Chapter 314: It

Was I really this cruel? After Anthony's accusations, Misha quickly began to doubt her own life.

"When you have the power to save lives and you choose not to, that is cruelty—especially when inaction leaves you with endless consequences. Countless commoners await your rescue, yet you cower in your safe territory, ignoring their agonized cries beyond the border. Do you know how many will starve to death without the Lord's grain?"

Misha's heart grew heavy; she shook her head.

Anthony sighed: "I don't know the specifics of the Uss Principality, but based on the Holy Church's territories, the entire plane's grain deficit may reach five percent."

Five percent? That's not a big number? Wait—Holy Church? Anthony? The Acting Pope! Misha finally realized who this mysterious hooded figure was.

Anthony clearly saw the skepticism in Misha's eyes and shook his head: "This isn't just about five percent. When five percent of the entire plane's population has no grain, what does that mean? It means grain prices can rise infinitely—until exactly five percent have starved to death."

"Add in hoarding, unequal distribution, transport difficulties, war chaos—this number could multiply several times over. To avoid becoming part of that percentage, starving people will do anything cruel—like eating minotaurs."

Vanya suffered a sudden misfortune, her bovine eyes wide with confusion: Why eat minotaurs?

Lisa, Negrilis, Luo Ge, and others fell silent. They all understood Anthony's implication: if they could eat minotaurs, they could eat anything—like their own kind. If things truly reached that point, starving creatures would absolutely do it.

Luo Ge suddenly spoke: "In the past, when the Undead Empire faced this, they simply unleashed the Plague of the Undead. Better to send them to the afterlife than let them devour each other."

Everyone from the Abyss of Rest looked at Lisa, because the same decision had nearly been made by Phyllin—if the Lich's Underground City couldn't resolve the grain crisis, Phyllin had planned to unleash the Plague of the Undead.

Anthony continued: "Even with a deficit, does that mean we do nothing? We can impose grain controls, crack down on hoarding, organize production recovery, find substitute foods. A five percent hard deficit can be fully compensated—if managed well."

"With proper control, the hard deficit is entirely compensable—but this requires efficient organization and unified distribution. If you're content to keep enemies at the border, you're abandoning the poor peasants within Uss. That number could reach twenty-five percent. With Uss's five million population, that's likely one point two million deaths."

Misha's legs went weak. The number was too huge—just imagining it made her unsteady. So many people would die because of her… What's it to her?

Misha struggled to speak: "But if I send troops into Uss, my loyal soldiers will die. What if we fail?"

Oh? Sharp mind. A qualified leader.

Anthony nodded approvingly: "Your concern is valid—but it doesn't exist now, because we've got your back."

As Anthony spoke, he slipped behind Ang and thumped his chest vigorously—the implication was clear: this "we" included Ang.

Ang had no interest in fighting—it disrupted his farming. He grabbed Anthony by the collar and yanked him back.

Anthony shrank his neck, grinning sheepishly.

"Hahahaha…"

"Ahahahaahaha!!"

Everyone burst into laughter at Anthony's humiliation, especially Negrilis, who laughed the loudest: "Stop acting so mysterious all the time—Ang doesn't buy your act."

Anthony scratched his head, embarrassed but laughing too.

Misha watched, trembling. Is it safe to laugh like this? Won't the Acting Pope be angry? Why does his title mean nothing here?

After the laughter, Lu Se, in high spirits, stepped forward and slapped his longsword: "Lord Anthony, I'll help you—my Dragon-veined Steel Core, Silver Wire Engraved, Magic Pattern, Soil-Forged, Oh-Oh Sword will aid you!"

Before he finished speaking, Lu Se was beaten into a headlong retreat—but he still shouted the full name of his sword as he ran.

Lei Ting also thumped his hoof against his chest: "Lord Anthony, I'll help you too."

After the playful chaos, everyone simply went to pack and prepare gear. Judging by their demeanor, they weren't going to help Anthony—they were just bored and looking for something to do.

Watching this "army," Misha felt a pang of interest. She knew Uss's strength well—after all these years as neighbors.

With Ang's people helping, they could take Uss at minimal cost.

Then she wouldn't need to station heavy troops at the border or divert grain for relief. As Anthony said, the entire plane had a grain deficit—Misha was no exception.

Rosha wasn't a grain-producing nation; it had always bought grain, placing enormous pressure on supplies. But precisely because of this, it had built several large grain fortresses and had relatively ample reserves.

But who knew how long this disaster would last? If grain kept flowing out and none came in, even the largest granaries wouldn't last years.

A permanent solution was best. And this time, Uss had forced the refugees onto her—she was forced to act. If she raised the banner of rescuing refugees, she held the moral high ground—no one could condemn her.

She gritted her teeth. Do it.

After detailed negotiations with Anthony, Misha agreed to mobilize in two days, then returned to prepare.

After Misha left, Negrilis flew over, curled his short claws, and elbowed Anthony: "What are you really after? Don't tell me you're genuinely feeling charitable, trying to save those displaced Uss peasants?"

Anthony spread his hands: "Of course I am. What else?"

After the joke, Anthony's expression turned serious: "First, I want to plant a stake in the western diocese. Uss and Rosha are strategically vital. Second, Uss's methods are too vile—they're artificially creating land consolidation. If everyone follows them, western commoners will have no future—either become slaves or starve."

"Ah, you're afraid of a chain reaction—everyone copying them would be a disaster." Negrilis understood, and now knew why Anthony, amid his busy schedule, had specifically summoned Ang when he heard they were in Rosha.

Getting Anthony here wasn't easy—he had to teleport to the Abyss of Rest, then ascend through the Heavenly Staircase to Heaven, then pass through Heaven's portal. Multiple transfers, the travel cost alone multiplied several times over.

"The entire plane is standing on a triggered Magic Egg—any moment now, it could explode. Once news of Uss spreads, it'll become a model. Unscrupulous landlords and nobles will think: 'Oh? We can do this too? Not only clear surplus population and seize land, but gain cheap labor and drive refugees to starve our rivals.'"

"My diocese already has this trend. I've killed three dukes and one king—no one dares anymore. When you see the Lord, tell him I need grain."

Negrilis sneered: "You tell him yourself."

Anthony sighed and walked over to Ang, spoke a few words. Ang immediately stood up, excitedly howled a few times, and gathered the little angel, little zombie, and others.

Negrilis was stunned. When Anthony returned, he whispered: "What did you say to him? He's supposed to be farming—why is he so excited?"

Anthony spread his hands: "I told the Lord that Uss has a large salt lake—its salt composition differs from ours. Druids can use it as fertilizer, replacing wood ash."

"Pfft…" Negrilis spat out, staring at Anthony in shock:

"I get it now. You deliberately humiliated yourself earlier. When you mentioned the potassium salt lake, Ang wouldn't have refused—but you didn't say it. You deliberately sought embarrassment, sacrificing dignity to draw closer to everyone—even Lu Se and Lei Ting are joking with you now. Good grief, I finally understand why you always climb back to power after every rebirth."

Anthony smiled faintly, enigmatically: "Once, a wise man said: Even when achieving a monumental feat, you must do it as one of 'us.'"

"Which wise man? I've never heard that." Negrilis frowned his scaled brow—was there a proverb the God of Knowledge didn't know?

Anthony grinned: "That wise man was Piero."

"Ku Ba Da—that's you yourself!" Negrilis snapped.

Anthony was actually embarrassed—he was too far from the core circle, and his identity was too sensitive, creating distance. Over time, it became a barrier.

This circle, centered on Ang, wasn't one of scheming politics. His bond with Ang was rooted in firm faith—otherwise, rumors and slander would've spread long ago. In over a thousand years as a human, he'd seen too much. Only here with Ang did he feel truly comfortable.

But comfort and indifference shouldn't mean neglecting relationships, right? Occasionally making a fool of himself helped bond everyone. When it came to relationships, he was rather proud.

But Anthony's pride vanished by evening.

"What? The Lord attacked Uss and destroyed their army? How many did he take? Three? The little angel, the little zombie, and Lei Ting? Plus a sapling? Did I make my plan too complicated?"

…

Duke Lennart led his troops, driving refugees forward. Whenever he encountered corpses by the roadside, he simply poked them off the embankment into the grass and trees—too lazy to even collect them.

His deputy hesitated: "Leaving them like this isn't wise. What if they become undead and start harassing us?"

Lennart waved dismissively: "Don't worry. If you're not afraid of the living, why fear the dead? Just kill them again."

The deputy, perhaps too familiar with knightly novels, disagreed but said nothing, changing the subject: "Driving so many people over—can we really break into Rosha? What if Rosha seals its border? We're all cavalry—we can't fight infantry in the mountains."

Lennart smiled slightly: "Do you think your duke is some ignorant playboy who only chases pretty women?"

The deputy's eyes widened in shock: Isn't he?

Lennart coughed awkwardly: "I've done some foolish things before—but not this time. Ask everyone: since we drove out these peasants, haven't your families gained more fertile land?"

"Yes! Duke, ten thousand years! We swear loyalty to you!" The accompanying cavalry shouted excitedly.

To earn loyalty, you must first feed them well—that was the saying of Lennart's grandfather, the former Duke of Uss. Lennart followed it well. Though uneducated, reckless, and lecherous, he commanded a fiercely loyal, obedient cavalry.

The deputy shouted too—he'd received more land.

"When we take Rosha, I'll give you more land, more titles, more slaves! I heard the Rosha family produces beautiful women—we'll divide them all up!" Lennart shouted.

"Divide! Grant! Divide! Grant! Duke, ten thousand years! U-U-U!!!" The cavalry cheered, shrieking in high-pitched voices.

Amid the shrieks, a long, drawn-out "Ah~~~" mixed in.

The deputy noticed the grass where he'd kicked the corpse earlier—it had twitched slightly. But upon closer look, he saw nothing.

Lennart continued: "Even if Rosha seals its border, you know their new duke, Robert? A commoner who married into the ducal family. His nobles don't respect him. So Robert contacted me—he wants my support. He'll open the gates for us."

The deputy's eyes widened in shock. No wonder Lennart was so confident.

Lennart was about to boast further when he suddenly felt a strange irritation. He snapped: "Who's making that ghostly sound? Shut up!"

No one had noticed the "Ah" before—but as the cavalry's cheers faded, the "Ah" grew clearer. Normally, a simple "ah" wouldn't irritate unless screamed directly into your ear.

But this "Ah" felt like a wire scraping inside your soul.

Everyone turned toward the sound. The deputy climbed onto his horse for a better view—and what he saw made him gasp: "D-Duke… it really is a ghost crying… u-undead!"

Lennart also mounted his horse and looked far off. On the distant hillside, two translucent, glowing figures tilted their necks, wailing. Behind them stood three figures—one continuously casting spells.

Around them, countless shadowy figures surged forward.

Ang's Purifying Technique struck directly into the corpses' bodies, emitting no light—this saved energy, as there were too many corpses nearby.

Ang's Royal Presence, amplified by the two wailing banshees, expanded massively—every corpse along the way rose under his command.

Lennart could never have imagined that the refugees he drove to die would return as undead souls seeking vengeance.

He could've just charged and slaughtered them—but Ang remembered Anthony's plan: don't reveal undead or external forces. Otherwise, this rebellion against tyranny would become an invasion or Plague of the Undead.

So Ang healed every corpse, making them appear alive.

Across the hills, countless living, fearless, pain-insensitive figures ran toward Lennart's cavalry.

The banshees' wails suddenly changed—a voice, piercing the heart and soul, whispered as if right beside the ear.

I have ceased breathing—

But I am not yet dead—

Soul-flame replaces life—

Flee before the dawn's light—

…

The living corpses, as if injected with adrenaline, charged into Lennart's cavalry ranks. The deputy watched in horror as the corpse he'd kicked into the grass rose and lunged at him.

If we kill them all, no one will know they were killed by undead.