Chapter 335

In the dwarf army's encampment, within a standard tent, Ang's core decision-making team was holding a discussion.

"This camp is laid out perfectly—palisades, pit traps, magical nets, anti-air crossbows, constant Wizard Eyes, defense towers—all layered and orderly. No matter which direction you attack, you'll be hit by three-dimensional firepower. No wonder these are elite troops pulled back from the Lands of Decay." Negril praised.

Anthony smirked slightly, unimpressed, but said nothing.

He could have arranged it better, tighter—but this setup wasn't bad either. It was more than enough for the current situation, since they were only temporarily stationed here.

Even Anthony had to admit this defense was nearly impossible to break in a short time. If the battle dragged on, the enemy would upgrade their defenses; without heavy losses, they'd never take it.

Aside from not building a wall, they'd constructed everything a temporary camp should have—but this was just a temporary camp. What were they guarding against? Dwarves?

That didn't make sense. Dwarves could enter and exit their camp easily; many had already gone in to drink alcohol.

If not guarding against dwarves, then this layout was pure habit—these elite troops, pulled back from the Lands of Decay, still followed their old ways and camp routines, instinctively setting up camps like this.

This is what core elite means.

As frontline troops long facing the Undead Legion, the armies of the Lands of Decay were poor, but highly trained, well-equipped, and possessed exceptional overall quality.

"A well-built camp doesn't matter—we're not planning to attack it. Wait until they start marching, then charge in and cut them down." King Copper Hammer growled.

Anthony shook his head: "If they keep this habit, you won't get close so easily. They'll maintain distance from allied forces while marching—probably splitting into front, center, and rear sections. Even if they lose part of their force, their overall strength won't be crippled."

"Then what? Send someone to infiltrate, then strike suddenly?" Copper Hammer said.

Anthony shook his head: "Too few infiltrators won't help. Too many—you willing to lose them?"

Not willing. The dwarves hadn't participated in large-scale war for many years. Losing thirty or fifty men was already serious; losing hundreds or thousands would be unbearable for now.

As Anthony had suspected, if not for the God of War and the God of Smithing, Copper Hammer's temperament might have led him to simply endure it, pretending nothing had happened.

The dwarf race lacked the capacity to launch an independent war against humans. This time, it could be seen as the beginning of his alliance with Anthony.

Anthony wasn't a lackey of the Light, yet he'd become a Grand Archbishop—and now led the Holy Church independently. Copper Hammer's cooperation with him was essentially an "internal alignment," not a betrayal of the dwarves' alliance with the Light Church.

Even monarchs under the Light Church scolded Gulliani: "You can't even fool the stubborn dwarves—what good are you?"

Not only could they avenge the God of War and the God of Smithing, but also help Anthony weaken the Light Church, gain two powerful allies, and avoid heavy pressure—like economic blockades.

All necessities? Just buy them from the Eastern Diocese. Anthony's Eastern Diocese was even more prosperous.

After careful thought, Copper Hammer made his decision: fully align with Anthony. His decision won unanimous support from all Thunder Guards.

These Thunder Guards, who had watched the replay of the God of War's chessboard, were all enraged, desperate to storm human lands and smash the heads of every Light Church lackey.

But raiding was fine—massive losses were out of the question. The dwarves' current state was poor; they were no longer the empire that once stood equal to humans.

"We can fly above in airships and drop magic eggs."

"No. If they're prepared, magic eggs just become their weapons. A wind mage could blow their trajectory off-course—what if they land on us?"

"Let Lady Ais take her anti-magic field down with the magic eggs."

"Then what happens to Lady Ais when the eggs explode? Get blown up too?"

"Send Luo Ge to take out their command center?"

"Why not send Nai Aili? You always think of me for suicide missions?"

They chattered endlessly—because they weren't truly powerless. If they truly went all-out, with two Truth Mages, a horde of Arcane Night Watchers, a horde of Purple Bone Titans, several living and dead dragons, a Grand Archbishop and Soul Warrior, and a pseudo-semi-god—

Oh, and a Fallen Saintess. Shamarah's name carried even greater terror among the Light Church; none wanted to be corrupted into Fallen Folk.

With these high-end forces, they could crush the camp by brute force. They simply didn't want to mindlessly charge—so they gathered here to discuss.

Finally, Anthony said: "Actually, Dyson is the core holding this force together. Many of them have lived in the Lands of Decay for years, raised there since childhood. They have no sense of belonging to the Prime Plane. Without Dyson, they'd collapse immediately."

"If I send someone to preach and offer promises, I can easily pull over half of them to our side. After all, serving the East is still serving the Light."

At this, everyone burst into laughter, the air filled with joy.

"So, if we get a chance to pinpoint his location, we'll let Lord Ang carry us over, then suddenly jump out and kill him." Anthony said.

"Isn't Dyson right there in the camp across? I can go visit him now—Lord Ang can just pretend to be my attendant." Copper Hammer said.

Anthony shook his head: "No. The one in the camp might not be Dyson. I've seen three Dysons in the Church, each with different habitual gestures. One likes to purse his lips—he doesn't do it in front of others, but his lips have old bite marks."

"The second always steps with his left foot first. The third habitually sniffs. I suspect he once had chronic rhinitis—cured, but kept the gesture. So far, I've only identified three differences. Whether there's a fourth or fifth, I don't know."

Everyone stared, stunned. Could you observe so much? Lu Se, skeptical, asked: "Could they all be the same person? These small habits could coexist in one person."

Anthony smiled: "Of course I observed them. Some habits appear together—like picking your toes or leering at priestesses. But these three gestures: if one appears, the other two absolutely won't."

Lisa couldn't help exclaiming: "No wonder you became Grand Archbishop."

"Heh, just be observant…" Anthony said modestly—but before he finished, Negril suddenly collapsed to the ground.

"Is this… offline?"

Moments later, Negril reprojected into his body, laughing and groaning: "You said it was hard to find Dyson's real body? Now it's solved—he walked right into our hands. Ang killed him."

"What? But Lord Ang was farming, wasn't he?" Anthony exclaimed.

"Yes. Dyson passed by his field and used Holy Word to 'greet' him." Negril laughed bitterly.

The man had clearly used Holy Word: Intimidate to scare him—but Ang mistook it for a greeting.

"Could it be a decoy?" Anthony hesitated.

Impossible. We were all here debating fruitlessly, yet Lord Ang just quietly killed him by sheer luck?

"Have you ever seen a decoy with a ignited divine flame? He carried a divine bone skeleton and over twenty golden skeletons. Come, let's go see."

The group rushed to a wasteland dozens of kilometers away. The scene was chaotic—golden bones scattered everywhere. Twenty-odd golden skull bones had been gathered to one side, piled into a heap.

The soul flames within these skulls still burned, their lower jaws snapping rapidly, as if furiously cursing.

Since the skulls had been separated from their bodies and no other bones were nearby, they could only flap uselessly.

One skull used its lower jaw to push itself forward, inching painfully along the ground.

Before it moved far, the little zombie dashed over, snatched it up, and tossed it back into the skull pile.

After rolling several times, the skull landed on its occiput—now its lower jaw couldn't even touch the ground, leaving only empty eye sockets staring at the sky.

One pure white skeleton remained intact, but stood frozen in place—whether from shock or something else, it didn't move.

Big Bone held his own arm bone, chasing the little angel: "Reattach it! Reattach it!"

At the edge of the farmland, a large pit had formed. Ang was tidying up, shoveling soil back in—he'd already filled half the pit.

At the bottom of the pit, Dyson lay utterly defeated. His left shoulder was crushed by a small hammer—the Hammer of Redemption.

Below his thighs, it was smashed by King Copper Hammer's Thunder Hammer. The Earth Hammer pressed heavily on his chest, pinning him—and his divine flame—firmly in place, immobile.

Only descendants of the Black Mountain Duke could lift the Earth Hammer. Why was it in the hands of that Holy Angel?

Why did the enemy possess the Hammer of Redemption? Why did they have King Copper Hammer's Thunder Hammer? Why?

He'd just asked that question—and the answer came: "Stolen."

After igniting his divine flame and wielding divine power, Dyson couldn't withstand three strikes. It shouldn't be like this. He'd dreamed of igniting his divine flame—why was he so weak after achieving it? He was a god.

If the Goddess of Redemption and the God of Balance heard his question, they'd deeply understand. Even these ancient gods weren't Ang's match—what was he, a newly ignited god?

Perhaps his muttering reached the Earth Hammer, which asked: "What divine flame did you ignite?"

"You… you can talk?"

"I'm a spirit. Of course I can talk. Don't act so surprised. What divine flame did you ignite?"

"You're… crushing me so I can't speak. I… haven't awakened any divine technique. Haven't… defined my divine flame."

"Oh, so you're a newbie god. Do you know who you're facing? Never mind—I won't tell you. Ever heard of the God of Undeath?"

To crush his spirit, the Earth Hammer, having just claimed "I won't tell you," quietly listed every one of Ang's titles—leaving Dyson utterly hopeless.

The man he thought was a farmer was actually the god of the Abyssal Nomads. How unlucky was he—to run into him just by walking?

"Is that really Lord Dyson? What happened to you? Run over by a horse? How did you get this bad? Should I call a healing priest? This remote wasteland—ambulance fees are expensive." A gleeful voice rang out. Anthony's head appeared at the pit's edge.

Over the years, the Church had developed many revenue streams. For instance, when nobles, landowners, or merchants fell ill but lived in countryside estates rather than cities—

Priests and clerics with healing abilities could leave the city and travel to the patient's location, offering treatment services charged by distance and danger level.

"Anthony!" Dyson snarled.

Snarling did no good. Dyson's head was severed and taken by Anthony—no one knew what scheme he'd concoct next.

As for Dyson's divine flame and equipment, all naturally belonged to Ang—including two storage rings.

Ang used his Spot-Removal Spell to erase the demonic runes on them, then opened the storage spaces.

The first ring's interior held standard bishop gear: robes, vestments, staffs, ceremonial items, holy seals, badges—all typical. Even if you opened it fully, it looked like the storage of a pious, honest bishop.

The second ring was different—filled with all sorts of bizarre items, its space unusually large: totems, masks, bone artifacts, soul artifacts. If you only saw this, you'd never guess it belonged to a Light Church Grand Archbishop.

"Many of these items are ancient. What's Dyson's background?" Negril flipped through the second ring's contents, puzzled.

Lisa replied: "Lord Anthony said he's likely the leader of the Fire Thieves, a secret organization within the Light Church. Lord Anthony once infiltrated the Fire Thieves and knows many of their secrets."

"Sigh. Without gods, the Light Church is riddled with holes. A secret organization's leader rose to the rank of Grand Archbishop." Negril sighed.

"Hmm. Lord Anthony is one too. Looks like among the three Grand Archbishops, the purest is Nicolas." Lisa sighed.

As a former Light Saintess, seeing the Church sink this low, her emotions were complex.

"Huh? What's this?" Amidst the clutter, Negril pulled out a segment of purple-gold finger bone.

Ang took it, tilted his head, then rummaged through his storage and pulled out another finger bone. When he fitted them together, they aligned perfectly.

This had been obtained from the Dimension Beast. Ang originally thought it was Harvey's finger bone—was he wrong?

Gazing at the two bone segments, Ang faintly sensed a subtle vibration emanating from them—as if trying to erase certain thoughts from his mind.

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