Chapter 42

"No." Ang said.

"I know, I'll teach you." Negris said irritably.

A first-level lightning bolt spell was cast on the small brass dragon, but there was no reaction at all.

"Uh, was my magic resistance this high when I was a child?" Negris was surprised. Dragons have very high elemental resistance, and brass dragons are among the best, a first-level lightning bolt couldn't even shock it.

"High skin resistance, how about we cut open the skin and shock the heart directly?" Negris suggested.

Ang tilted his head and asked, "Where is the heart?"

Negris pointed to the junction between the dragon's neck and torso, where the dragon's heart is located. He thought Ang would accept his suggestion and cut open the dragon's skin, and suddenly felt a pain in his own heart.

It was an illusion, but who could blame him, since the small dragon was made from his scales, it could essentially be considered part of his body.

Ang didn't cut the dragon's skin, but he made a gesture, putting his hand into the dragon's mouth, and through the esophagus, he shocked the approximate location. The entire small brass dragon convulsed violently.

"Ugh, you $#&!..." Negris instinctively felt nauseous, causing intense psychological discomfort, as if Ang had stuck his hand into his mouth.

But the method was indeed effective. The esophagus had no skin resistance and was close to the heart, allowing the lightning bolt to exert its maximum effect. The heart muscles contracted violently under the electric shock, pumping out the blood inside.

When it relaxed, blood from the other end was sucked back in, as if triggering some mechanism, the heart began to contract on its own, contracting and relaxing, the heart resumed beating.

"Kebada, it really works, those druids didn't lie." Negris muttered, he hadn't tried this method himself, it was just hearsay.

The heart was beating, the blood was flowing, and the small brass dragon's body showed some subtle changes, such as the scales lifting in a regular pattern, which was the breathing effect of dragon scales. The eyelids and other areas were no longer pale, looking much healthier.

However, that was all. The small brass dragon remained motionless, as if in a deep sleep. No matter how Ang flipped its eyelids, slapped its cheeks, or even stuck his hand back into its mouth and shocked it again, he couldn't wake it up.

After a while, Negris said, "It's probably because it has no soul. Although it has grown a body, it can't grow a soul. Sigh, creating life has never been easy."

No soul? Ang tilted his head, thought for a moment, and reached into the small brass dragon's mouth again, pressing on the heart area. Under the pressure, the heart couldn't beat and soon stopped, and the small brass dragon died.

Condensing a ball of soul fire, Ang stuffed it into the small brass dragon's body and pointed at it, "It has a soul now."

Negris was silent for a moment, then roared in anger, "You bastard!"

Ang crudely gave the small brass dragon a soul, turning it into a zombie dragon.

If it were an intelligent living being, a soul fire could be combined with the memories of the body through a sacrifice, transforming it into a lich. Phyllin and Lisa both came this way, the entire process taking about seven days.

But the small brass dragon had no memories, no past life, and was directly granted a soul, becoming a zombie.

"But, I never taught you how to condense soul fire." Negris was puzzled, how did Ang learn it if he hadn't taught him?

"Undead fire." Ang said.

"Undead fire is far from soul fire, but you're a strange one. It's not surprising that you could understand soul fire from undead fire, they are essentially the same. Forget it, control it, use its soul to call my divine name, and I'll project myself into it, making it my body."

Negris was excited and eager. How many years had he been sealed? He still clearly remembered the despair and helplessness when the immortal king tore his soul from his body.

He never thought he would have a chance to regain his body, even if it was in a very young state, smaller than his size in the egg, but it was a body grown from his scales.

Ang controlled the small brass dragon, making some meaningless sounds.

"Uh, dragon language, dragon language, forget it, I'll teach you." Another routine lesson, and Ang finally successfully controlled the small brass dragon, using dragon language to call Negris's name.

Negris projected himself into the small brass dragon, shaking his head and nodding, and after a while, he sighed.

He probably wanted to lament the return of his youth and body, but before the sigh faded, a figure jumped onto his back, two white legs clamped around his waist, and he was firmly ridden.

Negris almost fell to the ground, shouting, "What are you doing!? Get off, you have wings, why are you riding me! You damn birdman, get off, or I'll hit you! Do you want to bear the wrath of the god of knowledge?!"

Negris flapped his wings hard, trying to shake the angel skeleton off his back, but the angel skeleton also flapped its wings, maintaining balance, and couldn't be shaken off.

After struggling for a while, the small zombie pounced and headbutted the angel skeleton off.

Before Negris could express his gratitude, the small zombie flipped over and rode him. It wasn't to save Negris, but to snatch a toy. Being heavier, it immediately sat Negris on the ground.

"Kebada, die, the wrath of the brass dragon!" Negris struggled in vain. Even though he was a brass dragon, he was newly born and couldn't match the small zombie. In the end, the angel skeleton saved him, and the two fought to the side.

Negris got up, wiped his face with his claw, brushed off the dirt, and sighed, "I almost became a mount. Kebada, how can a brass dragon be ridden? It disgraces the dragon race."

Before he finished speaking, Ang rode up.

Negris instinctively wanted to shake, but found his body unresponsive. The soul of the small brass dragon was given by Ang, giving him higher priority than Negris. In other words, if it didn't obey Ang's will, it couldn't control the small brass dragon.

After struggling internally for a while, Negris reluctantly accepted the reality. Being ridden was fine, as long as no one knew it was him. A brass dragon being ridden only disgraced the dragon race, not the god of knowledge.

Comforting himself, Negris flapped his wings and flew up.

His body length, excluding the head and tail, was only half a meter, and Ang riding him was like riding a small stool or an adult riding a children's wooden horse. However, his wingspan was large, and since Ang was just a skeleton, weighing less than forty pounds, he actually managed to carry him.

Phyllin flew in, saw the scene, and slid to the ground in shock, "Is this... a... brass dragon? Master, did you dig up a grave? We don't have a dragon tomb here, where did you dig this from?"

Before Ang could answer, Phyllin waved his hand, "Forget that, Master, save me! Please lend me some food, I'll pay you back later."