Chapter 419: Descending from Heaven

The silver coin, screaming for help, emitted a golden glow, rapidly scattering countless golden coins that shimmered brilliantly yet seemed unreal, their monetary power blinding many eyes.

When someone couldn't resist the temptation and bent down to pick one up, the coin immediately flew into a rage, swinging a massive pouch like a hammer and smashing the offender flying.

"Dare to steal my money!?" the coin snarled—its demeanor bore no resemblance to a cautious merchant, but rather to Ang, whose vegetable patch had been burned.

But there were too many enemies; many among them possessed unshakable wills, completely immune to the coin's monetary allure, and instead saw it as a threat, concentrating all their firepower upon it.

A corrosion arrow shot from behind the crowd, first arcing high, then sharply diving downward after clearing the crowd, striking the silver coin.

"Accept the corruption of death!" a necromancer in the enemy ranks barked triumphantly upon seeing his arrow hit.

The corrosion arrow was a torment of flesh and bone for the living—if the death energy it carried wasn't swiftly purified, the flesh would continuously rot away until death.

The necromancer had expected the coin to die or at least be severely wounded, yet he saw the coin casually patting itself—the corrosion arrow vanished… vanished?

"How is this possible? This is a living man, not dead—how could the corrosion arrow not harm him?" the necromancer stared in disbelief, firing several more corrosion arrows.

Seeing yet another corrosion arrow, the coin ignored it, letting it strike its body.

The necromancer fired a Death Breath Arrow.

This one had to be dealt with—it could pierce through. The coin swung his large money sack and smashed the Death Breath Arrow apart.

Curses, Rotting Whip, Sleep, Soul Shock!

The necromancer kept trying every necromantic spell, but nearly all failed; enraged, he shoved aside the followers blocking his view, stepped forward to face the coin, and shouted: "Shorty! Look into my eyes!"

The coin turned its gaze. The necromancer unleashed a Soul Shock.

But his Soul Shock struck not a weak soul, but a far stronger one—looking down upon him from above.

"You… you also have a soul?" The necromancer barely formed the thought before the stronger soul crushed him downward.

His body convulsed as if struck by lightning, arching backward, blood oozing from his eye sockets, then collapsing dead.

Soul Shock was deadly to the living—especially when a mortal body dared strike the soul of a deity.

The coin blinked in confusion; he felt something strike his soul, but it caused no harm, and he quickly dismissed the incident.

The group fought their way backward, retreating all the way to Marquis Fivow's estate, the marquis limping ahead with a deep gash across his thigh.

After holding the estate gate for a while, the courtyard walls were breached again; they were forced to retreat further, falling back into the graveyard, using its terrain to defend themselves.

"What do we do? What do we do? We're doomed!" Marquis Fivow panicked, pacing restlessly.

The silver coin calmly said: "Don't panic. My lord will come to save us."

He added silently in his mind: If only he weren't so far away, my lord would have already descended.

"W-Will he? Will my lord really come to save us?" Fivow asked nervously—he barely knew Ang.

"He will, definitely. By the way, who are these attackers?" the coin asked.

"Who else? Count Gula, head of the Grain Merchants' Society, the most powerful man in North Wind City after the mayor." Fivow replied.

The coin blinked, puzzled: "You're a marquis, he's a count—how is he more powerful?"

Marquis Fivow awkwardly rubbed his hands: "My marquis title was bought. His count title was earned in battle—how can we compare?"

This world had no royal family or imperial lineage—each major city's mayor was a duke, with the authority to grant noble titles; the noble hierarchy was extremely loose.

Often, a marquis from one city was weaker than a count from another, and since titles could be bought, they were even less reliable.

Count Gula commanded several grain merchant societies, dealing primarily in bulk commodities like oil, rice, and flour—his forces were numerous, well-armed, and formidable; how could Fivow, a title-holding marquis with no real power, compete?

"So they cut off the trade routes to create panic, raise grain prices, and force other candidates to withdraw from the mayoral bid?" the coin analyzed.

"Likely. Raising prices may be secondary—the real goal is to create a desperate situation, scaring off other candidates. Whoever becomes mayor will face the nightmare of severed trade routes and soaring grain prices; anyone who knows they can't solve these problems will surely quit the race."

After analyzing this, Fivow suddenly understood: "No wonder when I hinted to a few acquaintances, none responded—they all knew the opponent was Bald Gula!"

"Bald?" The coin's attention snapped instantly.

"Yes. Count Gula wears a tall hat year-round, regardless of season—he's completely bald on top." Fivow chuckled maliciously.

The coin's merchant instincts immediately stirred—he couldn't resist the urge to pitch: Long hair? We at Meishencheng are the experts.

Forcing himself to suppress the impulse, the coin asked: "How many men does Count Gula have? Any strong fighters?"

"Yes. He has at least two Level 8 mages, three senior swordsmen, and one alchemist."

The coin waited a moment, then realized Fivow had stopped: "That's it? Just that? No sword saints? No arcane mages?"

"How could he? If he could recruit such powerhouses, why would he stay stuck in North Wind City? He'd already be working for the Undead Empire on the Anxi Plains." Fivow sneered.

Anxi Plains?

After a little more chatting, a commotion erupted outside the tomb—enemy forces were mobilizing.

The coin peered out and saw an alchemist handing out vial after vial of red potion to the enemy swordsmen.

Fivow, peeking out, turned pale: "We're finished! Finished! Gula's alchemist is here—we're done for!"

"So what? An alchemist shows up—why panic? Alchemists have no combat power." The coin was confused.

"Alchemists have no combat power, but they have potions! He's distributing Bloodlust Potions! Silver Coin, my lord—when will he arrive?" Fivow pleaded.

"Soon, soon—he should be here any moment." The coin replied uncertainly—he knew Ang would come, but with enemies already distributing Bloodlust Potions, could they hold out until Ang arrived?

Fivow worried: "The city gates must have been taken too—I fear even if my lord comes, he won't be able to get in."

No sooner had Fivow spoken than a flapping sound echoed through the air. Little Yellow Dragon puffed bubbles from his nose, foamed at the mouth, stuck out his tongue, and descended from the sky, carrying Ang.