Chapter 147

"Has our current Planar Security Cooperation Meeting descended to the point where some Abyss drifters are being brought up for deliberation?" said the Human Truth Mage, God-Deity Diluni, somewhat impatiently.

Anthony's heart skipped a beat, but he said aloud: "Security cooperation is precisely a meeting to discuss how to coordinate planar security. Abyss drifters include undead creatures that threaten planar safety—of course they must be discussed."

Diluni was irritated; he had been in perfect seclusion, yet repeatedly interrupted—first by the dragon race inexplicably moving en masse toward the mainland, as if preparing for war, forcing him to emerge and clash once with Bruceck.

Not even a few months passed before another routine security meeting was called. He hated these lengthy meetings more than anything, and truly wanted to walk away—but his followers urged him: "My Lord God-Deity, the Church of Light holds three seats on this cooperation council; if you don't attend, they'll easily pass any resolution. My lord, the fate of humanity rests upon your decision."

The thought of the Church of Light's tactics for suppressing dissent made Diluni sit up straight.

"Don't pull that crap with me. Your Church's rhetoric is firmly opposed by our Star Republic. Undead creatures have nothing to do with planar security. Even during the peak of the Undead Empire, it never endangered planar safety. Next time I hear you smuggling in hidden agendas, I'll curse you out." Diluni angrily snapped.

Anthony argued earnestly: "My Lord God-Deity, undead creatures' life forms are fundamentally different from ours—you must admit that when they spread, they encroach upon the living races' living space. Though there may be only three or five undead among the desert Abyss drifters, they still warrant attention. If we wait until they grow stronger to act, it'll be too late."

Anthony's words were clever: he highlighted the inherent opposition between undead and living races, yet firmly defined the desert Abyss drifters as merely "three or five" undead.

No one else spoke during their debate, when suddenly the Elf Queen Galad interrupted: "Death is part of life. They are not necessarily life's opposite—they can also be its continuation."

This was the doctrine of the God of Life, and the faith of the elf race.

"Enough, enough." Diluni growled impatiently. "Undead creatures are the most diligent workers, the most loyal servants, the most steadfast sages. If we go on like this, we'll start fighting. Let's begin anonymous voting now. Those who support expelling or eliminating the desert Abyss drifters, cast your vote."

The final vote used anonymous ballot, because the Church of Light was too dominant—holding three of the seven seats on the Security Council, previously occupied by the Pope and the Eastern and Western Patriarchs.

Now that the Western Patriarch Nicholas had been assassinated, he was replaced by Daisen from the Fallen Lands Diocese. Daisen had said nothing throughout, but Anthony was a familiar face—always rambling, always annoying.

Anthony grunted: "Expelling darkness and purifying the undead is our eternal mission." Then he unhesitatingly pressed "No."

Soon, a bizarre voting result appeared: two votes in favor, five against. That meant only two supported eliminating or expelling the Abyss drifters, while five opposed.

Why was this result bizarre? Because the Church of Light held three votes themselves—if all three had voted "Yes," there couldn't possibly be only two "Yes" votes.

Anthony's reaction was too strong—he couldn't have cast the "No" vote. Could it be the Pope or Daisen who voted "No"? Speculation swirled through everyone's minds.

Anthony was equally stunned. What was going on? He'd thought two "No" votes would be excellent—God-Deity Diluni would vote "No," since he despised the Church of Light's extreme actions and always opposed their proposals.

Before voting, Anthony had even argued with him again, deliberately provoking him to increase the chance he'd vote "No"—plus his own vote, that would be enough.

At this level of meeting, if more than two votes opposed, the proposal could not become a pan-planar resolution.

But he hadn't expected such a lopsided result—only two "Yes" votes? Damn it, this was a problem—it clearly signaled that one of the Church of Light's three members was disloyal.

If he'd known this would happen, he should've voted "Yes." None here were fools—once suspicion arose, they'd find traces. No matter how well he played his part, it wouldn't help.

Pope Gulliani's voice drifted calmly: "I do not support bringing such matters to a vote here, so I voted 'No.' Expelling the undead and spreading light is our duty as faithful followers—we will handle it ourselves."

His implication: the "No" vote was mine. This is a trivial matter—no need for a vote; the Church of Light will handle it internally.

Anthony's thoughts grew even more tangled. If both he and the Pope had voted "No," then who cast the second "Yes"?

"I don't care about your missions or duties—just don't overstep. Beyond the desert lies our Star Republic. We permit undead creatures to exist legally and lawfully, because the stars must be dazzlingly diverse, each unique." Diluni said sternly.

Five votes against, two in favor—the proposal to expel or eliminate the Abyss drifters failed to pass.

After severing the teleportation link, Pope Gulliani paced back and forth in thought. His attendant, who had listened to the entire meeting, asked puzzled: "Your Holiness, you voted 'Yes'—why did you say you voted 'No'?"

"Why do you think?" Gulliani stopped pacing, asking with a tone of gentle examination.

The attendant thought a moment, then said: "You fear others discovering internal discord?"

Gulliani shook his head: "Do you think others don't know we're divided? Anthony is practically waving his own flag, ready to found a new church."

"Then you meant to show that we will handle the undead ourselves, without others' deliberation?" the attendant ventured.

Gulliani shook his head again.

"Then are you trying to test who cast the 'No' vote?"

"Anthony cast it—no need to test." Gulliani smiled.

The attendant was awed: "Your wisdom is beyond measure."

Gulliani smiled faintly, accepting the flattery, but gave no answer.

…

Nagris had just severed the teleportation link when another communication request came in, making him want to scream.

He answered—it was Elf Queen Galad.

"Respected Queen, long time no see. Is there a problem with the World Tree?" Nagris asked.

"No, the World Tree is thriving. I'm contacting you about the Planar Security Cooperation Meeting. Are you aware of this meeting?" Galad said.

"Oh, yes. Thank you for your 'No' vote, Your Majesty." Nagris replied.

Galad spoke with an "I knew it" tone: "So someone was protecting you. I guessed it was Bruceck who told you?"

"Yes, yes. After all, I'm the dragon race's ancestor. Bruceck doesn't want his ancestor tied to a pyre." Nagris said.

After ending the call, Nagris sighed. This was the third person to inform them. Of seven council members, three had leaked information—unconsciously, Ang had built deep connections within the top tier of this plane's social circle.

With this vote rejected, the entire plane could never unite against them. Only the Church of Light held deep hostility toward undead creatures.

Others, like elves and dwarves, were merely xenophobic—not just toward undead, but all outsiders. Few ever entered their lands without being driven off.

The Star Republic, also known as the Mage Kingdom, worshipped stars and magic, respected all faiths, and promoted harmonious coexistence among all races.

In the Star Republic, regardless of your species, as long as you obey the Three 'No's—no harm, no interference, no evil—you may live there legally.

Springwind Druid was a citizen of the Star Republic.

But the Star Republic was tiny—total population likely under five hundred thousand. Other races' numbers were uncountable, perhaps around two hundred thousand.

With just seven hundred thousand people combined, they had created an astonishingly dazzling culture, possessing the world's most advanced magical civilization, vast numbers of highly skilled mages, and a surge of powerful specialists like Springwind Druid and God-Deity Diluni.

Though the Star Republic's territory housed countless beings the Church of Light deemed heretics, the Church had never once proposed launching a crusade against them.

The Star Republic lay at the far end of this desert, a peninsula jutting into the sea, connected to the continent by a narrow isthmus. Major goods were transported by ship, so they maintained a massive ocean-going fleet.

Though only the Church of Light held deep hostility toward undead creatures, its scale was vast, influencing over sixty percent of the continent's population—hence, it held three of the seven seats on the Planar Security Council.

This outcome was already the best possible: the proposal was rejected. Nagris no longer needed to fear being hunted by a pan-planar alliance. But on the other hand, their existence was now known to the highest echelons of the plane—leaving Nagris with a constant sense of being watched, like thorns pricking his back.

"We'll have to be more careful from now on—don't get ambushed like Nicholas was." But Nagris wasn't overly worried. Ang now had self-defense capability, accompanied by a little angel and Luo Ge as bodyguards—even Bruceck in his transformed state would find it hard to kill him.

Nagris shut down the teleportation array, called out Ang and the others who were boredly poking the floor, climbed out of the dragon lair, and flew toward Falling Dragon Lake.

Flying far overhead, they suddenly saw someone jumping and waving on the ground—upon closer look, it was John.

Landing, they heard John exclaim excitedly: "My lords, tonight two couples in our village are getting married! I'd like to invite you all to the wedding—do you have time?"

Wedding? Ang tilted his head. He'd never heard the word before—curious.

Wedding? The little angel tilted her head—curious.

Wedding? The little zombie tilted his head—curious.

Sensing their emotions, Nagris sighed: "This is a great joyous occasion—we'll certainly attend. But we can't eat ordinary food. May we bring our own wine and drink?"

"Of course! Of course!" John was overjoyed.

The area around Falling Dragon Lake's Donghe Mouth—John's nearby villages—had transformed completely. The former scenes of starvation and numb despair were gone, replaced by vigor and prosperity.

The grain Ang left behind freed them from hunger, but what reignited their hope for life were the few acres of magic rice growing along the lake's salt flats.

"Bitter Water," the villagers called the lake. Now, rice grew in Bitter Water? Did this mean the hundreds of thousands of acres of salt flats around the lake could now be farmed?

The water of Falling Dragon Lake could easily irrigate hundreds of thousands of acres. If even ten percent were cultivated, the lake would never again face food shortages.

This reignited the villagers' hope for life. With full bellies and hope, they finally began to consider having children.

They blew whistles, beat drums, danced their unique whirl dances, and celebrated warmly by bonfires. The two brides were teased and mocked by relatives and friends, blushing furiously.

The little angel and little zombie watched, bewildered. The little angel quietly crept beside the bride, stuck out her tongue, licked the bride's wine—pfft, tasteless.

A plump young girl ran up to the little zombie, shoved a handkerchief into its hand, then blushed and ran away.

Seeing this, the villagers erupted in cheers, surrounding the little zombie with song and dance, leaving the zombie utterly confused.

Nagris laughed helplessly, flew over, and spent ages explaining—finally dragging the zombie back.

Under the Purification Spell, the little zombie looked fresh and pale, as if all past hardships had vanished—he resembled a fair-skinned youth. Not only did young maidens with budding romance stare at him, but many widows and matrons also gazed with longing, eager to pounce.

Of course, another figure making women's eyes gleam was Ang—but Ang himself squatted nearby, hand inside the Palace of Rest, shoulders heaving, like a disabled man—everyone just hadn't decided yet.

Wiping imaginary sweat, Nagris smiled: "Little zombie, can you 'do it'? If you can, I won't stop you."

As the little zombie stared blankly, a rapid clatter of hooves echoed from outside the village, and a sly voice shouted loudly: "Oh, what a joyous occasion! But don't you know the rules? In this vast desert, a bride's first night belongs to the King of Sand Bandits!"