Chapter 249: Demigod Body

The Shattered Seal is a very special seal that can seal an intact object in a shattered form.

This was originally a useless seal—you seal the whole thing, so what's the point of sealing something already broken?

But when applied to a Holy Spirit, this once-useless seal became an advantage, because Holy Spirits possess a unique ability: they can be reborn by bathing in holy light.

If you split a Holy Spirit's heart in half, seal one half, and let the other half bathe in holy light and be reborn, then let it roam free.

If it accidentally dies while roaming, hey—the other half is still sealed, it will heal itself; once healed, split it again, bathe one half in holy light, and now you have a combat weapon capable of endless rebirth.

The Shattered Seal even accounts for this: once the Holy Spirit's heart fully recovers, pull the trigger, and the heart inside is instantly cut in half—one half ejected, the other half remaining sealed, eliminating the need to manually split it.

The only drawback is that an angel reborn from half a Holy Spirit's heart retains less than half its original combat power.

Specifically for the Archangel Luna, her post-rebirth combat power may be less than one-fifth of her peak strength, because quantitative reduction leads to qualitative decline—losing half the power means she cannot cross the threshold of qualitative transformation.

Just as a punch with five hundred catties of force and a punch with one thousand catties of force hitting a person are not simply a matter of double pain.

This is also why Anthony felt Luna was weak—after all, a six-wing Archangel is a being on the level of Bone-Lock, with combat power rivaling a deity.

"Recovery is too slow—how long until full restoration?" Anthony, secretly teleported over, circled the Shattered Seal, watching the Holy Spirit's heart slowly growing beneath the transparent crystal, and asked.

"About a month, I estimate," Negril said.

"Too slow—I'll come back in a month. By the way, my lord, how were you able to project the Scale Ring? Did you master the Scale's divine essence?" Anthony asked.

He knew the Scale had been killed by Ang, but he hadn't expected its abilities could be projected to him—did his lord fully master the Scale God's divine essence?

This was the Scale God, one of the Primordial Light Deities—if mastered, wouldn't stealing the Light's faith become easy?

"Half," Negril said. "I only managed to snatch the Scale Ring. Legend says it can weigh all things under heaven, but no one knows how—it's never been seen used by Ang. Probably can't be used for farming."

Anthony said: "I tested it—I can see the energy strength of enemies. My lord, can you see my energy strength?"

Ang turned his head and said: "Green."

"Green? What does that mean?" Anthony asked, confused—he'd seen a ribbon of colors before, but during battle hadn't dared to focus, so he didn't understand its meaning.

"Green? Ignore it. Yellow? Be cautious. Red? Dangerous," Ang said.

After the explanation, Negril and Anthony finally understood: Ang also saw a ribbon of colors—some people leaned green, others blue, others orange—all irrelevant.

Only those leaning yellow required vigilance; those leaning red meant danger, and demanded caution.

Beyond energy strength, Ang could also perceive weight, volume, and other data—no wonder it was the Scale Ring that weighed all things.

This ability was wasted on Ang—it'd be better suited for a tailor, who could glance and instantly know a customer's size.

The Holy Spirit's heart couldn't recover in a moment, so Anthony had no choice but to return for now, to come back in a month.

During this free time, Negril tricked Aubery into building three illusion simulation arrays: two for Ang, the third assigned to Sava's alchemy and potion lab.

Alchemy and potion-making were the professions most in need of such arrays—so Sava, eyes gleaming with excitement, cried out: "My lord, from now on I'm yours—you can do anything to me!"

…

In the Abyssal Lands, Harvey awoke from sleep, raised his hand before his eyes, and stared at the holy light in his palm: "Why is this growing stronger?"

The Flame of Many Beliefs in his palm had grown significantly, causing him discomfort and burning him awake from slumber.

"Should I go see the Grand Sage?" Harvey felt this couldn't continue—he needed a solution. After struggling to rise, he stepped to the cave entrance and saw: "The sun's too bright. Forget it—wait for Eternal Night."

Harvey muttered, turned back, raised his palm, and blew hard upon it.

The breath was the breath of the soul—like a shard of ice, it instantly froze the flame in his palm.

…

In the City of Light, the Church, the Holy Light Cathedral.

Believers often say "the Church," meaning the Holy Light Cathedral in the City of Light—it is the power center of the Light Church, covering dozens of square kilometers, a self-contained independent city.

The Holy Light Cathedral is the heart of the City of Light and the seat of the Pope.

Normally, the Eastern and Western Dioceses each have their own cathedrals, and people habitually call them "the Church" too—but never in writing; any written reference to "the Church" always means the Holy Light Cathedral.

Pope Gulliani is the master here; sometimes people mispronounce him as "Juliani," with a slight tone of contempt.

In a corner of the cathedral's garden, Gulliani was receiving Dai Sen—Dai Sen, dressed in full ceremonial regalia, solemn and imposing, trailed behind Gulliani in casual robes like a mere attendant.

Gulliani strolled idly, speaking half-heartedly: "The Western Diocese carries heavy responsibilities and complex circumstances—power factions intertwine, and it borders the Elf Forest; one misstep invites disaster."

"Yes, yes, yes, Your Holiness, rest assured—I'll handle it properly," Dai Sen wiped sweat from his brow, speaking respectfully.

Wearing heavy ceremonial robes and a crown weighing over ten catties, Dai Sen's neck was nearly crushed.

True, his strength could let him ignore the weight—but he dared not use his power while trailing Gulliani, forced to bear it purely with his body.

Enduring it was fine, but it made him sweat—he was drenched, his undergarments soaked.

Yet Gulliani still droned on, speaking aimless words—advice that wasn't advice, orders that weren't orders, like an old farmer chatting at the village gate.

Dai Sen voiced loyalty while his mind raced: Gulliani couldn't be deliberately tormenting him—he must be dissatisfied with something Dai Sen had failed to deliver. What was it? He needed to ponder carefully.

He had already tested the waters—offered large donations, offered to cede key positions for Gulliani to place his own men—but Gulliani had deflected every topic.

Clearly, his gestures hadn't hit upon what the Pope truly cared about.

What was it? Dai Sen's head ached—he realized he'd stayed too long in the Abyssal Lands, grown disconnected from the Main Plane, unaware even of what the Pope truly valued.

Thinking this, Dai Sen earnestly said: "Your Holiness, I've stayed too long in the wild Abyssal Lands, fighting mindless undead for too long—my mind has grown dull. I no longer know where the Church's true interests lie. Please guide me."

"That's wrong," Gulliani said. "Even in the wilderness, you must always remember—the Church's true interest is, of course, the believers."

Dai Sen's mind raced: Believers? Believers? The problem must lie with the believers—what did the Pope mean? Did he want me to expand the believer population?

Impossible—that's the Bishop's job, no need for subterfuge; he'd say it outright. Did he want me to reduce the believer population? That'd be easy—just unleash plague or famine—but what benefit would that bring him?

After a pause, Dai Sen cautiously said: "Believers are like lost lambs—they cannot see the fog ahead; they need shepherds to guide them occasionally. I've stayed too long in the Abyssal Lands and sometimes feel lost myself. I hope the Church will support me—send some devout priests to steer the faithful's faith."

Giuliani smiled, nodded, and said: "Indeed, constant guidance is needed—otherwise, you'll end up like Anthony, deceived by a demon god. You're good—keep your devout heart. Don't follow Anthony."

Dai Sen's heart pounded wildly—he understood what Gulliani intended: he meant to steal faith!

And he was already doing it—Gulliani's eyes, fixed on him now, had golden irises, displayed without concealment.

Good heavens—golden irises? That's at least the mark of a demigod—had Gulliani already attained a demigod body?

Dai Sen knelt in terror, forehead pressed to the ground, not daring to move. Gulliani's unhidden display meant only two choices remained: survival or destruction.

"Please, Your Holiness, guide me!" Dai Sen shouted, head still bowed.

"Go, lead the believers onto the right path," Gulliani smiled benevolently, a scepter slowly appearing in his hand.

"Yes, Your Holiness!" Dai Sen rose and shouted, then noticed the scepter: "Huh? The Pope's Scepter? Is this the old one? Wasn't it lost? Where did you find it?"

Before he could say more, Gulliani grew awkward: "Uh… Anthony offered it to me."

"What? Anthony offered it? Why…?" Dai Sen was baffled—Anthony had nearly broken ties with the Church—why would he offer up a scepter of such symbolic weight?

"Sigh, I fell for that fellow's trick. It's just a prop. He held a Church Lost Relics Exhibition—collected a whole pile of lost relics from somewhere, toured them across major cities in the Eastern Diocese, claimed they were sentient, and only those truly recognized could wield them—then presented me the Pope's Scepter."

"When I took it, it was indeed the Pope's Scepter—but half-rotted, crudely repaired. I couldn't refuse to use it—if I didn't, it meant I wasn't recognized by the scepter. It infuriated me."

Gulliani, rarely losing composure, stormed like a man utterly unlike the composed Pope moments before.

A sudden sense of loss struck Dai Sen—he'd been manipulated by Gulliani without resistance, yet Anthony was already playing the Pope for a fool—was this the difference?

…

After a full month, the Holy Spirit's heart within the Shattered Seal finally restored completely.

Anthony, having received word early, arrived early to wait, eager to witness the rebirth of the Supreme Holy Spirit, the six-wing Archangel, the Archangel Luna.

He chatted idly with Negril: "My lord, you need to be careful now—Dai Sen has been appointed Western Diocese Archbishop and has already begun his duties. Once he consolidates the Western Diocese's power, he'll target you."

Negril protested: "Why? We don't steal or rob—we just quietly run our business in the desert. Why target us?"

"I'd target you too," Anthony said, expression incredulous. "Deep-sea nomads, no roots, yet rich—I've heard rumors even in the East: you're filthy rich in the desert, every beauty treatment costs tens of thousands of magic crystals. People have already put bounties out to investigate your background."

He added: "Killing Nicolas was a brilliant move—the Western Diocese's upper echelons were in chaos, unable to elect a new Archbishop, so they couldn't act against you. But now Dai Sen's in charge—this guy's dangerous. No proof, but I'm certain he was the one who tried to assassinate me, not Nicolas."

"Hmph." Negril grunted twice. "Let him come. You said the upper echelons are in chaos—even if he's in charge, consolidating power won't happen overnight."

"No, others can't—but Dai Sen can. He didn't return from the Abyssal Lands alone—he brought many powerful subordinates. The Abyssal Lands' military strength is the strongest among the three dioceses. Without direct action, I couldn't defeat him." Anthony spoke seriously.

Negril grew uneasy: "Then what? This is the desert—we're safe from assassinations. Unless he sends an army upstream—then it's trouble. But we wiped out the Silver Knights—he'd need to assemble a force larger than them to break us. Can he gather that many in a short time?"

Anthony glanced at it. "You underestimate the power of a single diocese. So far, only the Church has targeted you—the Church excels at manipulating minds, not organizing combat. If Dai Sen can persuade human nations…"

Anthony's words were cut off by a report. After permission, a Purple Bone Titan brought someone in—Shamara crept in, head down, hesitantly asking: "My lord, the voice in my heart told me I should come here—correct?"

As soon as she spoke, the last trace of the Holy Spirit's heart within the Shattered Seal fully restored—a faint ripple spread outward.

PS: Took the kid out, ran late.