Feilin carried a small bucket full of the breath of death liquid and floated towards Ange's sinkhole with great joy. This was the breath of death liquid that he had blown out forcefully for three nights by using magic to speed up and guide the wind of rest.
Liquid, ten times more than what was produced in the camp that day.
Of course, he was also very tired. The light accelerated the resting wind overnight. Even if Lord Ange had more immortal spring stones, it would not be easy to produce so much.
With enough dead breath liquid, Felin quickly studied some of its functions, such as repairing and filling bones, toughening zombie skin, accelerating soul growth, catalyzing breath soil, etc. It is almost an enhanced version of the Wind of Rest.
It's just more effective and less harmful.
The wind of rest will blow to the soul, but the liquid of death breath will not. As long as the soul is not immersed in it, it will be fine even if it is used for bathing.
Entering the sinkhole, you can see angel skeletons, small zombies and brass dragons all soaked in large leather buckets from a distance.
"What are you doing? Aren't you afraid of rotting?" Felin could accept the angel skeleton taking a bath. The little zombie and the brass dragon were both corpse witches and would rot if soaked in water.
Nigris's long neck hung down on the edge of the barrel. Hearing this, he raised his eyelids and raised his little paws, and the liquid of rest flowed down between his toes.
Feilin's eyes widened, he rushed to the bucket and looked inside, and exclaimed: "Are you really taking a bath in it? Where did all this death breath liquid come from?"
Without raising his head, Nigris raised his paw and pointed to the top of the sinkhole, and asked casually and lazily: "What are you doing here? Is there something wrong?"
Feilin shrank his hand holding the bucket back, not having the nerve to take it out: "I'm here to see your lord and report some situations. I'm going to find your lord first."
Nigris shook his little paw, feeling so comfortable that he didn't even bother to reply.
Is it really so comfortable? Feilin looked at the small bucket in his hand and considered whether to go back and use it to take a bath. However, at his speed, it was not easy to save enough water for a bath.
When he came to the top of the pit, Feilin saw Ange who was digging soil. The watchman was waving a hoe and digging a hole in the ground like a skilled old farmer. The soil in the pit was piled to both sides, forming a
A mud dam raised above the ground.
"Sir, I wish you peace of soul, may I ask what you are doing?" Feilin greeted.
Ange tilted his head, not knowing how to answer, so he simply stopped answering and continued digging a hole.
Feilin was used to Ange's reaction and didn't take it seriously. He walked to the mound and took a look. What he saw made him lose his mind and he slipped and fell down.
I saw a large fan-shaped depression dug out by Ange on the ground. The arc edge of the fan surface was flush with the ground, and then gradually deepened and narrowed. At the central corner, it was already half a person deep. The excavated soil pile reached two rows.
On the side line, add the side to the height of one person.
The arc edge of the fan is facing the direction where the wind of rest blows, and a pile of immortal spring stones is piled in the ditch at the central corner. The effect of this arrangement can be seen at a glance.
The wind of rest blows in from the edge of the arc, shrinks to the middle because of the edge, and finally converges at the central corner of the circle, creating a greater wind volume.
"Why didn't I think of it? Why didn't I think of it? How could I not think of such a simple solution? I just cast magic for three nights stupidly." Feilin was so embarrassed that he made up his mind not to leave. Could he get into the Death Breath?
The enjoyment of taking a liquid bath depends on whether you are thick-skinned or not.
As night fell, the Sabbath wind blew up. Hiding in a cave in the lee of the wind, Feilin watched the Sabbath wind blow fiercely, and the immortal spring stone dripped with the liquid of death, and finally merged into a small stream and flowed to the big tree in front of Ange.
pit.
This efficiency was so high that in less than twenty minutes, a bucket was filled. Ange immediately moved it to the Palace of Rest and watched it quickly disperse.
One night, Ange kept doing this, moving one bucket after another to make sure the bucket was always empty.
It took more than ten hours to transfer nearly thirty barrels, about one cubic meter of death breath liquid.
The Palace of Rest seems to have changed a bit, but I can't see any changes.
Ange didn't care and continued at night. For eight consecutive nights, about nine cubic meters of death breath liquid was transferred into the Palace of Rest.
Starting from the third day, Ange felt a change. The dissipation speed of the death breath liquid began to slow down. It might have taken three minutes to dissipate completely, but now it took three and a half minutes. On the fourth day, it became ten minutes.
.
On the eighth day, a bucket of dead breath liquid could not be completely dissipated in an hour. This was almost the same as the dissipation speed in the outside world. After a few zombies took a bath for an hour, the dead breath liquid was almost completely dissipated. It seemed to be the Palace of Rest.
Within, the concentration of the breath of death reached saturation again.
Then, a huge flame ignited in the main hall of the Palace of Rest, and a beam of light rose into the sky, drew an arc, and crashed into Ange's consciousness with lightning speed.
With a sudden leap, Ange's body outside ignited a dark flame.
Negris, who noticed the abnormality, regained consciousness while crawling and rolling, and let the brass book in the Palace of Rest fly to Ange's side, and asked eagerly: "What's wrong with you? Are you okay? What happened?
Already?"
Ange stretched out his hand and pointed in the direction of the main hall of the Palace of Rest.
Only then did Nigris notice the flames on the main hall: "Hey, the fire of the dead? The main flame of the dead fire is lit? That's it?"
The fire of the undead lit in the Immortal Temple in the underground city is the source of immortal faith. People worship it and their devout faith will keep it flourishing.
But no matter how many undead fires there are, they have only one ultimate source, and that is this main flame, which is the source of all undead fires and the ultimate source of the belief in 'immortality'.
However, when the undead fire in the Temple of the Undead is ignited, it doesn't really matter whether there is a main flame or not. As long as there is sufficient faith, ordinary undead fire can also become the main flame.
"Is there only the main flame of death?" Nigris asked.
If there was only this change, Nigris would be very disappointed. But he saw Ange bursting into flames, and the flames were black, and the movement was very loud.
"Also, the light pillar, here." Ange pointed at the main flame of death fire, and then pointed at himself.
After listening to Ange's description, the brass book snapped shut and he said jealously: "That's the godhead. Okay, now you are no longer a false god. You have a godhead. Generally, after mastering the godhead, you will awaken something related to the godhead."
A magical skill that matches your beliefs. What is your magical skill? Is it a lucky aura?"