Chapter 315

Looking at a pile of living "people," Anthony didn't know what to say.

"Uh, my lord, any survivors?" Anthony wouldn't complain about the disrupted plan—he went straight to the most critical question.

If any survivors had escaped, he'd have to revise his plan to accommodate them.

If the leader disrupted the plan, it was surely because the leader was brilliant; you naturally adjusted your plan to match the leader—why would you expect the leader to match you?

Ang shook his head: "There's… a dead mouth?"

Ang didn't know how to describe it—no survivors, but one dead person who could still speak—what should he call it?

Leinart's adjutant was dragged forward; his neck had been gnawed into a massive gash, likely draining all his blood, dead beyond doubt.

Yet now, his face was filled with terror, his eyes vacant, staring in complex confusion at everything around him.

"Huh, reanimated as a lich? So fast?" Anthony exclaimed.

Two wailing banshees emerged from behind Ang, bowing gracefully: "We accelerated his reanimation, Your Majesty Pierro."

Anthony had once been a loyal fan of the Wailing Opera Troupe; besides opera, there was little else to enjoy in the Abyss of Calm, so he recognized these banshees—but he couldn't tell them apart, so he merely nodded vaguely: "Oh, it's you."

They pulled the adjutant away for interrogation, and soon Anthony pieced together what had happened at dawn.

As Leinart marched toward the border, boasting all the way, the corpses lining the road quietly rose.

In the darkness, countless undead surged forward without fear; Leinart had chosen night march to conceal his movement, but now the night became the undead horde's greatest cover.

Had they faced a frontal assault, the unarmed corpses would have struggled to break their lines—but now, by the time they realized the corpses were surging from both sides, many were dragged off their mounts before they could react.

Some high-ranking swordsmen slashed through the corpses charging them, only to panic as the comrades just dragged down rose up, faces gray and expressionless, launching attacks of their own.

A terrifying legend surfaced in their minds: comrades turned enemies, souls harvested—this was the Plague of the Undead!

The strong no longer sought to organize a counterattack; they shielded Leinart and tried to break out—but in the chaos, Leinart's head vanished at some point.

Luo Ge, a competent Shadow Guard, was the kind no one remembered unless he was there—always by Ang's side, far more reliable than Lu Se, who claimed to be a follower.

Only the Black Knight Emperor would dare cut off the enemy commander's head amid layers of encirclement.

All the Uss cavalrymen could think of now was to run.

Too bad, their sins were too great—tens of thousands of corpses lined the road; when they all rose, even standing still, they could block the mountain path completely.

Someone flew up—boom, boom, boom! A string of fireballs turned him into a flaming ball.

Someone tore open a teleport scroll—the burst of spatial distortion made him the prime target; a beam of light struck him.

"By Calm's grave, that's a Holy Angel—why are Holy and Undead mixed together? Have we angered both Light and Undead?" someone screamed in rage and despair.

The teleport scroll was the best survival tool the Uss cavalry could get—but not everyone had one; the few who did either had their scrolls shattered by zombie deathwave blasts, stabbed to death by Luo Ge hidden among the crowd, or incinerated by Ang's explosive fireballs.

By dawn, not a single one escaped.

Then the road gained tens of thousands of living "refugees."

Anthony sighed: "My plan was too conservative—I prioritized secrecy, but the enemy was too weak. Of course, it's just a remote little country; they don't even have many mages. Whatever, let it be."

Mei Sha, who had just arrived, heard Anthony's words and immediately felt her forehead darken—she was one of those "remote little countries" he mentioned.

But she couldn't refute it—her own country was even weaker; a single Holy Radiance from the little angel had settled everything.

Anthony turned to Leinart's still-dazed adjutant and asked: "What will you do? Will you lead us to arrest all the nobles and landowners—or will we arrest you and hand you over to them, telling them you're a lich?"

Leinart's adjutant shuddered violently, snapping out of his daze: "I'll lead you—I'll lead you to arrest them!"

What followed went smoothly—a group dispatched from Shadow City infiltrated the tens of thousands of living corpses, posing as rebel landless peasants, and surrounded the capital of the Uss Duchy.

The Rosa Duchy's army, under the banner of disaster relief and poverty aid, entered Uss territory, arrested all the landowners and nobles, and handed them over to the "rebel peasants."

Strangely, the rebel peasants received exactly what they wanted—and gradually dispersed.

The Rosa Duke marched into the capital, declared that the Uss Duke had been cruel and unjust, killed by the "rebel peasants," and announced temporary control of the Uss Duchy.

The Uss Duke's children remained temporarily in the Duke's Manor, to inherit the title once order stabilized; everyone praised the Rosa Duke for his virtue—he didn't take advantage of misfortune, he was a living god of kindness.

Unknown to all, that same night, the entire Uss Duke family was poisoned. A servant stepped forward, claiming responsibility for their deaths, denouncing the Uss family for cruelty, whipping servants, kidnapping maidens, and other crimes—then committed suicide.

Watching the servant stab his own neck, spilling thick black blood everywhere, everyone believed he was dead beyond doubt—yet that night, his corpse appeared outside the Rosa camp, asking: "Did I act well?" while receiving treatment.

Any lich could achieve this effect—drink a bellyful of chicken blood, slash their own neck, then use soul energy to force the blood out from the stomach.

With no heir left, the Rosa Duke had no choice but to "reluctantly" take over Uss's military, administration, and taxation.

Registration, land redistribution, grain control, production organization—strangely, the Uss Duchy restored peace within weeks.

"It's not strange at all," Anthony sighed. "I used the same method as the Uss Duke—eliminate some people to free up more resources. I just eliminated the landowners and nobles. With resources freed, distribute them fairly, and peace follows immediately. After all, in this situation, most people only need enough to eat."

During this time, Mei Sha learned too much; she quickly grabbed paper and pen to write down Anthony's words: eat.

Anthony glanced at what she'd written and his nose twisted in irritation: "I said a whole lot, and you wrote three words?"

Mei Sha stared with wide, innocent eyes.

Anthony chuckled and shook his head, satisfied: "Good. You've mastered the art of feigning stupidity. What you wrote is indeed the core—and you're clear-headed, resolute, ruthless, loyal to your own, and willing to strike hard. You have none of those messy moral chains. Given time, you'll be blacker than me. I wonder how your teachers and parents raised you—such a temperament is rare."

Mei Sha smiled faintly: "Not taught. After I died, I spent two years alone in a cave, watching myself rot, unable to leave, unable to die again, unable to sleep—gradually, I understood."

Anthony smiled and patted her head: "Two years? In two hundred, you'll forget all of it. You're immortal now."

Mei Sha blinked, puzzled—she didn't understand what Anthony meant.

Anthony didn't explain, changing the subject: "Where's Lord Ang? I wanted to buy more grain from him."

Where else could he be? Of course, the Potassium Salt Lake.

Over the past few days, Ang had figured out the properties and processing methods of these potassium salts and was now loading them into the Abyss Palace.

But the salt lake was too vast—even filling the entire Abyss Palace wouldn't hold one-tenth of it.

When Anthony arrived, Ang was playing with the green algae in the salt lake water.

"This is… algae? No way—this is salt! How salty is this water? How can algae grow?" Even well-traveled Anthony was stunned.

On a lake covered entirely in white potassium salt, green algae grew in the water; Ang pointed a finger, and they grew wildly, quickly forming a thick clump.

Anthony wasn't an expert in this, so he brought up grain.

"My lord, I'd like to buy another hundred thousand tons of grain," Anthony said.

Ang shook his head: "Not now."

The planting season isn't over; crops haven't been harvested yet. Ang currently doesn't have that much grain. Of course, he could use the Rapid Death Aura to accelerate growth—but his soul energy isn't enough to trigger a hundred-thousand-ton crop.

Anthony nodded in understanding. Ang never lied—if he said no, it was no. So Anthony continued: "Then, my lord, I request to reopen the World Transit Station."

"Are you insane?" Negrilis jumped up beside him. "If other planes learn the World Transit Station is open, what if they invade?"

Anthony smiled: "It's different now. With our strength, who can even break into the Abyss of Calm?"

Negrilis paused, then realized: "Right—who can break in? The Holy Heaven is gone."

Negrilis wasn't worried about the World Transit Station itself—it had Twelve Guardian Gods, powerful constructs left over from the Undead Empire. Anyone attempting to invade through the transit station would be crushed the moment they emerged from the portal.

What Negrilis truly feared was the Holy Heaven—it could move through the void and appear just outside the transit station's range, deploying troops directly inside.

But now, the Holy Heaven was theirs. They didn't invade other planes—so who'd dare invade them?

Even if someone dared, without a void fortress like the Holy Heaven, who could deploy large-scale forces? Sending troops one by one is just suicide by attrition.

So now, the World Transit Station could be reopened, announcing the return of the Undead Empire.

But Negrilis frowned, thought a moment, then shook his head: "Still no. We have no need for the transit station—these small portals are enough."

Anthony nodded: "I know. If not for bulk goods like grain, the small portals are sufficient. One hundred thousand tons cost me millions of magic crystals. If the World Transit Station opened, transport costs would drop to one-tenth—even with a transfer, only one-fifth. Only with the transit station open can I buy grain in bulk from other planes."

Negrilis shook his head.

"Here's an idea: disable the World Transit Station's public identifier. Only previously registered portals will show it as active. A thousand years have passed—how many of those old portals still exist? Even if some do, when they ask us, we'll say we built a new portal on the original transit station's site."

Negrilis considered: "That does raise security significantly—but still unnecessary. You're better off finding your own grain channels. Once agreed, we can briefly open the World Transit Station to receive the goods, then shut it again."

"Perfect! That's brilliant!" Anthony clapped his hands and gave a thumbs-up.

Negrilis eyed him suspiciously, muttering: "Isn't this what you wanted all along?"

"No no, it's your wisdom, Lord Negrilis—you thought of a better solution than I did." Anthony quickly denied it, pulling out a paper: "Here's a deal I've arranged with a plane for ten thousand tons of grain—scheduled for tomorrow at this time."

"By Calm's grave, you already set the time? You're lying!" Negrilis's nose twisted in anger.

Anthony wasn't embarrassed: "I was thinking—transport cost drops to one-tenth, but with one transfer, it's only one-fifth of the original. So we charge half: three-tenths as transit station usage fee. What do you think?"

In other words: original cost was one million magic crystals, now it's two hundred thousand—but we charge five hundred thousand, three hundred thousand as usage fee.

That's a great deal—open the World Transit Station and collect fees sitting down. No business is better than this.

But Negrilis stayed cautious, pulling Ang aside to have him mentally contact Silver Coin.

Silver Coin immediately shouted: "No no, absolutely not! Too much of a loss! We don't look at our own cost—we look at how much the other side saves."

"Even if transport cost stays the same, this is bulk trade—massive time savings. Time is money."

"With small portals, he'd need dozens of days to move a hundred thousand tons. With the World Transit Station, one day suffices. He saves massive manpower and resources—those are all money. Why reduce the fee?"

"And if we only take three-tenths, all maintenance, losses, and security costs come from that—might even lose money. So don't lower the fee. At most, as a favor to Lord Anthony, give him a twenty-percent discount."