Chapter 185

"Collect taxes, collect taxes—what's this about collecting protection money? You really don't know how to speak." Huang Tong said irritably.

Lisa retorted, "Taxes are meant to fund infrastructure, public welfare, and job creation. If they don't do that, it's just protection money—who do you think knows better, you or me?"

Nagelis immediately remembered Lisa's former status as a Holy Maiden; clearly, she had more authority to judge. He reluctantly amended: "Fine, fine, fine—protection money. Why are they collecting protection money from us?"

Lisa gave him a smug glance: "It's not just us—they've collected from every household nearby. We're just more visible, so they sent more men."

"How many?" Nagelis saw for himself soon enough: fifty mounted riders, brazenly blocking the main road from Meishencheng to the docks.

"Only this many to collect protection money?" Nagelis was astonished.

Just then, Shafia arrived and replied: "That's actually quite a lot. When they came to the oasis, they only sent twenty riders—and got shouted back by Lady Nai'ai."

"They collect taxes from your oasis too?" Nagelis asked in surprise.

Shafia shook her head: "They didn't end up collecting. First, it's too far. Second, they didn't want to clash with Lady Nai'ai, so they dropped it. Meishencheng is different—though equally distant, you can sail downstream by boat, much faster."

Nagelis scratched his head: "I'm not worried about that. What I'm afraid of is them cutting off the river—that'll ruin Meishencheng's business. Have you asked Bai Yin? He's experienced—what's his suggestion?"

The Silver Knights' garrison wasn't far from the river; even a small detachment could blockade it, directly severing Meishencheng's customer flow.

"Chairman Bai Yin's suggestion is to bring the enemy into our circle of interests, form a shared interest group, and get them to help promote and attract customers. We could offer them a share of the profits and make them our agents. After all, the Silver Knights have far broader connections than we do—not just paying taxes," Lisa said.

"Huh? That's a good idea—using the Silver Knights' connections to boost our customer flow is way better than just paying taxes. Win-win. Let's call them over. Wait—what's that guy doing?" Nagelis suddenly interrupted, startled.

One of the Silver Knights, apparently bored or just being reckless, suddenly broke from the formation, galloped into the rice paddies, and trampled the rice stalks—now heavy with grain, nearly ready for harvest—into the mud, splashing up a wave of sludge.

The knight laughed loudly, urging his horse forward again, shouting: "Watch my horsemanship!"

As the horse leapt and landed a second time, a beam of light struck the knight—flickered, then vanished. The knight's body disappeared from the waist down. The horse felt suddenly lighter, turned its head in confusion, and saw only the rider's two feet still clinging to the saddle.

"Boom-boom, boom-boom!" Nearby came the familiar shouts of the Purple Bone Titans: "Don't fight over it—save one for me! The third one from the left is mine!"

"One, two, four, five, seven—where's three?"

"After one and two comes three—can't you count?"

There, An Ge, wielding a scythe, led a squad of tiny zombies charging forward, while the tiny angel flapped her wings, guiding a group of Titans toward the Silver Knights.

"Sigh…" Nagelis sighed. "No need to choose anymore—eliminate the enemy." He glared, bared his fangs, let out a draconic roar, and charged forward, waving his tiny claws.

Startled first by the holy light, then by the Titans, the knights had no time to react before being overwhelmed.

It wasn't until a week later that the Silver Knights' Divine Knight, Tric, learned of the unit's disappearance.

Over the past few months, Tric had been suffering. Their only goblin airship had defected, and before leaving, it had dropped a magic crystal bomb on the camp. Luckily, he wasn't in the command tent—only a few guards died.

Still, he'd used the incident to extract more resources and funding from the Church—not a total loss. The real problem was the Fallen Angel had come to Darkface City.

This was a massive headache. The Silver Knights were formed specifically to counter Darkface City's undead—they had zero capability to handle Fallen Angels, and everyone feared them, for contact meant corruption.

True, the Church had recently established the Fallen Knight order to appease the corrupted, and was likely researching ways to purge the corruption—but the problem was, this would shatter the Silver Knights' organizational structure. Once labeled a Fallen Knight, you'd never return.

The Silver Knights had become a bloated interest group. Though they'd accomplished little, the Church still had to fund them—otherwise, the undead of Darkface City might surge out, raiding and slaughtering villages.

Luo Ge had sworn they'd never launched large-scale attacks on humans since arriving in Darkface City—but he couldn't confront the Silver Knights directly.

To avoid drawing Shamarra's attention, the Silver Knights voluntarily retreated, moving south of the Donghe River. Several times, the Church ordered them to crush Shamarra, but Tric kept delaying, citing severe officer injuries.

If Shamarra settled permanently in Darkface City, what would become of the Silver Knights? Fight to the death against Shamarra?

Then the Church would say: "You wiped out a Fallen Angel—what's so hard about those undead? Keep fighting. No excuses."

If they refused, hid far away, the Church would say: "What good are you? No more funding."

Moreover, Tric had sensed a shift in the Church's atmosphere since Anthony's Eastern Diocese declared independence. The old tricks of slacking off no longer worked. Was the Silver Knights, established over two hundred years ago, about to collapse?

But this worry eased slightly upon hearing news of Meishencheng.

"You're saying the cost of a single treatment in Meishencheng could reach hundreds of thousands of magic crystals? Per session?" Tric asked in disbelief.

The reporting officer nodded vigorously, equally astonished: "More than that—if you choose multiple treatments, the price doubles. For example, a seventy-year-old woman wanting to look ten, twenty, or thirty years younger—each has a different price. A fifty-year-old woman's price differs too."

"And that's just wrinkle removal. There's also skin whitening, skin rejuvenation, limb restoration, bone reshaping, height increase, enlargement, liposuction… each service has its own price. I heard Lord Light's mother spent a full six hundred thousand magic crystals and looked thirty years younger."

Tric's legs went weak: "Six hundred thousand magic crystals?" Don't assume An Ge casually earns hundreds of thousands and think magic crystals are worthless—six hundred thousand is the annual tax revenue of an ordinary duchy.

"If we take sixty percent as tax, that's three hundred and sixty thousand magic crystals—enough to cover the Church's three-year funding. And this is just one client?" Tric muttered, calculating.

Don't think sixty percent is outrageous. These days, how many commoners pay less than that? A landowner collecting fifty percent is rare. One charging forty percent gets isolated and boycotted by all other lords—ruining market prices.

A unified tax rate across all realms is necessary, or the populace will flee to lower-tax regions.

Honest lords collect taxes and stop. Unscrupulous ones impose forced labor, additional levies, or split taxes into countless categories. Common folk lack the expertise to calculate their true tax burden—if they did, they'd find it often reaches seventy or eighty percent.

This has driven many farmers into bankruptcy, turning them into slaves. Lords and nobles buy their land cheaply, then hire these bankrupt farmers to till it. Though they lose freedom, their children lose the right of first night, their bodily rights—still, at least they're fed and clothed.

This has led to situations where people are less valued than slaves. In the Western Diocese, this is far worse than in Anthony's Eastern Diocese.

Though Anthony couldn't halt land consolidation, he enacted a law years ago: if a parish's believers decline continuously, the tithe on that land rises to one-fifth or even one-tenth.

This tax targets the lords. As a result, Eastern Diocese lords leave more breathing room in exploitation—afraid of driving people to death. During disasters, they're eager to provide relief, or Anthony will use declining believers as an excuse to punish them.

Now, Meishencheng has no lord—it represents the Church directly. Is sixty percent too much?

Of course, Tric only imagined it—he didn't yet know Meishencheng's true nature. What if they violently resisted taxation? But even if sixty percent couldn't be collected, one-fifth or one-tenth would still be acceptable.

One-fifth of six hundred thousand is one hundred and twenty thousand—enough to match the Church's annual funding, enough to sustain their thousands of troops. Even if they lost Church support, they could survive.

Lost in these pleasant fantasies, a sharp shout rang outside the tent: "Who's there!"

Soon, alarms sounded and faded into the distance.

Tric grew alert. Not long after, the guard returned to report: "We detected a Black Knight lurking outside the camp with a Searchlight. We chased him out with Holy Spirits."

"A Black Knight? Is it Luo Ge from Darkface City?" Tric asked in surprise. Black Knights are artificial undead—only a few can create them. The only one he knew was Luo Ge.

"Looks like it."

"Assassinate me?" Tric was astonished. If Luo Ge could assassinate him, he'd have died tens of thousands of times already. For protection, he always had full detection systems, whether traveling or camping.

His bodyguards were trained extensively in anti-infiltration. He himself was a Divine Knight—his strength far surpassed that of some pretty-boy like Leonarde.

Knowing assassination was impossible, why was Luo Ge lurking outside the camp?

Tric immediately ordered: "Deploy aerial units. Reconnoiter the area around the camp."

Before he finished speaking, his adjutant replied awkwardly: "My lord, you've forgotten—we lost our last goblin airship. The wyverns have been harassed by a unicorn for weeks now. They've been yelling at it for a week straight. The wyverns are getting annoyed."

"Yelling? Yelling at what?" Tric asked, bewildered. He could understand being attacked, stabbed by horns, kicked by hooves—but yelled at?

"Yes. Insults. Things like: 'Dragon-blooded, ridden by a thousand, shameless, no dragon dignity, no dragon upbringing, better to drain your blood and turn into urine, become a urine-blooded.' And more."

"Enough, enough—don't repeat it all. What about the wyverns? What's their reaction?" Tric's head throbbed. Those insults were vicious—he could imagine how the wyverns felt.

Though wyverns were lesser dragons, they still possessed dragon pride and dignity. The wyvern rider's greatest duty wasn't combat—it was keeping the wyvern happy. After being insulted, it wouldn't be happy.

"The wyvern yelled back: 'You're the one being ridden!' Then the unicorn replied: 'I'm happy. Are you happy? You're ridden and bring shame to dragons. Are dragons happy?' Then more—no need to repeat. The wyverns have lost their appetite lately and refuse to let riders mount them."

Tric stared, dumbfounded. "Is this still a unicorn? A noble unicorn? With such a vile tongue?"

Suddenly, a piercing dragon roar cut through the sky. Tric burst from his tent and saw a silver shadow flash past the camp at high speed, leaving behind a dragon's cry.

From within the camp, a furious roar erupted: "Damned silver dragon! Don't think you're a higher dragon and you can insult me—I'll bite you to death!"

A massive warehouse shattered as a creature twenty meters long, with a wingspan of forty meters, short thick neck, almost no tail, crashed through the roof and took flight.

With its short neck and no tail, this creature was far bulkier than ordinary dragons. At only twenty meters long, its girth rivaled that of an ancient adult dragon. Its thick forelimbs looked more like giant bat wings than dragon limbs.

Flapping clumsily, it lumbered after the distant silver shadow.

Tric cursed: "Idiot! You're as fat as a pig—do you think you can catch a silver dragon? It's luring you away! You fool! Why is there a silver dragon? When did we offend the dragon clan?"

Tric never considered: what if the wyvern wasn't stupid? What if it was chasing deliberately?

Once the fat wyvern left the camp, it began speaking in Draconic to the silver dragon ahead: "Why did you tell me to leave the camp?"

"Aaaooo!" the silver dragon roared.

"What does that mean? Speak Draconic," the fat wyvern said.

"￥#，@#￥#%，*%￥#（%……￥￥#……" The silver dragon spouted a long string of nonsense.

The fat wyvern stopped it: "Alright, I get it." At that moment, it twisted its short, thick neck to look back at the camp—where a flash of light erupted in the night, glowing like a holy beacon.

…

Minutes earlier, a goblin airship drifted lazily above the Silver Knights' camp, adjusting its position.

"Left a bit, forward a bit, a bit more," Nagelis, following An Ge's cues, voice-controlled the goblin to fine-tune its position. A Black Knight was hiding below—An Ge could pinpoint his exact location through their soul link.

"Good, hover. Wind speed: east three. Load the magic egg."

Gearmaster Waguili reluctantly pushed a giant magic egg toward the side rail, muttering: "Magic eggs aren't used this way. They should be fired from dual-rail cannons, tracing a graceful parabola to strike the target—that's mechanical aesthetics. Not just dropped from the sky."

"What are you grumbling about? Throw it! If you don't, I'll drop your World Tree branch and see if it kills anyone," Nagelis snapped.

Waguili instantly jumped as if his seat caught fire, shoved the magic egg overboard, and watched it plummet freely.

After releasing it, he didn't wait to see the result. He sprinted back inside, dashed to the corner, lifted the cloth cover, and saw the bundle of branches still intact. Only then did he sigh in relief.

The magic egg's light and shockwave flipped the entire camp.

Amidst chaos, before losses could be counted, thundering hooves approached from outside. Thousands of sand nomad cavalry, three thousand undead and war chariots, led by dozens of Titans, stormed into the camp.

The Silver Knights panicked, summoning Holy Spirit angels—but the moment they appeared, a dark shadow pounced, draining their holy light completely.

"Fallen Angel Shamarra! Shamarra!" Panic screamed through the camp.

That night, under Shamarra and the Purple Bone Titans, led by thousands of sand nomad cavalry, three thousand undead and war chariots, the entire force of thousands of Silver Knights and apprentice knights was annihilated.

Normally, such a battle would cost five to six hundred casualties to kill a thousand enemies. But unfortunately, An Ge had too many healing methods: minor wounds were treated with Pure Complexion Spell, severed limbs with Holy Essence Fluid—even the dead were revived by Insect Ash Fluid.

Only if the entire head was destroyed—leaving no soul—could they not be saved.

Two days later, Anthony's communication came through: "Lord of Knowledge, wasn't it agreed we wouldn't kill anyone? Why did you suddenly wipe out the entire Silver Knights? Now what? The Drowning Lands Diocese's Dai Sen has already proposed eliminating you entirely. It's up for vote at the next Security Meeting."

Nagelis chuckled nervously: "Heh, heh… no choice. These knights had a problem—they trampled two rice stalks right in front of An Ge."

"Trampled two stalks? That doesn't justify killing everyone. Make them pay compensation!"

"Sigh… it wasn't just two. These guys had a problem—along the way, they trampled countless rice paddies, chopped down many jujube trees, knocked off unripe jujubes that rotted on the ground, and ruined the grassy riverbanks, claiming 'riding on grass doesn't hurt hooves.' An Ge was furious. I didn't dare stop him."

Anthony stared blankly for a long moment, then asked: "Are they that reckless?"

"Yes. If they'd just picked the jujubes to eat, An Ge wouldn't have cared—the trees were planted for everyone. But these bastards? They ate the ripe ones, smashed the unripe ones, and galloped through rice paddies claiming 'training horsemanship.' They were asking for death." Nagelis sighed helplessly.

"Yeah, if they just picked them to eat themselves, Ang wouldn't care—the jujube trees along the road are planted for everyone to enjoy—but these bastards won't do that; they eat the ripe ones, knock down the unripe ones, and ride horses through the rice fields, claiming it's practicing horsemanship. Sigh, they're asking for death." Nageleis sighed helplessly.

"So what do we do now?" Anthony was at a loss.

"I don't know what to do—worst case, we go back to the Abyssal Depths. But it's up to you. I'll send you something to look at, and you decide. Did you know the Silver Knights have defected to Dai Sen?" As he spoke, he gestured for his men to bring over the items.

A stripped corpse—Trick's—yet as a Knight of the Gods, his back bore strange tattoos, unmistakably dark and unholy.

Then came a statue half a man's height, followed by a finger bone. The bone itself was unremarkable, but it was a purple-gold finger bone. The problem? Luo Ke's hands were intact. Whose finger bone was this?

As Anthony activated the teleport array's receiver, he replied: "Of course I know. Where else did those undead plague skeletons come from? They came from the Lands of Decay."

A flash of intense light—the items were transmitted. Anthony stared at them in silence for a long time. Finally, he spoke: "I said someone had defected to a demonic god—and now I see it's true. This makes things easy. I founded the Holy Church to cleanse the Church of the demonic god's corruption. You accepted my secret bounty, discovered the Silver Knights colluding with the demonic god—now I can speak with full legitimacy."

Days later, the second motion, sparked by the Abyssal Nomads, received a bizarre vote at the Planar Security Meeting: two votes in favor, five against—exactly the same as last time.

The motion's initiator, Dai Sen, undoubtedly voted yes. The Dwarf War God had loudly declared his intent to vote yes before the ballot. If so, what vote did the Pope cast?

…

Once the items were handed over, Nageleis felt at ease. Anthony was far craftier than it was—he'd find the best way to handle this.

Returning, Nageleis saw Ang, the little angel, and the little zombie gathered around a statue. Its style matched the one sent to Anthony—but now, the statue's mouth had split open a crack.

It was a spatial fissure. A furry little paw reached out, frantically spreading wide.

Ang placed a bean in its palm. The paw instantly retracted, and the spatial fissure vanished. Soon after, the crack reopened, and the paw reached out again.

Nageleis's head spun. A paw piercing through a spatial fissure—what kind of paw was that?

Ang's Cross-Dimensional Hand had nearly killed him when he pierced space—he'd slept for months to recover. Yet this little paw pierced space effortlessly. Though unknown how, the difficulty must have been immense.

And it emerged from the demonic god's statue—could it be the demonic god's true form?

Ang fed it bean after bean. Others defected to the demonic god—but was he feeding it?

No—if it were the demonic god, why would a single bean cause such urgency?

Nageleis examined the bean closely—and froze. It lunged forward, snatching the bean from Ang's hand.

The paw, deprived of the bean, stretched desperately forward, nearly shoving its entire arm through. It clawed frantically, like a cat's paw stuck in a bed crack.

Nageleis no longer cared about the demonic god. It stared, stunned, at the bean: "Elf bean? You grew it? Grafted it?"

PS: Later than usual—wrote an extra chapter, three-in-one.