Chapter 346: They

For Ang, growing things was his favorite, but growing things depended on climate; it was nearly harvest season now, unsuitable for planting unless he was willing to consume soulflame.

But Ang didn't like using soulflame to grow things—he activated the Rapid Death Aura primarily to complete comparisons, not merely to accelerate growth, unless he was short on food.

He had grown crops to alleviate famine only in the original Abyss of Rest, then in the Dan Sea Plane when Anthony needed emergency food, and now again.

The times he used the Rapid Death Aura most were during salt-rice selection and hybridization of cereal strains, then during various seed selection, cultivation, grafting, and hybridization.

Without special need, Ang preferred letting crops grow naturally.

Natural growth required matching the climate, which Ang excelled at—he knew exactly when to sow, when to fertilize, when to pollinate.

Harvest season was coming; it wasn't the time to sow. In his old farm, he'd prepare to find new bones, replace the irreparably damaged ones after harvest, and prepare for winter.

But now he didn't need to—he had Golden Bones, strong and durable, never wearing out; with sufficient death energy, Golden Bones repaired themselves automatically.

If all else failed, just soak them in Death Essence liquid for a few days.

"So you're unemployed now—stop thinking about growing things. Get the Little Soul to try sealing Divine Techniques. If it works, seal a few more; your transformation time is too short," Nagris urged.

Yes, all that earlier was Nagris's analysis, just trying to push Ang to seal Divine Techniques quickly.

Ang wouldn't think about such complicated things—he just used things when he needed to.

But it wasn't wrong for Nagris to summarize it this way; Ang did act exactly as described—but Nagris was purely analyzing after the fact, unrelated to how Ang actually thought.

Ang had no choice but to pull his hand out of the space, extend a finger for the Little Soul to bite, then transform.

The transformation began at the fingertip but was halted by the Little Soul's bite—the change couldn't spread beyond the bitten spot, frozen entirely at the fingertip.

"Kuabada, this works?" Nagris cursed.

"That's kinda impressive. What's the principle?" Du Luo asked.

"I've got a great idea—if anyone wants to use a Divine Technique, throw the Little Soul at them to bite them, and they can't use it," Feiti raised his hand and said.

"When you speak, just speak—why do you keep raising your hand? This isn't class," Nagris said, baffled.

Feiti had lately started raising his hand before speaking, like a student answering in class—Kuabada, he was the Lord of the Dead, and this good-student demeanor put enormous pressure on those around him.

"You told me to raise my hand before answering questions," Feiti replied firmly.

"Me? When did I ever tell you to raise your hand? You're accusing me falsely."

"Over a thousand years ago, when you taught me the secrets of space and time," Feiti said.

"How many years ago was that? Why didn't you raise your hand when we first met?"

"I didn't remember then. I remembered now."

"Can you just stop raising your hand?"

"I can, but habits are hard to break." As he spoke, Feiti raised his hand again.

Nagris lunged and detached his right arm bone: "There, fixed."

Feiti raised his left hand and punched Nagris squarely in the eye socket.

Amid their bickering, the transformation ended, and the Little Soul spat out a sealed Divine Technique crystal.

"It really works? Can you use it by crushing it? Can others use it?" Du Luo asked.

"Sss—give it to others? That's a wildly creative idea, Ang, test it fast. If you can let others use your Divine Techniques, we can all transform into Locke or the Dragon God," Nagris exclaimed excitedly.

He himself could definitely use it, but whether others could was unknown. Ang pulled out a soulless Golden Skeleton, shoved a Soulfire into it—didn't need it to power the bones, just let it lie there.

Crushed the seal, tossed it onto the skeleton—but the seal wouldn't merge into the bones, bounced a few times, fell to the ground, hissed, and dissipated within moments.

"Too bad, doesn't work. Is it because the soul strength is too low?" Du Luo asked.

"Not necessarily. It might be affinity. When Ang learned Locke's transformation, he still had to bond with scales for a long time before transforming into the Dragon God," Nagris speculated.

"What if you seal a Dragon God transformation for me? You're a dragon yourself, no affinity needed, and you have a soul link with Ang—could you use the Dragon God transformation successfully?" Du Luo said.

Nagris couldn't help saying: "How did your soul grow? Why do you have so many creative ideas? Makes sense, Ang, seal another Dragon God transformation for me to try."

Ang shook his head: "Can't transform."

"Oh right, your Ultimate Transformation needs to recharge. We'll try again tomorrow," Nagris said, feeling agonized and disappointed.

A good idea you can't test immediately is like a good book you can't read right away, or a smart student you can't teach right away—too frustrating.

"My lord, my lord." Ang tilted his head—he felt the call, listened closely, and it was Anthony calling: "My lord, the grain distribution has begun. Shall I come harvest faith?"

Every grain distribution could become a grand faith-harvesting ceremony; Anthony would never miss such an opportunity.

Now he had grain, he intended to make a huge spectacle—and summon Ang to harvest faith, so he wouldn't do good deeds while the Church of Light reaped the benefits.

This had been their original plan; hearing it had begun, everyone immediately set off for the refugee camp.

Anthony had established a series of refugee camps at the border between the Eastern and Western Dioceses, sheltering starving victims. Anyone who reached a camp received life-sustaining food.

But the worst-hit areas weren't the border zones—they were within the Western Diocese itself, places Anthony's influence couldn't reach.

But it didn't matter; as long as refugee camps existed, there was hope. Starving victims would find any way to escape, not give up.

The journey was full of restrictions and dangers—for example, some noble landowners preferred letting peasants starve on their land rather than let them flee.

Because if some died, the survivors would become cheap labor next year.

But if everyone fled, the entire territory might be emptied; no one would farm next year, making land consolidation meaningless, forcing them to spend money buying slaves from markets.

To deal with these inhumane noble landowners, Anthony used the simplest method—bounties.

The Mercenary Guild posted many bounties targeting those who obstructed refugee movement; the bounty issuer was Anthony himself.

As the Holy Church's Acting Pope, his name was a guarantee of credit—no one doubted he'd pay.

But Anthony was truly out of money—he'd borrowed everything, mortgaged everything; before harvest, he was a penniless debtor who couldn't even pay interest.

Still, he was cunning—he didn't offer money as the bounty…

"One chance at limb regeneration: bounty on the head of Viscount Truk. Viscount Truk obstructed refugee movement, refused to aid starving civilians, allowed people to die—grave crimes. Whoever cuts off Viscount Truk's head may claim one chance at limb regeneration."

"Heavens, limb regeneration? Great Restoration? That's a High Archbishop-level Divine Art!"

"Anthony the Supreme was once a High Archbishop—could he be performing it himself?"

"One viscount for a Great Restoration? What if it's a count? What's the reward?"

"Wait, there really is one—Count Hess. This Count Hess had bandits impersonated and killed over six hundred civilians in his territory. Bounty on his head: reward is… is… one chance at resurrection? Resurrection?"

"The… the legendary Great Resurrection? Joking? The Church of Light said Great Resurrection couldn't be cast due to lack of materials!"

"Has Anthony found the materials? Check the conditions—we'll take this mission, resurrect my grandfather—he was a Sword Saint, died too early to pass on his martial qi art, or I'd be a Sword Saint already."

"Even if you were a Sword Saint, you couldn't kill a count—don't dream. Check the conditions… death within one day?"

"Death within one day? My grandfather's out of luck—he's been dead fifty years."

Anthony's bounty did cause a sensation, but even more so within the Church of Light—reappearance of the lost Great Resurrection after a thousand years shook every devout divine practitioner.

They claimed externally that lack of materials prevented casting, but only divine practitioners knew Great Resurrection had been lost—around nine hundred years ago, the Church suffered disasters, many texts burned, so no one could cast it anymore.

Claiming lack of materials was just to save face; now Anthony was using it as a bounty? Had he learned Great Resurrection?

After hearing the news, former allies of Anthony—bishops, priests, monks, acolytes, holy maidens—flocked to him.

Anthony naturally dodged them with laughter; if they pressed, he asked for donations or grain. Most, upon hearing that, began laughing too.

Anthony didn't know Great Resurrection—he knew Ang's Pure Color Rebirth Art. The essential material was Essence Fluid; even consuming twenty liters cost only 200, 00 magic crystals, far cheaper than bountying a count.

As for casting, no worry—Ang could personally perform it under the name "Ascetic An."

Of course, due to the time limit, Great Resurrection was just a gimmick—who'd die exactly one day ago and happen to have the strength to kill a count?

By using Great Resurrection and bountying a count, he drew public attention, focused the entire plane's spotlight on this, spreading it across the realm so everyone knew: don't kill indiscriminately, don't obstruct refugees, don't let too many die in your territory—or Anthony the Supreme will put a bounty on you.

For many old foxes already tied to the Church, the Church's punishment meant far less than the Mercenary Guild's bounty.

Their ancestors had always done this—not just this year with the disaster. In past famines, plagues, earthquakes, floods, many died, yet no punishment came—clearly, the gods didn't care.

But the Mercenary Guild's bounty was real—especially after Viscount Truk was beheaded at night, Anthony personally rushed to the Mercenary Guild to perform limb regeneration for the bounty claimant.

The claimant wore a mask, but his left arm was gone. In full view, Anthony led him into the healing chamber; when he emerged, his left arm had regrown.

The entire process occurred under the witness of Guildmaster Kaji, who had seen the arm grow back with his own eyes.

"Incredible, incredible! Lord Anthony, the Great Restoration is truly miraculous," Guildmaster Kaji said, awestruck.

Anthony tucked away the nutrient fluid and smiled: "This is the power of the gods."

He openly let Kaji observe, confident that even if Gulliani stood here, he couldn't distinguish Pure Color Art from Purification Art—they were the same Divine Art.

Only if an heretic were brought forward could one discern the difference by the lack of purification effect.

Besides, the nutrient fluid—no one could identify it from a bottle. Even if the healed person recognized it and tested it with Purification Art back home, no limb regeneration would occur.

They'd only suspect wrong dosage, not that Purification Art was flawed.

"Oh, praise the gods," Kaji quickly agreed, then cautiously asked: "Lord Anthony, have you truly mastered Great Resurrection?"

Anthony smiled faintly, evading: "Why? Do you have someone who died within the last day you want resurrected?"

Kaji instantly sensed Anthony's cunning—this question had intent. If Anthony admitted it, they'd reassess his power.

If Anthony denied it, it implied he had a strong user of Great Resurrection, forcing the Mercenary Guild to reassess the Holy Church's strength—both were major intelligence, worth huge sums.

Unexpectedly, Anthony dodged with a counter-question—neither admitted nor denied.

Facing such a shrewd… seasoned opponent, Kaji said honestly: "If this slot can be transferred, someone might claim the bounty and entrust us to designate the resurrection target."

Anthony gave Kaji a approving look—clever calculation. This meant the Mercenary Guild controlled a resurrection slot—immense value.

Why would others entrust them? Ha—the Mercenary Guild had its own black-ops teams; no need to hire outsiders.

Anthony thought, then nodded: "Fine."

That very night, Anthony received word: Count Hess's castle had been attacked, the count missing.

When Kaji visited the next day, Anthony couldn't help teasing: "You moved fast."

Kaji sighed: "We didn't do it."

"Not you? Who then?" Anthony froze.

Kaji sighed: "Don't know. But someone came to claim the bounty—he brought a coffin and set up a tent at the guild entrance, demanding resurrection inside the tent. Now the tent's surrounded by mercenaries who heard the news."

"Damn, they've got me on the spit."