This time, the vine gave a clearer answer than before.
—Stairway of the Hanging Prison.
But what the hell was that answer good for? He already knew the Wood Spirit was in the Stairway of the Hanging Prison, but where exactly was it?
Faced with Angel's further questioning, the enormous vine was like an ignorant snake, tilting its head in confusion. After Angel parsed the emotional fluctuations it conveyed, their rough meaning was: Why didn't you know?
Angel found it rather amusing. Why would I know?
"I must have been dizzy to come ask you. You've probably never entered the Stairway of the Hanging Prison either, so how would you know exactly where the Wood Spirit is?" Angel sighed inwardly, bid the vine farewell, and headed deeper through the gate.
After walking around twenty meters, Angel subconsciously glanced back. In the distance, the vine was still maintaining that "confused head tilt," as though it had yet to figure things out.
Angel chuckled softly, thinking to himself: Demonic plants were demonic plants. They were completely different from Wood Spirits. Even if this demonic plant had lived for a thousand, ten thousand years, the growth of its intelligence had still made little progress. But spirit-type lifeforms—even if a mere stone gave birth to a spirit—possessed far greater initial intelligence than ordinary Demonic Beasts.
Like that Wood Spirit. Though it had only just developed intelligence, it had already learned a skill that seemed foolish yet concealed wisdom—playing dead.
If a demonic plant had been in the Wood Spirit's situation, it basically would not have considered the gap in strength. The moment it encountered a creature approaching it, it would have lashed out wildly, baring fangs and brandishing claws.
That was the difference.
With that thought, Angel continued onward.
The road beyond the gate