Foreign Land Reclamation By a Vegetable-growing Skeleton - Chapter 244:
Chapter 244: Chapter 167: Intelligence Enhancement Aura_i
Translator: 549690339
On the slopes outside the city, a man cloaked in a hood muttered, “Damn the life-accelerating aura! It trapped my parasitic worm. Cursed Little Fat Dragon, it forced me to sell my soul to a demon. Greedy devils. I sold my soul and only got a demonic monument and eighth-level magical power in return. Damn it all.”
If Negris heard him and smelled his scent, he would instantly recognize the man as the hooded figure from the Dark City dungeon who had been killed for his soul because his worm got trapped. But he was not dead? Hadn’t his soul already been searched?
Soul search is a thorough annihilation. Unless protected like a silver coin by Ange, who preserved some of the soul, it would mean that the one protecting him would have to be a god.
As he was muttering to himself, a terrifying aura suddenly descended upon him. A pair of demon horns emerged over his head, and a deep voice echoed in the hooded man’s mind, “What are you muttering about? Your soul is worth this much. If you want a raise, work harder. Sixty thousand souls, remember.”
Ange once flooded a high-level devil named Turus in the Resting Abyss. Luther also killed two high-level devils. However, this terrifying presence is completely different. Those were merely creatures called devils.
Only those who manipulate hearts and deal in souls deserve to truly be called devils.
“Ah, I apologize, Lord of Terror. I was too greedy. I will work hard, very hard. You see, the people of this city will soon be deeply immersed in the fear of death,” said the hooded man hurriedly.
“Humph, remember, I don’t care that you were once a follower of Hermorthos, nor do I mind your backbiting. But a deal with a demon is formalized in writing. If you violate it, you will have to face the great terror of those sixty thousand souls yourself,” the devil’s voice was deep and seemed to whisper in his ear.
As the devil spoke, the phantom of a sheepskin scroll slowly appeared in front of the hooded man and then burned slowly from the bottom up, finally turning into ash.
The hooded man jumped, nodding continuously, “Alright, alright, I beg you, please give me more time.”
The horned figure disappeared, and the terrifying aura gradually faded. The hooded man stood there for a while, chuckling, his demeanor in sharp contrast to the submission he had displayed before the devil.
Humph, Lord of Terror, I’ll bite you back when I get a chance.
Whether responding to the hooded man’s emotion or not, beetles around him peeked out, flapping their wings and making a high-frequency buzzing sound.
Inside the city, Ange and his group were led by a Minotaur girl into a narrow, damp neighborhood.
Like all slums, garbage was thrown directly onto the street, giving off a stench. Rocks had been continuously placed on the ground, and Vania’s hooves skillfully stepped on them, walking nimbly across.
This heavy Minotaur walked so nimbly that Negris couldn’t help but marvel.
To prevent Little Angel and Little Zombie from stepping in the water, Negris asked Ange to carry them across. He then sternly warned them, “If you guys dare to step in this water, then Lisa and Lan will cut off your feet, wash them and put them back on when we get back.”
Many people had resorted to creative tactics to avoid stepping in the water, like wearing high-heeled shoes or stilts. Apparently, everyone disliked the filth on the road, but they still dumped their trash there.
“How can you live in such a place? Isn’t your family a viscount?” Negris asked helplessly, comparing this place to the Resting Abyss was like comparing heaven to earth. Although it was barren, it was definitely cleaner.
“So what if we’re viscounts? We still need to eat, and if my father just ate, it wouldn’t be a problem. But he also concocts potions. Our old manor was sold long ago and what’s left is only enough to live here,” Vania explained.
“… but potion makers are rich, aren’t they? Much richer than a viscount, right?” Negris said helplessly.
A good alchemist is a walking gold mine, more wealthy than a wizard. A simple healing potion could sell for a few demon crystals, a mana replenishment potion for a dozen, and a time delay-enhancing drug for hundreds.
Even the lowest level alchemist, brewing potions of strength or anti-diarrheal potions, could still make a living. It wouldn’t lead to living in slums.
“Is that so? All 1 know is that my father has never brought any money home. Here we are,” Vania stopped in front of a dilapidated two-story house.
The door of the house was narrow. Of course, for a skeletal figure like Ange, it was very spacious. But for Vania, it wasn’t that friendly. She had to turn sideways, and the excess flesh on her waist got stuck. After a hard squeeze, the doorframe cracked.
Unfazed, Vania entered and skillfully propped the doorframe back in place before letting Ange and the others in.
Such a situation worried Negris, Vania’s movements inside could potentially cause the house to collapse, the building wasn’t made to bear such a heavy minotaur.
