Chapter 268: What Six Gods?

Continuous streams of sea monster fat coated the cocoon, rapidly melting and being absorbed; three-finger-thick layers of grease were fully consumed within seconds.

Don't you lack calories? Fat is high in calories—eat meat, drink oil.

As for the sea monster meat, it was continuously fed into a massive stone pot, boiling violently, the scent of meat making those who smelled it involuntarily swallow.

These days, even landowners and nobles couldn't eat meat often, whereas adventurers, due to their constant travels, had more opportunities to eat meat.

But very few ever got the chance to taste sea monster meat.

Vanya pulled out a burlap sack, scooped a large bowl of salt, and dumped it all into the stone pot at once; even the adventurers couldn't help but swallow their saliva.

The sea in the Flat Sea Plane was freshwater, abundant in fish but lacking salt; some adventurers had been here for years, eating fish every day until their mouths were numb, and now seeing so much salt, they longed to rush forward and gnaw on it.

Vanya tasted the saltiness, deemed it sufficient, then pulled out several more burlap sacks and scooped out some spices.

The crowd watching stirred with murmurs; some couldn't help asking: "This… this isn't execution food, is it? You're adding spices?"

In the Main Plane, spices were priceless, more valuable than gold; even nobles couldn't eat them daily, leading to a banquet tradition called the Spice Banquet, where wealthy elites dressed in dazzling attire gathered to eat spices…

Everyone present were poor adventurers—who had the right to eat spices? Could this be execution food, served just before beheading?

The thought terrified them so much they nearly wet themselves, never imagining this was merely Vanya's offhand remark, and Ang had casually grown some for her, so she'd used it casually.

Silver coins had collected over a thousand kinds of crop seeds, and the elves over ten thousand; everyone should understand the pain of having too many toys and not knowing which to play with.

So Ang casually asked everyone what crops they wanted; only Valigu, Sawa, and Vanya raised their hands.

Valigu requested several types of wood for constructing constructs; Ang placed divine wood, world tree, and bamboo before him, and he immediately changed his mind: "No need, no need—these woods are barely usable."

Sawa, a alchemist, needed many herbs; Ang didn't want the trouble, so he only grew a few rare ones, leaving the rest for her to buy herself, since she had a quarterly budget anyway.

Vanya also listed a few spices; though there were many kinds, she'd only ever seen a few common ones, and wouldn't know how to use others even if given them.

But having a few common ones was good enough—sprinkle cumin on grilled meat, add cinnamon and star anise to stews; the dishes Vanya cooked could instantly outclass ninety-nine percent of all cooks across all planes, finally making her a true cook, not a minotaur warrior.

Adventurers and Harvest worshippers licked the broth and grilled meat clean; once they learned it wasn't execution food but Vanya's usual routine, she instantly became the most popular person in the Flat Sea Plane, after Harvest Goddess Lisa.

Those who chop heads are never as popular as those who serve meals…

Those responsible for beheading now gathered around the cocoon, watching it absorb the sea monster fat and meat; everyone could sense its joyful aura, similar to a young sapling.

Ang simply pulled out the sapling and placed it on his head, letting it wave its leaves: Strive—Grow—

The cocoon's aura indeed surged much faster.

After absorbing two or three tons of fat and meat, the cocoon cracked with a crunching sound, revealing a chubby… little horse.

It truly resembled a foal, except its face and neck weren't elongated, its limbs weren't hooved, it had a pair of small wings on its back, and its body was covered in fine scales—otherwise nearly identical to a horse.

Everyone immediately turned their gaze to Lei Ting.

Lei Ting, who had been curiously observing the little horse, froze when everyone turned to look at him: "Why are you all staring at me?"

Only after saying this did he realize something, quickly protesting: "No, I didn't do anything! Don't blame me—I did nothing!"

Everyone also thought it impossible, turned back to observe; Lisa said: "Those scales look a bit like dragon scales."

Everyone turned again to Nageleisi.

Nageleisi remained calm: "I'm a dead dragon."

True enough—a dead dragon can do nothing. They turned back to observe; the little horse stared with round, wide eyes, curiously sizing everyone up. After a few glances, its attention shifted to the cracked cocoon shell.

It opened its mouth, revealing a full set of tiny sharp teeth, bit down on the cocoon shell, easily shattering and swallowing it.

"Many oviparous animals eat their own eggshells—is it oviparous now? Didn't you say it's the Insect God?" Sawa leaned over curiously, poking the shell.

With such a large head approaching, the chubby Insect God didn't hold back—it opened its mouth wide to bite; if those tiny teeth bit her, Sawa wouldn't need to worry about reassembling herself—just being lucky enough to reincarnate as a headless zombie would be a blessing.

Ang's mind shifted; the chubby Insect God suddenly stiffened, its round eyes filled with panic—it realized its mouth wouldn't close.

What to do? The Insect God frantically used its front paws to hold its mouth shut, trying to force it closed, but no matter how hard it strained, its paws couldn't reach its chin—until Ang released the soul control, allowing it to finally close its mouth.

The Insect God clearly understood its powerlessness; it obediently lay still, cautiously glancing around, finally fixing its gaze on Ang, instinctively displaying a pleading expression—it had already realized who had exerted soul control over it.

Ang looked at it, obedient; Ang looked at it, obedient; Ang looked at it—the Insect God finally lowered its head, daring not to look at Ang again.

Only then did Ang wave his hand, signaling it to continue eating.

The Insect God gnawed at the shell; now it was Nageleisi's turn—he flew before the Insect God and cautiously asked: "Do you remember who you are?"

The Insect God, mouth full of shell fragments, stared blankly at Nageleisi.

"Do you remember your name?" Nageleisi probed again.

The Insect God shook its head, returned to the shell, and focused on gnawing.

Nageleisi tucked his small paws behind his back, signaled Ang, then said to the Insect God: "Your name is He Mo Er."

The Insect God lifted its head, shell fragment in mouth, eyes blank.

"Your name is He Mo Er. He Mo Er is you. Remember this. Anyone calling He Mo Er is calling you." Nageleisi repeated its name three times in one breath.

The Insect God nodded blankly, then buried its head back in the shell; for now, nothing mattered more than eating.

Nageleisi flew back and whispered to Ang: "How was it? Did its soul fluctuate when I called its name?"

Ang shook his head.

"Then it seems it truly lost its past memories—or perhaps it's a completely new soul," Nageleisi concluded.

Ang had soul control over it, so even the faintest soul fluctuation couldn't escape his notice; the Insect God showed no reaction to the name He Mo Er, meaning the most likely explanation was it simply didn't remember the name.

"But this is a god—can memory be lost so easily? Isn't it said gods are hard to kill? If it can't retain memory, how can it be called hard to kill?" Lisa leaned over, suspiciously asking.

Nageleisi explained: "The phrase 'gods are hard to kill' means that when they have many believers, devout followers, and unyielding faith, even if they die, as long as their believers aren't all gone, they can reignite their divine flame—thus, gods are hard to kill."

"But whether the rekindled divine flame is the original god—that's debatable. It's like your liches: theoretically, liches with phylacteries can reincarnate repeatedly, but what about liches who can't create phylacteries? Doesn't their soul disperse and die?"

"Gods are the same. They have many ways to preserve memory—sealing, engraving, reincarnation—but if they don't know these techniques, when their divine core shatters and the rekindled flame loses memory, it's still the Insect God—but is it still He Mo Er?"

"Don't forget, this He Mo Er was originally just a farmer who accidentally became the Insect God by breeding insects—he probably knows fewer techniques than you do."

Lisa suddenly understood, impressed: "Lord Nageleisi, you know so much."

"Just a little thing, just a little thing," Nageleisi waved dismissively, struggling to keep his tail from twitching upward: "You should study more theoretical knowledge. With ten thousand Harvest worshippers, we can try stealing Harvest Goddess's faith and make you a pseudo-god."

"This… is this really that intense? I… I'm scared." Lisa, who had lived for millennia and seen great events, couldn't help trembling, her legs weakening.

Becoming a god—even a pseudo-god—was something she'd never dreamed of in her life.

"What are you afraid of? Even as a god, you're merely Ang's subordinate deity—any benefits are his; you only borrow his power." Nageleisi grumbled.

He himself was a subordinate deity—any benefits went to Ang; he only got the blame.

"Phew, good, good—this is good, this is good—I'll follow my Lord's will," Lisa exhaled deeply, the pressure vanishing instantly, her back and legs no longer aching.

Hey, borrowing my Lord's power—Lisa knew this well. And with a generous main deity like Ang, being a subordinate deity wasn't bad at all—no pressure to bear.

…

In the Holy Light Cathedral, Gulianni held his staff in one hand and the holy scripture in the other, praying before the divine statue; this ritual was mandatory for the Pope daily. As he prayed, an invisible bridge formed between the statue and Gulianni, transmitting intangible power between them.

After a long while, Gulianni slowly opened his eyes, revealing golden irises; his entire aura pulsed with restless energy, as if ready to burst forth.

Gulianni stood firm, waiting for the surge to subside, the gold fading from his eyes, before lowering his hands and murmuring: "The power grows stronger. When I master the divine core, I shall unleash divine punishment and judge you, Anthony."

…

Anthony was swamped with work; with Ang's endless food supply, Anthony now had the confidence to suppress grain prices and crack down on hoarders.

But before that, he issued the highest administrative order: all regions must strictly inspect—no grain whatsoever allowed to leave the Eastern Diocese.

Then he began continuously transporting grain back from the Flat Sea Plane, openly enlisting soldiers and merchant caravans from major nations to carry it—even if grain bags broke and full grains spilled out, he didn't care.

Overnight, news spread across the entire Eastern Diocese that Archbishop Anthony had acquired massive quantities of grain; grain prices began to fluctuate.

Noble landowners and merchants hoarding grain quickly acted, attempting to smuggle it to the higher-priced Western Diocese—but due to Anthony's order, they couldn't get it out.

Watching prices drop daily, some feared their grain would be stuck, forced to lower prices and sell.

As soon as prices fell into a reasonable range, Anthony bought everything offered—no matter how much, he took it all; if money ran short, he borrowed from the Silver Guild.

Kiba Da—if Nageleisi knew, he'd surely scold Anthony again; this wasn't just profiting from two sides, but three.

Thanks to permits, the Silver Guild monopolized large-scale trade between humans and elves, backed by elves with mineral wealth, giving the Silver Guild immense cash flow.

And Anthony was an excellent loan client, possessing a wealth of high-quality real estate; if allowed, he'd even mortgage churches and cathedrals.

Of course, the Silver Guild wouldn't accept those—only manors, mines, and similar assets.

With ample funds, Anthony continuously bought grain, his confidence growing, his hand of cards thickening, his operational space expanding.

All of this required only a small initial investment—Ang's hundred thousand tons of grain was the lever that moved it all.

Now, all that remained was to allocate the grain nearby to disaster-stricken areas; the Eastern Diocese might survive this famine year.

But all this required meticulous paperwork; Anthony spent days signing documents, distributing grain, assigning personnel, disbursing funds—all requiring signatures, until his fingers stiffened, occasionally needing a healing holy light.

A shadow slipped silently into the room.

Anthony instantly flipped the table before him, activating all his defensive skills, then mentally screamed: My Lord, save me!!!

Someone who could enter his room silently was no ordinary foe; anyone daring to assassinate him now must have absolute confidence—first, call for help, anyway Ang didn't charge.

The shadow gently caught the table and said awkwardly: "Uh, Archbishop Anthony, it's me."

Anthony squinted: "Xiamala? How is it you? You nearly scared me to death."

Aside from assassins, only Xiamala, with her precognitive ability, could sneak in silently.

Guards outside, hearing the commotion, rushed in—but Anthony immediately shouted: "Don't enter! Close your eyes and leave!"

Xiamala was a fallen angel; seeing her in his room, even holy water couldn't cleanse Anthony's reputation.

The guards hastily retreated, catching only a graceful silhouette—immediately their hearts sank: Ruined—we've stumbled upon the Archbishop's secret affair.

Xiamala awkwardly said: "I just came to ask you to tell Lord Ang—he needs six gods."

"Six gods? What needs six gods?" Anthony asked, confused.

Xiamala was even more embarrassed: "I don't know. When I practiced divine possession with Luna, my power surged, and that voice inside me kept screaming: 'Need it.'"

"Too late. Tell him yourself," Anthony grumbled.