Foreign Land Reclamation By a Vegetable-growing Skeleton-Chapter 1014 - 583 Sir, this Resting Wind...

This idea had actually originated at the Resting Camp, but the area of the Resting Camp was too small, and one could see its limits at a glance. It was also impossible to verify whether it would be effective or not. Now was a good time to experiment.

To conduct this experiment, Ange only needed to project his thoughts into the Undead Holy Fire and focus his attention on a specific area, then strongly inhale.

Not far from the Undead Temple, on a grey-black piece of land, the grey and black colors slowly faded, revealing the land’s natural gray-brown color as the breath of death greatly weakened.

A gray-white hand bone pierced through the soil, scraping away the surface of the earth, and an Ashbone Skeleton bewilderingly sat up.

Its soul was filled with confusion, holding the soil of its body, watching as it slipped through its fingers...

The skeleton, clearly unable to comprehend why this was happening, had no choice but to get up and wander around, wandering to a patch of gray-black land, where it dug a hole and buried itself again.

But before long, it sat up again, looking at the gray-brown dirt on its body with utter bewilderment.

The dead silence of the Resting Plains had livened up, with skeleton zombies occasionally getting up, bewildered for a while, then grumbling as they moved locations.

Ange’s thoughts continued to extend, unceasingly absorbing the patches of land rich with the breath of death. These energies converged into the Undead Temple, into the Undead Holy Fire, and finally into his Undead Godhood.

Indeed, the Undead Temple acted as an amplifier, enhancing Ange’s power, expanding it, and thus improving overall efficiency. Not only the efficiency of absorbing the breath of death was enhanced, but also the range of the divine techniques, such as the Instant Death Halo.

However, such enhancement required the support of a powerful soul. The needed intensity might be too much even for the Lord of Mourning, Locke Feiti, and only Undead Godhood could drive it.

If Ange used the temple to expand the range of the Instant Death Halo, his consumption would be enormous. Even if he invested all his divine power into it, he would not be able to sustain it for more than a few minutes.

But what if he reduced the acceleration efficiency of the Instant Death Halo? For example, shortening a six-month growth season to three months? Or limiting its range to a few dozen kilometers in diameter?

Ange patiently experimented and adjusted. Thus, within the affected area, creatures felt extremely hungry unusually fast. Even though they had eaten their fill at noon, they were hungry again in less than three hours.

Fortunately, this experiment did not last too long. After obtaining specific data, Ange stopped.

Meanwhile, night had also fallen.

Within the realm of the death line, the night was always livelier than the day. The night wind was calm and serene, rich with the breath of death. Some undead creatures would take advantage of this time to emerge, drink a bit of the southwest wind, and thus strengthen their souls.

Ange’s thoughts never left the Undead Holy Fire, and he naturally sensed the breath of death becoming denser, making him even less willing to leave.

He extended his thoughts, curiously touching those serene breaths in the night wind, just as when he first arrived at the Resting Plane, hiding in a hole and reaching out to touch the Resting Wind.

The breath of death behind the death line was actually denser than in the Resting Abyss because the sunlight here was not as ’fierce’ as in the Master Plane. This fierceness refers to the obliteration of the breath of death.

When Ange first arrived in this world, he noticed that the sunlight here did not irritate him as much as it did in the Master Plane. Even low-level Ashbone Skeletons dared to hang under the wooden sign at the town entrance at midday. If they did this on the Master Plane, their souls would have been dried out by the sunlight.

With less obliteration during the day, more accumulates at night, day after day, creating a denser breath of death in this world.

The sensation during the day was not very noticeable. But at night, the incoming wind felt sharply cold.

Ange tried to guide these ’sharp and cold’ breezes into the Undead Holy Fire, into the Undead Godhood, into his own soul.

It was unclear how much time had passed when Ange suddenly sensed a strange phenomenon: in a certain area, the faster the breath of death flowed, the denser it became.

How could this phenomenon be described? It was as though there was a chunk of ink anchored in a pond. When the water in the pond was still, it would slowly spread outward, but if someone stirred the water in the pond, washing over the ink anchor, the direction of the flow would turn particularly dark.

Ange glanced in the direction where it seemed to be coming from, the direction of the Eye of Eternal Silence. Could that "ink anchor" be the Eye of Eternal Silence?

Ange tried to guide the wind to blow over that "ink anchor." Sure enough, the wind that passed over that region carried a much denser breath of death.

It was fascinating. Ange no longer focused on strengthening his soul and directly guided the "wind" to blow across that region.

Because that area was beyond the range of the Undead Temple, Ange couldn’t directly guide the wind at that spot. He could only guide the wind within the range, fling it over, create a gust, and repeat the cycle.

The faster the flung wind, the more breath of death it gathered, and the more concentrated his control became, the denser it became.

For Ange, who had exceptional control, this was a piece of cake. He prepared to try creating a tornado to suck up all the breath of death from that location in one go.

However, before he could accomplish this feat, he felt as if someone was pushing him, and along with the pushing, a loud scolding came: "Dead Skull, wake up, Dead Skull, wake up for goodness sake, Kvada, if you don’t wake up now, I’ll spew dragon saliva on you." freёweɓnovel_com

Ange slowly came to his senses, and immediately, he sensed something was off. Why was the wind so strong all around?

Everyone gathered around him, for only within a few dozen meters around him was it calm. Beyond this range, a gray, harsh, howling wind blew—the Resting Wind.

The Resting Wind? Ange cocked his head in confusion.

Seeing his innocent expression, Negris couldn’t contain his anger and, pointing outside, demanded, "Did you do this? Did you do this? What on earth did you do? Why is the Resting Wind blowing here? What on earth did you do!"

Without even thinking, it must have been this Dead Skull who had done something. Otherwise, how could the Resting Wind possibly start blowing out of the blue? This plane had never experienced the Resting Wind, and had never even heard of such a thing.

Ange helplessly spread his hands.

As he regained consciousness, the uncontrolled wind rapidly weakened and soon dissipated into nothingness.

However, although the wind had stopped, the surroundings were in complete disarray. The people here had never experienced the Resting Wind, let alone had any expertise in dealing with it, and they were all blown about, their faces pale.

Anthony quickly checked on a few individuals and breathed a sigh of relief, "Thankfully, the intensity of the Resting Wind wasn’t very high and it was brief. There hasn’t been any formation of wind zombies, just ’frozen’ people. They’ll recover in a few days."

Then he clapped his hands, summoning the Skeleton Knights, and ordered in a low voice, "Although it was a bit of a mishap, it’s not entirely bad. Let’s keep our stories straight— the Undead God has descended, death always accompanies our Lord, everyone was swept by divine might, this is our Lord’s blessing. Feel this divine might quickly, it can strengthen the soul."

The Skeleton Knights, who practically worshipped Anthony as a deity, followed his directions more faithfully than Kent’s orders. If not for the soul bond, these Skeleton Knights would have already rebelled.

Anyone with eyes could see the difference between Anthony and Kent: one was a commander in control of the whole situation, while the other a greenhorn lost at the first hint of trouble, clearly not on the same level.

To be able to use even such unexpected incidents to pivot events in his favor, my goodness, if the Undead Temple had been run by such a person from the beginning, would these Skeleton Knights still need to extort hard-earned money from merchants?

The Skeleton Knights spread out in all directions, proclaiming the might of the Undead God. Only then did Anthony turn to Ange, cautiously asking, "My Lord, did you summon this Resting Wind, or did you create it?"

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