, is that cemetery that stretches as far as the eye can see. We, the Black Knights, are the night watchmen of the Land of Slumber.” Rogge explained.

Rogge had already pledged his loyalty, allowing Ange to trust him enough to bring him into the Resting Camp. Ange then took him to a place on the right side of the Resting Camp.

There was a fence and a worn-out iron door frame, but the door and everything behind the fence had vanished, leaving only a void.

“You mean, there used to be a large cemetery behind this fence? The Land of Slumber?” Negris asked.

“Yes, where has the Land of Slumber gone? How has the Resting Camp shrunk so much?”