Chapter 348: Came Specifically to Judge

The energy that could make Ang feel strange must be something extremely rare; even Ang himself could use farming magic with the four elements—wind, fire, water, earth—as well as holy light and death energy, and could also transform into the Dragon God and cast Druidic magic.

He knew many powerful beings: high-rank Sword Saints, Arcane Truth Mages, Space Mystics, even the Chosen of Lightning—he had seen almost every kind of power.

Yet the girl before him, twelve or thirteen years old, bound at the wrists, blindfolded, her face resigned to fate, carried an energy Ang found strangely unfamiliar.

And the girl looked vaguely familiar, as if he had seen her somewhere before.

"My lord, we captured a witch. When she uses her power and stares at someone, they turn into a beetroot, so we covered her eyes. Please judge her," said the refugee who brought her.

"Pfft? Beetroot? Why turn people into beetroot? These ignorant fools, talking nonsense." Negril burst out laughing.

Turning someone into another substance was indeed possible—Ang's divine skill, Elemental Conversion, could turn soil into straw, but it consumed divine power.

The second was High Arcane—Transmute to Sheep. Here, "High" is not the same as "High-Level."

In Arcane magic, some spells cannot be cast merely by reaching a high level; these are collectively called "High Arcane Spells," requiring profound understanding of matter, elements, space, power layers, and more to succeed.

For example, Transmute to Sheep: the caster must understand a sheep's bodily structure, bone framework, and organ distribution, or the result is merely a lump of meat and fur.

Thus, some call Arcane the magic closest to "the Divine," its astonishing techniques leaving observers awestruck—no one has ever claimed to fully master Arcane.

Even Truth Mage Estdoria publicly called herself a "Natural Arcane" mage, never an "Arcane" mage—she certainly couldn't cast Transmute to Sheep.

Clearly, turning someone into a sheep or beetroot requires immense divine power and extreme skill; no one would use it lightly on ordinary people, unless their divine power was as abundant as Ang's, to be squandered freely.

"It does resemble a witch's method, but why turn them into beetroot? Why not just glue their mouths shut, cloud their eyeballs, or make them spontaneously combust?" Du Luo asked, puzzled.

Beetroot? Ang tilted his head and suddenly remembered something: "It's you."

He recalled who the girl was—the older sister of the big-necked child from the slums of the Drowning Lands—but she was only eight or nine then; how had she grown to eleven or twelve?

The blindfolded girl, hearing the voice, showed shock on her face, struggled violently, broke free from those holding her, and tore off the cloth covering her eyes.

Seeing Ang, the girl became excited: "My lord!"

It was indeed the little girl; after removing the blindfold, Ang recognized her more clearly—but in less than a year, how had she grown so much?

Girls between eight and nine and eleven and twelve undergo the most rapid development; with sufficient nutrition, one year can transform their appearance entirely. The girl before him was unrecognizable compared to the one Ang had seen in the Drowning Lands over a year ago.

"Your brother?" Ang asked.

At the mention of her brother, the girl's eyes immediately reddened: "Dead."

Ang tilted his head.

Perhaps sensing Ang's confusion, the girl said: "He got sick and died. Someone tried to steal his body, so I turned them into a beetroot. Then they captured me and called me a witch."

Negril gasped in shock and cursed: "Ku Bada! Bastards, deserved to become beetroot."

Du Luo sighed slowly: "Better dead. All undead, no such messy problems."

"Were they guilty?" Ang asked.

Others might not have understood Ang's question, but the girl had seen him judge before; she shook her head: "No, they were just afraid of me."

Around them, people exhaled in relief; since Ang had asked "It's you," they realized they had made a mistake—how could they have arrested someone Ang knew? They shrank back, trembling.

When Ang asked "Were they guilty?", their hearts tightened further; luckily, the girl didn't blame them, or several would have died on the spot.

Still, some were dissatisfied; an old woman whispered, "Turning a living person into a beetroot—isn't that a witch's secret art? Like witches turning people into rats."

Ang tilted his head, pulled out a sack of grain, flipped it into the air—and instantly, bread rained down.

The old woman fell to her knees in terror, stammering: "A miracle! A miracle! Not a secret art—a miracle!"

Anthony smiled and walked over, waved his hand, and his knights surged forward to arrest everyone; his voice echoed across the crowd: "You are all very enthusiastic—commendable. But remember—"

Here, Anthony's voice turned unbearably stern: "Judgment is the right of the Divine alone. He grants this right only to those who can hear his divine decree. To judge others without such ability is an affront to divine authority!"

Those arrested instantly went weak-kneed; some of the timid even wet themselves. Oh gods, affronting divine authority—what a terrifying accusation.

Seeing the crowd sufficiently terrified, Anthony softened his tone: "Since this is your first offense, three lashes as punishment. Remember—do not judge others lightly."

"If you wish to hear the divine decree, first memorize the Divine Law Scripture, pass the Law Scripture examination, earn the qualification of Judgment Knight, then become a Holy Emblem Knight, complete a three-year internship at the Mobile Tribunal, establish proper legal principles, and only then may you become a Judge—only then do you gain the right to judge others."

"Remember: do not judge others lightly. Divine authority is sacred and must not be desecrated! Now, carry out the punishment."

At his command, the arrested men were whipped three times by the knights, howling like beasts; the onlookers who weren't beaten were also terrified.

As he drew closer, Negril couldn't help whispering, "Is your church's judgment process this strict? Then when you judged them just now—do you have the qualification of a Judge?"

"Heh." Anthony chuckled twice, secretly pulled out a badge: a shield, a small hammer, a scepter.

"Judgment Badge, Holy Emblem, Judge's Hammer, Bishop's Authority—plus my Papal Scepter, which you've seen. Test me on any Divine Law Scripture. If I can't answer, I'll change my name to Negril Anthony."

Ku Bada! He pulled it off again. Negril quickly changed the subject: "Why is the Holy Emblem a shield? Shouldn't it be called Holy Shield Knight?"

"Not the same thing," Anthony explained. "If the Church still has any light left today, Holy Emblem Knights and the Mobile Tribunal might be among the few remaining."

"This shield is also a Holy Emblem—its full name is the Holy Emblem (Shield). Every Judgment Knight must first become a Holy Emblem Knight, join the Mobile Tribunal, and spend three years traveling to remote villages and towns, delivering fair judgment to all."

"It's incredibly hard. I've been reborn several times along this path, each time with a partner heading into the wilderness, resolving disputes for villagers who never received justice."

"Sometimes we didn't enter a city for one or two years—our underwear washed and reused until it fell apart, then we had nothing to wear, just bare-assed wandering. Too hard. So when the Electric-Silk Underwear launched, I bought a batch and sent them to the Tribunal. Now the Tribunal knights are especially fond of me."

The Acting Pope of the Holy Church whispered to the ascetic An; everyone assumed they discussed some cosmic matter—no one imagined Anthony was complaining.

As he complained, Ang followed the girl back to her original shack and found a small corpse in a waterlogged corner.

In the northern desert oases and Meishencheng, shacks were dry, ventilated, shaded, and comfortable dwellings; southern shacks were merely desperate makeshifts due to material scarcity—dampness caused water pooling, swarms of insects and ants; living in them long-term caused illness.

The girl picked up her brother's body, her face filled with grief: "Thank you, my lord, for saving me. I hope to bury my brother outside the camp."

Ang tilted his head in confusion. Why bury? Had he been dead long?

Ang examined the corpse—no, no lividity yet, dead only a few hours.

Ang summoned holy light, brushed it over the body, activated it, then cast Resurrection on the heart—the boy gasped violently and revived.

Everyone who saw this went mad; even the girl fell to her knees, babbling incoherently, none knowing what they shouted or what they should shout.

Resurrection—such a miracle, even the Holy Church dared not boast of it; no precedent existed, so they didn't know how to react. There had been precedents, but the incident in northern Lolan City days ago hadn't reached here yet.

Ang tilted his head again—he sensed that strange energy on the girl once more.

"What's your name?" Ang took the girl and her brother away from the refugee camp and pulled out Negril and the others.

"Lucy," the girl replied—a very common name; among commoners, at least three out of ten were named Lucy John.

"Why…?" Negril gestured: "Did you suddenly grow so much?"

Lucy shook her head: "I don't know. After I turned that person into a beetroot, I felt myself changing. Did I grow up?"

Du Luo pulled out his Gold Rod and tapped it—before Lucy appeared a mirror. After creating the mirror, Du Luo casually asked: "Why beetroot? Why not something else?"

Lucy instinctively glanced at Ang, then blushed and said: "Tasty."

Negril instantly understood—presumably, the beetroot Ang had given her had left such a deep impression that when she unconsciously used this power, her strongest memory manifested.

But what exactly was this power?

"I think I know a bit," Du Luo said, stroking his chin thoughtfully. "Witches are a very special phenomenon. According to the Witch Lady, this is called self-worship—I am my own god; my power comes from my belief."

Negril slapped his hip: "I get it."

"You get it? What do you get?" Du Luo asked curiously.

"Self-worship—power originates from one's own belief. By chance, the divine flame ignited, but because the power is homologous, it emits this strange energy—it's fundamentally still belief-based power," Negril said.

Du Luo shook his head: "Then why only witches, no warlocks?"

"Huh? Right—why only witches, no warlocks?" Negril exclaimed.

They stared at each other, clueless, and temporarily dropped the question.

"So essentially, witches are all individuals with divine essence? But because their belief source is too scarce—only themselves—they're weak, easily captured, and feared for their strange power, so people habitually burn them?" Negril analyzed.

Du Luo said: "This is belief-level power. The Holy Church certainly wouldn't want them either, so they label them heretics and send them to the pyre."

"Witches used to be common—why are they almost gone now?" Negril asked.

Du Luo said: "If witches all have divine essence, they must have been targets of the Faith Storm. Perhaps they all died back then—that's why the King told the Witch Lady to be careful?"

"Makes sense. Then why is one suddenly appearing now? Turning things into beetroot—that's Elemental Conversion, a divine technique!" Negril turned his head—and saw a row of beetroot on the ground.

Ang led Lucy as he walked, flipping up the soil with each step—each time, a beetroot appeared. Lucy panted from exhaustion; Ang replenished her soul flame, and immediately she perked up, plunging her hands into the earth and flipping more.

"Ku Bada! Just test it once—why make so many? Wasting divine power!" Negril cursed.

Then he realized: "She can borrow your divine power?"

Ang nodded.

"Damn! You turn grain into bread, soil into straw—she turns soil into beetroot. You two are definitely a pair," Negril grumbled.

At this moment, Feti, wearing a straw-man hat and appearing to others as an ordinary human, while Ang appeared as a skeleton, raised his hand:

"I know. The sudden reappearance of witches must mean the force that spawns them has returned."

What force?

Just as they prepared to continue discussing, a loud voice rang from outside: "Lord Anthony, Grand Judge of the Tribunal, Kalok greets you. We received word a witch has appeared here. By order of the Arbiter God, we have come specifically to judge."