Chapter 195: I Brought a Gift for My Lord

The statue has cracked!

The statue has cracked? Why would a statue crack? Who was cleaning?

It cracked while no one was cleaning.

Thermal expansion and contraction? These statues are nearly a thousand years old—they're due for replacement. Ancient texts record that over a thousand years ago, there was a period when temperature and humidity weren't properly maintained, causing numerous statues to crack simultaneously, leading to a full replacement.

Wait, no—doesn't a cracked statue count as a major incident? What does temperature and humidity have to do with it?

Are you stupid? If it's not about temperature and humidity, why do we strictly control them here? Even the number of people allowed in daily is limited. Others might ignore it, but we must analyze the cause—if we don't find the real reason, what happens when it cracks again?

But the statues are protected by divine power—how could they just crack randomly?

That's wrong. You must respect objective reality. You've been here long enough—have you ever seen a stone statue manifest a miracle?

No.

Neither have I. I checked eight hundred years of ancient records—there's not a single account of any miracle. How can you be so certain they're protected by divine power?

But aren't the priests, bishops, and clerics all saying the same thing?

They say it, but you must respect natural laws. The easiest cause for stone statues to crack is temperature and humidity—especially for solid stone carvings like these. Cheap molded and fired statues are far less likely to crack.

His companion seemed somewhat convinced and hesitantly asked: "Then what should we do?"

"Go check the storage—see if there's anything we can use to repair the statue."

After searching the storage, the two found a statue in the corner: "Good heavens, what a coincidence—it's the statue of the God of Scales."

"I remember now—the ancient texts say that among the cracked statues, one remained intact: the God of Scales. But since the whole set was sold at a discount, they carved a full set and didn't replace this one. So the statue that just cracked is the old one? It's over a thousand years old?"

"Then what do we do?"

"What do you mean, what do we do? Put it in place! Isn't this coincidence divine will?"

"What about the cracked one?"

"Of course, we remove it. But such a sacred object can't be casually discarded—it's only cracked, and its condition is still excellent. We'll have someone repair it, then let devout believers take it home for worship. The donations we receive will improve our lives and let us serve the gods better."

"This… is this really okay? I'm a little scared."

"Scared of what? This thousand-year-old relic can still sell for hundreds of magic crystals. If you try to block my profit, I'll kill you."

"Alright then…"

For various reasons, the fact that a statue had cracked in the Temple of the Gods was never reported—even if it had been, it likely wouldn't have been taken seriously.

As the guardian said, no record exists of any stone statue manifesting a miracle in over a thousand years. Although verifiable records only go back eight hundred years, and earlier records were destroyed in a fire, based on existing evidence, the statues from eight hundred years ago probably never showed any miracles either.

Let it crack. What thing in the world lasts forever without breaking?

…

"What's that on your head?" Negril circled Ang several times, observing carefully, then said uncertainly: "It looks a bit like the ring on the God of Scales' statue."

Ang looked up, thought for a moment—the halo vanished. He thought again—and it reappeared.

"You can make it disappear? That's good—otherwise, it's like wearing a giant lamp, too obtrusive. Too bad it's not a divine core—what's it even for?" Negril asked.

Xiamala floated over, flapping a pair of massive black light wings, and said: "The Ring of Scales can weigh all things under heaven and earth—plants, trees, wind, rain, thunder, lightning—all have their own mass. This is the ring that measures all things. Only by measuring matter can you determine whether the two ends of the Holy Stand are truly equal."

"Weigh all things? Everything? That powerful? How do you use it? Why didn't the God of Scales use it?" Negril exclaimed.

"I don't know. Maybe he didn't have time. The Ring of Scales requires immense spiritual power to activate—the weaker the target's spiritual power, the easier it is to weigh."

"Pfft…" Negril understood—the God of Scales probably didn't lack time; he used it and it failed. The Undying God's spiritual power was stronger than the God of Scales'.

"As for how to use it, I don't know. Perhaps Ang must discover it slowly. My lord, I wish to leave—can you send me away?"

Xiamala, with her head covered, entered the teleportation array and departed from the Abyss Plane.

"Just let her go? She's clearly very powerful—why not find a way to make her follow the lord?" Lisa asked, puzzled.

She was obsessed with recruiting others to serve Ang and didn't want to let go of such a powerful fallen angel.

Negril was startled: "Absolutely not. Her convictions are too firm—she's a ticking time bomb in the team. If anything goes against her will, she'll turn on you without hesitation. Too dangerous. A team can't have someone with such rigid beliefs."

"So what do you mean?" Lisa mused.

"I mean—if Ang tells someone to farm, they immediately take off their shoes and get in the field. Otherwise, they'd rather not be here."

"I won't farm! The fields have been fertilized by Aunt Niu's manure—I refuse to step in!" Lisa bristled.

"Metaphor, metaphor! If you don't want to go, fine—I wouldn't even want you to go, you might trample the crops. My point is, obedience matters more than power."

"Fine, I won't farm. But anything else is okay."

"Then go pick manure with the little angel."

"I'll kill you!"

Thus, all the believers present witnessed a shocking scene: the kind, patient Lady Lisa chased the Huang Tong Dragon, swinging her fists.

…

The mercenary guild in Lolan City posted a new bounty: find a stone that generates cavitation under high wind speed—reward: one hundred magic crystals.

Almost the next day, someone arrived to claim the reward.

Thanks to the teleportation array's anonymous transactions, the bounty poster didn't even need to visit the guild in person—just connect to the guild's public teleportation array, pay a small communication and teleportation fee, and prepay the reward.

"Is it really this convenient?" Negril stared in disbelief as Lisa operated the teleportation array. "Unbelievable."

"Of course. If it weren't convenient and discreet, who'd use the mercenary guild to post bounties? Fifteen percent commission! A hundred magic crystal bounty means I pay one hundred fifteen, plus three more for teleportation—what a loss!" Lisa groaned.

A stone was teleported over—it was the cavitation stone. The final obstacle blocking Ang's return to the Holy Heaven was solved.

"How is it? Is this it? If yes, I'll confirm it. If not, we return it and keep the bounty open," Lisa said.

"What if I swap the stone?" Negril asked curiously.

Lisa smiled: "The mercenary guild handles authentication. If we swap it, they'll immediately cancel the bounty, pay the reward to the original submitter, and blacklist this teleportation array."

"They handle authentication too? Then fifteen percent isn't high. This is definitely the cavitation stone we need. Can we add another bounty—ask the submitter where these stones come from? One stone is too few. If we need to travel to Heaven frequently, we'll need more."

"Yes." Another hundred magic crystals were added to the bounty for the origin of the cavitation stone. Soon, the responder replied: the mercenary wanted to speak to them personally.

"Hello, boss. I can supply you with large quantities of this stone—for only five magic crystals per stone." A sincere voice came through, oddly familiar.

Negril laughed bitterly. He'd offered a hundred magic crystals because he assumed the stone came from another plane—any item from another plane, even a stone, could be worth a hundred or more.

But if there's a source, it's just a stone. In that other plane, it's probably common as dirt. A stone selling for five magic crystals?

"One hundred magic crystals—for full details on this stone. If you don't tell me, we'll keep posting the bounty. There are surely more than just you who know its origin."

"Why bother? You'd have to go yourself—tiring, complicated. Just buy from me. I'll give you a discount—four and a half magic crystals per stone. Four? Three? Minimum three—no less! Oh, come on, you're so stingy! One? One magic crystal—that's the lowest I'll go!"

Negril wanted to cut the communication, but the voice grew increasingly familiar. He held his patience, listening and thinking—where had he heard this voice before?

"You're stingier than an elf! Fine, fine—a hundred magic crystals it is. I'll tell you which plane produces this stone. But how you get there, and whether you'll find the stone once you arrive—I can't guarantee anything."

Elf? Negril instantly realized why the voice sounded familiar. He asked tentatively, "Silver Coin?"

"Huh? Who are you?" The voice on the other end jumped in shock, trembling like a man caught mid-transaction with a barmaid when the landlord suddenly called his name.

"Find a safe place. I'll contact you shortly," Negril warned.

This connection was through the mercenary guild's teleportation array—unsafe.

Silver Coin realized this too, and quickly guessed who was on the other end. Only Anthony or Ang himself would speak to him this way—and have the power to reach him anytime. The speaker was the underdeveloped Huang Tong Dragon.

While Silver Coin sought a safe teleportation array, Negril couldn't help complaining to Ang: "Why didn't you know Silver Coin had cavitation stones? Isn't he your fanatic follower?"

Ang tilted his head: "Can't farm."

Negril's whiskers bristled: "You mean he told you, but you didn't remember because it had nothing to do with farming?"

Ang nodded.

Negril was speechless. She suspected Ang ignored countless things—anything unrelated to farming simply didn't register.

Come to think of it, Silver Coin was his fanatic follower—he held an elf's business license and tax exemption certificate. With his cunning, he should've thrived.

She vaguely remembered Anthony saying Silver Coin was doing well—even borrowing money from Anthony. But Ang had never mentioned Silver Coin's situation.

A fanatic follower would never fail to report his work. The only possibility: Ang didn't care—he didn't listen.

Now, instead of simply asking Silver Coin for the cavitation stones, they'd wasted time and over a hundred magic crystals on a guild bounty.

After finding a safe teleportation array, Silver Coin teleported directly over.

Stepping out of the array, seeing Ang, he sprinted forward, excitedly crying: "My Lord Ang, Divine Might Infinite, Soul at Peace!"

As he shouted, a spectral figure emerged from his body.

The specter resembled Silver Coin, but hugged a pile of magic crystals. On his back was a pack taller than himself, overflowing with magic crystals. In his hands he dragged several more bags, all filled with magic crystals.

The divine soul—the physical manifestation of a fanatic's most devout belief—Silver Coin's was the epitome of greed and money-obsession.

The soul merged into Ang's body.

"Wait, why can he awaken a divine soul? I can't even awaken one! Why can he?" Lisa demanded angrily, suspecting Negril or Anthony had secretly guided him.

"Because my devotion to my Lord is greater than yours," Silver Coin smiled, then unslung his ever-present gnome trinket shop. "My Lord, I've brought you gifts. I hope you like them."

Lisa gasped. Oh no—he just claimed he was more devoted than her! She'd been skeptical—but now he'd brought gifts?

Gifts! Why hadn't she thought of that? Why had none of them ever considered bringing gifts to the Lord?

In that instant, Lisa felt so ashamed she wanted to slap herself. These followers—none of them had ever thought to bring gifts to the Lord. When visiting someone's home, you bring gifts—why not for the Lord?

Do we believers even have hearts?!

"My Lord, I collected, and posted bounties with the mercenary guild and the Druid Guild, gathering nearly all crop seeds from the Prime Material Plane. I hope you like them."

Silver Coin presented a large burlap sack filled with tiny bottles. Each bottle held several to dozens of seeds, labeled with names and simple details: perennial or annual, cereal or shrub, heat-tolerant or shade-loving, drought-resistant or flood-tolerant—clearly gathered and marked with great care.

Lisa's heart sank. Oh no, oh no—the Lord will love this.

Indeed, Ang stepped forward, tilting his head curiously.

After counting, there were 1, 70 different crop seeds—edible, medicinal, economic—virtually every plant ever cultivated by humans, Silver Coin had collected.

Of course, one plane had far more plants. Silver Coin added: "Wildflowers and weeds weren't collected because no one cultivated them. If you want them, I'll immediately organize teams to gather them from the wild."

"It's over—it's over. Silver Coin has surpassed us all in the Lord's eyes. We've lost His favor," Lisa despaired.

Ang adored this gift—over sixteen hundred crop seeds meant he now had over sixteen hundred things to play with.

Ang inspected each item without courtesy, then stuffed them one by one into the Palace of Rest, and from this "one by one" motion, it was clear how much he loved these things.

After browsing through them, Ang soon noticed one particular seed—it emitted a faint scent of holy light.

"What is this?" Ang looked at the bottle, on which was written only one name: Plantman.

"Oh, I remember this—I reclaimed it as part of a bounty. A mysterious fellow claimed the reward and told me it was stolen from the Church, saying if planted in the ground, it would grow into a human, and he wanted a hundred thousand magic crystals for it."

Here, Silvercoin grew angry: "Did I believe his ghost story? I gave him ten gold coins and sent him on his way. I asked how to plant it—he said it had to go into the most sacred, most fertile soil, and such land exists only in the Holy Heaven and the Church. Clearly a fraud, using an unverifiable condition to swindle people. But seeds with holy light are rare, so I just packed it along."

Negrilis leaned over: "You knew he was a fraud, yet you wasted ten gold coins?"

"What could I do? He looked like a pitiful old man—about my age." Silvercoin was in his nineties; lucky for him he was a gnome with long life, but for an ordinary human, ninety-some years was already extreme longevity.

"Huh? That's odd—you're usually not this generous? But you made one mistake: 'unverifiable' isn't necessarily true."

ps: Level 3 now, big shots, you're awesome??