Chapter 706: Chaotic Contact, the Refusal Orb

Jier frowned as he watched the massive flames burning toward the sky. Beside him, several young male refugees, their bodies drenched in clear water, were grabbing the limbs of dead bandits in pairs. After carrying them close to the high heat of the pyre, they would swing their arms with force, tossing the bandits' corpses into the fire.

In just those few seconds, the wet droplets on their bodies would rapidly evaporate into steam, drying them out. They had to return quickly to let their companions take turns splashing the stream water they had fetched onto them.

Even though Jier was relatively heat-resistant, he could not get too close to the fire. He stood near the pyre as a safeguard, using his all-metal long spear to lift any corpses that hadn't been thrown onto the fire and toss them into the flames, filling in the gaps.

Not far away, Bata'er Jiaoshi was leading the believers in prayer, facing the fire that was belching black smoke.

It wasn't anything about ascending to a blissful afterlife; it was merely using words similar to prayer to cheer on all the young refugees. After all, the corpses being burned were bandits. So many people had died last night, and the refugees held no love for the bandits; sharing a common enemy was actually a good opportunity for acceptance and mutual recognition.

As everyone cursed the bandits together, their relationships naturally grew closer, and Bata'er Jiaoshi standing before the people to recount the bandits' sins also served to greatly increase his status among the refugee group.

For Luosa-Bata'er, who had spent the previous few years conducting village church activities, this was precisely what he was most skilled at.

Aside from the first generation of migrants who came from the Empire, most of the migrants from other kingdoms and the descendants of Imperial migrants lacked quality and civilization. Because production in rural areas was backward and culture was of no use, the actual quality of the villagers in each village could not be said to be very good.

Everyone was often calculating and petty, but because they were all from the same village, internal disputes were usually mild. However, when facing outsiders, they would become different. Bata'er Jiaoshi, who had first arrived at Changmai Cunzi to preach and reside, had a deep understanding of this.

The simplicity and stupidity, the unity and xenophobia of the villagers in the village had caused him quite a bit of hardship.

Of course, later on, relying on the knowledge taught by the church, he quickly mastered the "correct way" to deal with the villagers.

That is, to persuade them with words.

Many people had lived and grown up in the village since birth; their experience was extremely limited, and a single trip to a nearby town would be their biggest talking point for a year or two. Therefore, when facing a young priest raised by the church from childhood, they often could not out-argue the priest himself, no matter how they struggled with words.

The inarticulate villagers could often only sit on the ground in a huff during an argument, covering their ears with their hands, attempting to face the eloquent Bata'er Jiaoshi in this manner.

As for the villagers who were slightly more articulate, they could only use limited vocabulary and imagination to repeat their views monotonously, only to be cut down by the priest in the debate.

Relying on his tongue, Bata'er Jiaoshi had won over the believers of the Nongshen one by one back then, and he had truly realized the limitations of a single person's strength.

It was difficult for him alone to build a Nongshen Church, but if the believers gathered together, it could be done. You bring the bricks, I lay the tiles; you set the pillars, I hold them steady.

At this moment, looking at the pairs of eyes gazing at him, Bata'er Jiaoshi remembered those familiar villagers and familiar believers who had been abducted.

His eye sockets filled with tears again, so he had to turn his head to look at the surging flames, pretending that the fire had irritated his eyes, and then carefully wiped the tears from his eyes with the sleeve of his Robe.

"Let the last traces of these bandits in this world vanish; no one will remember them. Their ashes will be scattered into the rivers and mixed into the soil. As for our departed friends and companions, they will be long remembered by us, and their Spirits will go to the place they ought to go, sharing in endless tranquility and abundance. We will each take a handful of their ashes and carry them to distant lands, moving forward with us."

On this side of the fire, the bandits' corpses were being burned, while on the other side, the corpses of the young refugees who died last night were being burned simultaneously. They were both male and female, some having been killed during the bandits' surprise attack, and others having been unfortunately killed while fighting heroically.

The young people throwing their companions' corpses on this side moved with much more caution, and there was no need for Jier to repeatedly go over and toss the corpses into the massive fire.

Not only were corpses being continuously thrown in, but firewood chopped into small sections was also being tossed in from afar by those around to increase the intensity of the fire. After all, the human body contained a lot of water, and neither the bandits nor the refugees were wealthy people who could accumulate much fat.

The only ones furthest from the scene and indifferent to this matter were the Merchants and women who had been rescued from the bandits' hands.

Because of the strange, glowing grain in the refugees' hands that seemed to never run out, these people gathered around their own iron pots and fire, boiling Wheat Porridge pot after pot since dawn.

The first pot was boiled by the old Merchant himself, naturally with the right consistency and overflowing with fragrance. The subsequent pots were handed over by the old Merchant to the boy he had been looking after to cook.

The boy, taught step-by-step, carefully boiled Wheat Porridge pot after pot according to the old man's instructions, filling the others who had been imprisoned and tormented by the bandits for a long time.

It seemed they had all been tortured by hunger for a long time; no matter how many pots of fragrant Wheat Porridge the boy made, the others could drink bowl after bowl until it was all gone.

They were not short of wheat grains to boil the porridge either; if they asked any refugee by the surrounding fires, the other party would give them handful after handful of plump wheat grains.

Moreover, due to the difference in their status, the young refugees who were originally farmers in the village would often smile at the corners of their mouths when "bestowing" wheat grains upon the hungry rescued Merchants, doing so with happy, or even smug, emotions.

On the open space by the Shanglu, the rescued people far from the fire were the first to discover a donkey cart approaching.

The Merchants, concerned only with filling their forever-unsatisfied stomachs, initially paid no attention to a donkey cart appearing from nowhere; only when the old Merchant looked over did he immediately know something was wrong.

No one dared to traverse this Shanglu, where bandits frequently ran rampant, relying solely on a donkey cart that couldn't run fast. They were neither displaced people from various places with nothing on them, nor were they Merchants stupid to the extreme.

Relying on his experience to sense that something was wrong, the old Merchant stood up abruptly, carefully scrutinizing the donkey cart slowly approaching from the west.

The young Knight and young refugees had dealt a heavy blow to the bandits only last night; how could the White Stone City Wall Guanka direction know about this?

When the old man saw the Church Priests dressed strangely on the crude donkey cart, even he frowned, unable to figure out the purpose of the arrivals. (The old Merchant had never seen the Shen Li Chang Pao with divine protection worn by the Church of the God of the Dead; this kind of self-protecting Robe was different in appearance and material from the Robes of ordinary Priests. He could not recognize it.)

Feiniya noticed the old Merchant who had suddenly stood up, so she turned her head to look in the direction he was gazing, only then noticing the donkey cart and the several Priests wearing strange clothes on it.

Furthermore, she saw one of them sitting in the front take out a brilliant sphere the size of a human head from behind him while the donkey cart was still far away from them.

She was instantly captivated by that beautiful object; she swore it was the most beautiful and pretty thing she had ever seen in her life.

A complete spherical shape, was it a transparent crystal or glass shell? Inside were complex, glowing Gems of seven colors, far more intricate and colorful than the most beautiful bouquets she had ever seen.

Not to mention that compared to flowers, these were glowing Gem jewels.

"Heavens, how much is this thing worth?"

This was her most important thought afterward.

The old Merchant frowned tightly. Although he did not recognize the "Refusal Orb" held in the arms of the lead Priest, the fact that the other party stopped the donkey cart and arranged the several Priests in a formation centered on the person holding the orb did not look like they were approaching with good intentions.

He lowered his head and patted the boy who was still working hard to boil porridge, said a word in his ear, then straightened his dirty and smelly clothes and stepped directly toward the Priests.

The boy simply dropped the wooden spoon, first sneaking away from there, then running quickly toward the crowd not far away that was facing away from them, gathered around the fire.

The Priests of the God of the Dead, who had formed a four-sided combat formation, naturally saw the refugee crowd gathered in the distance, and also saw the massive corpse-burning pyre they were surrounding.

But this did not mean anything.

What exactly happened here last night, where so many corpses came from, and whether the leader was good or evil, were all still unclear at this moment.

For the sake of caution, the lead Priest still took out the treasure he had brought this time—the Refusal Orb.

With this thing in existence, they could at least remain in an invincible position; whether it was the numerous young refugees brainwashed and deceived by the Evil God church personnel, or the brutal bandits controlled by them all around, none could do anything to the five of them within the Refusal Orb.

The Refusal Orb would repel all unauthorized natural and supernatural forces; even the Divine Power and Divine Art of other Priests of the God of the Dead could not invade the area covered by the Refusal Orb by even a fraction without his personal permission.

Blades could not touch them, Arrows could not approach.

Magic would bypass them, and Divine Art would avoid them.

Natural wrath would retreat, and Curses would be returned to the caster.

With this treasure in hand, he dared to personally lead the other four subordinate Priests to rush over and handle the situation immediately.

"Who are you?"

An old man who had originally been gathered by the fire resting and eating walked toward them, and the young Priest at the front left of the square four-sided formation spoke up and shouted the question.

The old man performed a standard, elegant Merchant etiquette and replied: "Gentlemen, Priests of the Church of the God of the Dead, I am Nobi-Fentijia, a Merchant from the You-shen-wei-ta Kingdom in the south of your country. I do not know why you Priests are adopting such a hostile posture at this time? There are only Merchants and people rescued from the hands of bandits here, as well as many poor and helpless refugees."

After the old Merchant walked closer, he saw from the Divine Emblem mark on the other party that they were people from the Church of the God of the Dead, but as for the Short Staff of Divine Power in the other party's hand, he, having seen much, knew it was a dangerous thing like the Magic weapons in the hands of Nobles.

They are far more dangerous than flashing blades, and while nobles usually only possess one magic staff of varying lengths, these few Priests each have one.

These people's intentions were unclear, making him break into a cold sweat for the young Knight Jier; how did they manage to provoke such a group of powerful armed Priests?

"Move aside, Merchant. We will examine and distinguish the identities of the people here and what you are currently doing; do not block the way."

The leading Priest ignored the old Merchant's words entirely, nor did he drive him away, simply leading the team forward. As he walked, the four Priests surrounding him moved as well. The old Merchant had intended to speak further, but his body was suddenly pushed aside by an invisible force; although it did not injure him, this repulsive force was impossible to resist.

With his old shoes scraping against the sandy soil, dragging along the ground, he was pushed aside at an odd angle.

When his body became level with the side of the person walking in the center of the formation, the pushing force vanished. The old Merchant sat down on the ground with a thud, staring blankly at the few Priests of the Church of the God of the Dead.

He was somewhat dazed; although he had received various Divine Art healings and blessings from the Priests of the Church of the God of Wealth many times in his life, this was the first time he had been pushed away by such an invisible force.

"What power is this?"

None of the Priests answered him; they all looked ahead, for because the youth had gone ahead to deliver the message, the crowd surrounding the bonfire had parted a gap, and Bata'er Jiaoshi was jogging over.

"Everyone, everyone, I am Luosa-Bata'er, a Priest of the Agricultural God Church. What is going on with you all? What are you trying to do?"

Bata'er Jiaoshi's hands were empty; he had not brought his Amber Metal Long Staff with him, mainly because he found it heavy, and a metal long staff was not appropriate for burning corpses and comforting the public at this moment.

He felt a headache the moment he saw them maintaining a four-sided combat formation, as he had studied similar knowledge in the Church, even if he had never used it. This meant the other side was in a state of readiness for battle and viewed them as enemies.

"Agricultural God Church? Show us your Divine Power!"

At the other side's words, Bata'er Jiaoshi's face turned bitter; the Divine Power in his body had been completely exhausted while comforting the unstable wounded earlier. Although a tiny bit remained to keep him from fainting, such a small amount was not enough to display anything.

He had no choice but to tell the truth: "I apologize, my Divine Power was all used to treat the wounded, and I truly cannot fulfill your request to demonstrate it at this moment. Please believe me, every word I say is true; the Agricultural God is above, and He is watching me."

Although Bata'er Jiaoshi looked innocent, the blood covering the Agricultural God Church Robe on his body, along with the Nongshen Believers constantly arriving from behind carrying weapons, all appeared very suspicious.

"Who are you people? By what right do you wrong our Priest?"

"They are Priests from the Church of the God of the Dead."

"So they are those Priests who handle the departed? So that's what they look like."

The Church of the God of the Dead did not spread to rural areas as much as the Agricultural God or other deities; they mostly established local churches in towns at the center of rural regions, and many young Refugees who were previously Villagers were unfamiliar with these people.

If they were people from the towns, they might be more familiar with them.

"Are they here to help?"

"Idiot, look at their attitude—do you think they are here to help?"

The four surrounding Priests were all holding Short Staffs of Divine Power, and everyone was neither blind nor stupid; one look told them the visitors meant no good.

At this moment, Jier pushed aside the people blocking his way and strode out from the crowd; he had come late mainly because he had been putting on his armor and equipping his weapons.

Jier stood before everyone and said loudly: "Greetings, Priests. I wonder what brings you here?" He turned his head to look at the flames devouring the corpses behind him and chuckled: "You wouldn't happen to be here to help us preside over the cremation ceremony, would you?"

The leading Priest of the Church of the God of the Dead's eyes flashed, and he directly questioned: "Cremation? How did so many corpses come to be? Answer me!"

Jier was not polite either; he lifted his Steel Face Mask and glared at the people questioning him, the fury in his eyes almost erupting: "How did the corpses come to be? Bullshit! Of course, it's because humans are slaughtering each other; living people turning into corpses—that is how it came to be!"

"Humans slaughtering each other? What are your identities, you and this so-called Agricultural God Priest? Do not think that because there are many people around, you can use them to cover up or escape!"

Jier spat on the ground: "What are our identities? What are your identities? Why don't you take a look at what the identities of these people around us are? Tell me, do you few know what their identities are?"

The leading Priest wanted to continue questioning Jier, telling the young man not to evade the question, but a young Priest in front spoke up: "They are rural folk taking refuge in the checkpoint, but you brought them away from the White Stone City Wall Guanka and are wantonly slaughtering here—what exactly is your identity? What are your intentions? Citizens, these two have unknown identities; do not be deceived."

But this young Priest's impassioned speech was met with a harsh slap in the face.

His words not only failed to make the young Refugees gathering around feel they had seen through any deception or conspiracy, but instead angered them.

"￥%￥, we respected you and called you 'Lord' because you are Priests, but it turns out you are all guys with ￥% in your brains!"

"Bullshit! If it weren't for Lord Jier fighting hard last night! We would already be prisoners of the Bandits by now!"

"Not only that, if we didn't leave that man-eating checkpoint, would you ￥% have come to give us a bite to eat? It was the great Agricultural God who pitied us, not only trying his best to gather food to provide for us inside the checkpoint but also showing a miracle and sending Bata'er Jiaoshi to rescue us!"

"Right! You lot who deal with corpses all day didn't show up when my family was starving, but now that you smell it, you follow the scent of the corpses here. Ha! They say we were deceived? I ￥%￥%￥￥#￥."

The crowd around was agitated, but everyone still feared the status of the Church Priests; though they cursed, no one truly dared to go up and take action.

Having endured the foul-mouthed insults from those around them, several Priests of the God of the Dead blushed; they were used to being called 'Lord' and 'Master' and had never been subjected to so much abuse as they were today.

Several of them gripped the Death's Grip Short Staffs of Divine Power in their hands, and even took the Hushin Statue of the God carried on their belts and squeezed them tightly.

Their breathing became increasingly rapid.

It was the leading Priest who had seen big scenes; amidst the chaotic noise of his subordinates and the surrounding public, he did not interject to argue, but instead blocked out the noisy sounds around him and focused his energy on observation.

On the open ground at their feet, there were traces of blood that had sprayed and dripped.

Having dealt with these things for years, he knew that this chaotic, disorderly bloodstain covering the ground was not the result of an orderly ritual sacrifice or slaughter. If that were the case, the bloodstains should be concentrated, and there should be symbolic patterns when dripped or splashed.

Using his foot to secretly rub a piece of dried, dark red, blackened blood, he judged that it must have dripped last night.

His eyes scanned the most indignant young Refugees around him, discovering that everyone was wearing rough animal Leather Clothing that was damaged and stained with blood. This did not look like what the Refugees in the checkpoint wore; if they were indeed the young Refugees who left the checkpoint yesterday, then these rough clothes that did not match their status and attire should not be their original clothing.

Damage is proof of having fought. Being stained with blood while the wearer is in high spirits suggests they were looted.

A battle occurred last night, a large-scale battle, because there were many such clothes on the young Refugees around; if there were so many enemies, then what about them?

The leading Priest held the repulsion orb, his mood somewhat heavy.

The orb was controlled by his will; the Divine Power Gems inside the spherical crystal flickered with the beautiful yet dim Divine Power of the God of the Dead.

The repulsion orb began to operate slightly, but not to establish an outward defensive barrier, but rather a powerful barrier to prevent the splashing of attack power outward.

The leading Priest blocked the possibility of his subordinate Priests attacking outward.

He was afraid that in the midst of the chaos, they would commit an act they would regret for a lifetime out of anger.