Chapter 317

When you're full of enthusiasm to go kill, burn, rape, and plunder, someone suddenly asks you, "Can you grow vegetables?" How would you feel? And the voice is especially loud, as if shouting right in your ear.

It's like walking into a small tavern, picking a sexy maid to drink and flirt with, taking her to the room for a hot dance, turning off the lights and undressing—then she reaches out both hands and shouts at you: "Look at my nail polish! It glows in the dark!"

It's suffocating.

Who dares speak to Glasgo like that?!

As the Lord of the Abyss and leader of the Nightmare Legion, Glasgo had used this trick to ambush others more than once.

Demons, after all, specialize in tempting hearts—but Glasgo's ambitions were greater. He didn't just want hearts; he wanted wealth, territory, slaves, lives… your entire being.

First, he lured in adventurers—those with the most reliable information networks—who would spread the word that "this place is full of fools with money," drawing in more victims.

Then Glasgo would screen his targets. He didn't want beggars—he picked only those rich, powerful, and with territory. How to identify such targets? Simple: see what they need.

Those seeking beautiful jewels are likely Aimeiderenleihejulong, those seeking power are likely greedy weaklings; only those demanding vast quantities of grain, cloth, and production tools are truly wealthy magnates.

Anthony was a perfect target in every way. First, he had money—previous Shitanjiaoyi had all been paid promptly, proving his immense wealth.

Heaven have mercy, Anthony paid quickly only to secure a stable supply—yet in cross-dimensional trade, deals paid promptly were vanishingly rare. Most were dragged out, discounted again and again; last time's balance could be postponed until the next deal, and if there was no next deal, the balance was never paid.

Worse still were the exaggerated lies. One message would arrive demanding a hundred thousand bolts of cloth, offering a low price, and sending just a hundred bolts as samples. You'd send them, eagerly prepare the goods—but no follow-up came. When you paid to send a message to inquire, they'd reply: "Huh? No, I only ordered a hundred bolts."

Could the unit price for a hundred thousand bolts possibly equal that of a hundred? They used the wholesale price for a hundred thousand to scam a hundred bolts—and made you waste time and effort preparing ninety-nine thousand nine hundred extra.

Of course, such cases were extreme; few merchants were foolish enough to prepare goods without even collecting a deposit. But it clearly illustrated the risks and headaches of cross-dimensional trade: anyone who paid promptly was unquestionably a magnate.

Second, Anthony ordered grain—ten thousand tons, not too much, not too little. Too much suggested too many mouths to feed, possibly unmanageable; too little meant the target lacked significant value.

As for the later demand of hundreds of thousands of tons, Glasgo assumed he was just boasting.

Then, Glasgo possessed a special ability called Power Perception: as soon as he spoke to someone, he could sense their power level—e. ., a Truth Mage and an Arcana Mage were unmistakably different.

This ability feared one thing most: encountering Divine Practitioners. Those Divine Practitioners could have their divine soul possess them, instantly multiplying their power tenfold. He could perceive the "one" while speaking, but not the "ten" after possession—making them troublesome.

But he had a trick: blasphemy. While speaking to Anthony, he'd casually curse: "The gods of light are all fools—【censored】."

Anthony agreed wholeheartedly: "Yes yes yes, all fools." Like that one who tried to raid the Divine Flame and smashed straight into Ang's Redeemer Goddess.

"The Harvest Goddess is an idiot."

"Yes yes, an idiot."

"The Dwarf War God is an idiot."

"Uh, friend, is your vocabulary so limited? Try another word—the Dwarf War God is crude."

"Oh oh, crude? What does that mean?"

"It means violent, reckless, loves fighting."

"Oh, I see. That's kind of like me. The God of Knowledge is an idiot."

"Yes yes yes, the God of Knowledge is an idiot. The God of Undeath grows vegetables every day."

After insulting all the well-known deities across the planes, Glasgo was certain the man was not a Divine Practitioner.

Divine Practitioners wouldn't dare insult their patron deities, let alone speak their names so disrespectfully, unlike Anthony.

Could he possibly be a follower of some obscure deity? If the deity was unknown, he was surely a weakling—so what did it matter?

Convinced he had fully assessed the opponent's power, Glasgo led his men and teleported directly—only to be met with a blunt question: "Can you grow vegetables?"

Good heavens, even if they'd asked if he could cross-dress, he wouldn't have been this shocked.

Only when he Kanqingle who asked did Glasgo freeze.

Before him stood a six-meter-tall figure, holding a scepter, its entire body shimmering with holy light. The sacred attire, the pure radiance, the majestic aura—

This… this was the Church of Light—the most infamous, most powerful, most widely worshipped across all planes!

But wait—this man had just insulted the gods of light the most. How could he be from the Church of Light?

Even ignoring that, the power of this divine soul far surpassed Glasgo's. His Power Perception clearly told him: one strike from that scepter, and he couldn't withstand it.

Instinctively, Glasgo replied: "No, I can't."

"Go to the fertilizer field." The divine soul brought down the scepter.

Glasgo instantly grabbed two nearby demon beasts and hurled them outward.

The divine soul's scepter twisted sharply, dodging both beasts effortlessly, continuing its path straight toward Glasgo—its motion and force change so precise, it felt exquisitely masterful.

Yet it was utterly incongruous—because what made such a refined maneuver was a scepter. Scepters weren't meant to be swung like clubs. It was like seeing a fat dragon with a belly dancing—it violated common sense.

Glasgo frantically pulled his hands—then realized with horror: not a trace of earth's molten fire remained.

How could there be any earth molten fire? The World Transit Station was a massive floating platform, its underside entirely built up, plus treated with anti-magic coatings.

Glasgo had other techniques—but there was no time. He could only open his mouth and spit a gout of molten fire, like a pillar of flame striking the divine soul.

But the divine soul shimmered with holy radiance, as if purified by the molten breath—parting the fire, then slamming into Glasgo's face.

His entire face was crushed. Glasgo turned into a charred rock statue, crashing to the ground and shattering into fragments.

Between the fragments, molten lava flowed inward toward the center.

"Think you can run?" A monument of earth was hurled down, smashing into the charred pile. The aura of the Lord of Terror seeped from the monument.

Demons had too many strange tricks. Negril had long anticipated this move—he'd dug up the Lord of Terror's monument directly. Only demons knew how to deal with demons.

The Lord of Terror was excited and thrilled: "Ji ji ji, Baobei, come to my monument, become part of my vessel!"

How could earth's power compare to the purity of true demon energy? Oh heavens, after a thousand years, he finally had a chance at rebirth again.

"L-Lord?!" A terrified voice came from the charred rock. He was merely a great demon; a demon king was one rank above him. In this state, he had no chance to resist.

The molten lava flowed involuntarily into the earth monument, becoming part of the Lord of Terror.

Glasgo's remaining subordinates were frozen in shock. Too fast—too fast. Describing it took many lines, but in reality, it had taken only seconds. They'd just teleported in; by the time the light faded and they saw clearly, the great demon Glasgo was already dead.

Then Anthony's divine soul raised the scepter, one by one, placing it atop the stunned demons: "Can you grow vegetables?"

They shook their heads.

Puzi. Crushed to death.

"Can you grow vegetables?"

"Spare… spare me, great…!"

Puzi. Crushed to death.

"Can you grow vegetables?"

"I can learn! My lord, give me a chance—I can become a qualified plow ox!" said a demon with two curved horns, broad shoulders, clearly built like a fine "ox."

"Good. Stand aside." Anthony moved the scepter away.

The other demons instantly understood the key to survival, shouting in unison: "My lord! I can learn! I can learn!"

Lu Se sheathed his dragon-patterned steel-core sword, sighing: "Too slow again. My sword—if you keep this up, you'll rust."

The little angel nodded in deep agreement, flapping his wings: "Rust."

"Huh? You've learned another sound? Come on, say it again!" Negril flew over in surprise—this was the little angel's third sound learned, after "ao" and "hu."

"Ao!" The little angel punched Negril right in the eye socket.

"Must've been a hallucination. Misheard." Negril covered his eye, grumbling as he flew off.

Anthony's divine soul re-entered his body, the gloom of being cheated completely gone. He mused aloud to Negril, who had drawn near: "A great demon dares cross planes to rob? It seems the power levels across all planes have dropped drastically these years."

"Indeed. Back in the day, who dared cross planes to rob, except that stubborn Locke? And now even this trash dares it—and lives to brag about it."

ps: Ran out of time