Chapter 326: Hand-Crafted Bread

Ang raised his head, puzzled, looking around; from this moment on, every flame soul surging toward him carried the same message: Change! Change! Change!

Ang had not received such a massive amount of soul flame in a long time; these people were clearly more emotionally charged than last time, their emotions pushed to the brink by incitement, exactly the state of fanaticism described in all holy scriptures.

Under this fervent emotion, the soul flame offered by many people was thick, large, and dense—one could rival ten or more casual believers, with unwavering and unified faith.

This is why many religions favor grand gatherings; even the Goddess of Harvest holds a harvest festival lasting half a month.

Beneath the surging force of faith, Ang's gaze returned to the sack of grain in his hands—he had already realized this problem when he pulled it out.

Even if he dumped all the grain stored in the Palace of Rest, it would not be enough to calm everyone, because he remembered: raw rice could not be eaten directly—it would choke people to death.

How could he make it edible directly? As he pondered, a symbol of a rice ear and a symbol of the Goddess of Beauty lit up before his eyes.

Ang's mind stirred; within his soul, the divine powers of the God of Cultivation and the Goddess of Beauty activated simultaneously; Ang hurled the sack of grain into the sky.

Change! The rice grains soaring upward transformed into black loaves of bread, falling onto people's heads, faces, and arms.

Anthony far away leapt to his feet: "Great Invocation?"

In another direction, someone in the refugee crowd nearly jumped up: "Great Invocation? No way—he's really a penitent monk? I thought Anthony had just found some fraud."

Great Invocation, Great Prophecy, Great Echo—these were the three supreme divine arts of the Church of Light, the strongest powers mortals could wield; beyond that lay divinity itself.

Yet even His Holiness Gulliani had not mastered any one of them; the papal crown felt somewhat hollow.

Originally thought to be a fraud Anthony had dragged in from somewhere, now he wielded a supreme divine art even the Pope couldn't perform—he was no longer just a penitent monk, but a serious contender for the papal throne.

An unbelievable scene stunned everyone; those lucky enough to catch the black bread instinctively grabbed it and bit down hard.

The taste wasn't great, but it wasn't bad either; for the hungry, the satisfaction of fullness outweighed everything—and these were created by "Lord Ang" himself, not illusions.

It was too incredible; many could no longer even consider whether Ang could produce hundreds of thousands of grain sacks.

Ang pulled out another sack of grain and hurled it skyward; again, it transformed into bread falling down. Someone rushed to grab some, and Ang immediately ensnared them.

Negriss and Du Luo, projected onto him, were stunned; they finally snapped back, mumbling: "Ang, when did you learn Great Invocation?"

Ang tilted his head: "No, it's Beauty and Cultivation combined."

Negriss was even more shocked: "What? Combined divine art? A combination of the Goddess of Beauty and the God of Cultivation?"

Theoretically, combined divine arts existed—when two non-conflicting divine arts were cast simultaneously, they produced unimaginable transformations.

But theory was theory; Negriss had never seen or heard of any combined divine art, and even deities possessing two divine arts were rare.

In this regard, Negriss was still decent—he had several divine arts: Always Pass the Exam, Whisper of Truth, Aura of Enlightenment, Vitality Boost, Stay Up All Night Without Going Bald…

But Ang's combined divine art was monstrous: one sack of grain turned into a pile of bread; roughly, the mass tripled—twenty jin of grain became sixty jin of bread.

The God of Cultivation's elemental transformation turned soil into straw without changing mass—why was mass increasing now?

"Add water," Ang replied. "And their faith."

Negriss was shaken again: "You mean you added the believers' faith too?"

Ang nodded.

"That's invocation then? A prayer of Beauty and the God of Cultivation?" Negriss murmured.

Some didn't understand why the God of Cultivation's divine art was elemental transformation—turning soil into straw—but Negriss was shocked, not surprised; it made logical sense.

The God of Cultivation turning seeds into towering trees was fundamentally elemental transformation.

But turning soil into straw he understood; turning grain into bread—he couldn't grasp it. Was it because of the combination with the Goddess of Beauty's fist and the believers' prayers?

Sacks of grain turned to bread, falling onto people; those who caught it bit into it out of curiosity or hunger, while those who didn't waited anxiously for Ang's gift—no one caused trouble now.

Only then did Ang have time to turn his gaze to those who had incited the crowd: "You are guilty."

Sacred shackles sprang from the ground, locking onto them; holy flame ignited, instantly consuming them.

"Holy flame burning? That's a serious sin?" Negriss exclaimed.

In the slums of the Realm of Despair, Ang had once shackled two servants with Original Sin Chains, but never inflicted such severe punishment—why was it holy flame now?

"Mass incitement is a grave sin, but never mind that—how did he even get Original Sin Chains?" Du Luo asked, baffled.

Since waking up, he'd been overwhelmed; Ang's existence shattered his understanding—three-in-one deity, elemental transformation, even the Church's divine arts—he was losing his mind.

"You ask me? Who do I ask? I only taught him Purification—how the hell did he come up with all this? I want to know too." Negriss snapped.

Negriss had long harbored this doubt—he wanted the answer more than anyone; after much thought, the only possibility was Lisa and Anthony—they had defined the Holy Light for Ang.

But this theory couldn't be proven unless he found another Ang-like being and taught him Purification again to see if he could produce such wonders.

Amidst the holy flame, the inciters screamed in agony, locked fast by the Original Sin Chains, unable to move.

A few burst with holy light, extinguishing the flame upon them—everyone was stunned; among these sinners were actually divine art users of the Light?

But it was meaningless; they revealed their trump cards yet still couldn't break free—the extinguished holy flame reignited.

They panicked, begging: "Let me go! Please, let me go! It's not my fault—Dai Sen ordered us to do this!"

The believers erupted in murmurs.

Ang looked confused—he didn't care who did it, so why tell him?

He kept turning grain into bread, letting the inciters burn to ash in the holy flame.

Producing hundreds of thousands of grain sacks was hard, but turning them into hundreds of thousands of loaves was easy—especially now, where the soul flame he received vastly outweighed what he spent; he only needed to expend grain.

The Beauty and Cultivation Invocation required soul flame and grain, but now, standing in the air, soul flame poured into him endlessly; each bread transformation triggered a surge of soul flame.

He only needed to spend one-tenth of it, plus twenty jin of grain and condensed moisture from the air, to produce sixty jin of bread.

At first, he used grain from the Palace of Rest, but once that ran out, he used the grain Anthony brought—effectively zero cost, pure profit in soul flame.

This was bad—it violated the principle of equivalent exchange; Ang was troubled, but had no way to compensate now—he silently noted it down to repay Anthony later.

If Anthony knew Ang was counting these extra gains as debts owed to him, he'd probably laugh himself to death.

The bread-making spectacle lasted all day; eventually, everyone was exhausted—even if someone tried to incite, no one would dare stir trouble.

Besides, the charred remains of the holy flames still smoldered; those inciters not yet caught now cowered like frozen frogs—even if forced with a knife, they wouldn't dare speak up; being stabbed was far more comfortable than being burned by holy flame.

With no unrest, Anthony smoothly brought in more grain, cooking porridge, noodles, and baking bread to soothe the refugees.

Grain was still sufficient for now, enough to last a while; but to stretch it further, Anthony reduced daily rations, leaving everyone half-starved—perfect for opportunists to incite again.

Thanks to Ang, the Original Sin Chains terrified potential inciters, and the miraculous bread-making awed every refugee; without these methods, calming them would have been nearly impossible.

Ang reaped a bounty of soul flame, content as he entered the western city of the Black Mountain Duchy; the Black Mountain bastard he'd once seen in Luolan now stood beside Anthony, respectfully greeting him in his regal robes.

The Black Mountain Duchy had once belonged to the Western Diocese; after the insect plague destroyed the royal court, a bastard who raised the Earth Holy Hammer seized the ducal throne.

Why did a duchy have a royal court? Because one Black Mountain Duke married a princess of the royal family.

This bastard called himself Black Mountain; Anthony presided over his succession ceremony, planting a wedge in the Western Diocese.

Add the Rosa Duchy and the Rosa-administered Ushi Duchy, and Anthony now had three wedges in the west.

The Duke of Black Mountain bowed respectfully, but Ang's gaze fixed on the Earth Holy Hammer at his waist, staring for a moment longer.

Back in the tent, Anthony dismissed everyone and could no longer hold back; he dragged out a sack of grain and pleaded: "My lord, my lord, could you do it again? Just once more—I couldn't see clearly from afar."

Negriss, projected on him, added: "Let me out—I need to see it with my own eyes; projection doesn't convey the feeling."

Finally, Ang released them all, opened the grain sack, grabbed a handful, and rubbed it between his hands—producing a long loaf of bread.

Lu Se stared in disbelief as he took it, bit into it hard: "It's… really bread? Edible? Hand-crafted bread? My lord, are you stealing Vania's job?"

Lisa slapped him on the head, snatched the bread, pinched off the bitten end in disgust, and broke it into small pieces, distributing them to everyone who could eat.

To link this level of divine art with Vania—what poor taste.

After tasting it, everyone gave their "honest" reviews: "Hmm, delicious! Melts in your mouth."

"Yes, yes! So good, I'm moved to tears."

"One bite fills me with wheat fragrance—my soul feels ascended."

Lisa scolded: "Please, when you praise, show some sincerity!"

Regardless of taste, hand-crafted bread was an unbelievable divine art, tripling mass—if not for the soul flame cost, Ang could feed everyone.

Unfortunately, this ability only worked with crowds; too few people meant the offered soul flame couldn't cover the cost—it would be a loss.

Anthony bit off a small piece, swallowed it, then bowed to Du Luo: "Lord Du Luo, long time no see."

Du Luo scrutinized him, hesitating: "Are you really Pieryo?"

Having infiltrated the Church for over a thousand years, Anthony had long become the perfect clergyman; if he claimed to be undead, few would believe him.

"It's really me, look." Anthony twirled his staff like a sword, making everyone scramble back several meters—what kind of creature used a staff as a sword?

"I believe you, I believe you! Be careful not to hit me—I just woke up, my bones are still soft." Du Luo reluctantly accepted it.

Two old acquaintances who hadn't seen each other in a thousand years chatted, but soon ran out of things to say—Anthony's life was too rich; a book about it would need millions of words: "I Was a Black Knight, Yet Became Pope of the Church of Light?!"

Compared to Anthony's life, Du Luo's was simple: awakened in a graveyard, wandered the void, died in a chaotic current…

Fine, conversation died; just talking about oneself sounded boastful.

Turning to Ang, Anthony thanked him: "My lord, thank you so much—if you hadn't stepped in, I wouldn't have known how to end this. It was disgusting—I was helping Dai Sen with disaster relief, and he pulls this stunt? Does he really wish his people dead?"

Ang tilted his head.

Knowing Ang wouldn't care, Anthony casually continued: "By the way, the Dwarven Hammer Clan sent twenty thousand tons of grain, whispering to me, 'I'm a good guy,' then added that if I could provide matching wine, he'd sell me all his reserve grain for brewing. Rare indeed—even dwarves disapprove of Dai Sen and Gulliani's actions."

Anthony had only meant to remark, noting even enemies' allies were now favoring him—but as soon as he finished, he noticed Negriss's strange expression.

"Uh, my lord… you didn't brew wine, did you?"

Ang nodded.

"How's the taste?"

Ang tilted his head—he didn't know; he never drank.

Anthony's expression turned serious: "Well, if the wine is good and plentiful, I'm confident I can convince the dwarves to let me see their War Chess Ruins—because the Dwarven War God had a unique ability: recording every great battle. If the original Dwarven War God was killed by Luo Ke or Your Majesty, the ruins should have records."