Chapter 164

Ang pulled the faith energy close to his chest: "Mine."

"Yes, yes, yes, it's yours—why are you acting like a little angel? Sure, it's yours, but they don't know who you are, so they offered it to the wrong god; this power slipped away through the Light Gods' faith network. You intercepted it—you're essentially stealing the Light Gods' faith, got it?" Nagelis said helplessly.

This was a serious matter. A god's foundation was faith energy; stealing another god's faith was like digging under their walls—it meant triggering a divine war to the death.

Ang tilted his head, then suddenly let out a loud "Ow!" A moment later, the little angel sprinted over, arms outstretched, wings spread wide.

An angel! So you still claim it's not a servant of the Light? The surrounding believers prayed even harder, faith energy pouring in continuously—it kept Ang busy, snatching here and there, not a single drop could escape.

When the little angel reached him, Ang shoved a large mass of faith energy into its hands.

The little angel blinked, clutching the faith energy, staring at Ang in confusion.

"Ow!" Ang made a biting motion.

The little angel suddenly understood, and bit down on the faith energy.

Previously, the little angel had been nothing but a skeleton wrapped in flesh. But that night, after it took a direct hit from the enemy's Holy Light Flash, the holy light struck its holy remains, vaporizing the flesh and reshaping it back into a true Holy Angel.

Recently, the little zombies didn't want to play with it anymore—touching it made their flesh sizzle and burn.

A true Holy Spirit wouldn't be harmed by the Light's faith energy. The little angel bit into it and slurped it right in, then licked its lips after finishing, and immediately pounced to snatch more faith energy itself.

A Holy Angel hopping around in front of everyone was far more tangible and vivid than those vague, distant Light Gods. Instantly, everyone switched their prayers to the little angel—no more frantic grabbing needed; faith energy floated straight to its front, within easy reach.

Nagelis sighed, overwhelmed by a deep sense of helplessness: "Thank goodness the Light Gods disappeared—if they hadn't, we'd be facing a divine war right now. Dare to steal their faith energy? But honestly, how did you do it? Can you just intercept it whenever you want?"

Stealing another god's faith energy wasn't easy—even a Truth Mage couldn't manage it; magic and divine arts weren't the same system.

Ang tilted his head, unsure how to answer—he didn't know how he did it either. He just felt he could, so he reached out—and caught it.

Seeing his expression, Nagelis knew he wouldn't get any answer, and fluttered away.

Ang continued healing. He healed here, the little angel snatched faith over there, both busy nonstop. As long as the faith energy didn't drift away, Ang didn't care if the little angel took it—after all, the little angel taking it was the same as him taking it.

Healing was a miracle; "continuous healing" was also a miracle. Even in church legends, few beings could heal thousands without pause—only some saint, exhausted to the point of spitting blood, created a miracle before dying.

As more people were healed, those waiting in line grew ever more steadfast in their faith.

Among the queue stood a slender, delicate-faced man who, despite the scorching heat, wore a full-length coat. He watched Ang from afar, his expression shifting uncertainly, as if wrestling with a terrible inner decision.

As the crowd moved forward, it was soon his turn. Ang split his attention and cast a Cleansing Face spell on him.

Feeling the soothing warmth spread through his body, the slender man gritted his teeth, wore a look of grim resolve, closed his eyes tightly, and flung open his coat.

Under the coat, there was nothing—only old, faded scars, mostly from whippings, and missing one thing a man should have.

"A eunuch?! A eunuch! So that's what a eunuch looks like?"

Murmurs spread through the crowd, making the eunuch want to die of shame—but for that sliver of hope, he had gone too far to turn back.

Ang felt nothing. He cast a Cleansing Face spell on the man; the old scars healed rapidly, scabs fell away, revealing fresh, tender skin—but the missing part never regrew.

That didn't stop Ang. He flipped his palm, pulled out a vial of Sacred Essence, dripped a few drops onto the spot, then unleashed three or four more Cleansing Face spells in quick succession…

After several repetitions, the missing part grew back. Ang turned his gaze to the next person, leaving the eunuch standing there, eyes closed, frozen in shock.

"Go, go, go! It's grown back—why are you still standing? Don't block the way!" Someone behind him shoved him impatiently.

"Grown back?" The former eunuch snapped his eyes open, looked down—and there, swaying before him, was the thing he had dreamed of for a lifetime.

Overwhelming emotion surged into his brain, leaving it blank. He had been castrated as a child, never once seen his own part; countless dreams had imagined it—but nothing compared to this tangible reality.

He knew he should smile—but when he opened his mouth, silent tears streamed from his eyes.

The man behind him glanced over, envious: "Not small at all. Should've cut mine too—let the Lord make it bigger." He shoved hard, knocking the weeping man aside.

The man didn't care. He knelt on the ground, face alternating between tears and laughter, then drifting into a daze. Finally, he calmed, and slowly bowed his head to Ang, speaking slowly, word by word: "Eunuch singer, Sandrid, thank my Lord, for granting rebirth."

Ang felt something and looked up—he saw a thick soul flame shoot from Sandrid toward him, forming a symbol within his soul.

This soul flame didn't drift toward the little angel like others'—it went straight to Ang. Clearly, Sandrid worshipped not the Light, but Ang himself.

Another believer with a symbol? It had been so long since anyone formed one—he'd forgotten how many he had: five or six?

But forming a symbol wasn't special—what was special was…

Ang lifted a beam of holy light. Compared to the Cleansing Face glow, this holy light had changed—Sandrid, like Lisa, had defined this holy light himself. This light was called—Rebirth.

Ang tilted his head, turned, and called out: "Ow!"

No one came.

Ang finally realized and shouted again: "Thunder!"

Thunder burst out, fur disheveled, hair wild, eager to speak: "Here, here! What do you need, my lord?!" As if fleeing a demon's grasp.

Ang smeared his newly acquired "light" onto Thunder's broken horn.

Thunder's horn had already regrown most of its length, leaving only a tiny tip. That tip was hardest—Sacred Essence and Cleansing Face had no effect; even the young World Tree sprout had stolen and eaten many, yet still couldn't grow it.

Thunder had almost given up—half a broken horn didn't hinder his thunder powers; he'd even learned to walk on air. One less bit? Fine.

But now, under the light, the missing tip grew back at a visible pace.

"Whoa! My lord, has your Cleansing Face spell leveled up again?" Thunder thought it was still Ang's spell.

After a few dozen seconds, Thunder's broken horn fully regrew in the light.

"Hahaha! I, Son of Thunder, Lord Thunder, am back!" Thunder raised his horn, reared up on his hind legs, and laughed wildly.

His voice carried far—distantly, Zihai's voice echoed: "Thunder, come back!"

"Oh." Thunder obediently trotted back. Even with a full horn, the Son of Thunder still couldn't defy the Lord of Thunder.

With Sandrid as an example, the group of gender-neutral eunuchs copied him—opening their coats or stripping early. Prepared for it, this miracle of sudden growth drew waves of onlookers.

Amidst waves of gasps, torrents of faith energy surged toward the little angel. For most, this miracle was far more shocking than ordinary ones.

Nagelis flew over, startled by the commotion, and muttered: "This method is too efficient. Next time we're short on soul flames, gather everyone, pick one, cut him off, regrow him, cut him off again—surely we'll harvest tons of soul flames."

…

"Come, come, let me teach you how to dig pit dwellings." Aulam, the man who had originally helped Ang get his land certificate, shouted through a leather megaphone: "First, tie these reeds into bundles, lay them flat on the ground, and press the edges down with sand—see? Compact them."

"Good. Now dig from the lake side straight toward the opposite side—dig through a tunnel. Make sure it faces the lake directly. Why? Wind blows this way. Once you dig with the wind, it flows through the tunnel, carrying away heat. Otherwise, you'll bake alive in your pit. Got it?" Aulam's throat was dry from shouting.

To house fifteen thousand people, Ang's group and the few hundred nearby villagers were nowhere near enough. So Lisa immediately mobilized reinforcements, bringing over a team from the oasis with administrative experience.

The resettlement was a thousand tangled threads. Even digging pit dwellings required hands-on teaching—and fast, or these people would die of heatstroke in the desert within days.

As for building houses? Ha. Unless you had dozens of magicians like Ang, building enough houses for fifteen thousand in the desert was impossible.

Not just houses—even cooking was a huge problem.

"Mirrors! Mirrors! Everyone, hand over your mirrors!" Sypharia, the Dragon Speaker, held a megaphone in her left hand and a large brick in her right, shouting loudly.

She was young-looking and feared she couldn't command respect, so she brought along Nai Aili—but Nai Aili, now barely half a meter long, had zero intimidation. Her stern face only looked cute.

Some kids spotted her and shrieked, rushing to ride the dragon—Nai Aili nearly spat fire.

A group of women subtly adjusted their skirts, pretending indifference: "Why do you need mirrors? Mirrors are expensive—we don't have any."

Sypharia wasn't stupid—this nonsense wouldn't fool her: "For cooking! We need mirrors to cook. This is a desert—no fuel. If you don't want to eat raw rice, hand over your mirrors. Listen: every night, ghosts patrol. Hand over your mirrors now, and you'll eat. Hide them, get caught by ghosts, and you and your family will be driven out—to bake to death in the desert."

They were frightened, reluctantly handing over mirrors—but even so, the total collected was far too little to feed fifteen thousand people.

The desert lacked wood or other fuel—cooking was a major problem. But sunlight was abundant and intense. With enough mirrors, arranged into a semicircle facing the sun, they could focus the light to boil water and cook.

The oasis's staple was green dates, so mirror demand was low. Now, at Dragon Lake, the staple was rice—mirrors became essential.

"No mirrors—what do we do?" Lisa, troubled, found Ang and Nagelis, frowning: "Just make everyone eat raw rice."

Nagelis was unimpressed: "No mirrors? Burn something. I remember the Dark Side City has quartz mines, and the oasis's magic crystal mines have quartz byproducts. Bring some over."

"Huh? Burn?"

A batch of quartz arrived via teleportation array. A sandstone kiln, already grown by Ang under Nagelis's instructions, stood ready.

Quartz was thrown in, fire lit, and Ang poured all his elemental power into it.

"Your magic level's too low. A Grand Mage could melt glass with bare hands. Now you need the kiln as an aid. Can't make mirrors—no reflective coating material—just make convex lenses. Still works for focusing light." Nagelis chattered endlessly, directing Ang in circles.

"Sprinkle fine sand on it, then rotate—rough grind. Then use deer hide and paste for fine polishing. Heh, Ang, your control is wasted on this."

Soon, dozens of lens discs, as large as washbasins, were polished and mounted, angled to focus sunlight. Within moments, the pots at the focal points boiled.

The entire process left Lisa and the others stunned. Only when the lenses were complete did Lisa exclaim: "Now I understand why you're called the God of Common Sense."

Nagelis collapsed to the ground, roaring: "Common Sense God?! Knowledge! Knowledge God!!!"

Amid the chaos, Anthony's anxious voice suddenly echoed in Ang's soul:

"My Lord, do you have grain? Could you sell me some? The Black Mountain Principality has suffered a locust plague—refugees have no food or clothing. I can't get supplies there in time. My Lord, please sell me grain and deliver it to Black Mountain Principality. I will offer the Earth Holy Hammer as payment."