Chapter 274: Underlings Turned Creditors, Running Now Is Too Late

Ang was never a skeleton with strong curiosity; he accepted things as they came and could farm the same spot for a thousand years, having no interest in anything beyond growing crops.

He didn't even wonder where the King had gone—but originally, he had asked Negril this question, because among all possible questions, the King's whereabouts were the only one that stirred even a trace of interest in him.

If he didn't know, then he hadn't asked.

If the cave were a small space, he'd just peek in and leave, but if it were a vast space—or another world—he had no interest; he didn't want to explore any new world, as there were still seaweeds outside waiting to be grown.

Alice rushed over the moment Ang left the reef, for today's "Breath of the Sea" ended too early—it usually lasted all night—and this change must be tied to Ang.

"I plugged it," Ang said.

Alice's expression sharpened: "You moved the stone sphere?"

Ang tilted his head. Was it hard? He'd pushed it effortlessly, then stomped twice to jam it firmly into the hole.

Watching Ang drift away, Alice murmured: "The Hollow One is too powerful—are all Hollow Ones this strong?"

Ang easily pushing a stone sphere seven or eight meters in diameter didn't mean Alice could move it—even underwater, she couldn't. Even if her entire clan tried together, they could barely budge it, and couldn't secure it well; the wind at night would blast it out.

Over time, the Sea People grew lazy about plugging the leak: they timed their departure, leaving the reef every night and returning only after the wind calmed the next day.

Now, it was still windy, yet no more bubbles rose—clearly, the hole was sealed tight.

Still, for safety, Alice and her clan waited until the next morning to return to the reef, then dove into the lower pool…

"Alice, that Hollow One is terrifying—he shoved the whole stone sphere inside, leaving less than half a meter sticking out. When our clan was at its peak, all of us pushed together and barely managed to block the hole, with at least three meters still exposed outside. No wonder the sea couldn't blow it open," a clan member said, trembling.

Now they understood why their clan's only warrior showed such reverence to a Hollow One.

"Alice, does this mean we won't have to flee at night anymore?" a clan member suddenly realized.

No one liked leaving home every night to sleep outdoors and return the next day—it was unsafe, nerve-wracking, and above all, exhausting. One or two days were bearable, but a lifetime of this? Too painful.

"It seems so…"

Unexpectedly, Ang had casually solved their biggest problem. Grateful, the Sea People discussed and decided to send Alice with some shells as a gift.

Alice carried a sack of shells to the seaweed field but didn't see Ang; she began searching, and gradually spotted something drifting near the "horizon."

Below her in the sea, the horizon lay diagonally upward—she looked up and saw a massive, tentacle-like form drifting, stretching all the way to the surface.

"Oh my, such a huge tentacle—is it the Abyssal Sea Demon? Has the Hollow One been snatched and eaten?" Alice instantly dove into the mud, watching nervously.

But after watching awhile, Alice sensed something odd: the tentacle moved too regularly, its sway matching the water's current—not like independent thrashing, more like drifting with the flow. Was it not alive?

Alice gritted her teeth, crept closer, and reached beneath the drifting "tentacle"—then saw a scene that stunned her: it wasn't a tentacle at all, but a piece of seaweed.

"How…how is this possible? Seaweed this long in two days? Did it eat a seahorse?" Alice murmured.

Legend said male seahorses nourished yin and yang, replenished vitality, and eating them regularly accelerated growth—like human tales of "rooster blood" or "blood-drinking spells."

Two days ago, before the Hollow One arrived, this seaweed didn't exist; its appearance was clearly tied to him—but no matter the connection, it was impossible for seaweed to grow this tall in two days. Had the Hollow One used magic?

Knowing it was only seaweed, Alice no longer hid; she swam upward. When she reached sufficient depth, she noticed the seaweed's roots were entwined around the goddess statue.

"This Hollow One, desecrating the goddess—I…" Alice's face first showed anger, then confusion.

These Sea People lived here, unquestionably tied to this statue and the Redeemer Goddess—perhaps even the Guardian Clan.

The so-called Guardian Clan were beings tasked with protecting deities: their duty was safeguarding statues, tombs, relics—anything connected to the divine.

Alice remembered, as a child, elders training her mentioning her duty: protect the statue, keep it clean, kill any creature that desecrated it.

Was this the moment to sacrifice herself for her duty?

After struggling, Alice sighed: "Forget it. For years, we've never cleaned the statue—we've already failed our duty. Let it be desecrated. Besides… it looks kind of nice."

Because Ang had wrapped his net between the statue's legs, the seaweed grew naturally along the lower body, appearing from afar like a green skirt.

After comforting herself, Alice swam upward along the seaweed.

She didn't realize how high she'd risen until she reached the surface; as light grew brighter, her eyelids closed, leaving only a slit.

The seaweed had grown to the surface, floating and spreading into a vast expanse, resembling an island from above.

Alice surfaced and saw—perhaps due to sun exposure—the upper side of the seaweed had turned white and sprouted flowers.

Flowers? Alice had never known seaweed could bloom.

Looking around, Alice quickly spotted Ang: he stood atop the seaweed island as if on solid ground, walking casually, occasionally gesturing toward some seaweed, which obediently drifted into his hands.

Inspecting, recording, cross-referencing—Ang fell into his most familiar rhythm.

As expected, seaweed rich in chlorophyll, upon reaching the surface, underwent photosynthesis with sunlight and indeed produced starch—the areas Alice thought were bleached by sun were actually starch.

Previously, Ang didn't understand such technical matters; his lord had only taught him normal soil farming, with knowledge roughly equal to a skilled farmer's.

His current knowledge came from the handbooks of Spring Wind Druids and scattered soul fragments in Druid villages.

This seaweed resembled sea grapes—grape-like clusters linked in long chains; upon reaching the surface, they spread chaotically, branching into dense clumps from single stems.

After absorbing sunlight, the starch hardened each "grape," turning them white and firm, making them resemble fruits when harvested.

Ang picked up a "grape" that was seventy to eighty percent white, expelled its moisture, crushed it into powder, and examined the powder.

These actions went beyond Negril's understanding; hesitantly, Negril asked: "Ang, what are you doing? Why crush each one into powder?"

"To check ripeness. Overripe? Tastes bad," Ang explained.

"Pfft—you've never eaten it. How do you know if it tastes good?" Negril asked, puzzled.

"The handbook says: more starch, better taste. Harvest timely. Overripe, it shrivels. Now it's perfect," Ang said, kicking apart a gel plate bearing a footprint.

For that footprint, Ang had specifically retrieved a gel plate from his space—otherwise, he wouldn't have known where to step.

Negril finally understood: Ang was studying starch content to determine the optimal harvest time.

Too little starch meant unripe; too much ripening converted starch into plant nutrients, wasting it. Thus, any crop required harvesting at the right stage.

Negril thought awhile, then felt a headache—she'd just note it down and understand later.

Setting the issue aside, Negril relaxed, her awareness scanning—soon spotting Alice, half her head above water, frantically munching seaweed.

After approaching, Alice suddenly felt ravenous and instinctively bit into the seaweed before her.

After kicking away the footprint, the seaweed's growth slowed, and Ang relaxed.

Facing a new crop, he focused intensely when activating the Death Speed Aura, fearing he'd miss any detail.

Now relaxed, he sensed a distant call—following the soul link, his awareness extended and touched Anthony's consciousness.

Ang tilted his head: "You called me."

…

In the Prime Plane, a secret reincarnation altar: Anthony methodically prepared. On the altar lay a body—his own, but impossibly young, around twelve or thirteen years old.

The Phoenix—also called the Immortal Bird—was the name of his lifelong plan of resurrection and reincarnation.

Previously, reincarnation required carefully selecting bodies. Now, no need: Ang, in his spare time, had made him an extra one—grown by his own organization, but halted at adolescence.

If Anthony reincarnated into this body, even standing face-to-face with others, no one would link him to Anthony.

But Anthony didn't want to reincarnate—once he did, he'd have to abandon everything and start over. Though many conveniences existed, he'd still have to begin anew.

The best solution was to contact Ang and have him solve this dire problem.

But as time passed, Anthony went from anxious, to calm, to now, serene.

Even with the Death Speed Aura, Ang needed five or six days to grow a hundred thousand tons of grain.

Three days have passed. If he starts now, the first harvest won't come for at least eight more days—by then, it'll be too late.

He'd been maneuvering between major factions like walking a tightrope. Now, with grain cut off—by eight or nine days—his entire plan would collapse.

With his reputation and connections, he'd maintained this balance. Once it shattered, he'd instantly become a pariah, hunted by all—his reputation useless.

Better to flee early and start over.

Before today, he called Ang hoping for rescue. Now, calling Ang was merely to say goodbye—Ang starting now wouldn't be enough.

With Ang's protection, even if he started over, Anthony believed he'd do better than this life.

Besides, he was now uncertain: reincarnate as a human, infiltrate the Church of Light, and keep causing chaos? Or become a undead or Black Knight, rejoining the God of Undeath?

A thousand years of being human—he was tired of it.

As he hesitated, Ang's voice echoed in his mind: "You called me."

"Oh, my lord, I've finally found you! Are you alright? I've been calling for ages with no reply—I was terrified!" Anthony said with dramatic emotion.

In a flash, Anthony's consciousness was dragged into the mental space; Negril's teasing voice rang out: "I get why you became Grand Archbishop—you're in utter chaos and still remember to flatter."

"Hehe, Lord Negril, this isn't flattery—it's sincere emotion from heart and soul, proof of my loyalty to you," Anthony said earnestly.

Huh? This reaction was wrong. Grain burned, Ang missing—Negril expected Anthony to be frantic, desperate. Why was he still flattering? Had the grain problem been solved?

"Hehe, too late. I've already prepared to activate the reincarnation plan. Even if I start planting now, the first harvest won't come for days. My loans with the Silver Guild, Merchant Society, and Mercenary Guild are due—without at least thirty thousand tons of grain, I can't fill this hole."

"Once I default, my credit collapses. Then the creditors will come knocking—I won't have time to run."

Negril asked, confused: "You're a Regent Pope! You have so many underlings. Afraid of creditors? Just drive them out. You could hold out ten days, at least."

Anthony smiled bitterly: "My underlings? I turned them all into creditors. After my credit collapses, they'll be the first to come knocking—even Patrice has lent me her entire fortune."

"Pfft—you're just—" Negril didn't know what to say. Now she understood why even a few days mattered—delay now, and he might never escape.

Anthony sighed helplessly: "No choice. Without sufficient funds, I couldn't mobilize this many people or this much grain. Borrowing from Patrice and the others? I wanted them to profit, so they'd work harder. Who knew someone would dare burn Lord Ang's fields?"

Hearing this, Ang said: "Can it be replaced with something else?"

Anthony blinked: "Replaced? With what?"

Ang stepped through air, ascending higher, looking down. His gaze swept over the whitened seaweed. A halo of scales flashed around him, and numbers appeared before him: "One hundred fifty thousand tons… Bread Seaweed."

Ang decided to name this seaweed Bread Seaweed.