Chapter 357: You Have Given Me Pure Light!

Under the leadership of a six-winged archangel, even in the City of Light, few would dare to stop them, let alone here, on Dai Sen's territory.

Previously, we coerced the weak-willed with the Pope's edict; now that the archangel has appeared, the legitimacy of the Pope's edict is open to question.

How to question it is the leader's concern. Ordinary knights, soldiers, priests, and clerics had no such complex thoughts—they simply knelt.

One six-winged archangel, two four-winged angels, eighty two-winged angels of the second rank—how many years had the Prime Plane not seen so many angels? They filled the sky, heading straight for the strongest energy signature.

"So this is the magic crystal cannon? Let me see, let me see—Ang, come closer." Negril said.

Ang walked over, placed one palm on the magic crystal cannon, and pressed it into space.

Now all three small magic crystal cannons had been confiscated; the gunners stared at each other, realizing they were unemployed.

Negril circled it several times, but noticed Du Luo could barely glance at it before losing interest, and couldn't help asking: "You're an alchemist—aren't you interested in magic crystal cannons?"

Du Luo said: "Not interested. Same as the old ones—I can build them myself. Too slow to fire, enormous energy drain, terrible waste, only good for fixed targets."

Magic crystal cannons were invented many years ago, but never widely adopted—beyond manufacturing difficulty, their flaws were the main reason.

For fixed targets, you don't need magic crystal cannons—mages are far more practical.

"I once considered using magic crystal cannons to defend the world transit station, but found them useless—finally switched to constructs." Du Luo said.

"So that's how it is." Negril instantly lost interest.

"What now? March on the City of Light? Drag the Pope to the pyre?"

As the only normal human who had witnessed the entire event, Lu Se had seen enemies kneel wherever Ang and Anthony passed—he felt an indescribable thrill, and couldn't help saying:

His sword hadn't even been drawn yet.

"Of course not. Continue relief efforts." Anthony said.

Anthony's refugee camps along the border had greatly eased the famine in the west, but it was still far from enough—even during harvest season, the famine might not ease, because in many places, starving people had already devoured tree bark, roots, and young shoots.

It's foreseeable that for the next few years, the west will remain turbulent due to this famine.

But it doesn't matter—Anthony has come, the Holy Pope has come, the gods' mercy has come.

Sanglide led the way, charging into the western diocese with organized bards—every two bards accompanied by forty knights, five second-rank angels, and a two-hundred-man grain convoy.

"Ladies and gentlemen, listen to my tale: Guli Anni was licentious and cruel, ignored the dying, caused famine. Dai Sen, the archbishop, awakened from his delusion, summoned the Holy Pope Anthony. Six-winged angels revealed divine power. Our Lord An issued a divine decree—pious believers lead the way…"

This new form of chanting instantly drew crowds, and the story spread like a storm.

The gist was: Guli Anni was licentious and cruel, ignored the dying, watched the famine spread. Dai Sen, the archbishop, could no longer bear it—he summoned the Holy Pope Anthony to restore justice.

The Holy Pope Anthony didn't come alone—he brought the six-winged archangel and the ascetic An. Ascetic An immediately issued a divine decree, sending grain to the starving.

Here, the bard waved his hand—the roadside grain carts simultaneously threw off their felt covers, revealing the white grain beneath.

Good heavens—those who had half-doubted the bard's tale now believed it utterly, just as when Ang once dropped a sack of grain before the bull-woman and asked, "Do you believe now?"

Besides the relief teams, Anthony also borrowed a unit of dragon knights—well, borrowed from Ang.

Over a hundred live dragon knights raced at top speed to confiscate the estates of every lord, landowner, noble, and royal family member whom Anthony had recorded in his little book: hoarders, price manipulators, illegal land grabbers, road blockers, those who obstructed refugee relocation—"causing mass deaths within their territories."

Previously, Anthony could only offer bounties—many defied him, and there were too many—he could only record their names, powerless to act.

Now that the chance had come, he moved immediately to settle accounts. Confiscated grain and money could be used locally for relief—otherwise, transporting vast quantities of grain from the east would incur huge losses; every bit saved mattered.

The process went smoothly. The only problem: Ang couldn't personally go to the scenes to harvest faith, which made Anthony feel guilty: "My lord, time is too short—there are too many places needing relief. Once things stabilize, we'll go harvest together."

Ang shook his head indifferently, revealing his Growth Godhead: "It's growing."

Ang noticed a problem: every time he distributed grain on a large scale, his Growth Godhead surged dramatically.

So even without going to the scenes, he still harvested plenty of faith—just not the faith network.

Anthony had vaguely known the Growth Godhead's ability before; now he confirmed it again, and couldn't help asking: "So amazing? Is this growth a one-time boost—or does it keep growing after each distribution?"

"One-time." Ang replied.

Anthony said: "So we must continuously supply grain? Can we supply seeds instead?"

Negril, projected on Ang's body, jolted and shouted: "Ku Ba Da, what are you planning?!"

Negril had vaguely guessed Anthony's intention—that's why he shouted involuntarily, while mentally slapping himself—such a brilliant idea, why didn't he think of it first?

Sure enough, Anthony said: "My lord provides the seeds. I'll have every piece of land in the diocese switch to the new seed. Next harvest, all grain will be grown from your seeds."

Negril couldn't help exclaiming: "Then every person in the plane, with every bite of food, will offer you power—even if each portion is small, three meals a day, accumulated over time—Ang, your Growth Godhead might become the strongest."

Ang's eyes lit up: "Good."

"Pfft! Perfect for you, isn't it? You must love your Growth Godhead most." Negril grumbled, picking a fight:

"How do you make farmers willingly switch seeds? Switching seeds is extremely risky—farmers have low risk tolerance; they won't change unless forced."

Anthony smiled slightly: "Seed competition. Free seeds. Church guarantees."

The Seed Competition is famous across the plane—if a new champion seed emerges, which farmer wouldn't want to use it?

Not just champion seeds—even third, fourth, or tenth-place seeds—if they outperform their current ones, many farmers will plant them.

So why wasn't it promoted? Too expensive. In the last competition, a new seed yielding a thousand jin per mu required one gold coin per mu of seed.

Even if it yielded a thousand jin per mu, selling the entire harvest might not earn one gold coin—planting new seed would mean a loss.

If seeds were free, even a yield of five hundred jin per mu would attract hordes of farmers to switch.

But the best part? The Church guarantees losses. Even the highest-yielding seed still carries risk—unsuitable climate, improper care, poor fertilizer, insufficient soil fertility—if the crop fails, what then?

With Church guarantee, there's no fear—even total failure won't starve them.

"Brilliant! The guarantee even has benefits: if next year's yield increases significantly, we can levy a ten to twenty percent tax on the surplus—we won't lose, farmers won't lose."

Negril finished his self-satisfied idea, but Anthony laughed: "Where will you find enough people to measure whether yield increased? If you really levy a surplus tax without proper monitoring, you'll have farmers hiding their harvests."

Negril's face flushed red: "Ang can measure—he just looks and knows."

Du Luo, who had been listening, couldn't help laughing: "Enough, enough. Do you want Ang to run all over the plane measuring yields? Anthony is right, Negril—you know knowledge, but Anthony knows people."

Negril quickly backed down, switching tactics: "But what if just seeds don't grow the Growth Godhead?"

"What about the western diocese?" Anthony turned to Ang: "My lord, I'll give you all the unclaimed land in the western diocese to cultivate. How's that?"

What could he say? Didn't you see Ang nodding like a pecking chick?

Negril instantly knew it was over—mention farming, and even if the gods of light appeared now, Ang would knock them back.

The decision was made: first, enter the Seed Competition, aim for champion—if not champion, third or second place is fine.

Though the champion seed of the Seed Competition already yields over a thousand jin per mu, most farmers now grow seeds yielding under five hundred jin per mu.

So if a seed yields seven or eight hundred jin per mu, is free, and guaranteed by the Church, countless farmers will plant it.

Ang already has a seven or eight hundred jin per mu saltwater rice, and his magic rice exceeds a thousand jin per mu—in the simulation array, it surpassed fourteen hundred jin per mu. Just showing up at the Seed Competition, regardless of ranking, will draw crowds.

Then, lease all unclaimed land in the western diocese to Ang—even land with owners.

As long as someone is willing to plant the new seed, Ang will sow it, accelerate germination, then let the original owner manage it.

The grain from the Calm Sea Plane and the Fallen Dragon Lake was grown this way.

After speaking, Negril grew uneasy: "Wait—what's Ang's benefit? He provides seeds, labor, effort—what do we get?"

"All grain will be purchased exclusively by the Silver Light Trading Company." Anthony said.

"Ku Ba Da, what's the point?" Negril cursed.

Anthony sighed: "Negril, have you ever had a merchant as your believer? Ask Silver Coin—what's the value of exclusive distribution rights?"

Negril's face flushed: "Merchants are too cunning—I wouldn't even let them become my believers."

To prevent Anthony from tricking him, Negril contacted Silver Coin. Upon hearing "exclusive grain distribution rights," Silver Coin immediately shouted: "We're rich!"

Negril asked, troubled: "How?"

Silver Coin spent a hundred thousand characters explaining the value of exclusive distribution rights, then another hundred thousand detailing the worth and destructive power of grain as a strategic resource.

"Monopoly, absolute necessity, irreplaceability—control the entire plane's grain supply. I can easily earn several times the grain's value in profit. Just do this, then that, then this again, then that again—and you can lie back and collect money."

Negril's head spun—he, the God of Knowledge, had been overwhelmed by knowledge.

Finally, Silver Coin stressed: "Secure the exclusive grain distribution rights. The Sinking Lands' harvest is also in—hedge against it, first profit from Harvey and the Grand Sage."

"They have no money—how can you profit from them?" Negril grumbled.

"Soul crystals. They've fought for over a thousand years—Harvey and the Grand Sage hoard countless soul crystals. So much money, they don't know how to spend it—I'm worried for them." Silver Coin said.

Negril rolled his eyes: "I think you're just desperate because you can't make money yourself."

Negril cut the connection and reluctantly agreed. Even without return, he'd agree—faith was the greatest return.

If it grew the Growth Godhead, he'd do it even with no profit. He didn't know what Silver Coin would do with exclusive rights, but grain's several-fold profit was surely worth more than grain itself.

"Come on, let's return to the Fallen Dragon Lake—see how the contest seeds are growing. The Seed Competition is in a few days—we need to prepare." Negril called out.

No sooner had he spoken than someone peered through the door—a figure clad in black angelic armor, fully enclosed, face hidden.

In the entire Church of Light, only one person dressed like this.

Negril grumbled: "What are you sneaking around for again? Smell something again? There are no outsiders here."

The black angelic armor dragged a holy shroud bag, scurried in, and lifted its visor before Ang, revealing Xia Malala's face: "Greetings, my lord. Greetings, Lord Anthony."

For some reason, Ang suddenly wanted to pat her head—he raised his hand and patted her on the head.

After the pat, a circle of pure light rose from Xia Malala's head.

Xia Malala froze, realized what had happened, and her eyes instantly welled with tears: "Pure light! My lord, you've given me pure light!"