Chapter 124 - 108: Just Keep Chopping and Whittling_l


    Chapter 124: Chapter 108: Just Keep Chopping and Whittling_l


    Trantor: 549690339


    The me of the soul zed all over its body, the filthy dirt was falling off in the fire, its eye sockets burned with a bright blue me. It looked like a Messenger of Death that had crawled out of the ancient abyss. When its gaze focused on him, Old John feltpletely frozen.


    What on earth have I brought home? I should be doomed, right? Old John murmured absentmindedly.


    My legs felt a bit weak, not from fear, but from shock. Surprisingly, Old John wasn’t terribly afraid inside.


    At the worst, death is just the end, after all. Given his age andme leg, with little hope for his remaining years, death didn’t seem so terrible. All he wished for was a peaceful soul.


    It could only be said that people in their fifties haven’t seen enough of the world. Someone in their nies like the silver coin, would understand that falling into the hands of the Undead is not as simple as ‘just dying’.


    But what puzzled Old John was that the Ashbone Skeleton that had risen didn’t kill him. Instead, it just tilted its head to look at him and suddenly materialized a bag of food in front of him.


    What does this mean? Is it a bribe for my life? Old John had already epted that this skeleton would kill him, so any of its actions would be interpreted in the worst possible way.


    Exchange food for life? I’m not a fool. If I agree, my life is over, and then as a corpse, I don’t need to eat, the food can naturally be taken back.


    I heard simr legends when I was a mercenary. Demons would turn into beautiful women to tempt men, offering beauty in exchange for something in their possession. If you agree, the demon would take what’s between your legs, leaving you only able to look but incapable of using it.


    Old John would never fall for that trick. He firmly shook his head and said, “I don’t want food.’


    Ange was puzzled, he doesn’t want food? What should I do?


    Usually, when believers offer the Soul me, he would return food to them. Although this believer in front of him doesn’t have strong faith and the soul me is weak, a little by little on the way, he had gathered one or two strands.


    If he doesn’t want food, then there’s no equivalent exchange. What should I do then?


    “What do you want then?”


    What do I want? I would like to be worry-free, own a hundred acres of farnd, have a herd of cattle and sheep, to be of high status, and to put feet on the face of the sheriff, who shall respond with an apologetic smile.


    After thinking about it, Old John felt that was too much, and said casually, “I want to heal thisme leg and continue my life as a mercenary until I’m ny.”


    He said this all in one breath, which means, to heal theme leg, continue life as a mercenary, and to live until ny are all connected. He was afraid that once his leg was healed, he became a mercenary, and then he would die the next day…


    Of course, this was all Old John just saying, he doesn’t think that the skeleton he identally picked up could heal hisme leg. In fact, the fact that the skeleton didn’t kill him instantly, but instead gave him a bag of food, was already a big surprise to Old John.


    Heal the leg? Ange squatted down, poked Old John’sme leg.


    It was a leg curving outward. From the perspective of Ange who had changed bones over a dozen times, it was because it wasn’t reset timely after fractures, leading to hypertrophy after healing, which caused the leg to be disabled due to the curvature at the fracture.


    This could be easily tackled, just need to rece the bone.


    He looked around, wondering where he could find a suitable bone.


    There were indeed other corpses buried in the ground, but they had already decayed and were no longer usable, even if dug up.


    “What if, your leg was cut off, straightened, then reattached?” Negris, reflected in Ange’s body, suggested.


    “Oh.” Ange took out a scythe, preparing to cut off Old John’s leg.


    “Hold on, if you hack him directly like that, he’ll pass out from pain and bleed too much. First, shut off his senses, render him unconscious and then hack.


    Then quickly seal the wound to avoid excessive blood loss. Uh, catch him so that he doesn’t run off.”


    Before Negris could finish, Old John had scrambled to his feet, hobbling towards the exit with all his might.


    He wasn’t afraid of death, but he did fear getting chopped up. The sight of the glinting sickle de provided an immediate motivation for flight. It would hurt too much if that thing fell on him.


    Unfortunately for him, it was toote. Ange had caught up with him in one stride and before he could scream, shut off his soul.


    In an instant, Old John lost control of his body. He could only watch in horror as Ange ced him aside, hacked off his leg, stripped the outeryer of flesh, snapped the bend in the small foot bone, shaved off any excess growth, and once he was satisfied it was straight, used some unfamiliar liquid and then applied Holy Light.


    Seeing this, Old John lost all ability to think. A skeleton wielding the Holy Light? This was a clear revtion of the Holy Light because as it shone down, the small leg bone that had been hacked and shaved started to fuse together.


    Not just the small leg bone, the stripped skin and flesh slowly healed, forming a straight and intact small leg.


    Angepared the small leg with therge one, gleaning off any excess, he weighed the severed small leg in his hand like a melon. Not bnced? He’d take off a bit more, weigh it again, still off? He’d take off a little more.


    Once Ange was entirely satisfied with the fit. He cast Holy Light on the connecting points of the small andrge leg, brought them together, and shined Holy Light on them again.


    The previously severed small andrge legs visibly began to heal together.


    Done! The resourceful skeleton was done. Recing a human bone was too troublesome. Ange thought to himself.


    When Old John regained control of his body, it took him a while to react. He held up his leg and stared at it until his leg started to numb. Then, half in doubt, half in belief, he stood up and tested the leg that used to hobble.


    “Is it really better? No pain? Not bent? Not limping?” He was full of questions. For ordinary people, this was a miraculous shock to the soul.


    But if he witnessed Ange process of transforming the angelic skeleton slowly back into a dim-witted little girl, he probably would dismiss this level of healing as nothing out of the ordinary.


    Negris was dismissive, urging Ange in his soul: “Okay, okay, ask him if it’s better. If so, let’s get out of here, put on your hat, your bones are too eye-catching.”


    Old John reluctantly said, “I think it’s a bit short.”


    Is it short? No problem, just cut it off and drop some essence, let it grow faster. Ange readied hisrge sickle again.N?v(el)B\\jnn


    “No, no, no. It’s not short, not short. I was used to hobbling, and I’m just not ustomed to it yet. It’s not short, not short.” Old John was wallpaper white and frantically waved his hands. He even skipped around a little to show off his leg.


    The recent scene was still a shocking epicenter to him. Chopping, trimming and fusing a leg might be ordinary to Ange, but enough to shock an ordinary person intoplete paralysis.


    Old John could speak clearly at this point, thanks to the euphoria from tion of his leg healing. Imagine if he had to go through it again—from the sound of it, he’d prefer a shorter leg.


    But to be fair, he was just not used to walking normally after having limped for so long, like someone losing a part of their tooth and needing to use their tongue to feel the gap.


    Well, now that there was an ‘equivalent’ exchange, Ange felt satisfied and prepared to leave with his hat on.


    ‘Equivalent’ exchange was not coercive or mandatory, but it became a habit in him at a confused time and now he became unsettlingly peculiar about it, feeling always like something wasn’t done right.


    However, just as he put on his scarecrow hat, there was amotion outside the door: “It’s this ce, Father, it’s this house that worships the Undead. They even have so many skeletons, they must be trying to summon a skeleton. We don’t know where those bones came from. They may have been shaved off of living people.”


    An old man who helped bury unimed bodies and who had been handicapped himself was now being used of murderous bone extraction and demonic skeleton summoning..